The Forgotten War (126 page)

‘Wake up!’ she hissed. ‘Something is happening outside.’

She lowered the lantern to see the man’s face. As she shook him, the head lolled back and forth like that of a doll.

She did not know the man. Perhaps it was a retainer of one of the many barons here. He was a typical northerner, ruddy, bearded, dark-haired but that barely registered with Ceriana at all. For
the eyes were open but vacant, and a line of blood ran from the corner of the man’s mouth. She withdrew her hand from its position close to the man’s heart. It was sticky. She held the
lantern up to see it properly, knowing exactly what she was about to find. Sure enough, her hand was covered in blood.

Her breath coming in short staccato gasps, she moved to the next figure she could see. This one was lying flat on his back. She didn’t speak or touch him this time, merely holding the
lantern over the face. More dead eyes, though no sign of a wound this time. The expression on the face was surprised more than fearful and on seeing it she realised that whoever was doing this had
no intention of sparing anyone, no matter their status.

For the man was Baron Farnerun.

Fighting the growing well of hysteria inside her, she moved rapidly to another figure, then another. Both men were dead. It appeared that a lot of the people here had been killed before they
could stir or raise a reasonable defence. Which meant a lot of men must have come in here silently and committed their bloody crimes before the alarm could be raised. For that to happen, they
obviously did not break down the door.

Someone must have let them in.

Suddenly the noises outside grew a lot louder, as if the people making them had moved suddenly closer to the main doors. She could no longer deny to herself that the sounds were of people
fighting. Fighting, and just a door away from her. And the door was not locked.

Struggling to remain calm, she tried to think rationally. Obviously, these people that had come here to kill them had moved outside to combat whoever was resisting them. Perhaps, though, some
had remained here, in the building. Somewhere.

Had her husband been woken by all this? Surely he had. Bruan’s room was empty and the first thing he would do was go and find Wulfthram. He was probably outside, fighting. But, she
thought, she had to make sure. He was a lighter sleeper than her and was always complaining of her snoring when they slept together, but it was only prudent of her to go and check his room –
just in case.

Shaking and struggling to hold her lantern, she left the charnel house that used to be the main hall. The lantern started to cast her shadow large against the far wall, so she closed its hood
and proceeded by the dim light of the corridor. From up ahead she heard a noise. She shrank behind a support beam, perspiration damp on her forehead. Was it a door opening? A footstep? It was too
far away for her to be to be sure. For what seemed an age she did not move, frozen in place, her breath short and rasping. Finally, she had enough courage to push herself away from the cool,
comforting rock of the wall and continue onward.

She passed her room, resisting the temptation to crawl inside, lock the door and push a table or chair against it. The corridor had never seemed longer than it did now; every side room could
harbour a threat, as could every shadow, including the gulf of darkness that yawned ahead, for it appeared that the more distant lanterns had been extinguished, though by whom she did not want to
speculate. She touched the knife in her boot, fancying for a moment that she could take on and defeat a fully armed man if he came at her. She laughed grimly and silently to herself; it was amazing
how hope and optimism could cast aside rational thought when things got desperate.

With a sigh of relief she gained Wulfthram’s door. Pulling the hood back on the lantern, she gently pushed at it, praying to Elissa that it would not be locked. It wasn’t – the
door opened softly and slowly. She crept inside, her footsteps making a minimal noise on the carpeted stone, but still loud enough for her to silently curse her lack of discretion.

He was there, in his bed, unmoving. Joy leapt within her heart; thank the Gods she was not alone. She pulled the coverlet back, leaving just the sheet over him,

‘Wulf, Wulf, get up! We are being attacked, we need to get away, now!’ was what she was going to say, in a voice as loud as she could dare.

But the words never came; they stuck in her throat and remained there.

On the sheet covering her husband was a broad, circular dark stain. She didn’t bother lowering the lantern to see exactly what it was. She already knew. A heartfelt sob escaped her lips.
She set down the lantern, knelt on the bed and put her face next to his, cupping his head with her right hand. No breathing. His skin barely warm, her hot tears fell freely on to his face as any
defiance, or even any sense of self-preservation, left her. He was her man and she wanted nothing more than to stay with him, whatever the cost.

‘I am so sorry, my darling, so sorry. Forgive me for not coming to you first. I would have given my life for yours, I swear it.’ She ran her fingers through his wiry hair, her crying
continuing unabated.

‘He was like this when I found him. I don’t know who did this or why,’ said a deep voice from the room’s shadows.

She turned her head quickly; such was her excitement at seeing her husband she had given no regard to the rest of the room. A dark figure loomed towards the foot of the bed, a big man –
she recognised both his shape and his voice.

‘Einar!’ she gasped in a dry voice. ‘How long have you been here?’

‘Not long,’ he said. ‘I went and hid when I heard you outside; I did not know if you were friend or foe.’

‘By the Gods, what has happened here? Who has done all of this? Who...’ Her voice trailed off into a husky sob.

‘There has been a rebellion, led by Baron Vorfgan. A lot of people felt your husband was getting too close to Tanaren, handing our part of the world over to the Grand Duke on a plate. You,
your connections and now your child were seen as a blow against the old ways, the ways we have always done things here. Vorfgan has been secretly dropping men off here at the dead of night for a
while; they have been living off the land waiting for his signal. He has been harbouring some of the Kudreyan pirate fleet, and they were among the attackers, too.’

She stiffened a little. There was something in his tone, a lack of empathy perhaps, a lack of emotion that disturbed her a little.

‘Farnerun is dead,’ she said quietly.

‘Yes, and Thudig, and Tragsmann.’

She had to ask – it was a question that had been scratching at her mind for a while – present circumstances though rendered it especially pertinent. ‘Where were you when this
happened, and how did you know it was Vorfgan’s ship in the harbour the other day? It was only flying a yellow flag, not his banner of the osprey?’

‘Baron Einar may be too emotional to answer you,’ said a mellifluous voice behind her. ‘The truth is, he recently saw sense and realised that the future of our land must be as
New Kibil and not as the Grand Duke’s puppet state, which was what, alas, your husband seemed to think.’ Vorfgan strolled into the room with several men-at-arms behind him, blood freely
spattered their tunics.

She climbed off the bed and faced up to him. Anger was strong in her now, replacing her grief. How dare this minor little nonentity get away with these terrible crimes. ‘So you killed my
husband then.’

‘No,’ Vorfgan replied, ‘Einar would not permit it and I needed his help – lands and harbour to hide my men. You were both to be ransomed and exiled. Personally I would
have killed him without thinking twice about it, but the big man there is the softest kind of traitor you could possibly find.’

She swallowed hard and wiped her drying tears away. Turning from Vorfgan, she walked up to Einar and struck him hard on his face. She had not the strength to really hurt him but he flinched as
though she had hit him with a flaming brand.

‘You were losing these lands, weren’t you? Wulf had changed his will, leaving me and my child in control of these lands including some originally promised to you. New Kibil indeed!
What rubbish! You murdered your friend for a stretch of rock and bracken.’ She spat in his face. ‘Well, are you going to kill
me
now, big man? Are you brave enough to cut my
throat?’ She tilted her head upwards, offering him her soft white neck.

Einar seemed choked, haunted. ‘I did not want him dead’ was all he could say.

She did not stop her attack. ‘I really wish I could be there to watch, when you burn on the furnace – for burn you surely will.’ She turned away from him and came towards
Vorfgan. ‘As for you, you little princeling, you forget the fleet at Thakholm, and my father’s ship in the harbour.’

‘I forget nothing,’ he said disarmingly, for his manner was that of a man trying to charm a lady at a garden party. ‘Everything is taken care of. The Kudreyans will be moving
against the fleet shortly. They are experienced seafarers and will be a match for the Tanaren fops. If they win, then your ransom will pay for them; if they lose, then they will buy us time to
prepare our defences here – you will find no one gives a shit about dead Kudreyans in this part of the world. What’s more we can use your ransom for other things.’

‘And the Grand Duke? You would defy him?’

Vorfgan continued to smile. ‘I think you will find the Grand Duke rather has his hands full. For us the timing couldn’t be better. The eastern rebellion emboldened us; we saw our
chance and grasped it. His precious country is falling apart; he is running out of both money and men. I think you will find that, whatever the outcome in the east, he will be happy to cede land to
us in return for peace. You are now living in the palace and heart of New Kibil, my dear. Einar can have the island and I will have Vihag and the other territories on the mainland that join us. Our
hand, my girl, is a lot stronger than you have imagined.’

For a second she did not answer, weighing his words carefully in her mind. What did he mean, that her father’s vessel was ‘taken care of’?

‘I cannot believe all the barons have joined you,’ she said, though conviction appeared to be leaving her.

‘The ones that mattered are all dead. A couple of the others that may be of use to us like Rosk and Fyrdag are locked in a storeroom, where Einar will shortly have a chat with them. Rosk
can be intimidated and Fyrdag can be bought off with the promise of more land. Thudig died because, although he disliked you, he disliked me even more and Einar wanted the island for himself.
Tragsmann died because he hated me and saw me as a threat and Farnerun died because he was a Wulfthram loyalist and would never be turned.’

‘And Skellar? What of Skellar and Thakholm?’

‘Oh what of him? You have a sweet spot for our Jon, haven’t you? Be comforted that he is not with us, but if we crush their fleet we will come for him. I have given him a good
thrashing once and look forward to doing it again.’

She shook her head. ‘Do you realise how much fighting you will have to do to secure your position? Wulf’s men will never give in to you, nor Farnerun’s, nor many other mainland
barons. Do you really have enough allies for this?’

For the first time Vorfgan looked serious. ‘Nothing of lasting importance can be achieved without struggle. We have the pirates with us for a change and promise of secret aid from Kibil
itself. Your husband’s men are being driven into the hills. They can harass us from there, but this is winter and food and shelter will be difficult for them to find. Once people see that we
are not going away, attitudes will change, especially if we control food and supplies.’

She gave a short, sharp laugh. ‘So at last we have it. You are gambling. A colossal gamble, indeed. Once the Grand Duke has pacified the east, it will be your turn. I have met him; he does
not brook disloyalty.’

‘And for exactly how long will he be Grand Duke? I have heard tales of dissension in Tanaren’s own heartlands. With rebellion in east and west how long before whispers in dark
corners become deeds? I have even heard your family mentioned as a possible replacement.’

‘How little you know of us!’ she sneered. ‘Hartfields are not traitors; not everyone thinks as you do.’

His smile had returned. ‘We shall see – power and the promise of it can make even the most steadfast heart quail.’

She kept up her appearance of defiance, although she suddenly felt spent and tired.

‘What will you do with me now?’

Vorfgan’s smile took on a more lascivious turn. He reached out and cupped her chin firmly. ‘I know what I would like to do with you, child or no. You can thank Einar for the fact
that that you are not bent over this bed receiving my attentions now. But Einar will not be here all the time. I may have many opportunities with you before you get too fat and repulsive to be
interesting’

Einar stepped forward, his voice regaining its usual firmness.

‘Cut that out, Vorfgan. Now. She is not to be touched; I will gut you myself if you lay a finger on her.’

Vorfgan glanced at Einar for a second. And only for a second.

‘As I said, for now you are to be locked in your room, while we pacify the locals and drive off Wulfthram’s men. You may stay there even longer, once we send out the ransom
demand.’ He turned to the men behind him. ‘Two of you, take her to her room down the corridor and lock her in. Do not open the door on any account; if you do, I will hang you with the
prisoners. Einar, go and speak to Rosk and Fyrdag. I will be out front finishing off the resistance.’ He turned to leave.

‘You are a lizard,’ Ceriana said. ‘You know that, don’t you?’

He smiled at her, a dazzling smile. ‘But one with teeth, my dear. See you later... Oh and’ – he touched her dress, at the top of her legs under her navel – ‘keep it
warm for me.’

With that he was gone, with all his men bar two.

Einar came towards her, his mouth open to speak.

‘I want to hear nothing from you,’ she stormed. ‘If you have any decency left, I would ask you to ensure that my husband is sent to the Gods correctly. I would like to know
that will happen even if I cannot witness it for myself.’