‘Please do not say that! Those days are over. I never want to use my powers again, ever. The prison doors have wards that negate magic. If I am there for life, that will ensure it for me. My words are clumsy, but all I meant was that I wished to know affection one more time, for I will not be allowed visitors on the island; the other knights have been most emphatic in telling me that.’
‘As I said and seriously this time, I would be honoured to stay with you tonight. If only it could be for longer... I am sure you have thought the same.’
‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘But let us not dwell on what can never be.’
Outside, at last the rain eased a little. ‘You had better go,’ said Sir Dylan softly.
‘Thank you for this,’ she said as she opened the carriage door. ‘I will not forget your kindness. Wish me well. I hope they recognise me.’
‘They will and I do, and thank Baron Felmere, not me.’
She stood in the street, pulling her hooded cape over her; evidently the rain was still heavy enough to annoy. ‘One hour then.’
‘Just under. Go on, off you go.’
Cheris waved, then turned and ran over the road towards the guard. She spoke to him briefly and Sir Dylan noted the surprise on the guard’s face. Then he led her to the door, hammering on it until it was opened. A soft yellow light shone from within the house, covering both shadowy figures. And then Cheris stepped inside and the door was shut, leaving the guard to return to his miserable duty.
Sir Dylan climbed out of the carriage and went up to its rider, who was completely covered in oilskins. ‘You can wait here or find somewhere dry it does not matter. Just as long as you are back here in one hour. I am off to the tavern for a bite to eat.’
He darted into the tavern, passing under its friendly yellow lantern. As he did so the carriage driver cracked his whip and pulled away; evidently the thought of going somewhere dry could not be resisted. After he had vanished off down the road the street was left empty. Or rather nearly empty. For as soon as the driver had gone another figure, previously unseen, emerged from the shadowed doorway of an empty house three doors from the tavern. This figure, too, was covered in a hood and cloak and walked past the tavern and the Menthur estate and into the nearest side street, down which it disappeared, as silent as a wraith.
Then came a great roar, not from the tavern, but from the estate itself, where the yellow lights in the windows had never welcomed a stranger more willingly.
14
Claw Pass in the spring was infinitely preferable to Claw Pass in the winter. There was no snow, the ettins had vanished further up the mountain, and the trees in the gorge were full of vibrant greenery as the birds sheltered within them sang with all the gusto they could muster. A motley collection of horsemen and women rode the pass, this time passing trade caravans going in both directions. Morgan was at their head with Itheya, Dirthen and Astania beside him. He had decided to escape the bickering of the nobles for a while and seized on this opportunity to formally escort the elves back to their forest home. In fact, all the other elves had disappeared one day, surprising the humans travelling with them. Morgan had known they were going into the Pass of the Knife but said nothing, keeping the elves’ secret.
They were accompanied by some twenty men-at-arms, enough for a formal escort without crowding the pass completely. Another addition had arrived the previous night, surprising everyone, most of all Morgan.
‘Haelward!’ he called; truly he was possibly one of the last people Morgan had expected to see in this isolated place. Yet he was here, but there was a difference, for under his cheek was a scar, a puncture mark just as if a spike had been driven into the flesh. Haelward told him his tale, for in a few short months he had travelled the length and breadth of Tanaren as his duty had compelled him to do.
‘So you met the Lady Ceriana?’ Morgan said. ‘I met her once only, near the end. You know of her fate, I trust?’
‘There is no one in Tanaren who doesn’t,’ Haelward replied. ‘Nobility she may have been but she was a really sweet girl. Brave, too; it took courage to enter that labyrinth at night; I don’t know how I did it, to be honest. And I return here and find you a baron, winner of this cursed war. In all the taverns I stayed in on my way here, and there were many, the songs of Morgan of Felmere and the Dragon Princess are all that can be heard. I was sick of them by the end, no one sang about the Chambermaid and the Duke’s Son at all, and I like that one.’
‘Songs about me not bawdy enough, I take it?’ Morgan asked.
‘Well, heroic deeds only go so far, whereas a song about a tightly laced corset can be repeated for ever as far as I am concerned. You heard of Leon’s death, I take it.’
‘I have yes; I sent his widow my condolences and some money to tide her over; if she needs more, she only has to ask.’
‘I am not sure her new husband would take it.’
Morgan looked surprised. ‘She has remarried? Good for her.’
Haelward nodded confidentially. ‘Only to Samson, if you can believe that. He says his wandering days are over; he has left the army and works as a huntsman for Baron Olric. The Baron has never eaten so much venison.’
‘Good man, it was time he settled down. Of the others, Willem is coming to Felmere to help set up the university, along with a ton of books and some professors Cedric has managed to charm away from their comfy chairs. And Varen is magistrate in Shayer Ridge, a bit of a right-hand man of mine, and a good one to keep an eye on the Lasgaarts for me.’
‘It is pleasing that he has settled there; he was so desperate to prove himself.’
‘He has done that abundantly, especially with Trask’s uprising. He held the village from besiegers for many weeks. It was the only place not to fall in the whole war. Anyway, my newly scarred warrior, what of you? What are your plans, now the war is over?’
Haelward shook his head. ‘Over? Here, for now maybe, but in the lands I have passed through peace is on nobody’s mind.’
Morgan groaned. ‘I thought you would say that.’
‘It will be civil war, Morgan, mark my words. Soon we will all have to choose sides.’
‘We are a stupid country. Chira is poised over Arshuma like a fish eagle stalking a salmon. It will border us soon and a divided country is a weak one in its eyes. It is patient, the White Empire. It can wait ten, twenty, thirty years for the opportunity, then they strike, and another country gets the benefit of their “civilisation”. It is a folly to ignore them, plain and simple. Anyway, from what you have told me I will need all the trustworthy captains I can muster. Once my tenure at Felmere is over, I get Haslan Falls, but as Kraven will be only sixteen, and a young sixteen at that, he will need watching closely. I may remain in Felmere, if requested, and I will make sure that I am requested, which means Haslan Falls will need a steward. A man I can trust, but, as I cannot find one of them, I am asking you. What do you say? Ultimately, it may mean you get a baronetcy of your own somewhere.’
‘A very minor baronetcy, I would imagine.’ Haelward smiled. ‘Baron Haelward of Shithole, or something like that.’
‘It has a definite ring to it.’
‘Then I will happily accept your offer. Us men who almost trust each other need to stay together in treacherous times.’
Morgan looked up appraisingly. ‘Indeed, and if you marry judiciously, your position would be even more secure. One of Calvannen’s sisters maybe, the one that isn’t pregnant.’
The following day they left the pass behind them and made for the Taethan. The mood became a little more subdued among the party; both Itheya and Morgan knew it would soon be time to part ways. And, two days after that, the time finally arrived.
Dirthen and Astania had already disappeared together under the dark eaves of the Aelthenwood. Haelward and the escort remained on the bank while Morgan and Itheya rode into the shallow waters stopping at its halfway point. To their left, not a hundred yards away, was the island with the statue of Culmenion, the place they had
first met all those months ago.
‘Can you not smell the trees?’ said Itheya excitedly. ‘No forest smells like this one; it is good to be home.’
‘I do not have your sense of smell,’ Morgan replied. ‘But I can appreciate the sentiment.’
‘It was not a question that demanded an answer.’
‘Then it was rhetorical?’
Her brow wrinkled slightly; evidently it was a word she had not come across before. ‘Is that right? I do believe you have finally taught me something. I have a new word. Rhetorical.’ She licked her lips as she said it. ‘Let us call it a parting gift; alas, I do not have one for you.’
‘I do not need one,’ said Morgan. ‘This will not be a day I will forget in a hurry.’
‘No,’ she concurred, ‘but it is one that we knew would come.’
Morgan nodded. ‘And what are the Lady Itheya’s future plans?’
‘I have a tribe to lead, and a new loremaster, one who is younger than I. It will be difficult; all of my chief advisors of old are gone. But when the situation allows I intend to lead a delegation of my people to Zerannon, to see what trade can be re-established there.’
‘Then I shall head there immediately to inform them; otherwise the sight of a band of elves appearing on the horizon may not get the response you wish.’
She smiled. ‘Thank you; that did worry me a little. And of course I intend to keep our ties with the people of Felmere strong; I will visit there regularly, too – once a year if I can.’
‘You will be welcome. I will try to secure what artefacts we hold as gifts for you when you arrive. I will also try to get you permanent access to Roshythe; unfortunately both things depend on the assistance of the Grand Duke and I know little of him.’
‘This Mhezhen of yours, you are wary of him, yes, and is it true there might be war, an internal war, not unlike like the Ometahan fighting the Morioka?’
‘Exactly like it, I am afraid. I fear I may have to pick sides, though I will remain neutral if I can. How he responds to my requests regarding your people will inform the situation, I feel. Other than that my strongest ally is Dominic Hartfield and his opinions on the Grand Duke are somewhat ... coloured. I am sick of war and want no part of any new one.’
‘Well know you this Morgan, if things go badly for you in your country the forest will always be a sanctuary for you. You know the secret pass; just head through there and your exile with us will be a formality. But do not expect us to join with you in any new war, not unless we are badly slighted. I would be unlikely to get the support of the tribes again. We lost fourteen people in total – not a huge loss for a human army but damaging enough for us.’
‘Any war that we have now, if we have one, will be a messy affair and not one you should involve yourself in. If I am endangered, though, I will be into the forest faster than a startled fox.’
She smiled at the analogy, then looked over at the statue nearby. ‘You know it is a great pity that we have lost much of our stone craft. A similar statue of you on one of the islands would be fitting for your friendship to our people; we have few examples of such statues left.’
‘No,’ Morgan replied, ‘I have only seen this one, the statues in Roshythe and the way you fashioned the road in the pass.’
Her violet eyes deepened with amusement. ‘Do not give us credit for that which we did not do. The road in the pass was not us. It is ancient even by our standards.’
‘Not you? Then who?’
‘The Derrega, a people of antiquity who moved from these lands long ago; the dragon lady saw their city. They were said to be skilled in stone and tough as it, too. And short in stature also; perhaps you have some of their blood.’ She laughed at her last remark.
‘And any statue of me would not clear the height of the trees anyway. Do not try and tease me about my height; I really have heard all the jokes before.’
‘But they all deserve telling. My sweet Morgan, you should see your face.’
‘How I would love to pull your hair, Mhezhena or no.’
She looked back at the trees. ‘Normally, I would dare you but we are being watched; the woods are ever vigilant.’
‘I have seen you fight now; I may come out worst in any contest. I will let your words pass, just for now.’
She laughed a little, then stopped. Suddenly she was serious again; her delicate beauty was always shown to its best effect when she was serious, or so Morgan thought. ‘Culleneron will not be put off, you know; I may have to marry him sooner than I wanted.’
‘Then do so, Itheya. Get it done and over with; do not hold back for other reasons. We are both in demand anyway. The Lady Mathilde desires my hand and she is right – cold logic dictates that it would be an ideal move for me.’
‘Then our paths are set. You must forget your wife at last.’
Morgan raised his hand, as if stopping a horse. ‘Not just yet, I am planning to charter a ship to seek her out, and my boy if at all possible. I cannot go with them, of course, but I will give whoever I send say, two years, after which the Lady Mathilde will see me answer in the affirmative.’
‘Do not tell her you are seeking your wife! Give her a rough date for a wedding and stick to it. She deserves as much.’
‘Yes.’ He nodded resignedly. ‘She is far more than I deserve and I should not treat her badly. And as for us...’
Itheya put out her hand, touching his own. ‘Maybe one day, Morgan. If relations between our peoples continue to improve; maybe one day we can be together. In the meantime, when I visit Felmere we should go riding, just the two of us; there are many forest glades that remain unexplored.’
‘Yes,’ Morgan said quietly, ‘I would like that.’
She looked back at the forest again. ‘I will be going shortly, or people will start to talk; my people gossip even more than yours after all. I will say just one more thing at our parting. I want you to know that I love you and will always do so. Do not say the same back to me! A man who feels for his wife the way you do cannot love another to the same degree. I know your feelings for me are strong but there is no need for you to exaggerate them by saying you love me in return. I understand, I really do.’
Morgan’s voice dropped even lower. ‘You are far nobler than I. I do love you, Itheya, but Lisbeth’s disappearance will haunt me for ever if it is not solved. I at least have to try to find her. Will you believe me when I say not one day will pass when I do not think of you?’
‘I will believe it. I still have your knife, it is under my bed.’
‘And I keep your ring here in my chest pocket; it does go everywhere with me.’
She seemed pleased with that. ‘It is gratifying to know. Now I must go.’
He smiled. ‘Is this where I get to use the only Elvish phrase I know?’
For a second she seemed distracted as if forgetting where she was. ‘I miss my brother, and my father’ was all she said, not to Morgan, but to herself. Then she came too again and smiled at him. ‘Perhaps we shall try another one, yes? How about “Ara verjema x’hashko puisga, ze xera peresoskra”?’
Morgan attempted a poor copy, making her giggle.
‘It means,’ she said finally, ‘“Our hearts will remain strong, as will our memories.” It is always said at the parting of lovers, that they will not forget nor will their feelings change while they are separated.’
‘It is true in our case,’ said Morgan. ‘But I will never remember those words. Instead, I will say moton at ate sheren, for the last time this year at least.’
‘Then moton at ate sheren it is. Farewell, Morgan; maybe when you see me again I will have a child in tow.’
‘As long as it takes after its mother in looks and manner!’
‘Indeed, and it had better be a she, too; the thought of raising a son would be beyond endurance. Anyway, the time passes, farewell my human love; remember me till we meet again!’
And she turned her horse and was gone. She did not look back as she vanished under the shadowy tree
s, Morgan knew it would have looked bad to her people if she had. ‘I will remember,’ he said quietly. ‘I will always remember.’
Then it was his turn to spin his horse around. He rode towards Haelward, who was waiting patiently at the bank with the escort. He noted how clumsy he was compared to her consummate grace. No matter, the end result was the same.
‘We will stop at Zerannon first,’ Morgan told them. Haelward groaned. ‘Do not worry, we will be guests of Baron Fredo this time; the accommodation should be more to your liking. Come!’
And he spurred his horse and was gone, taking the lead for once as they rode away from the dark forest under whose thick branches even the spring sunshine seemed laden with foreboding.
And Itheya watched them go, though they knew it not. Concealed among the trees she saw them dwindle into tiny specks barely discernible on the horizon. Her thoughts, whatever they may have been at that time were known only to her, so inscrutable were her features. Then, with a heavy sigh, she turned her beautiful white charger and plunged into the forest where Dirthen and Astania waited patiently for her.
The beach was long, narrow and consisted of a fine powdery white sand. The sea that lapped softly against it had no colour at all; it was pure and clear as the most delicate glass. It was warm too, heated by an intense sun that had not relented since the early morning. Where the beach ended the jungle began, an endless array of thick broad-leaved palms and ferns and other trees, too, whose vibrant waxy green vegetation also held heavy clusters of fruit that would not ripen for many days.
The beach was the domain of the crabs. When they deemed it appropriate they would emerge from their secluded hiding places under the sand and scuttle along for a little while before reburying themselves. One such crab was doing this now, running along as he had done all his life, but then suddenly he stopped, sensing a change in the air, or something different, threatening.
Alas, his hesitation was to cost him his life. A heavy, but supple, black boot trod directly upon it, crushing its armoured carapace with a loud crack. Another boot planted itself alongside the first.
The Forgotten War Page 147
