The Forgotten War (78 page)

After what had seemed an age the ground levelled out and they came upon a flat stretch of muddy ground clear of vegetation. Ahead of them was a high bank of earth and loose stone, and at its
centre, fringed with tree roots, like a single black unblinking eye, was the mouth of a cave. The stream merrily ran ahead of them and disappeared into it; they could hear it echoing as it plunged
downwards once inside.

‘We are here,’ said Terath. ‘This cave has great magical power; it comes in through the stream and the roots of the trees. The stones in the cave pool have the most power of
all. Come with me and you shall see.’

‘Is it an easy climb?’ asked Cedric cautiously.

‘Yes, there are steps, look.’

He pointed. Next to where the stream entered the cave was a broad flat stone. As they approached it, they could see it was but one of a series that descended into the darkness. They could see it
wasn’t a straight climb down; rather the stairs wound to the left the further down they went. Terath plunged into the darkness, brimming with enthusiasm. Morgan entered a lot more slowly,
followed by Cedric and the two young elves.

As Morgan made his way carefully down the steps, he kept expecting the darkness to engulf him. That it didn’t happen seemed rather confusing. Then, after over thirty steps, he reached the
hard earth floor and could look around him properly.

He hadn’t realised how far down he had climbed. He was confronted by a high-ceilinged cave; it was not large but broad and circular with many tree roots punching through its earthen walls.
The stream fell in showers of rain on to a bed of large flat pebbles before running gently back the way it had come and emptying into a clear shallow lake. At its centre, reached by a narrow
causeway of loose stones, was a circular island of dark earth, Morgan could see it had low benches and a large stone bowl at its centre. Surrounding the island, placed carefully at its edges, was a
series of wide flat glowstones, whose warm crimson light reflected off the lake and on to the cave ceiling, but they were not the only light source present. As Morgan looked fixedly at the lake, he
blinked uncertainly, before realising that the bottom of the lake was covered with pebbles all of which were marbled with an iridescent sapphire blue – it was this that was giving off a pale
light making the waters shine like the iris of an elven eye. So that was it – the cave roof glowed a warm red and the lake an icy blue, between them illuminating every nook and cranny of
Terath’s grotto. The two young elves busied themselves with lighting a series of candles perched on stones or natural ledges and before long the faint citrus smell he was now so familiar with
added its own ambience to the surroundings.

‘This,’ said Terath, ‘is Haraskolon, the cave of power. This is where the glowstones are prepared, the source of all magic for the Morioka. It is the perfect place to try to
perform the ritual inscribed on the dragon’s tooth.’

Terath walked along the causeway, beckoning them to follow. Cedric spoke to Morgan:

‘We have deciphered – well, Terath has deciphered – about a third of the inscription. The writing on it is tiny and in an obscure dialect little known by modern elves but
Terath is working through it slowly. This ritual is one of the first things mentioned; its purpose is to detect any dragonstone within a reasonably close proximity.’

Cedric took a seat on a bench, Morgan sitting beside him. They watched as Astania filled a jug with lake water and poured it carefully into the large stone bowl at the island’s centre. She
did this three times until the bowl was three-quarters full. Terath then produced from his robe a large dully coloured red stone which he dropped into the bowl’s centre.

‘These dragonstones are of similar composition to that corundum,’ Cedric explained. ‘It is all about establishing a connection between us and them. They will also need some
dragon’s blood and some herbs and toxins found in the forest.’

‘Two questions, Cedric.’ Morgan replied. ‘First, is that a real unpolished ruby?’

‘Yes.’

‘You could pretty much buy a baronetcy for that.’

‘It has far more value here, don’t you think? It is not healthy to see everything in terms of crowns, ducats and pennies, and it will not avail you here.’ Cedric looked at
Morgan closely.

‘I agree, Cedric; I have seen what money can do to people.’

‘Good,’ said Cedric, his voice echoing in the hollow surroundings. ‘And your second question?’

‘Dragon’s blood. Where by all the gods does one obtain dragon’s blood?’

‘I shall answer that,’ said Terath. ‘When we moved to Seyavanion eight hundred years ago we brought with us many magical components, often collected at great cost. Many of
these components have perished over the years, despite our best efforts, but the dragon’s blood, powdered as it is, has survived all this time; we should only need a small amount
hopefully.’

Dirthen and Astania were adding further items to the bowl – dried leaves and some clear liquids poured from small stopper-topped bottles. A light steam started to rise from the bowl.
Terath then stood over it and pulled out another bottle from the folds of his robe.

‘Here it is – the blood of a dragon.’ He shook the tiniest amount of red dust from the bottle on to the water’s surface. As Morgan watched, the surface of the water
turned the deepest scarlet, and the steam coming from it intensified.

‘Now we are ready,’ Terath whispered.

The three elves kneeled around the bowl and started to slowly chant. Morgan looked across at Cedric, to see if he understood any of it, but was met by a shrug of incomprehension. The chant was
slow and sonorous, echoing off the cave wall like the drone of some giant bee. It seemed to gain in volume and power, as though it was not being chanted by a mere three elves but by a whole choir,
full voiced and throaty. It was starting to make his head sore when, suddenly, the ruby at the centre of the bowl started to pulsate a deep throbbing crimson. Terath stopped chanting.

‘It has started. I am unsure as to what happens next but at least one of you keep an eye on the lake!’

Morgan craned his neck to look but saw nothing on its shimmering surface. Cedric stood, so he could see the entire vista, but he, too, gave no indication of anything untoward.

This continued for some time, the deep chant, the ruby throbbing like a beating heart, steam from the bowl rising as a column up to the cave ceiling, but there was nothing to observe, either on
the lake or elsewhere. Itheya said they did not expect success, he thought. Then, though, Cedric gave an excited squeak.

‘Look! Over there!’ he pointed at the lake’s surface. Terath followed the man’s finger, as did Morgan.

He saw nothing at first; the shine on the lake meant his eyes were constantly readjusting. But then there it was, like a painting, a painting that moved. It was a man’s open hand, and at
its centre was a red stone, pulsing just as the one in the bowl was. The vision moved, pulling away from the hand and turning until the face and upper body of the man could be seen.

‘Ugh,’ said Morgan. It was a horrible sight. The man wore a tattered black robe and his skin was waxy and pale. His open mouth appeared to be black inside and Morgan could not see
any teeth or tongue. It was the eyes that drew him, though – they were enormous lifeless orbs of pure darkness, without whites or iris, and appeared to be weeping a substance from the corners
which ran freely down over the waxy skin.

‘What, by all the Gods, is that?’ breathed Cedric.

The vision pulled backwards further and further till the man creature was but a tiny distant feature. They were looking at a wide lake, its impenetrable waters whipped by the wind and glittering
in the winter sun. Beyond the lake lay miles and miles of reeds and rushes covering a land bereft of hill and mountain, in which only rare clusters of trees broke up the level horizon. Then from
the lake rose a great beast, a colossal serpent bearing the tiniest of wings, putting Morgan immediately in mind of the golden dragon they had presented to Cenarazh about a week ago. It plunged
again, disappearing beneath the surface and leaving a colossal wave in its wake that broke over the reed beds, briefly submerging them and sending the water birds into the air eager to escape the
inundation. Then the vision disappeared.

They waited a little longer for something else to happen. Eventually another image appeared; this one, however, was too dim to make out clearly.

‘Something is blocking it,’ muttered Terath.

All they could see was shadow. There was the vaguest outline, a woman maybe, but it was very indistinct.

With a frustrated growl Terath removed the stopper from his bottle and added another pinch of red powder to the bowl. He and the other elves restarted their chant, increasing the power of their
voices. As Morgan and Cedric watched, a clearer picture started to appear. It was a girl, thin, lightly freckled with long light-brown hair and large sensitive eyes. She wore an expensive dress and
a beautiful green brooch pinned at her bosom. The vision swung to that of a great grey cliff crested with scores of ruined stone towers.

‘The City of Light!’ breathed Cedric.

They were looking at the girl again; she was looking puzzled and put her hand to her chest. Morgan made a mental note of every detail of her face and clothing, then the vision started to fade,
becoming shadowy and indistinct again, until finally it was gone. They kept looking and looking but nothing returned. Terath and the elves stopped chanting and the pillar of steam petered out.
Morgan looked at the bowl. All it contained were a few dried shrivelled leaves, everything else, including the ruby, had completely disappeared.

‘Well, what do we make of all that?’ asked Cedric. It was a half-hour later. All five of them had left the cave and were eating a lunch of flatbread, berries and
jenessa
in the small clearing outside.

‘I think we have been successful,’ said Terath. ‘Unfortunately we have been far more successful than we had a right to be. Everything that we saw in the lake indicates a
terrible truth.’

‘What truth is that?’ said Morgan. ‘We saw a man creature and a snake dragon on a lake, and a young girl and this ruined city Cedric knows so well. What does that tell
us?’

‘The ceremony was designed to locate a dragonstone; we thought it would not succeed because the stones are dormant and we could locate them only at a relatively short distance anyway. The
strange man we first saw was holding one in his hand. It was an active stone, Morgan, and he has raised a dragon with it.’ Cedric sounded concerned. ‘The only question is
where?’

‘The only landscape like that around Tanaren would be in the Endless Marshes. There are other marshes in the country but those seemed to be going on for ever. It could be nowhere else.
Perhaps that is why we have heard nothing about it so far.’

‘The other vision of Atem Sezheia and the girl was strange. Something was blocking it. I needed to draw on more power to make the image clear,’ said Terath.

‘But the City of Light is at the other end of the country to the Marshes, if the Marshes it were,’ said Cedric. He scratched his head.

‘Then there are two stones,’ said Terath. ‘We saw no dragon with the second set of images, so the process must be at an early stage. Remember the face of the girl, but for the
time being it is the Marshes that are our immediate concern. Your war is not important compared to what we have seen. There is a raised dragon; it could kill more than the greatest army you could
muster. No matter the result of the
krasa
, we three will ride with you when you leave. This creature has to be stopped and the answer to how this can be done lies in the script on the tooth;
I am convinced of it.’

‘So only we can stop it?’ said Morgan disconsolately. He continued to eat the bread but, despite its freshness and the delicacy, it tasted like wood pulp in his mouth.

In the midst of the Aelthenwood, almost at its geographical centre, was a tall hill. No trees grew upon it; rather it was covered in long sweet grass from its base to its
crown. It was flat-topped and, if one stood atop it, the entire Aelthenwood could be surveyed – east and west an unbroken line of trees with the jagged snow-capped mountains to the south and
a grey swathe of sea to the north. It was a view with no equal in the forest but to its inhabitants it held a far greater significance. It was the political heart of the country of the elves.

The location of the
krasa
.

In total some fifteen tribes, their leaders and retinue had gathered there. It was the morning of the second day and the tribes were voting. It had been an exhausting time for Itheya and her
brother, who had accompanied her. She had opened the debate with a long and impassioned speech and, once that was over, had spent the rest of the day and half of the night going from tribe to tribe
– cajoling, persuading, bullying, haranguing and begging – in an attempt to sway them all to see her point of view. Now she was to find out if her efforts had been rewarded. At the
centre of the hill was a large stone plinth which had been carved with many figures of beasts and birds with elves pursuing them with bow and spear. Time and the elements had worn many of these
figures almost smooth and many of the subtleties of design created by the original craftsmen had been destroyed. Its function then as now, though, had remained unchanged. For at its centre was a
hole under which was a deep bowl-shaped recess and it was into here that the votes had been cast. The elves used wolf claws and teeth as tokens, claws being yes votes and teeth no votes. The man to
count them was a member of the Rengereth tribe, deemed to be as neutral in this case as it was possible to be. Itheya had expected her brother to argue against casting all ten of their votes in
favour of the proposal but he had not said a word against it.

‘In this, I shall not stand against you. I know how much it means to you, even if it does look like you stand foursquare with the humans.’ This was in the hour before dawn when she
had just finished speaking to everyone and was hoping for an hour or two’s sleep. She was just grateful for his response and could not be bothered asking for the reasoning behind it.