‘It is some sort of ice sword, a magical blade,’ said Ceriana. ‘I found it in the city. It is a good weapon, yes? Even I had no problem carrying it.’
‘It is,’ said Morgan, looking the blade up and down. ‘I have never wielded a sword like it. Do you not wish for your brother to have it?’
‘No. I have something else for him. Something a thousand times more precious.’
She left them again. This time when she returned she was carrying a bundle in both arms, the bundle appearing to be fashioned out of a lady’s petticoats. She offered it to Dominic, who nonchalantly took it before pulling the folds of cloth back and gasping in incredulity.
‘She is so beautiful, is she not?’ Ceriana sounded blissful.
Dominic finally showed the bundle to Morgan. At the top centre of the mass of dust-covered cloth was the tiny sleeping face of a baby girl, not a week old.
‘She was born early, I believe. See how small she is. And she seems normal! No glowing blood! No wings! A beautiful, beautiful girl. I thought I would die bringing her into the world and I cannot lie, it was an agony. But I lay next to the dragon and she comforted me, made me strong and now you can see my little Sofie, only child of Wulfthram and Ceriana. The last few days have given me a happiness I never thought possible. You are an uncle again, my brother; I hope you can rejoice for us both!’
‘I can, sister. Father will be so proud. But you said you had a gift for me. Surely you do not mean...’
‘But I do, brother. I have to give her away. She can hardly live inside a mountain all her days and, as you have seen, I cannot go back with you. Please do not argue with me. The thought has torn me apart enough already.’
Morgan broke in. ‘But you have just had a child; you need rest, nursing...’
Ceriana shook her head. ‘I am weakened, yes, but I have strength enough to finish what I must do. You can now see the sacrifices I am making; all I can ask of you is to perform the tasks I have requested.’
‘But you must come back, sister! We can...’
‘No!’ she shrieked at him, a cry full of pain and anguish. ‘I am lost, brother! I am forsaken! But my redemption lies there in your arms! I have named her and ask that you tell her of me so that she knows. That she knows the love I have for her and the sacrifice I have made.’
This time it was Morgan who stepped forward and held her. ‘I swear to you we will not let you down. Believe me when I say that I know how it feels to have a child taken away from you; we are both bonded in that at least. You are an acquaintance of but a few minutes, but I know already that I will never forget you or the pain of your sacrifice. Understand your brother, for he is grieving for you. In four days we will be at Roshythe where all of our destinies will be settled.’
He wasn’t sure why this girl had moved him so much but there was a purity to her, an honesty and true heartedness that gave credence to this naked display of her inner emotions. He realised that he was affected in a way that rarely happened these days, not since the war and his own personal loss. Itheya had done it, in the glade that day, and now this strange girl.
Women, he thought, it is always women.
She looked at him; even the returning luminosity of her face could not hide the tears. She nodded, grateful for his words, though unable to speak herself.
‘There are wet nurses at camp,’ said Dominic. ‘I will care for her as one of my own, even more so if that is possible.’
She let Morgan release her and stood before them both. ‘Then it is time I left. I do feel the need for rest. Four days then and we will meet again, though in what circumstances I truly cannot tell.’
She gave Morgan the lightest of kisses on his cheek, even then her lips were hot to the touch. She then kissed her brother who still seemed in shock and then finally she leant over her child, who still slept peacefully.
‘Goodbye, little one. They will tell you that you are the link between the north and the capital, the one that can unite the two peoples finally under the blue banner. But never forget that you are my child and that in these last few days I have loved you enough for a lifetime. And so fare thee well. Be strong, be a Hartfield and remember your duty.’ She put her fingers out to touch the infant but the emotion must have been too great for her fingers started to rage with colour. She withdrew her hand with a frustrated sigh and instead blew a soft kiss in the child’s direction. ‘Goodbye, Sofie.’
‘Sofie Ceriana,’ said Dominic.
‘As you wish, brother, as you wish.’
She gave both men one last smile, pulled up her cowl and was gone, leaving both men standing silently, dumb as statues. The only thing that brought them to their senses was the sound of something great and heavy moving in the trees. There was a crashing of branches and then, silhouetted against the moonlight, they saw it, heading up the mountains, the dragon princess and her mount, a sight out of children’s tales and legend that induced further awestruck silence from both of them. They watched it get smaller and smaller until it was swallowed up by the night sky.
‘It is true then,’ said Morgan quietly. ‘What army could stand against that?’
Dominic nodded; his words when they came were thick with emotion..
‘Indeed. Come, let us get the child wrapped up warm and see that she is fed. There is a wet nurse in the camp about to make a fortune out of me.’
They retraced their steps down the mountain side, Dominic in particular treading like a swan walking over a thinly iced pond. Back with the horses, Morgan forestalled Syalin’s exclamation of surprise on seeing the child.
‘I will tell you back at camp,’ he said. ‘Know you now, though, that I have but one more task for you, one of vital importance, after which you can consider yourself a free woman, with only obligations to yourself. I will tell you more in the morning for we both have way too much going on in our heads to continue a conversation right now.’
6
Across the western bank of Lake Winmead, standing among the trees and high grass, five thousand men looked expectantly at the night sky. Morgan had shied away from telling the men directly about a sign from the Gods, lest they laughed at him. Rather he went and told the priests and the priests dutifully did as he asked. And so the late-afternoon sermon told of a shared dream of the Baron of Felmere and Dominic Hartfield of the Silver Lances. Artorus had come to them and told them to attack treacherous Arshuma; he would send a sign of their impending victory. After the sermon Morgan deflected all questions; he had told the priests, he said, because he could scarcely believe it himself, but, if it was true, the sign would be there for them. He did not join the men at the waterside; rather he returned to the hill between the human and elven camps and looked at the night sky with Itheya and Syalin in tow. The moon was pretty much at its highest point. If it was going to happen, then it would happen in the next few minutes.
‘There!’ Itheya and Syalin spoke simultaneously, pointing at the same spot in the eastern sky. There it was, a long streak of flame, high in the heavens, at a point where the moon would cast no light on whatever caused it. A minute or so later it came again, closer to the mountains this time, and then after another minute came a third, final flare. The hubbub and commotion from the lake side was easy to hear from where they stood.
‘It sounds like it has worked,’ Morgan said calmly. ‘We will be marching in the morning with an army inspired by the zeal of the Gods.’
‘The enemy would have seen the same signs,’ said Itheya.
‘It will not trouble their king,’ said Syalin. ‘He is not lacking in confidence, especially if his army is as large as you have been told. If he takes it as anything, he will take it as a sign of his own victory.’
Itheya nodded reluctantly, not particularly wanting to agree with the other woman. ‘I should return to my camp.’
‘You two do not want a moment alone?’ said Syalin sardonically. ‘I will be waiting down the hill for you, Morgan, once you have finished here; I am sure it will not take long.’ Before they
could answer her she was on her way.
‘Before you ask,’ said Morgan. ‘I have absolutely no idea how she knows about the two of us.’
‘Do you trust her silence?’ Itheya questioned.
‘Yes. She will be leaving us soon in any case.’
‘Good.’
‘I thought you would be pleased.’
Itheya giggled. ‘You should know I am the jealous type.’
‘There is absolutely no reason for you to be.’
‘I know. But I do so like an argument.’
‘Get back to your camp! How is it even non-human women can be so exasperating?’
Itheya giggled again. ‘I need to be serious with you for a moment. My people will join you for this battle, but – and this is important – if things seem lost we will withdraw. I cannot throw away the lives of my people.’
‘I understand fully.’ Morgan stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘You don’t even have to join us if your people object. You have helped far more than any human thought possible, even Cedric.’
It was Itheya’s turn to be thoughtful. ‘I would like to see Cedric again before I return home. You know.’ She gave him a sideways glance.
‘Culleneron asked me to marry him again last night. Things have changed with me. I have no family left; sooner or later I should try for a child, even if it is with him.’
Morgan was silent.
‘Have you nothing to say?’
‘I cannot come between you and your people, no matter what my feelings for you. Some things are more important, especially with what has happened with your family. I will respect any decision you make. Let us leave it at that for now.’
‘Thank you. My feelings will not change no matter what my duty compels me to do. My feelings for you, that is’
‘One question, though,’ said Morgan, looking even more thoughtful. ‘If you did have a child with him, surely it would be the other tribe that benefits. And if you marry him, how can you continue to rule your own tribe?’
‘Oh Morgan.’ She laughed again. ‘In inter-tribal marriages it is the woman who decides. If we marry, he joins my tribe until his father dies, at which time we run our tribes separately. Indeed, if he commands his tribe, there is no real need for us to ever see each other again. Any child will be a Morioka child, and that is final.’
‘You are so lucky you are not human, you elf women need to know your place.’
‘On top. Our place is always on top. Good night, Morgan, we will march with you tomorrow.’
By noon the following day the army was up and marching. Fearing no attack, they moved through the light woods in no formal order making good progress in the warm sunshine. Morgan eschewed his horse and marched at the head of the infantry, glad to stretch his legs. Among the banners held proudly behind him was a new one that had obviously been created overnight – a streak of flame on a dark background. Most of the men genuinely felt the Gods were with them and, as they marched, they sang the battle songs of Artorus, Mytha, Huaga, god of slaughter, and others even more obscure. Alone among the men Morgan seemed raddled with doubt. Were they really eagerly marching into battle against a superior foe against the wishes of the Grand Duke? Dominic, though, had no doubts. Since seeing his sister he had been possessed by a steely fervour, determined to carry out her wishes to the last syllable. He had also had a few choice words for the Grand Duke since hearing of his part in his brother-in-law’s death. Words that could be construed as treason in the wrong ears. Morgan had frequently warned him about the need to be discreet, but he might as well have been talking to the trees.
By the early evening, when camp was made, they had left the woods far behind and were near to the lake’s southern point. Before them they could see the silvery spans of the great Ros Bridge, a dozen at least hopping from island to island over the marshes and the broad river, a river that scarcely moved here at its source, the swans gliding serenely over it under the rising moon.
The following day was spent getting five thousand fighting men, two thousand horses and another thousand support staff, wagons, carriages and tents over the bridges. They varied in width but at their narrowest point only about five men abreast could be accommodated. In terms of distance travelled, little was achieved that day but, when the camp was finally raised, the river was behind them, they were on the lake’s east side and Roshythe was but a straight day and a half away along the water’s edge.
The following day was even hotter; summer had truly come early to this part of the world. For the first time the army marched in battle formation over meadows dotted with bluebells, anemones, primroses and even clusters of early poppies, painting the landscape with washes of bold colour over which hummed legions of drowsy insects, bees and dragonflies. Morgan, at the head of his men, strode along the old elven road with the army fanning out left and right alongside him. The road, a ribbon of green-streaked marble, had become uneven over the years; some of its tiles were cracked or split but it was still a striking landmark in this natural landscape. It was a covered road, too, pillars supporting a roof of slanted terracotta tiles, many of which no longer existed, leaving great spaces over which grew ivy or even patches of yellowed moss, Morgan was constantly sheltering his eyes as he marched from shaded cool to blazing sunlight several times in a minute.
Finally, as the lazy sun started to slide indolently westwards, Morgan climbed up a gentle ridge and, at last, for the first time in his life, saw it. Roshythe. The city whose disputed possession had started a war that had shaped his entire adult life, his and that of many of the men with him. It was too far away to see distinctly but Morgan could make out its flags and spires, the marble used for its construction standing out like a pearl in a great green sea – so different from the black stone of Felmere. The rolling meadows separating them were populated only by herds of wild cattle, headed by great shaggy bulls with horns longer than a man’s arm.
They marched on a little further and made camp. A dawn start tomorrow would bring them to the gates of Roshythe by noon. Even Morgan attended the priest’s service that late afternoon.
Esric Calvannen had joined them a few days back with a token force of two hundred infantry with a similar-sized force of Emeric’s cavalry. Until that evening Morgan had had little chance to speak with him, but now the two of them and Syalin were in Morgan’s tent where Esric was speaking effusively.
‘Once the south was pacified we waited for the weather to turn, crossed the river and took Calvannen. There was no resistance; the Arshuman garrison saw us coming and just moved out. I have my ancestral seat back after all these years, and I am married, too. The south is secured, Morgan; what you started I have finished. Calvannen is part of Tanaren again! The celebrations are still going on!’
‘I am amazed you have come here after all that. Messengers had given me the news, of course, but so many of your barons had rebellion on their minds, it would be a while before I would have been happy to leave them to their own devices.’
‘Easily resolved, my friend,’ said Esric. ‘The most truculent of my barons are all dead. For now my position has never been more secure. I did not want to but ultimately I had to use fear to bring them to heel. I hope in time I can be more pragmatic and less brutal, but right now only the Gods can see what the future holds. The revolt is over, but violence breeds future resentment and ultimately only conciliation will stop it from festering in years to come.’
‘And what of Terath and the problems in the Endless Marshes?’
‘No clear news.’ Esric kept fidgeting, standing and strolling back and forth in the tent before sitting down briefly, then standing again. ‘I believe the situation has been resolved and resolved happily. There are no more refugees; many have indeed returned home, though a small community of Marsh folk remain on my lands. I have accorded them the same status as any other of my countrymen. Until I know exactly what has happened down there it seems a prudent course of action.’
Morgan drank gloomily from a wooden goblet at the ta
ble. ‘Well, keep me informed. You have heard of the dragons in the west, I trust?’
‘Who hasn’t? I hear they have even called a symposium to discuss such things in Chira. Such an event has every noble from the Red Mountains to the Kozean Jungle jumping at shadows. If any more were awoken and sent into this world, no one could count themselves as safe.’
Morgan did not answer; he seemed lost in thought until Esric interrupted him. ‘And now I have finally pinned you down, what exactly are you planning tomorrow? Why are we not waiting for the Grand Duke? Surely you have no faith in this “sign” from the Gods?’
‘Well, let me just say that the men saw something. Divine or otherwise, it was a remarkable sight and one that seems to have fired the men up. Tomorrow we will march up to the gates of Roshythe. What happens after that is entirely up to their king. By all we have been led to believe, they do not have the men to trouble us, so either we wait for the Grand Duke to arrive and talk terms or they attack us. If they have misled us about the numbers of their men, then it is better we receive the brunt of their ire rather than the Grand Duke himself. Either way, we are doing Leontius a favour.’
Esric seemed to accept this and left shortly after, leaving Morgan alone with Syalin. They looked at each other and understood.
‘I shall be going now,’ she said. ‘With a horse I can get there while it is still light.’
‘Yes,’ said Morgan. ‘You know what you have to take.’
‘I do. Goodbye, Morgan. Likely as not, you will not see me again.’
‘Goodbye, Syalin. I will not thank you for trying to kill me, but I will thank you for everything you have done since. Where will you go once you are finished?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘I do not know. I have never been able to exercise my own will before. I could return to you if you wanted, but there might be problems if I did. I believe Chira will already know that I have been hired by the other side, but if they find out I am working for you, well, it might cause trouble and I wouldn’t want that.’
The Forgotten War Page 140
