The Forgotten War (123 page)

‘No!’ Astania admonished, unable to gauge whether Dominic was jesting or not. ‘He needs rest, lots of it; I do not have the skill to control the pain sufficiently. Only time
will heal him fully.’

‘I agree. I was not being wholly serious, madam,’ said Dominic, still unsure exactly how to address an elf. ‘Do not fear, Morgan, Mathilde and the seneschal run the castle far
better than you anyway. I and General Mirik are overseeing the defences and Reynard will be here in a day or two to help. Listen to the Wych lady, for she speaks the truth and has rarely left you
alone. Lucky to survive and lucky in healing indeed! It seems the Gods are looking out for you specifically.’

‘Then you must be very tired, my dear,’ Morgan croaked. ‘Thank you, you have saved my life. Feel free to go and rest whenever you feel the need.’

‘Your religious sisters have helped greatly,’ said Astania. ‘I could not have done this alone; your injuries were too severe. We thought on many occasions that your spirit
would be called from you but you are a strong man, just as the Lady Itheya thought. Your fever was worrying but it has subsided now. However, I doubt if your hand will ever be quite as it
was.’

Cheris broke in at that point. ‘Your burn, I am sorry. I had to do something and had barely a second to decide. It was a powerful spell and one I had never really used before. You will be
scarred, I am afraid.’

‘Better scarred than dead,’ said Morgan. ‘And I have plenty of them already; it is just another for my collection. You all seem to have played a part in saving me. When I have
more strength I will thank you all properly.’

‘I still do not understand’ said Mathilde, her brow wrinkling, ‘why that girl assassin’s head is not on a pike at the city gates. I still do not know why you have spared
her.’

‘She hasn’t piqued your curiosity? The fact that she is a woman, for a start.’

‘There are more women assassins than you may think,’ said Mathilde. ‘Nobody notices them so they can infiltrate anywhere.’

‘But they tend to be subtle, using poison or such like. This girl was a warrior; I saw her fight. She took on four men without flinching. And her accent when she spoke to me; she is a long
way from home. So why is she here? She has questions to answer for certain. Where is she now?’

‘In the oubliette, manacled to the wall. No one has touched her, as per your instructions.’ Mathilde’s disapproval was obvious.

Cedric, who had obviously been itching to speak, interjected at this point.

‘There is a book in the library upstairs. I suspected I knew who or what she is and reading it confirmed it for me.’ He held up a tome that had obviously been resting in his lap.
‘She is...’

‘A Kozean assassin,’ said Morgan, his voice strengthening with use. ‘You hear of such things in the army. Leave me the book, my friend. I can read it while I recover. And
before anyone says anything, I aim to be up and about before the week is up. Dominic may have been partly joking, but I need to be seen to be alive by as many people as possible as soon as
possible.’

Mathilde was about to object, but a look from Morgan stopped the words on her tongue. ‘As you wish’ was all she could manage. Astania, too, looked less than happy but kept her own
counsel.

Morgan kept to his schedule, too. He read Cedric’s book to alleviate his boredom and slowly began doing some exercise. Two days after he first woke he eased himself out
of his bed and slowly started to pace up and down the room. The following day he was faster and stronger and even more so the day after that. His torso protested at his every move and Astania and
the sisters of Meriel fretted every time he told them he wanted to start walking, but they let him do as he wished; they knew how important this was to him.

After five days, and with the aid of a stick, he felt he could go anywhere. Accompanied by Astania and Mathilde he left his room, walked through the long draughty hallways, down the stairs and
out of the gate of the keep into the courtyard. In truth, it was too much for him. Every step hurt him far more than he let on and his left shoulder felt sticky; he guessed it was bleeding
again.

Word spread fast and his promenade garnered a lot of attention from servants, soldiers and the minor nobles that lived in the castle. He ended up surrounded by well-intentioned well-wishers who
ended up impeding his progress. In the end he stopped, gave them a speech thanking them for their concern, and said he was getting better every day, something that wasn’t exactly true at that
moment in time. After sending them all on their way, he made his slow progress to the back of the courtyard, a place in constant shadow as it adjoined the dark rock of the north wall. It was a
neglected part of the castle, its uneven cobbles covered in moss with fragments of rotten wood and loose chippings of stone strewn here and there. It was obviously a place that needed to be swept
clean, but no one in the castle had the time or inclination to do such a thing. It had only one feature of note, and the only things that gave its presence away were a trapdoor of dark partially
rotten wood and the tiniest metal grille that had replaced one of the floor cobbles. The trapdoor opened on to a series of broad cracked steps that led down into a dark dank hole, a haunt for rats,
seeping water and oppressive darkness.

The oubliette.

A couple of guards stood close by, their boredom reflected by their hunched shoulders and glazed expressions. They perked up instantly when they saw their baron inching towards them, attempting
to curtail his grimace with a not too convincing smile.

‘My Lord, you are well. It is heartening to see you.’

‘Thanks.’ He nodded at the trapdoor. ‘She’s down there?’

‘Yes, my Lord, manacled to the wall.’

‘I thought you never used this place.’

‘We rarely do, my Lord; we keep it for the worst scum and criminals. We couldn’t kill her as you told us not to, but we thought it best to keep her down there. She gets some bread
and water fed to her daily but she has been chained down there since she attacked you.’

‘Over a week?’

‘Yes, my Lord, nearer two.’

He nodded slowly. ‘Nearer two.’ he said to himself.

He turned back to the guards. ‘One of you get a torch and come with me; I wish to speak with her,’

One of the guards left to do his bidding, Morgan turned to the ladies with him.

‘I will not be long. Wait here, if you wish.’

‘I will carry the torch,’ said Mathilde. ‘This is my castle and I can go where I wish within it. I wish to see this she-demon for myself.’

‘It will not be pleasant.’

‘I care not.’ She folded her arms.

‘And you are bleeding again,’ said Astania. ‘I need to look at that shoulder.’

‘When I return to my rooms you can minister to me to your heart’s content.’

One guard returned with the burning torch as requested; the other pulled the chain free of the door and lifted it with a loud creak. A noisome smell rose from the dark pit now exposed. Mathilde
wrinkled her nose.

But she was not deterred. Holding the torch high, she started down the steps, Morgan alongside her. They were high and uneven so they descended with great care. The door was kept open so they
had light in the initial stages, but as they gained the bottom it was only the yellow flame of the torch that gave any illumination.

No more steps – they were at the bottom. Mathilde swished the torch around, giving them both a brief vision of moss-encrusted walls and a floor lined with black straw and standing puddles
of water. Around them they heard a chittering sound and the scurrying of many tiny bodies and feet.

‘Ugh, rats!’ said Mathilde. ‘And what is that smell?’ She moved away from the wall where a large cobweb threatened to snag her hair.

‘It is probably me,’ came a clear voice out of the darkness. ‘I am rather restricted as to where I can empty my bladder among other things. Of course, if you killed me, the
problem would be solved for us all.’

Morgan and Mathilde exchanged glances and took a few steps forward until the torchlight fell on to the source of the voice.

Both of them had expected to see a bedraggled sunken-eyed waif chained to the wall. Granted, her clothes were torn and filthy and dirt streaked her face and bare arms. She was standing on a
stone plinth, raising her a foot or so above the floor and her arms stretched above her, her wrists secured by metal bands. But her eyes were proud and defiant and she still managed to have a
certain bearing about her, one not diminished by being forced to stand around her own excrement for all this time.

Morgan met her gaze, though; a thousand thoughts and questions entering his head all at once. The girl spoke again.

‘So, you have seen me. Can you kindly cease your gloating and finish me off now? You are one lucky man by the way – mages
and
cats. You chose your friends wisely.’

‘Maybe,’ said Morgan. ‘Or maybe you are just a bad assassin.’

‘Tell that to your predecessor.’

Her head was over a foot above his but he still struck her hard with his good hand. She turned her head back to look at him; she seemed to enjoy the experience, for she was smiling. ‘Now
will you kill me?’

‘I don’t see why not,’ said Mathilde. ‘Tell me, you disgusting creature – for I cannot believe you really are a woman – do you enjoy what you do? Killing
people, destroying their families, leaving their children without parents? Enjoy being a disgrace to your sex? Morgan, just kill this creature and be done with it; she is little more than a
monster.’

‘An interesting word,’ the girl replied. ‘I think you are letting your feelings for my target cloud your judgement. Say, rather, that we all have duties to fulfil in our lives
and this is mine. I am given a name, a description and details of guards or whatever else might hinder my efforts. Nothing else is known to me – children, parents, or lovers in the case of
you two – none of this is relevant for my task.’

‘We are not lovers,’ said Mathilde indignantly.

‘Are you not? I shall rephrase it then – would-be lovers – for I feel at least one of you wishes it were the case.’

‘You have quite the mouth on you,’ said Morgan. ‘Perhaps we should nail your tongue to the wall.’

‘As you wish, it would be easier to kill me, though.’

‘Why are you so desperate to die?’ asked Mathilde.

‘It is the price of failure. Your man lived, so my life is forfeit. I would ask that when you kill me you make it quick, but in truth I am entirely at your mercy in that regard.’

Mathilde turned to Morgan. ‘Just give her what she wishes; we are wasting our time here and the smell gets no better.’

‘No,’ said Morgan. ‘There are still many things to discuss with her; I agree, though, that this is not the place for it. Tell me, my erstwhile assassin, what is your
name?’

‘An odd request – is it important? Still, I suppose it doesn’t matter if you know. It is Syalin, if the matter interests you.’

‘Are you Chiran?’

‘Now that would be telling.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Morgan. ‘I know you are not Chiran. I know more about you than you think. I am transferring you to a cell in the keep’s small prison. It
usually houses nobles who commit crimes against their baron, so, as you can imagine, it is nicer than this place. I will see you again in a couple of days.’

Back in the courtyard, Morgan called a guard over as Mathilde handed her torch to the other one still on duty.

‘Transfer her to the keep’s prison. She is dangerous so keep her wrists bound and on a chain. Give her some freedom, though; I want her to be able to move around a little if only to
clean herself up. Oh and burn her clothes and sluice her down; she smells like a tannery in high summer. Give her a linen robe or something, something simple like the sisters of Meriel wear. One
other thing, I saw her bodice had been partly unlaced; I am not accusing you but somebody has been putting their hands where they do not belong; see that no one does it again. Now, I need to get
back to my rooms.’

Morgan’s strength was failing, and Astania and Mathilde had to provide much assistance to get him back to his bed; once there, he collapsed on to it, falling into sleep even as Astania
went to remove his bloodied bandages.

He woke again in darkness, the room being lit by a mere couple of candles. He was angry at his infirmity and the restrictions it imposed upon him. He sighed in his frustration and it was only
then that he noticed a figure sitting by his bed.

‘I leave you on your own for a few days and you end up full of more holes than a sponge. I really do wonder how you managed to stay alive before you met me.’

Morgan laughed softly and shook his head. ‘Hello, Itheya; where is Astania?’

‘I have sent her away. She needed rest. She told me you have some very impressive scars, though she would not say exactly where they are to be found. It is late in the evening; everyone is
abed. I said I would stay with you till morning. That low sofa is very comfortable, so I have somewhere to sleep if need be.’

‘I have been hearing that the enemy is greatly afeard of you; you keep sending us their supply wagons, which is very considerate of you, what with it being winter and the constant threat
of besiegement and everything. So why have you come to visit this invalid when things are going so well?’

‘I will tell you shortly. First, tell me where the head is of this woman that tried to kill you? I wish to pay it some disrespect.’

‘It’s still attached to her neck for now; she may be of more use alive than dead. That is something I need to determine.’

Itheya’s eyes were raised to the ceiling. ‘You are too soft. If she had done that to me, her death would be long and painful. I cannot see what “use” she can be to you
alive.’

Morgan levered himself up a little so he could see her a little better, though she was still mostly a silhouette to him. ‘I tell you what, you do the fighting and I will do the politics.
This girl is from a country opposed to the one that backs the people you have been fighting. So why is she here? Trust me – I need to find out.’