The Forgotten War (182 page)

He poured himself a measure of weak ale and sipped it solemnly. He thought about himself and Itheya, then Lisbeth. When he became Protector Baron he entertained a wild notion that he could use
his new status to charter a ship and commission some trusted men to scour the Slave Coast for her. With the war close to a possible conclusion, such an idea had grown in his mind, but now it was
more than likely that he might die tomorrow. It was a fool’s hope anyway. She was more than likely dead herself by now; slaves were not known for their longevity. As for what happened with
Itheya, guilt featured largely in his mind both for what the two of them had done together and for the fact that his feelings for her were indeed strong. In which case what of him and Lisbeth? He
shook his head and drank again. He had an army that needed orders but it could wait. For half an hour it could wait.

King Aganosticlan was wearing blue today, but the unseasonably warm weather had caused him to sweat and the silk showed great dark patches of it as it stuck to his skin.
Because of this, he had retreated to a leafy arbour in the palace’s south garden. There was no pond here, much to his regret, just many narrow paths bordered by dry earth and great stone pots
covered in trailing herbs and creeping ivy. He brushed a bee, pollen sacs fit to burst, away from his face and drank in the savoury scents hanging pungently in the still air.

Footsteps on the path. Two sets. One – the soft tread of expensively clad feet; he would know Obadrian’s step anywhere. Two – firm, assertive, metal shod – some soldier
he imagined ready to bore him with more news about the surprise approach of half of the Tanarese army. He lounged in the arbour, putting his feet up; he really did not want to appear the slightest
bit concerned by whatever he was about to be told.

He started when he saw who it was. Obadrian started to speak but the King barely heard him.

‘Your Majesty, Syalin the Kozean assassin has returned with news. Shall I leave the two of you together?’

The King nodded and Obadrian bowed low before vanishing like a wisp in a fog. He stood, all the better to look Syalin in the eye; he was not going to be intimidated, not by a woman.

‘And so you return at last. You have been away so long we had all forgotten you, and your mission.’

She stared at him with her unblinking, dead eyes. ‘I was not given any time limit on the job I had to do and it was difficult, very difficult. The man was guarded night and day, finding an
opportunity took much patience, but I have brought you this.’ She unstrapped a sword belted at her waist and dropped it on the ground in front of the King. ‘An unremarkable blade, but
it is his; I believe he was a commoner for most of his life. I doubt if you have any way of verifying its ownership but that is hardly my problem.’

Aganosticlan looked at her with a jaundiced eye. ‘I will take your word for it; events have long overtaken the necessity of this man’s death. If you had killed him during the winter,
it may have mattered; now it is just an irrelevance. Go back to your Emperor; tell him you have completed your task, though hardly in a manner that benefits the King of Arshuma. As far as I am
concerned, your reputation is an exaggerated one.’

She matched his derisive tone. ‘Alas, it is difficult for a humble mortal such as I to match one of such exalted status and your ability to know everything even on the basis of the most
cursory of information is a joy to behold. Are you not wondering why one of their armies marches on this city even as we speak? Ach, but I forgot, you probably already know. Farewell then, King;
enjoy your little war.’ She turned to leave, waiting for him to stop her. It took less than a second.

‘Hold!’ he said, raising his arm. She turned on her heels and faced him again, a questioning look in her eyes. ‘You know why this army marches ahead of the other?’

‘I do, yes, do you not?’

‘Do not bandy words with me, girl. Tell me why they are there and perhaps I will think better of your order.’

She gave the palest ghost of a smile. ‘It is all politics and jealousy. The man I killed was cautious and happy to wait for the Duke that commands them. Since his death they are now
commanded by a knight named Dominic, a glory seeker who sees the opportunity to crush your demoralised and depleted army. He will camp outside your walls and demand your surrender, so that all
honour goes to him.’

‘And if I refuse to meet him and just stay where I am?’

‘I think that is what he fears. He will denounce you, of course, ride outside your walls and call you out as a skulking coward, a snivelling yellow worm, a weak mildewed woman,
a...’

‘Yes, yes, I understand. So what he really wants is a fight.’

She nodded. ‘Of course, like all men he wants blood, slaughter and victory. I know, of course, you would not be foolish enough to engage him.’

The king grinned, an expression which showed off his gold-capped teeth. ‘I would be foolish, indeed, if I had a depleted and demoralised army; I completely agree with you. Thank you for
your information.’

‘You are welcome.’ She turned to go again, again he called her back. ‘Stay! I have one final question.’ He pulled a small but sharp knife from his sash belt and started
to look at it fondly. Syalin’s eyes widened a little. ‘Your love of such weapons almost matches my own,’ she said. ‘Ask your question and I will be gone from
here.’

‘It is a simple enough one. This second mark of yours, why did it take you so long to kill him?’

She nodded as though approving of the question. ‘I tried infiltrating his keep but subterfuge of that nature is not my forte. Finally I gave up and offered my services directly as a
bodyguard. I told them I was a refugee from the Empire, having failed to kill my last mark. They accepted what I had to say and I was employed on the spot.’

The King lifted his knife to Syalin’s eye level, holding the blade but inches from her. She did not flinch in the slightest. ‘And who did you say was your last mark?’

‘You, of course. I told them the Emperor sent me to kill you after you had one of his envoys killed. It was a story they could not verify and so had to believe.’

He lowered the knife but a little. ‘You still not have told me why it took so long.’

‘He had several bodyguards and I was but one of them. My opportunity only came once he had left his castle. I managed to kill him and plant the blame on another bodyguard. I used his
knife, you see. He was hung and I continued to march with their army until today. That is how I know who commands them at the moment.’

Aganosticlan pursed his lips as he digested what she had to say. He slowly lifted his knife again and placed it against her white throat. This time she did narrow her eyes at him.

‘And how do I know,’ he hissed menacingly, ‘that you are not lying to me in some way?’

‘You do not,’ she said blithely. ‘But think about it, what would I have to gain by lying to you?’

The King did not answer but pressed the knife even more firmly against her, almost breaking her skin. Her next sentence was spoken calmly but icily. ‘Continue to do that and, king or no, I
will open your stomach and decorate this lovely arbour with your entrails.’

He looked down at the blade that she held against his belly. He had not even seen her draw it. He withdrew his knife, hers followed suit immediately after. From their secluded positions in
alcoves against the walls several soldiers started along the garden path towards him, weapons raised.

‘Very well,’ he said finally. ‘I accept what you have to say, but I have a little surprise for you. Tomorrow will see the end of this war and I am rather hoping you can watch
it as a guest of mine. I insist on it in fact.’

She shook her head resignedly. ‘Four guards? Barely a challenge for me. But there is no need for such errant hostility. I would rather leave now but a day here or there is no matter; it
might be nice to sleep in a bed for a change, although I would rather you did not surrender to them. I do not really wish to see the men of Tanaren again; I am sure they have realised my treachery
by now.’

‘Then be assured that the only surrender there will be tomorrow will be from them not me. Guards, show this girl to a guest room. Post a guard on her.’ He smiled beatifically at
Syalin. ‘For your own protection, of course.’

She smiled back. ‘Thank you for your consideration. I am not sure why I deserve such hospitality but I will accept it.’ She gave the slightest of bows and allowed the soldiers to
lead her away. As soon as she was gone Obadrian scurried back towards his king.

‘The lady had useful intelligence, Your Majesty?’

Aganosticlan clapped his hands together. ‘Oh yes, oh yes. Instead of one big army to defeat we are going to have two smaller ones. Tanaren are playing right into our hands. Get Terze to
prepare the army for battle tomorrow and get someone to wear my armour on the field while I watch the battle from my tower.’

‘Of course, Your Majesty. May I just ask, though, why detain the assassin if she is no longer needed?’

The King started strolling along the garden towards an entrance in the wall that led to his private chambers. ‘All these years serving me and you still know nothing of statecraft. If for
some reason the battle proves indecisive and we need to treat with their rabble, we can hand her over to them, use her as leverage to bargain with them. But, if we win the battle and, by dint of
it, the war, then I can give Hem-Khozar the great news against which the tragic news of her demise will be insignificant.’

‘Her demise, Your Majesty?’

‘You have heard the way she speaks to me. I am a king and no one talks to me like that and lives. I will tell Hem-Khozar that she met with some sort of accident or other, but most of all I
want to be there.’

‘Be there for what, Your Majesty?’

A wicked smile formed on the king’s face. ‘Be there when we kill her, of course ... be there when we kill her.’

It was still well over an hour before noon. A fresh wind blew off the lake, bringing with it the smell of pure clean water, run off from the rugged peaks away to the north.
Nestling gently against the wide sloping shoulders of the Derannen Mountains lay the city of Roshythe, an edifice of viridian-streaked marble from whose slender towers flew innumerable yellow flags
and pennants. Before the city lay a sward of fresh grass sloping gently southwards for a mile or more until it ran directly up against the army of Tanaren, deployed for battle and waiting patiently
for the response of those cloistered within the city walls.

It was a modest army, but a grizzled and hardbitten one, tough as folded steel rendered obdurate by a decade of war. The deployment was unusual – nearly two thousand cavalry at its head, a
combined force of Silver Lances, Eagle Claw knights and Emeric’s Serpents with the elves set up to their right. Morgan had insisted all armour be burnished so that it shone in the sun and the
knights had never looked more impressive, their breastplates resplendent under their tall banners. At the head of the army sat Dominic Hartfield, Reynard Lanthorpe, Sir Emeric and Esric Calvannen
– a finer collection of martial nobility was not to be found anywhere else in Tanaren. Morgan was not with them, firstly because his skill with a horse was someway short of theirs and
secondly because he was supposed to be dead in the eyes of the Arshumans, and so he had secreted himself several ranks back among the Eagle Claw where he hoped he could not be noticed. Behind him
in tight ranks were the three-thousand-strong infantry of Felmere, chainmail polished, shields cleaned and repainted with the mace ironhand, spears held up to the sky in a great challenge to any
who dared take them on.

Dominic’s horse swished her tail impatiently. She was covered in barding of white and silver, good protection for battle, but stiff and uncomfortable when forced to stand and wait like she
was being made to do now. Dominic raised his arm to signal the horn blowers to his right. As one, they blew a resounding, pure signal that soared over the grass, over the city walls, up to its
highest towers and beyond, up into the skies where the Gods were watching them all.

Dominic leaned over to Esric. ‘Nothing. Give it five minutes and I will ride up to the gates and bait them.’

‘Patience, Dominic,’ The Baron replied coolly. ‘Patience. Notice they have sent no emissary; they know we are not here to talk peace.’

‘And if they just wait? If they just do nothing?’

‘Then we will look extremely foolish. But Aganosticlan will look like a coward. I wonder if he really wants to do that in front of his own men.’

Dominic seemed satisfied with the answer and returned to glaring at the gates, trying to bore them open with his eyes.

But he didn’t have to wait long.

From the walls of Roshythe came the strident exclamations of a hundred brass horns. Morgan stiffened in his saddle as, at last, the great gates of Roshythe swung gracefully open. And out of it
poured the mighty army of Arshuma.

This was no depleted or demoralised force. Hundreds of marching men swiftly became thousands as they spilled out of the gates and reformed under the shadow of the great walls. Dominic gave a
soft whistle as the army grew and grew, yellow shields, cone helmets with ribbons of yellow cloth tied around them, all marching under the broad yellow banners that had haunted the dreams of their
foes for years and years. The army continued to spread – it stretched way beyond the scope of the city walls now and already outflanked what now was Tanaren’s woefully inadequate force.
And still it was growing.

‘Ten thousand maybe,’ said Dominic, looking at the broad sweep of the enemy arraigned before them. ‘A hard fight indeed.’

But still there was more to come. Through the gates came that rare sight among Arshuman troops, heavy cavalry. More and more of them, it seemed, until, after what seemed an eternity, they were
finally lined up facing the Tanarese cavalry with maybe little over half a mile between the two.

Morgan, now seeing that the need for his concealment was over, rode slowly up to stand alongside Esric and Dominic.