The Forgotten War (161 page)

Cheris finally found the courage to look up. Trask’s voice was cutting through her like a hot rapier. Her heart was pounding and her brain throbbed in her skull, making it feel like her
head might explode. As she looked at Morgan, though, she felt aghast. He appeared to be actually going over Trask’s words. considering them carefully. He couldn’t. Surely he
couldn’t.

‘You are suggesting a country of equals?’ Morgan spoke quietly.

‘A country where everyone is born equal, yes. But thereafter merit takes over, the strong will always preside over the weak. It is the law of the Gods.’

‘I am not so sure of that,’ said Morgan. ‘And what of your bastards? You have many after all; would you use your position to set them above other men, or would only their
capabilities see them rise as high as you?’

Trask smiled. ‘I care not for my bastards. They are on their own.’

‘Calvannen is a baron. Would he give up his title for you?’

‘Yes, his status would be undiminished as a general and he can rule the south as he sees fit. He knows I have no interest in it.’

Morgan looked at Dominic, who looked concerned. If Morgan was to turn, what would happen to him? Cheris felt the tension like a tightly pulled cord, close to snapping. She had made such a
mistake coming out here; just the sight of Trask, arrogant as ever, brought it all flooding back – the glade, his breath, his strength, the smell of leather and the pain inside her as she lay
helpless, pathetic under him. And now Morgan was thinking of joining him, a betrayal worse than any as she had trusted him so. She felt her magic stir within her; she may have to kill again, just
to survive here. Whatever happens, she thought, Trask would be first.

She was pulled from her reverie by the most unexpected of sounds – Morgan was laughing.

‘You were close, Trask; I give you that. In many ways your plan is laudable. What loyalty do I have to the Grand Duke? A man who has waited years before deigning to join us out here, who
cared nothing for us until his own duchy started to wobble? You are right, I should owe him no loyalty at all. And who among us would be disappointed to see barons disappear? Then, though, you all
went terribly wrong. I thought you were proposing a system like they have in Crown Haven, where people cast lots on issues that affect them. Instead you are suggesting replacing one set of powerful
rapacious men with another set of powerful rapacious men, a set that happens to include you. And try as I might, I cannot see you sharing power with anyone, least of all me, against whom you have
fought on more than one occasion. Your offer is considered and refused. Bring your army on. Let the Gods decide who is right in this issue. No one behind those walls fears you.’

If Trask was disappointed, he gave no sign. ‘Well, the offer has been made; I could do no less. I thank you, too, for letting me see that you have a sorceress on your side. I suspected as
much when my men did not return. If you have not yet had her, I recommend that you try. She squirms most entertainingly and uses some musk behind her ears.’ He looked over at her, his smile
broad and cruel.

At last she found her voice, though she wished she sounded stronger.

‘We will not see each other again,’ she said, this time looking directly at him. ‘But I want you to know that even had Morgan accepted your proposal, it would have meant
nothing. For you will die soon. You will die and I want you to know that it will be me that kills you. Remember that as you look upon your death. When you join this Fenchard at the furnace, know
that it is I who has put you there, for I will have my vengeance upon you, no matter the cost.’

Her terse, angry words provoked a response. ‘Listen to you! You would think what was done to you was unique, that there was something special about you. Let me make it clear to you:
outside of your ability as a conjuror, you are nothing extraordinary, a skinny girl who somehow thinks herself better than others, who thinks that what happened to her gives her some righteous
authority in her pursuit of revenge. Time to disabuse yourself of such notions, my girl. You are not remarkable. The women in this land are well used to being treated in this way. It has happened
to most of them and on more than one occasion. The difference is that the women here are tough. They take their punishment and get on with life; they don’t whine and bleat about it like a
spoiled child brought up among books, never having to lift a finger. You should learn from them. Have you ever seen your children with no food in their bellies? Heard that your man is coming back
from the war crippled and cannot provide for you, just another mouth to feed. You are cosseted, pampered, privileged with an education denied to most. Stop contemplating your own misery and think
of those who make something of themselves, despite having none of your advantages.’

Her horse stirred, sensing her suppressed fury. ‘And hear how you justify what you have done! You make it sound as if you are helping these women by servicing them! Well, I promise you
that you are not; they will all rise to thank me when they hear of your demise. Your days in this world are numbered, Trask, that I swear.’

Trask’s smile remained. ‘I had forgotten your temper. I remember that was the best thing about you. I imagine after we had finished it took you some time before you could sit
anywhere, let alone on a saddle. I tell you again, Morgan, give her a go; she is most obliging. There is no part of her body to which you are denied access, if you push hard enough.’

‘Enough!’ Morgan spoke firmly, his voice raised. He could see Cheris reddening and lowering her head so that her hair covered her face. ‘We are done here; there is nothing more
to discuss. Goodbye, Trask, see you on the furnace.’ He started to turn his horse.

‘One more thing,’ said Trask. ‘You may match me man for man but your city walls will be hard to defend. I will show no mercy when I breach them, I will kill you and your
knights and take the blonde for my woman. Imagine our children, assassin; nothing could stand against them. Farewell, Morgan, you have missed your chance.’

He spurred his horse around and was gone with his men, their hooves clattering on the hard ground. ‘I wait with bated breath,’ Syalin whispered softly at his retreating back. It was
done. They turned and rode back to the city, knowing that siege was the only possible outcome now. Morgan hoped that the stark and frowning rock walls of Felmere had the durability to withstand it,
for he doubted that he had it within him to achieve such a task.

From the quarterdeck of the galleon
Saint Dunventia
Duke Nicholas Hartfield beheld the rocky promontories and austere bluffs of the island of Osperitsan and reflected on
the events of the last few days. He remembered being woken from his deep slumber in his cabin to be told that his ship was under attack, that men with incendiaries had climbed aboard unseen and
that the deck had been ablaze before anyone had any time to react. It had been true: there was no way the fire could be extinguished before irreparable damage had been done to the vessel. He
oversaw the evacuation of the crew until the ship’s captain told him that the last boat was for him. He climbed on board with the last of the ship’s complement, leaving only the captain
behind – to what fate he did not know, though he could guess.

Then, as they headed to the harbour, they came under fire from archers on the wall. With men dying or falling injured all around him he grabbed an oar himself and helped to turn the vessel
around, towards the open sea. After hugging the coast all night, praying that the vessel would not snag on rocks and be holed, they were fortunate enough to be picked up by a ship that had decided
that the harbour was too dangerous for them and would be heading instead for the secure port of Thakholm.

Treachery. He had little inkling in his visit to Wulfthram and his daughter that plots against the Duchy were afoot or indeed so advanced. The scale of the rebellion and its perpetrators did not
become known to him until he reached Thakholm, listened to the gossip and secured a vessel to catch up with the fleet.

And then Baron Skellar came to see him and showed him that letter.

He was proud of all four of his children. His son, lordly and capable, a knight and leader of men and one also mooted as a future grand duke should Leontius fail to produce an heir. His two
eldest daughters, born within a year of each other and close as sisters could be. Both had married well and made him a proud grandparent. They took after their mother in looks but were far quicker
to laughter than she, never having been burdened with the onerous responsibilities of being the matriarch of the Duchy’s second family.

And then his fourth child had come along.

She was so small when she was born; he had never thought that she would survive. But she did, and he soon saw why. For all her slightness and delicacy she was a tough little thing. When she had
colic she would screw her tiny face up and fight it every inch of the way. As she grew, she would like to walk on the edge of cliffs or climb rocks on the beach. Such adventure worried him as a
parent and as a result he swaddled her, protected her, forbad her from risking herself, for she was precious to him; he realised with no little guilt that he loved her more than his other
children.

And then she grew up. Grew into a playful, capricious young woman with a wicked sense of humour and, like him, a predilection towards occasional bouts of deep melancholia. Of all his children
she was the one most like him.

And now, so it seemed, he had lost her. Lost her to some ancient magic that he did not fully understand. Her letter showed she had been tormented by it for some time. And he had known nothing
about it for she had never told him. With her marriage, something he had argued long and hard with Leontius over with little success, she had been taken from him and sent to the other end of the
country. Now in all probability she was gone for good. Her letter stated that she was giving herself up to these forces; she would change, and if strange phenomena were soon sighted in the area,
then she had succeeded and would not return to human society again. It was a cryptic letter; it seemed that she was unsure herself what would happen but the whole thing read like one of those
missives left by those desperate people for whom life had become nothing but a terrible burden and who wished to be rid of it by their own hand. Despite all the evidence, he still hoped against
hope that when he returned to Thakholm she would be standing there, smiling, just as she used to when he used to ride back to Edgecliff, with the gifts she used to love receiving.

He was not allowed to dwell on such things for long, though, for – as the dawn of his first day back at sea broke – three things happened.

The first was the sighting of his fleet and, within the hour and with dawn’s red flare coating the tranquil ocean, he had boarded the new flagship and was discussing matters with the
Admiral. Both men had fought battles at sea before, against corsairs from Kudreya and Fash so were well versed in procedure, the Admiral would command the ships and he would have overall command of
the marines. It was the way things were done in Tanaren.

The second thing happened shortly after. A cry went up from one of the faster ships at the head of the fleet followed by a flurry of flag signals from several ships in front of them. The
Kudreyans had been sighted.

The fleet of Tanaren had some thirty-six vessels, five great galleons, fifteen sturdy carracks, with the remainder being swift, lightly armed caravels and other support craft. The Kudreyan fleet
numbered some twenty ships but all of similar size and design. Swift, triple-masted vessels, sleek and deadly, limited in artillery but full of men well versed in hand-to-hand fighting on the
narrow confines of a deck. They would ride through the barrage of missiles as quickly as they could so that they could grapple the enemy and swarm them. And their secret weapon? On the bow of each
ship was a ram, each fashioned from a great tree with a head of metal designed to splinter the hull of their foes. These rams were often shaped into the head of an animal – a wolf, or a bear
or a bull for those that believed in Mytha. They would impale their foes, overwhelm the defences and then either appropriate the captured vessel for themselves or scuttle them. Duke Nicholas felt
that in this case it would be the latter.

On a glass-like sea the battle lines were drawn, the enemy adopting a powerful if unsubtle wedge formation designed to shatter the heart of the fleet while minimising its own vulnerability to
missiles. The fleet of Tanaren sent its swift ships out in two wings, to encircle the enemy and do what longrange damage it could; flaming arrows would be used in the hope of starting fires on the
pirate decks. The galleons and carracks waited, arranged in a line to maximise their firepower, and to swiftly support each other when the Kudreyans got close enough to use their rams. And it was
then that the third thing happened, causing all hope for his daughter to evaporate like mist under a strong sun.

It was heard before it was seen, a number of sharp high-pitched screeches, a sound so strange and unexpected that everyone looked at each other thinking they must have imagined it. Above them
the clouds were low and heavy, flecked with dawn pink and it was through these clouds that they finally came.

He did not know how many there were, for they darkened the sky with their wings; maybe as many as thirty he could not tell. Each one of them had a long snake-like body, broad, bat-like wings and
the head of a reptile, with gleaming red eyes slitted like a cat’s. They had no forelegs, or none that he could see, just two rear legs, short and powerful with four toes each bearing a
colossal scythe-like claw. Their tails extended far behind them and each tail seemed to end in a series of spines extending upwards. As they flew, they screeched, squabbling even with each other
and they got lower and lower in the sky, until all could see that each one was nearly half the length of a carrack, their glistening wet scales of green and black the size of a small shield, their
scaly white underbellies thicker than troll hide and they appeared to be heading for the fleet.