The Forgotten War (27 page)

‘May I speak frankly?’ Marcus said to Anaya.

‘You always do, and I have never heard you ask for permission before,’ Anaya said archly, with the thinnest of smiles.

‘Very well. Let me just say that you look tired, my dear. I really think you have been out here too long.’

Anaya sighed. ‘There was a time I would have argued vehemently with you over this. But you are right, I am tired. Last winter was very, very cold and I came down with a fever from which I
don’t think I have fully recovered. Ironic, isn’t it, a healer laid low with illness? I felt so weak I was unable to use magic and I have found the fighting season here very
taxing.’

She was about to continue when Sir Norton appeared from behind the screen.

‘I am sorry, Marcus, but Sir Reynard and Sir Dominic wish to meet with you urgently.’

‘Artorus’s beard, I have barely sat down. Please excuse me, ladies; I will see you both later.’

They both nodded to him as he went. Cheris and Anaya were now alone.

‘It is good to see Marcus again,’ said Anaya. ‘He was my very first mentor before I was sent to the Isle of Healing. Irascible, but kind. And now he has you. He has spoken
highly of you on previous visits. I knew he would bring you eventually.’

Cheris cleared her throat. ‘I just don’t want to disappoint him. In a way I wish I was a healer. It is far nobler to save life rather than to take it.’

She was surprised at the older woman’s reaction. She snorted derisorily and said harshly. ‘I used to think that, too. I thought being here would help me grow as a person; increase
the nobility of my spirit. But the opposite has happened.’

‘How?’ said Cheris softly.

‘In the fighting season, when men are brought here in their dozens you have to make some terrible decisions. Last summer, for example, two men were brought in here at the same time and
both were losing blood quickly. It could not be staunched by normal means and so I had to use magic. I then realised that I would only have time to save one of them, that I would have to let one of
them die – and do you know what I did? I saved the best-looking one. A man died because I was possessed by a womanish whim. It turned out he had a wife and three children; she is probably
selling herself to some tavern drunk in Athkaril now to stop them from starving. Nobility of the spirit indeed. What a joke, what a terrible joke.’

‘I am sorry Anaya, but you are still saving people here.’

Anaya ignored her. ‘The other thing is, because you have magic, people think you can practically make the dead walk. I am sick of telling people that I can stop blood loss but cannot
reattach limbs; that I can stop pain, but can’t always remove its cause; that I can reset broken bone but cannot remove splinters; that I can stop further infections but cannot heal putrefied
flesh. The list goes on and on.’

‘Too much is being expected of you. Your hair had no grey when I last saw you.’

‘Oh that! It is part worry, yes, but also it is because in summer I use our powers every day. You know there is a price to pay for that, a drain on our bodies from which both time and rest
are required for recovery. If you get neither, well, you can see what happens.’

‘Of course,’ said Cheris sympathetically. ‘Look, when my year here is up, I will go with Marcus to the healers and insist they replace you.’

Anaya smiled. ‘Thank you. It is not all bad here. In winter I get a lot of freedom. I have been to St Delph’s University in Tanaren a few times to study in the library there and
Baron Felmere has even given me a cottage, near to a place called Shayer Ridge, where I can relax away from everyone. If only I could see an end to this Keth-accursed war, a decisive stroke that
would end all the suffering, I would be happier. Unfortunately, I think it will last for many more years yet.’

‘We don’t know that. I hear the Grand Duke is putting much effort into resolving things.’

Anaya looked motherly. ‘Aah, child, you are so naive; all these men of war think they have the ability to do something here. In reality, they are the problem, not the resolution. There
is
no resolution.’

Hearing footsteps, they stopped talking. Marcus walked around the partition.

‘Sorry, Anaya, but I must take Cheris from you for the moment. Sir Reynard Lanthorpe and Sir Dominic Hartfield both wish to meet her.’

Ceriana folded the parchment and applied the wax seal of Osperitsan, twin axes surmounting a wolf’s head. She then put it with the two other letters she had written earlier.
Once that was done she sat back in her chair, peered out of the leaded window and let out an enormous sigh.

She had been one week in her new home. She had her own quarters and they were comfortable, filled as they were with dark wooden furniture that would have been considered old-fashioned in the
higher echelons of Tanarese society but which seemed perfectly suited to her surroundings here. The windows were small and faced north, overlooking a cobbled, straw-strewn courtyard and a cluster
of outbuildings that nestled against the modestly high battlement. Thin wisps of smoke trailed upwards from their chimneys dissipating into the watery blue sky over which thin straggling beards of
white cloud drifted slowly. It was colder here than it was back in Tanaren City, or even draughty Edgecliff castle, which accounted for the blazing fireplace in her room, a constant feature since
her arrival. Beyond the external wall lay the cluster of low stone buildings which made up the town of Osperitsan. All the buildings were small with no more than two rooms, with the exception of
the house of Artorus and house of Meriel, both of which stood slightly apart from the town itself, in their own square. She had discovered that the people here made a living either through
employment in the baron’s service or from the myriad of smallholdings scattered over the nearby hills, all of which were surrounded by the dry-stone walls so prevalent in the area.

Not that she had been out since she had arrived; it had seemed far easier for her to keep to her own rooms rather than stepping out into the unknown. Einar had been kind to her but he had left
for his own lands in the west of the island. She had learned that the island itself was divided into three baronetcies – a Baron Thudig held the lands in the south. Her husband had spent
little time with her; he admittedly had been busy since his return but seemed to have little inclination to seek out her company other than to assert his marital rights over her on a couple of
occasions. Even then she felt he was doing it more out of a sense of duty than anything else. She obviously disappointed him in pretty much every respect, but what could she do? The marriage had
not been her choice either.

‘Ebba!’ she called – Artorus’s teeth, she even felt self-conscious raising her voice! From an anteroom a tall dark-haired lugubrious-looking girl entered; she was maybe
five or six years older than Ceriana with a pallid face and large hawk-like nose. Baron Wulfthram’s choice as her new handmaiden.

‘Ebba, I have completed my letters; you said a merchant is leaving for Tanaren City tomorrow.’

‘Yes, my Lady.’ She took the letters. ‘He delivers letters there for us all the time.’

‘How much do you need to give him?’

‘A crown will suffice, my Lady.’

Ceriana unlocked a wooden box and passed the money to Ebba. ‘He is not one of those to pocket the money and burn the letters, is he?’

‘Certainly not, my Lady.’ Ebba sounded most put out. ‘He is a man of integrity and, besides, you are far too important for him to lose your letters. It is hardly something he
could get away with doing.’ Ceriana felt humbled and a little guilty.

‘Oh I am sorry – my words were badly chosen. I did not mean to imply anything untoward. You will soon learn that my mouth runs away from me at times. Please don’t think any the
worse of me.’

‘Of course not, my Lady. I will take these letters to him and return presently. What do you wish of me on my return?’

‘Perhaps you could run a bath for me, a hot one if possible; I am feeling cold again, I am afraid.’

‘As you wish, my Lady.’ Ebba nodded and was gone.

Ceriana looked out of the window and watched Ebba as she emerged into the courtyard and headed for an outbuilding. She picked up a book –
A History of the Baronetcies of Northern
Tanaren, Their hierarchy and Organisation
– which she had been perusing avidly since her arrival and continued from where she had left off earlier.

The following morning she felt the need for spiritual guidance. The manor house had its own small private chapel situated to the rear of her own quarters. It had a small pulpit
and seating for about ten people over two small pews. The father of Artorus who tendered to it was a decrepit octogenarian by the name of Sidden who had been retained in his dotage since the chapel
itself was barely used. He greeted her in a frail but kindly voice.

‘Hello, my dear, do you wish to share a small prayer with me? Your company will be most welcome. It does get rather lonely at times here.’

‘Yes, Father, I would like that very much. We can both be lonely together.’

‘Very well, my Lady, then let us read the Prayer of Artorus right at the front of the holy book.’

She bowed her head, opened the book and read, even though she knew the words by heart. Her clear plaintive voice married with his tremulous high-pitched one in the oddest of duets.

Father Sidden stopped at this point but Ceriana continued with the Prayer of Elissa: