The Forgotten War (88 page)

She twisted her neck to see him. ‘Are you sure? It is no trouble for me really.’ Despite her protestations, there was the slightest tinge of relief in her voice.

‘Yes, your horse needs a rest from me, if nothing else.’

As they waited for Cedric’s horse to be brought up, Terath spoke to Cedric.

‘I could not sleep last night, so I ended up studying the tooth inscriptions by the light of a glowstone.’

‘Figure out anything new?’

‘A little more, though it just confirmed what we already have discussed. Dragons, or at least summoned dragons, do not come alone it seems. Each type has at least one ... um ... what it
calls a thrall, an under-species, creatures that follow the dragon and protect it and may even do its bidding. And for the first time I read something about how the creatures might be killed. It
mentions the use of “opposite force”, whatever that means, and suggests that the death of the summoner, the breaking of the bond, will drive the creature away, panicked and desperate
– either that, or turn it into a crazed monster desperate for vengeance. The script is often a little ambiguous!’

‘I would call that a very good night’s work,’ said Cedric. ‘At last things become clearer. We still have a strategy to plan to deal with these creatures,
though.’

‘If I am able,’ Terath said, ‘I will head south to these marshes. I would hope for an escort at least, but that is up to our commanders.’

‘Of course, you will have an escort,’ Itheya snapped, ‘but now is not the time to discuss the matter. We are ready to move. Prepare yourself. No one wants to stay in here
longer than they have to.’

No one disagreed with her and very shortly they were on the move again. Itheya was in the lead, accompanied by a couple of young warriors whose names Morgan didn’t know. Now and then she
would give her orders to them and they would drop back to convey the orders to the column. The two humans, along with Terath, Dirthen and Astania, followed closely behind. The path was fairly clear
and progress was good, but Morgan had never wanted to feel a breeze on his face more than he did now. The air was cloying and still and sweat ran down everybody’s faces, backs and legs like a
river. Cedric was beginning to flag and Astania who was closest to him laid her hands on him, perking him up a little. It was obvious, though, that he was in poor shape; he was stooped over his
horse and his tremor was there for all to see. Morgan came over to him.

‘Quite the journey, eh,’ he said. ‘If the Gods are with us, we should be out fairly soon; here let me take your reins, you only need to concentrate on staying on the thing
then.’

Cedric gladly assented and on they went. Morgan guessed they were quite a way past noon when the ground started to get more uneven. There were slopes and dips and a fair bit of scree scattered
everywhere. Morgan’s heart started to sink when he saw this, but Itheya was strangely encouraged.

‘We are close now; maybe an hour at the most.’

Her enthusiasm seemed to pass down the line and Morgan noticed everyone seemed to put a spurt on. Half an hour passed when they came to the highest slope they had seen so far, fairly steep and
maybe twenty feet high, directly in front of them. Itheya’s horse practically skipped up it and, when she had reached its highest point she stopped and called to all those behind her.
‘
Drese za Tanteshfor!
’

Looking behind him, he saw the elves raise their banners. Unlike the broad rectangular banners he was used to seeing these were more like large pennants, triangular and held on very high poles.
He saw the green-and-gold Morioka banner and at least a dozen others. Most had a plain but brightly coloured background with an animal as the emblem. He saw a bear, a fox and osprey, several other
birds, and even an enormous silver fish. Itheya looked at him. She was smiling.

‘For the first time in many generations our banners will be seen south of the mountains. ‘
Za Aelvetheth!
’

It was a cry taken up by the whole host. ‘
Za Aelvetheth! Za Aelvetheth ne an tafalna!
’

Itheya sped on, the host following closely. As Morgan crested the hill he saw it, a narrow aperture with a flash of vivid green behind it. The elves started their wolf call, as Itheya, at their
head, disappeared through the gap into the outside world. Morgan, still holding Cedric’s reins, was a little slower but still by his standards almost at a gallop when he, too, finally
broached the clearing. He was in a dip surrounded by brush, a thicket and many tall broad-leaved trees, their branches now almost bare.

‘Give me the reins, my boy; I can take it from here.’ Cedric was smiling with relief. Together the two humans climbed the underbrush and found themselves in the high, mainly pine
woodland that clothed nearly all of the foothills surrounding the Derannen Mountains. Morgan stopped and let the keen breeze cool his face and freeze his undershirt to his back. ‘Home,’
he said quietly to himself.

Itheya was at the head of the host with her standard-bearer next to her. She broke through the last of the trees and found herself on a broad expanse of grassland, a high shelf with a sheer drop
to the rolling blanket of trees underneath. To the west, maybe a mile away through a high gorge in the mountains, spilled a fast-flowing waterfall. A cloud of fine spray cloaked much of it,
including the closely huddled pine trees among which it plunged. A shimmering silver ribbon of a river then sped away through the woods heading away from them. It broke into a clearing and ran a
winding course across a green plain, and, there it was, encircled with a ring of grey stone crowned with battlements. A great human city. Close-packed houses roofed in thatch and slate took up
every inch of space within its encircling wall, except at its centre, where there stood a flat-topped hill with the river dividing and encircling it. On this hill was a great castle. A high tower
stood at each corner and at its centre was a square keep. Unusually for the region it sported a thin central tower, crowned by a conical roof finished in terracotta. From this flew a great flag
bearing the emblem of a brutal-looking mace. After encircling the hill, the river continued on its journey, exiting the city through a large culvert in the western wall. From there it continued
across the plain, before plunging into a dense woodland and disappearing from view. Morgan knew, of course, that after a few miles it would merge with the slower, darker waters of the Vinoyen
before journeying far to the south, past Tetha Vinoyen and Haslan Falls and then into the southern lands, past Sketta and Eburg, before joining the Endless Marshes on its way to the sea.

Gradually the clearing filled with horsemen, banners held proudly aloft. Overhead, the sun broke through the clouds and on to the host of warriors as they assembled together in their tribal
group. The mood had palpably lifted; they were glad to see the daylight once more.

‘Felmere,’ said Morgan, ‘the biggest city in these parts, the biggest in the disputed lands, except perhaps for Roshythe. It is hard to believe that at the outset of the war it
actually fell to the enemy. The gates were open and barely guarded and they just rode in and sacked the place. The occupation barely lasted two days before they fled with their plunder and the city
was retaken. Lessons were learned and the walls strengthened. Since then it has been the bastion against the enemy, the rock on which armies dash themselves. Without Felmere the war may well have
been lost years ago.’

‘I did not expect it to be so grand,’ said Cedric. ‘Granted it is much smaller than Tanaren City, but then so are most places. This is where Baron Felmere is based
then?’

‘Yes, but he is in the field most of the time these days. His family is there, including his boy, Kraven, and his second wife, Mathilde.’

‘His first wife died, I believe,’ said Cedric.

‘Yes, about three years ago, of a sickness. He remarried almost immediately; she is a Lasgaart. There is a disputed town the other side of the river, not Shayer Ridge, but a place called
Skandun and it was deemed the best way to solve matters. They barely see each other because of the war but I think they are perfectly happy with the arrangement.’

Itheya rode over to join them. ‘Well then, guide, whither now? Are we allied with that city, as I believe?’

‘Yes,’ said Morgan, ‘that is Felmere, the place I spoke of yesterday. We cross the plain and head into the woods opposite. There is a road there that leads to the places where
the army is encamped. I have two camps in mind and Baron Felmere could be in either. We will learn of the current situation there.’

‘How long before we get there?’

‘The way you lot ride maybe two days to the first camp, three to the second. When I left he was planning to attack a town on the next river, so I need to learn how those plans went before
I can give you any more specifics.’

‘And what of Terath and his journey south?’

‘I cannot answer yet; I might ask you to divide your force in two, or perhaps he need only have an escort. Let us get to the camp first. There is maybe an hour of daylight left. Let us get
down this hill and camp at the edge of these woods tonight. Tomorrow we can ride past the walls of the city and give them something to talk about until spring arrives.’

Itheya laughed. ‘Those are my orders to give, but I agree with your assessment. We will sound the horns and move on.’

And so they did. There was a steep path to the west of the clearing and this the horses made light work of. They followed the speeding river, passing a couple of woodsmen burning charcoal who
stared open-mouthed at their passing. As the sun went down, they rested up at the edge of the forest looking at the lights of the city, waiting for the dawn when the elves would truly be riding to
war.

Baron Zlaton Eburg was a fastidious man. He sat behind his high table dabbing his mouth with a thick white cloth, wiping away the residue from the goblet of highly watered wine
from which he had been drinking. A pewter plate sat on the table where he had pushed it; a few thin bones and a film of sticky gravy were all that was left from the meal he had just enjoyed. His
ghostly white face, now clear of any cloying foodstuff, regarded his retainers, servants and soldiers, who, like him, had finished eating and were waiting for any instructions he might give
them.

‘As you know, I have been away a while. The good news is that the military campaign has gone well, better than at any time in the last ten years. This means I have an opportunity to attend
to more domestic matters for there is indeed much to attend to. You may all return to your duties except for Seneschal Carey and Captain Jeffen who will brief me on what needs to be done here. And
you, of course, Mother, you always have a place at my side.’

Sitting to his left, clad in layers of black velvet and buried under an enormous felt hat of indeterminate shape, was a woman of greatly advanced decrepitude. Her face seemed minute under her
clothing and was a sea of wrinkles broken only by two sunken black eyes and a wafer-thin line of painted red that approximated to lips. She put a withered hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn.

‘Yes, my dear; we always help each other when we can.’

The crowd gradually dispersed until just a handful of people remained. Eburg surveyed those present then beckoned to a nearby servant.

‘Send in Brother Cornelius, so that we may have spiritual guidance in our sundry deliberations.’

A short while later the brother arrived. Some two hundred years ago a split had occurred within the Artoran Church. A group of priests in Chira, seeing the current church as decadent and self-
absorbed, hailed the formation of a new organisation, the Fellowship of Righteous Adherents to the Church’s High Tenets. The FRACHT, or the Frach Brotherhood as it was called, was initially
denounced as heretical, but given the phenomenal number of converts in its first twenty years of existence the sheer impracticality of burning thousands and thousands of ordinary people led the
official church to swiftly realign its position. As a consequence, the Brotherhood was given official status, allowed to preach the words of the Divine Pantheon and build its own places of worship.
Within fifty years there was little to differentiate it from the main church and the same accusations of decadence and indolence were beginning to be levelled at it, too. As far as Tanaren was
concerned, the new church found its most receptive ears in the east of the country. From the monastery of Frach Menthon it preached its values of piety, humility and self-sacrifice, winning many
converts in the area, although whether these ideals were actively practised by the congregation was arguable. The distinctive features of the Brotherhood were the tonsured head and the all-white
hessian robe. All new brothers were required to hand-inscribe their own copy of the Book of Artorus which they were then to wear fixed to a chain around their neck for twenty-three hours a day.
Many of them went further, showing their piety by binding their books in iron and making them as large as possible. Brother Cornelius was a case in point – his book was encased in metal with
a bulky lock, causing him to walk with a permanent stoop. He also affected a shuffling gait, such also being seen as a sign of humility.

He stood next to Eburg now, reciting the Prayer of Artorus, one slightly adapted from the official prayer, something the Brotherhood was wont to do. Once he had finished the Baron and his
mother, along with Carey and Jeffen, seated themselves at the great table. Cornelius remained standing; he would only sit for a maximum of one hour a day, slept on a bed of stone and once a week
would flagellate himself with birch branches. The Book of Artorus made no reference to the virtue of pain and suffering but it had never stopped the Brotherhood from seeing permanent discomfort as
the state best suited for bringing one closer to the Gods.

Eburg said his own silent prayer then addressed his audience.

‘It is good to see all of you again. As you know it has been a difficult few months for us. My good lady wife still wears black and refuses to leave her room and I am still excluded from
Baron Esric’s more secret counsels. I have determined that the best course of action for all of us is to draw as little attention to ourselves as possible; maybe some months in the future the
transgressions of my son may be forgiven and things can return to as close to normal as is possible in such straitened times.’