The Forgotten War (165 page)

About five minutes later Mikel and the knights stomped back down the stairs. Mikel was speaking to them.

‘I am telling you I have not seen her since yesterday. If she has been to my room, I was not aware of it.’ His air of unjustified persecution, of an innocent man slighted, was
obvious to behold.

‘Then where is she!’ one of the knights thundered. They returned to her room, this time opening wardrobes and looking under the bed.

‘You haven’t seriously ... lost her?’ Mikel sounded appalled.

‘Enough of your lip! We will search the corridors and other rooms. You’ – he pointed at Mikel – ‘tell your knights to notify the guard.’ Then both men were
gone, frantically continuing their search.

‘Of course,’ said Mikel. Of course he would notify them. In about five minutes when Cheris would definitely be out of the castle. He wondered idly why the knights, for all their
training, never tumbled his voice illusion spell. It was one of the oldest tricks in his repertoire. He went and stroked the stillsleeping cat, trying to keep his very real concern for the girl at
bay. A prayer to Lucan, something he did rarely, yes that was what he would do once this furore was over. If anyone needed his guidance tonight, it would be her. Mikel left Cheris’s room,
closing the door softly behind him where Rosamund still purred in her blissful slumber.

Cheris moved swiftly to get out of the castle and into the town. She had some inquiring looks from guards and passers-by but, with Trask’s arrival imminent, no one
thought to stop her. She only had to show her pass at the castle’s portcullis and was waved swiftly on. Her next stop was the river outside the castle. Here there was one of three staging
posts in the city where goods and people could be transported up and downstream, avoiding the cluttered roads. The transports were usually broad, heavy rafts, designed to carry sacks, boxes and
even animals, powered through the shallow waters by punt. She went up to the nearest idle raftsman, who was devouring a large wedge of bread and cheese.

‘I am looking for Horace,’ she said nervously.

The man indicated over his shoulder where another of his kind was stood on his raft, punt in hand. She went over to him, ready to talk but he preempted her, waving her on to his raft on which
stood a sturdy horse, ready saddled.

‘You have been expected, madam,’ Horace said. ‘I am to take you downriver.’

Warily she hopped on board. Horace released the mooring rope and they were away. He sensed her nervousness. ‘You will not sink; I have carried things much heavier than you and yonder horse
on this craft.’

It was not a long journey. They passed the western staging post, busy with its pulleys and cranes lifting goods off rafts and on to wagons and vice versa. It was swarming with people urgently
trying to get their business done before the city was locked down and besieged. But Horace did not stop there. Rather, he continued right up to the city walls. The river here left the city through
a stone arch which itself was covered by a great gateway – vertical and horizontal bars of iron through which water could pass but which anything larger than a young goat couldn’t.
Horace steered his vessel to the bank, where waited a large number of soldiers, standing close to a stairway leading up to the top of the wall.

‘Lady needs to get out of the city,’ Horace said. ‘She has a pass.’

A guard took it from Cheris, who was holding it out to him. He nodded and gave it back.

‘Very well. She will be the last, though; this place is getting locked up tight after that.’ He disappeared through a door in the city wall. Cheris heard him shouting out an order.
Soon after came the sounds of rattling, well-oiled chains and as she watched she saw the gate ahead of her rising slowly out of the water until there was a gap large enough for her, Horace and the
horse to pass through. So it was a portcullis, too, its lower bars wet and coated in green weed.

Horace steered his raft to another staging platform immediately outside the walls. This one was unmanned and the wood was damp, and coated in a film of dark-green moss and slippery algae. He
secured the raft and led the horse off, Cheris following. She stopped and gave him some of the little money she had.

He bowed a little. ‘Thank you, madam,’ he said, before hopping back on board and disappearing back into the city. She watched as the portcullis came slowly down again followed by
another, more solid-looking one behind it. The city was being locked down indeed.

Glad that no one could see her, she secured her backpack and staff to the saddle and gingerly mounted her steed. She could see it was a passive, docile creature well used to inexperienced
riders; Mona, Morgan had told her her name was. She turned her and followed a dirt path skirting the city to the north, before bending slowly eastwards. All things being equal she should be where
she wanted to be by nightfall. She then heard other noises, horns and drums in the distance, the hoarse cries of men and the clink of metal on metal along with the sound of many heavy boots. Trask
was approaching fast, she thought; better speed up. She might end up seeing him in death, if they both ended in the furnace, but seeing him in life again ... well, the thought could not be
borne.

Morgan was finishing off many of those little jobs in the castle that were always there to be done but somehow never actually got done. He had seen Mathilde and Kraven. As ever
she was fretting over the boy and he in turn never said a word. He had given instructions to soldiers, servants, merchants and the exiled nobles such as the Lasgaarts. He had seen Mikel as
requested and now he decided to do one more thing; it was not essential, it didn’t need to be done at all, but it was something he had been chewing over for a while.

He found Cedric in the library, hunched as ever over some manuscript or other. He looked up bleary-eyed as Morgan entered.

‘Hello,’ he said, a thin smile on his pale face. ‘I hardly thought the Baron himself would have time to visit the library given the current state of affairs.’

He looked ill, Morgan thought. ‘I haven’t actually; I just haven’t seen you for a while. How are you faring?’

‘You cannot tell just by looking at me?’ He held up his trembling hands. ‘It will not be long before I will be unable to read without discomfort. I already find my writing
illegible, and if I cannot read it than I can be pretty damned sure no one else can. I even find it difficult getting up these stairs without doubling over.’

‘I am sorry. I can get you a secretary to write for you, if you wish. You can dictate to him. What of Astania? Does she not attend to you?’

Cedric looked contrite. ‘I am sorry, my boy; just my joints making me grumpy. Astania does see me but she can only do so much and of late you have taken up much of her time. She is resting
now, after attending to us both.’

Morgan slapped his forehead. ‘Do you know, it never occurred to me? Well, I can change things there. I am almost whole again, even my hand. I will tell Astania to attend solely to you from
now on; I can manage just fine. It sounds to me anyway that you are just passing time here; perhaps you need a new project.’

Cedric raised his bushy eyebrows. ‘Do you have something in mind?’

Morgan went and sat opposite him. ‘I had a petition a week or two back. An owner of an empty warehouse on the river wanted to let it out to homeless families fleeing the war. I granted it,
provided the rents were fair. But when the war ends, if it ends, then the building will be empty again. I suggested the owner sell it to the baronetcy at that time.’

‘But why?’

Morgan seemed a little uneasy, as though he were entering unfamiliar territory. ‘I will only have power here for a maximum of five years and would like to do something important before I
leave, if I can.’

Cedric looked at him quizzically. ‘Are you not doing something important now?

‘Well, yes, I suppose. Yes and no.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘What I mean is something other than soldiering, fighting Arshuma and the like. St Philig’s – I have never
been there – it is vast, I take it, like St Delph’s?’

‘It is. A thousand students, two hundred tutors, countless books. We do not talk about St Delph’s, though.’

‘Fair enough.’ Morgan nodded. ‘But it started a lot smaller than that, did it not?’

Cedric’s smile broadened as he started to see what Morgan was driving at. ‘Yes, it was roughly warehouse-sized when it was started. And it had no books.’

‘Could you use your connections to acquire some?’

‘And why would you want me to do that?’

Morgan laughed. Cedric was being deliberately obtuse. ‘Tanaren’s third university, the University of Felmere. Somewhere for people here to learn rather than fight. A place for the
sons of barons to study as well as farmers’ sons, given scholarships if they show potential. I have spoken to Kraven, whose natural proclivities are towards reading anyway, and he will gladly
continue what we have started.’

‘
We
?’ Cedric’s eyebrows almost cleared his head.

‘Of course. I do not have the knowledge to start such a thing. You will be its first head. It will be a lot of work but you will have all the staff you need. They can run around for you.
If you tire or are no longer well enough, both Mikel the mage and I will submit a recommendation to the Isle of Healing, where you can live till the end of your days if you so wish. What do you
say?’

‘That I am impressed. I always knew there was more than just the soldier to you. If it comes to pass, then I would be honoured to accept the position and young Willem, wherever he is, can
be my deputy.’ Cedric stood and offered his hand to Morgan, who shook it vigorously.

‘To better days,’ Morgan said.

At that point they heard footsteps on the stairs. Morgan turned to see who it was. It was Syalin, who eyed them both curiously.

‘Have I interrupted something? Do the two of you wish to be left alone?’

Morgan just gave her a withering look. ‘I thought you were supposed to be sleeping.’

‘I never sleep. I wait. Besides I have some news.’

‘Then out with it,’ Morgan said exasperatedly.

She leant against the nearest bookcase. ‘Two things: firstly one of your mages has gone missing. Your castle is full of tough-looking armed men running around in floods of tears –
did you know of this?’

Cedric went even paler. Morgan looked nonchalant.

‘Not till now. But it is the knights’ problem; I have a siege to prepare for.’

‘And that is the second thing. That arbiter of grace and courtesy, Sir Trask, is here. With his men and catapults this time.’

Morgan started for the door. ‘Then I had best get going. You are not enticed by your erstwhile suitor then? I did think of telling him that you could not give him the child he evidently
wants, but I could tell it was love, at first sight and didn’t want to upset him.’

Syalin held the door for him. ‘It was not first sight and it was not love, at least on my part. I do, however, have a history of attracting the most disreputable type of man and coming to
this country does not seem to have changed that.’

Morgan smiled at her. ‘I cannot disagree with you there. Come with me. Cedric?’

‘Yes, oh Baron.’

‘Do you need help down the stairs?’

‘No, I think I will stay here awhile. I have plans to draw up, do I not?’

‘You do, my friend. From now on, until this siege is broken you are to remain in the keep. No wandering around the castle and no putting yourself in danger. You are too important to lose.
I will see you again when I can.’

Cedric watched them both go and sat down again. Excited though he was by his new project, he couldn’t help but think that, of Syalin’s two items of news, the arrival of Trask was by
far the least important.

The river was broad, still as a maiden’s beating heart and cloaked in mist so thick neither riverbank could be seen from the boats that drifted silently along its length.
The men of the Marsh and their allies had departed at dawn, many nursing sore heads from the night before. After two hours of rowing into unknown country, however, with the cold mist seeping
through clothes and the all-pervading quiet seemingly heavy with threat, all the alcoholic cobwebs had long since been banished. Cygan sat on one of the lead boats, with Whitey and Fasneterax in
the rear. There had been some jovial exchanges at the outset of the journey, but the mist oppressed all that were present and now everybody dwelt solely on their own thoughts and fears as their
paddles glided through the water. The tide was swift, and behind them, so progress was rapid. They were already in territory completely unfamiliar so no one knew exactly how far they had to go or
how long their journey would take. They knew they were going in the right direction, though. They all knew the stories and legends of the Lake of the Eye.

The first proof, if any were needed, came just after midday. The mist had abated a little under a bright but cold winter sun and the river itself had broadened considerably, its surface a
patchwork of small eddies and whirlpools, indicating the many treacherous currents underneath. Ahead, though, the river forked and where it divided a rocky island jutted out of the foamy waters
that broke upon it. It was covered in a thick wiry grass, short and tough, the only living thing that grew upon it. But it was not the grass that drew the attention of Cygan and the others. For
standing on its surface were a series of giant monoliths, arranged in a rough semicircle, all at least twenty feet high. A couple of them had fallen drunkenly, lying on the ground at varying angles
to the main construction, both spoiling it aesthetically and in some strange way adding to its grandeur. The stones themselves were pitted by centuries of wind, rain and salt spray, but still they
endured, proud and undefeated.

Whitey called to Cygan. ‘What by Artorus’s great grey beard are they? Did your people put them there?’

‘No,’ said Cygan. ‘We are not such workers of stone. These were here long before our people made the Marsh our home. It is said that at one time all this land was a dry upland,
with no rivers or marsh and it was then that this was built, whether by man or by the Gods I do not know. Others say that our god, Ukka, put this here to watch over Ventekuu and the Malaac and that
it has some magic that confined them to the Lake of the Eye. Obviously, if that is true, the magic has been countered by something, or someone.’