The Forgotten War (44 page)

As one they raised their fists and weapons into the air and called out hoarsely, ‘Sir Trask! Sir Trask and Haslan Falls!’

Their cries echoed deep and long into the night and none who heard it failed to tremble.

Ceriana had been fitful and restless during the entire sea voyage back to Osperitsan. Ebba watched her as she would fidget in her cabin, stand up, sit down and stalk around its
narrow confines. Oftentimes she would give an exasperated sigh and go up top to the quarterdeck where she would spend some time scanning the horizon almost as if she was expecting to see another
ship following them. Then when night came she would toss and turn and make little whimpering noises as if in the thrall of an upsetting dream. Ebba had tried to ask her what the problem was but was
met with uncharacteristic truculence and surliness. Once Ebba had caught her alone in the cabin with her head in her hands rocking back and forth in her seat. She sat up abruptly on hearing the
door open and Ebba could see wetness in her eyes, something which her angry ‘Knock before you enter next time’ could not disguise. The journey home had therefore been a difficult
one.

Still, it was over now – the ship was moored in Osperitsan harbour where Wulfthram was waiting to greet his wife. She bowed to him and he asked her how her trip went.

‘Well enough. We toured the island and inspected the ships; Barons Richney and Vorfgan were there also for a couple of days; I enjoyed it ... mostly.’

‘Good,’ he said. ‘Tell me more later. You have a couple of guests waiting for you back at the hall. I was going to give them short shrift and send them packing, but they showed
me a letter you had written to them so I have put them up in the guest’s quarters for now.’

She was taken aback. ‘They are here? Father wrote to inform me they were on their way but I only received his letter in Thakholm and so have been unable to let you know about
them.’

‘I imagine the second they saw you are a Hartfield they stopped whatever they were doing and came here as fast as a horse could carry them. You forget the weight your name
carries.’

‘But I never even got around to telling you about them. I thought they would write first.’

‘No, you didn’t tell me. So perhaps you could furnish me with an explanation now.’

She could sense the disapproval in his voice and her heart sank. Was there anyone she could turn to?

‘It is ... complicated. I was going to tell you about it when I knew they were either coming here or had written back. As it stands, I need to get some answers before I can tell you what I
know. I am sorry it has happened this way, but I am asking you to trust me in this, please.’ She hoped she didn’t sound too desperate.

He seemed to accept this. ‘I am disappointed that you feel unable to tell me, but no matter. Meet these people and talk to me afterwards, if that is what you wish.’

She felt the chasm between them that had narrowed in recent weeks yawn open again. She realised she did not know what to say to him and so kept silent.

Despite her wealth and status, all her life she had battled her own feelings of worthlessness and inadequacy. Doren called them her ‘black moods’ and knew to keep her distance when
she was in one. Since her encounter with the black-robed man in Thakholm she had slipped into a miasma of torpid listlessness where she had wanted to do nothing more than lock herself in a room and
blow out the candle. She had managed to keep up a front of restrained cheer to Baron Skellar, but once on the ship she had been ghastly to Ebba and could never shake off the sensation of being
watched or followed. How had they traced her? Was it the stone? And who were these people anyway? Well, at least she might find out soon. Then maybe she could tell her husband before she was
reduced to requesting a formal audience with him like everybody else.

They arrived back in silence under a leaden sky carrying the threat of rain. Wulfthram courteously bade her farewell and she headed to her room via a tradesman’s entrance, thus avoiding
the main hall. Her baggage was in her room when she got there and Ebba was busying herself with unpacking it. Ceriana decided to speak to her.

‘I am sorry for my behaviour the last couple of days. Things have been worrying me of late and like the witch I am I have been taking it out on you. It has been wrong of me to behave this
way; my old handmaiden Doren understood what I could be like but you, poor dear, have been thrown to a tetchy she wolf without any foreknowledge at all. I hope you can forgive me.’

‘Of course, my Lady; I can see that you have been under some pressure of late. I reckon it has something to do with your recent illness; you have been a little ... different since then.
You shouldn’t, of course, give a fish wife’s curse for what your servants think of you.’

‘Oh but I do, Ebba, of course I do; especially as you have been so helpful since my arrival. I will humble myself before you a little more later on, but right now I have to see these
people waiting for me. After the distance they have travelled it would be discourteous of me not to see them immediately; we will speak more once I get back.’

Her guests were the only people in the main hall. The servants had left them with some simple foods – bread, cheese and apples along with some weak beer. There were two of them: a
distinguished, silver-haired man who exuded an aura of dusty academia and a girl, about Ceriana’s age, wearing a severe bun and who was all demure passivity. They both stood as she approached
them.

‘I thank you both for coming; I really was only expecting a written reply so I hope your journey was not too arduous. I am Ceriana by the way, but I am sure you have already guessed
that.’

The man bowed. ‘I am Professor Ulian, my Lady, and allow me to introduce Alys, my assistant in this matter. I can assure you our journey was most uneventful; the horrors of the Morrathnay
Forest are greatly exaggerated. We obviously departed as soon as was practicable upon receipt of your letter. I must confess I travel little and have found the new surroundings most
stimulating.’

‘And I trust the accommodation is to your satisfaction?’

‘Compared to the rooms at St Philig’s it is opulence indeed, although at first I feared we may be reduced to finding a bale of straw to bed down in.’

‘Ah, the misunderstanding on your arrival. Entirely my fault, I am afraid. I have been away for a few days and did not inform my husband of my correspondence with your good self so he was
not expecting you. I obviously apologise for my oversight.’

‘No need at all, my Lady; it was all resolved quickly enough, Now shall we get down to the matter at hand.’

He had a powerful voice and was obviously used to speaking in front of a crowd. Ceriana decided to try and involve his companion in the conversation.

‘Indeed, I am most anxious to hear your conclusions, but first my I ask the Lady Alys as to how she became involved in the academic life? It is so rare to see a woman in a scholastic
profession after all; you must be very proud of your achievements.’

The girl looked directly at her. Unlike Ceriana, who had spent her entire life preening herself with a host of make-up powders, scented oils, exotic herbs and flowers and expensive jewellery,
she was simply dressed in white linen with the well-scrubbed appearance of a farmer’s wife. Her large blue eyes, however, gave her a natural gentle beauty to which Ceriana felt she herself
could never aspire.

‘My role is but a small one,’ she said shyly. ‘Master Cedric, another professor at the university, happened to see me sketching portraits in Tanaren market one day and engaged
me on a freelance basis to reproduce many of the artefacts in his collection on paper. Since then I have become a more or less full-time assistant of his and have even accompanied him on field
trips. It is I who sketched the ring you yourself mentioned in your letter, my Lady.’

‘Yes,’ said Ulian. ‘I had better clarify the situation as quickly as possible in order to assuage your disappointment. I am not the professor to whom your letter is addressed;
he, Cedric, is engaged on some errand for the Grand Duke. We are attempting to contact him but until we do I am afraid it is my humble self who will have to serve in his stead. I can assure you
that I work closely with him and Alys has been extremely helpful in furnishing information for me, but, yes, this is more his field than mine.’

‘I see,’ said Ceriana. ‘How do your fields of study differ?’

‘Cedric deals with the history of the Wych folk and Tanaren itself, whereas I am more concerned with the founding and history of the empire of Chira and its wars of succession and
especially in its interactions with us. With regards to your circumstances, it is the histories of the Wych folk that appear to be the most pertinent.’

‘Please sit down both of you and tell me what you know.’

They complied. Ulian drank some ale and started to speak.

‘Let us begin with the double-headed serpent, so ably depicted by Alys here.’ He unfolded her drawing on to the table. Ceriana, of course, had never seen it and so eagerly drank in
all the details. Alys was a very able artist – that was obvious. Every scale of the serpent was rendered in full detail, and it had fins, too ... or were they tiny wings? Its two heads
appeared to be conflicting with each other; both had their mouths open and were facing each other as though engaged in a battle for supremacy. The ring was not a regular circle either, the
serpent’s tail folded and coiled in such a way as to make the ring somewhat uncomfortable to wear, at least that’s how Ceriana saw it. She turned her attention back to the
professor.

‘This design is common in Wych folk jewellery. It depicts the great Black Dragon, Azhanion, the first creature to be given life in this world – that is in Wych lore obviously. Please
note that my references to Wych mythology should in no way be taken as heresy on my part; I am merely quoting their beliefs here. Their religion has one god only, Zhun; he gave life to all things
and in his first creation he wanted to reflect the eternal conflict in all things and how it was necessary to bring balance to the world. Hence the two-headed dragon attempting to devour
itself.’

‘But why would a man take to wearing such a thing?’ she asked.

‘A good question. A degree of supposition is required here, but millennia ago the Wych folk lived much closer to many human societies; there was even trade between us and trade can also
involve exchanges of beliefs and ideas. Why should it not be that some men adopted the beliefs of an older, wiser civilization? But there is more to this than that.’ He signed to Alys, who
opened a book that had been sitting on the table in front of her to a certain marked page.

‘A man in black who shaves his hair? A strange creature indeed. This set me to looking at Cedric’s tomes concerning ancient religions, cults and their practitioners. I must confess
it was something of a frustrating dead end until Alys discovered a page Cedric had marked in a tome called
Cults of Death and Believers in the Great Cleansing
, written by a Brother Merkel
around the time of the Wych Wars some eight hundred years ago.’

‘The Great Cleansing?’

‘Oh it is a reference to the end of the world, something that transpires in a spectacular and unpleasant manner of course. Unlike ourselves, who believe that we are on a path to ultimate
enlightenment when all the secrets of the world will be laid bare for everyone to understand, these cults often see mankind as a repository of all that is evil in this world, whose sin and
wickedness can only be purged through fiery destruction. They see themselves as catalysts for such an eventuality.’

‘What? They think they can bring about the end of the world? So they are nothing more than mad heretics then?’ Ceriana was incredulous, her eyes wide.

‘Deluded rather than mad, I fear. Anyway this brother Merkel was a ship’s priest who travelled extensively in the south around the steaming jungles and volcanic islands of western
Koze; I shall quote this passage from his book:

‘Their ships,’ Ceriana asked earnestly. ‘Does he describe their ships?’

‘Um, somewhere.’ Ulian glanced up and down, flicking over the page. ‘Only briefly, unfortunately – ‘dragon-prowed and winged...’; that is it, I am
afraid.’

She sat back in her chair. The professor was on the right tracks, it seemed. ‘Continue, please.’

‘Ah yes, now where was I? ...