The Forgotten War (14 page)

But this time, as Morgan climbed into the wagon, that was exactly what Cedric was doing – poring over a tome in the fading light close to the fitful glow cast by a pungent tallow
candle.

‘Why don’t you use the lantern?’ Morgan asked. There was one hung on a pole at the front of the wagon.

‘Too much fuss, my boy – a candle and my reading glasses are perfectly adequate for the task.’

‘Are you looking for anything in particular, or does travel bore you?’

Cedric looked up and peered at Morgan over the top of his glasses. Morgan noticed that where they sat on the bridge of his nose they had marked the skin red.

‘Not at all, no; I am just reading and rereading everything I have here relating to the Wych folk. I have, after all, to conduct a tricky and delicate negotiation with them and make sure
none of us are killed in the process. Knowledge is everything, so they say, but unfortunately for us our knowledge on this subject is patchy at best.’

‘Speak to Haelward; he met some on Danathra.’

‘Their trading post? Well, that could be useful. Unfortunately, though, all the evidence I have here shows that since the folk of the sea and the forests sundered from each other they have
diverged in many ways – culturally and linguistically to name but two. The folk of the Aelvenwood, I am afraid to say, seem much more savage, tribal and suspicious. Maybe I should just
flatter them; perhaps that might be the best option.’

‘If they are suspicious, they will see through that immediately. Better to stand up to them, show we are not afraid. Tell them we have come through great peril to see them and deserve an
audience, if nothing else.’

Cedric looked thoughtful. ‘Maybe, my boy, it is you who should talk to them.’

Morgan laughed. ‘We have to get there first! It might be more worth your while looking up the perils of Claw Pass – if the snows don’t get us, the bandits might; if the bandits
don’t get us, then, well, it might be something else. Worry about the Wych folk when we clear the pass, not before.’

‘And worry about Tetha Vinoyen before we get to the pass.’ Sir Varen, who had just finished tethering and feeding the horses had obviously heard their conversation and poked his head
into the wagon to make his own contribution. ‘There is little doubt that Ulgar knows we are coming; we may be on the same side against a greater enemy but the ambitions of the barons are
never far from the surface. The land we are on now is disputed between Felmere and Vinoyen; their rivalry goes back decades. He will not openly oppose us but keep your eye out for a knife in the
dark.’

‘But he doesn’t even know about our mission,’ Cedric said.

‘He knows Morgan, and he knows Rozgon, and he knows I am an Eagle Claw. To him we are all Felmere men and that is enough. If he can hamper us, he will; just putting one over on Lukas
Felmere will satisfy him greatly. If you want my advice, get out of Tetha as quickly as possible and make for Shayer Ridge. It is my town, a Felmere town, and we will be protected there.’

‘I agree in part,’ Morgan replied. ‘But I fear we may need to spend the night in the town – better surrounded by people than be caught alone in the country at night. That
way we need only have one night out in the open in Vinoyen’s lands.’

They left the wagon and settled around the campfire, a far heartier affair than the one they had had the night before. Cedric was shaking his head, obviously chewing something over in his mind;
Morgan asked what was ailing him.

‘What the young knight was saying earlier, about the petty conflicts between these barons. I will never understand people who put their own personal ambitions above all other
things.’

‘Ah.’ said Morgan, ‘but to such men their ambitions are never petty.’

‘Which brings me to the other thing troubling me, Morgan – how does this baron associate you with Felmere?’

‘That is a long story,’ Morgan replied. ‘It would have started about seven years ago at Fort Axmian, the great river defence to the west and south, which these days is in
Vinoyen’s lands. Now, back then, Arshuma held Tetha Vinoyen and Ulgar was a baron in exile. If Axmian fell to Arshuma, his entire baronetcy would have been lost. At the time Felmere held only
a rump of his original lands outside of his own city so both barons were fighting for their own territories, to preserve their own existence as nobility. Both Felmere and Vinoyen attacked Axmian
together, to try and relieve the siege, but were forced back. Inside the fort, amongst the defenders, were me and Rozgon. We had water – the fort is on a river after all – but the food
supplies were thinning and if the siege was not broken then the outcome would be inevitable. So we in the fort took the big risk of sallying out to try to catch the Arshumans in a pincer movement
– us on one side, Felmere and Vinoyen on the other. Fortunately for us all, it worked – we broke the Arshumans and the knights harried them all the way back to Tetha Vinoyen, their
base, which was now the most westerly point of their advance.

‘Ulgar was all for attacking them there immediately, so keen was he to reclaim his baronial seat, but Felmere argued against it. The men were exhausted; we had been under siege for eight
weeks and in no condition to try and storm a defended position. The chances were that we would have been cut to pieces, losing all the gains we had made. Ulgar was furious; he saw Felmere as
holding out because it was not his lands that we would be restoring. He immediately earmarked Felmere, and the commanders at Axmian of which I was one, as traitors and enemies. I had only been
promoted during the siege as so many ranking men had been killed and within weeks I had a baron as a mortal enemy.’ Morgan laughed softly. ‘Anyway, we wintered at Axmian, reinforcements
arrived and, as soon as the first shoots of spring were showing, we attacked Tetha Vinoyen by surprise, storming it immediately and forcing the Arshumans back for so many miles it meant Felmere was
able to reclaim nearly all of his lost lands as well as Vinoyen. Ulgar has never forgiven us.’

Cedric looked puzzled. ‘Perhaps you weren’t the best choice for this mission then?’

‘I agree!’ Morgan was perfunctory. ‘I would rather have stayed in the south hanging traitors, but Felmere offered me a large bag of money and told me he trusted me. What else
could I do?’

‘Don’t listen to Morgan, scholar.’ Rozgon gave a wicked smile. ‘The reason Felmere asked him to guide you here is because he is the best man for the job. He also
underplays his hand at Axmian; the battle could well have been lost without him. We had charged into the unguarded rear of the enemy but they outnumbered us and rallied quickly. Our standard-bearer
was cut down before us and we were wavering. Then Morgan picked up the banner and carried it to a small hill, calling us to join him. He stood there alone for a while, killing any Arshuman who
dared challenge him, despite his wounds, until we all got to him and counter-charged. The Arshumans saw him with the banner and fled. Morgan is known to every veteran soldier around here thanks to
that – he is the hero of Axmian and I will bet there are a few in Tetha Vinoyen who would as soon side with him as with his baron.’

‘Bold words, my friend,’ Morgan replied. ‘Tomorrow will see if there is any truth in them.’

In the first four years of the war, Tetha Vinoyen had been lost and recaptured six times. A large part of it had been burned and nearly all of it looted and ransacked. Since
then, although at times the enemy had got within ten miles of it, people had returned and, displaying the extraordinary resilience of tough frontier folk, had slowly rebuilt the town. Its most
prominent new feature was a fifteen-foot stone wall guarding that part of the town on the eastern side of the river. Its two gate towers were dotted with archer slits and were always fully
garrisoned by Ulgar Vinoyen’s men in their green and white surcoats. The town itself was unremarkable; on its western side, after the low stone bridge had been crossed, it had a large square
which held a weekly market for the farmers who had returned to tend to their lands again. Leading on to the square on its northern side was the Ferry inn (it had stood there since before the bridge
was built). It was a tavern with extensive stables and a large front yard which held on one side the gallows and the stocks and on the other a cockpit. This was a popular place on weekends and was
always packed out, as the professional gamblers made themselves a tidy profit at the expense of the well-oiled patrons. The inn itself was looking a little shabby, as though there were neither
enough staff nor guests staying in its rooms to warrant its full maintenance.

On the southern side of the square were the large wattle-and-daub buildings of the town’s more well-to-do inhabitants, and on its western side, facing the bridge and the river was the
baronial hall. Baron Ulgar had a country residence but spent most of his time in this building. It was a large, white; timber-framed building with northern and southern wings and was entirely
surrounded by a five-foot wall. Although its wide gate was always open, it was constantly policed by many of the Baron’s handpicked men who were loyal, well paid and always vigilant.

After five or six hours’ travel, as the weak and pale sun started to dip a little ahead of them, Morgan and his companions arrived at the eastern gate. The gate was open but the way was
barred by two stout fellows carrying halberds and wearing the green-and-white quarters of Vinoyen.

‘State your names and the business that you have in the city,’ stated one of the men brusquely and not without a modicum of relish.

‘Certainly,’ said Morgan courteously. ‘I am Morgan of Glaivedon and need to pass through your, um ... city to complete some business that has been made incumbent on me by none
other than Grand Duke Leontius VII. With me are Cedric of Rossenwood, an eminent scholar, his assistant Willem, and several soldiers fresh from the front line of battle.’

‘I see.’ said the man suspiciously. ‘Wait here for a minute.’

The man ducked behind the gate and into its northern tower. He emerged some minutes later, but not before a small boy had come running out of the same door heading for the bridge.

‘Message for the Baron,’ Rozgon murmured to Morgan.

‘You may pass,’ said the guard when he eventually re-emerged. ‘But I warn you, this is an orderly city and we brook no trouble from anybody, Grand Duke’s business or
no.’

‘Worry not.’ said Morgan. ‘I have no intention of causing any.’

They headed towards the bridge. The eastern side of the town was barely a quarter of a mile across and seemed to be reserved solely for the military. It had stables, blacksmiths, armourers and
weapon smiths aplenty, all working like Keth’s demons. Horses churned up the muddy ground and ostlers and stableboys cursed loudly as they tried to control them. The air smelled of leather
and metal. They attracted little attention as they walked through, armed men being the most common sight on the road here after all. The bridge when they got there was broad enough to take three
horsemen abreast. It was a sturdy affair, its three arches spanning the Vinoyen River, fast and deep, a real defensive barrier which served only to highlight the strategic importance of this place,
the only sure crossing for horses, carts and wagons that the river had this far north. They were halfway across the bridge when Sir Varen nudged Morgan.

‘Look, we have a welcome party.’

Morgan had already noticed that a group of horsemen had assembled ahead of them in the square. They were still too far away to be recognised, but two of the horsemen held banners, one displaying
the green-and-white quarters, the other the white horse and cataract. There was no avoiding them, so Morgan led his men straight up to them. As he did so, he invited Cedric to join him and it was
these two that approached the horsemen, with the others following a few steps behind.

Baron Ulgar Vinoyen was at the head of his men. He was a dark-skinned, dark-haired man of about forty years and a living testament that high status or privilege was no protection against the
ravages of smallpox. His face was covered with the deep-pitted scars that the disease left on its victims and, despite his attempts to mitigate them by growing a large beard and moustache, they
could never be fully disguised. Next to him and slightly behind was a much younger man. He had long sandy hair and pale-blue eyes and wore a suit of dazzlingly polished plate armour that obviously
had never been within a country mile of a battlefield. He was clean-shaven and Morgan suspected that his eyebrows were plucked regularly; this was a man more at home with a full-length mirror than
a sword.

Morgan inclined his head slightly. ‘Baron Vinoyen.’

‘And to what do I owe the pleasure?’ The Baron’s voice was higher in pitch than might have been expected in a man of his appearance. ‘Morgan of Glaivedon returning to the
city that he so abjectly abandoned seven years ago!’

‘And helped to reclaim six years ago.’ said Morgan. ‘I am here at the request of the Grand Duke and am escorting the learned scholar Cedric of Rossenwood who has business that
takes him through your city and beyond.’

‘And here I have the Duke’s letter of authorisation bearing his seal.’ said Cedric, holding a sheaf of paper aloft. ‘It compels all those loyal to Tanaren to assist me in
my endeavours, as this man of Glaivedon is currently doing. I am engaged on a matter that is directly related to this war and hopefully may expedite it in our favour.’

Don’t say any more, thought Morgan. The last thing we need to do is pique his curiosity.

‘We intend to remain in your city for one night only,’ Morgan continued. ‘
If
the inn has any rooms, that is, and we shall be long gone ere tomorrow ends. I assure you
that my presence here will be a fleeting one only.’

‘Make sure that this is the case,’ the Baron replied firmly. ‘You are not a friend to me or the city. I shall not hinder you, if the Grand Duke has given you his blessing, but
you will receive no aid from me either.’

‘You are too generous, Baron!’ The man at his side finally spoke.

‘If I had been so slighted in the past, then this churl would have been whipped and dragged out of the city tied to my saddle.’