The Forgotten War (180 page)

She seemed grateful. ‘Thank you. And now, brother, your questions, you seem to know the truth. Morgan here definitely does but you seem to be running from it. I am changed. Permanently. I
am bound to a great and noble beast, one that you would call a dragon. The bond is now so great that we cannot be separated for long. Her mind has become like mine and my body a little like hers.
After the wyverns, our servants, defeated the traitors in the west, we came here, to her home. There are so many things, brother, of which we are ignorant. So many things. Under one of those
mountains yonder lies a great and abandoned city. I know not who built it; their statues depict people who may be human but are shorter and squatter. It is dry, warm and there is food there; the
dragon feeds me and it is there I have spent these last months.’

Morgan had a thought. ‘Dominic, put out your torch. The moon is giving us enough light.’

Dominic went and doused both torches in the stream. When he returned he pulled up short, his mouth ajar.

Now they could see it clearly, a red glow from under the cowl – only a soft light but definitely not a natural one. ‘Sister,’ he said, ‘show me.’

For the first time that night she seemed discomfited. ‘My blood,’ she said haltingly, ‘has become as dragon’s blood. There are few other changes in me but I scorch my
clothes now. If truth be told, I rarely wear anything when on my own; it has been weeks since I put on this dress.’

‘Show me,’ Dominic repeated.

‘As you wish. Please remember, though, that I am the same Ceriana, your sister, and in most respects I have not changed.’

As the men watched, she worked off one of her gloves and held up her hand. Her nails had grown thick and yellow – the gloves must have barely fitted her– but her hand, her whole
hand, was translucent. The blood in her veins shone through the skin, glowing a soft luminous roseate pink. Her hand, tiny, frail and delicate, displayed the traceries of the tiniest blood vessels
within; only the bones could not be seen.

And at last she pulled back her cowl.

She had been right, Dominic thought. It was still the same Ceriana, though her hair was now long and wild, even tangled. Her face, though it had the same faint lambency as her hand, was still
undeniably that of his little sister. If anything, the softly effulgent glow within her made her freckles even more dark, prominent and familiar. Unlike her hand, the veins in her face could not be
seen, though the sanguine glare through the skin was the same. Her eyes, though, were no longer the gentle brown ones of his memory – backlit by that eerie glow, they were as two dark pits,
making it appear that she regarded everything with the smouldering intensity of the poet. There was something else about them, too – a yellow gleam, almost reptilian. ‘I feel I have
looked better,’ she said quietly.

Dominic took a step back. ‘Artorus help you, what has happened here? There must be something we can do.’

‘I am a dragon princess, that is all, and no, there is nothing anyone can do about it. I am glad you have seen me like this, however unwilling I may have been to show you. At least you now
know that I cannot go back with you. However, if I concentrate hard I am able to change things, albeit temporarily. Let me try.’

She shut her eyes and exhaled loudly. As the two men stood amazed, the radiance of her skin started to lessen. The blood vessels in her hands disappeared as they became opaque, the crimson
radiance replaced by pale, milky skin. By the time she opened her eyes again she had become Dominic’s little sister. She smiled – a smile tinged with sadness but a smile nonetheless. He
stepped forward and embraced her.

‘I cannot hold this for long,’ she said. ‘Not without much concentration when really I need to use all my strength to speak to you both. I have a gift for each of you, but
before that I need to say something to you, Dominic. Can you tell my sisters that I love them. Tell them that I hope they are winning the war against cake.’

For the first time Dominic laughed. ‘I will, sister.’

‘And tell Mother that I miss her and that she must be strong now that Father is with the Gods.’

Dominic almost choked. ‘Ceriana, you do not know? Father is not dead.’

The girl stopped, stunned. Her mouth fell open dumbly. ‘But I saw his ship...’

‘He escaped. He is still in Osperitsan, mopping up the rebels and restoring order. Him and a Baron Skellar, a friend of yours, I believe.’

‘Not ... dead? Then the Gods have not abandoned us wholly.’

‘Of course not.’

And then Ceriana Hartfield shrank into her brother’s arms and sobbed. Tears of relief and happiness soaked his armour and, as Morgan watched, the radiant glow of her hands and face
returned as her concentration slipped. He watched the two of them silently as the moon shone its full light upon them all. He let time flow past him like the waters of the stream.

Finally she controlled herself, becoming human again. She beamed at them both and could not stop herself.

‘Thank you for that news, brother. I needn’t give you a message for Father, for I think you already know what it will be.’

Dominic nodded slowly.

‘Now, our business is almost at an end. Watch for the sign tomorrow then move on Roshythe leaving the Grand Duke behind. I will be watching. Which just leaves one more thing. Stay
there.’

She turned and walked away for a moment, behind one of the great pines. When she returned she carried a large object that she held out to Morgan.

‘Take this, General Morgan. It is for you.’

He took it from her. Even in the moonlight he could see that it was a sword in a black scabbard. He pulled it out and the blade sang like a nightingale. He held it up to the moon. It gleamed
with a pale radiance that did not come from the light of the moon, as though it was somehow generating light of its own volition. He had never known a sword so light and well balanced, and the
blade itself, covered in complex geometric patterns, alien and unfamiliar, seemed to smoke in his hand. Gingerly, he went to touch it but pulled back immediately as his forefinger was bitten with
cold. He heard the blade hiss slightly.

‘It is some sort of ice sword, a magical blade,’ said Ceriana. ‘I found it in the city. It is a good weapon, yes? Even I had no problem carrying it.’

‘It is,’ said Morgan, looking the blade up and down. ‘I have never wielded a sword like it. Do you not wish for your brother to have it?’

‘No. I have something else for him. Something a thousand times more precious.’

She left them again. This time when she returned she was carrying a bundle in both arms, the bundle appearing to be fashioned out of a lady’s petticoats. She offered it to Dominic, who
nonchalantly took it before pulling the folds of cloth back and gasping in incredulity.

‘She is so beautiful, is she not?’ Ceriana sounded blissful.

Dominic finally showed the bundle to Morgan. At the top centre of the mass of dust-covered cloth was the tiny sleeping face of a baby girl, not a week old.

‘She was born early, I believe. See how small she is. And she seems normal! No glowing blood! No wings! A beautiful, beautiful girl. I thought I would die bringing her into the world and I
cannot lie, it was an agony. But I lay next to the dragon and she comforted me, made me strong and now you can see my little Sofie, only child of Wulfthram and Ceriana. The last few days have given
me a happiness I never thought possible. You are an uncle again, my brother; I hope you can rejoice for us both!’

‘I can, sister. Father will be so proud. But you said you had a gift for me. Surely you do not mean...’

‘But I do, brother. I have to give her away. She can hardly live inside a mountain all her days and, as you have seen, I cannot go back with you. Please do not argue with me. The thought
has torn me apart enough already.’

Morgan broke in. ‘But you have just had a child; you need rest, nursing...’

Ceriana shook her head. ‘I am weakened, yes, but I have strength enough to finish what I must do. You can now see the sacrifices I am making; all I can ask of you is to perform the tasks I
have requested.’

‘But you must come back, sister! We can...’

‘No!’ she shrieked at him, a cry full of pain and anguish. ‘I am lost, brother! I am forsaken! But my redemption lies there in your arms! I have named her and ask that you tell
her of me so that she knows. That she knows the love I have for her and the sacrifice I have made.’

This time it was Morgan who stepped forward and held her. ‘I swear to you we will not let you down. Believe me when I say that I know how it feels to have a child taken away from you; we
are both bonded in that at least. You are an acquaintance of but a few minutes, but I know already that I will never forget you or the pain of your sacrifice. Understand your brother, for he is
grieving for you. In four days we will be at Roshythe where all of our destinies will be settled.’

He wasn’t sure why this girl had moved him so much but there was a purity to her, an honesty and true heartedness that gave credence to this naked display of her inner emotions. He
realised that he was affected in a way that rarely happened these days, not since the war and his own personal loss. Itheya had done it, in the glade that day, and now this strange girl.

Women, he thought, it is always women.

She looked at him; even the returning luminosity of her face could not hide the tears. She nodded, grateful for his words, though unable to speak herself.

‘There are wet nurses at camp,’ said Dominic. ‘I will care for her as one of my own, even more so if that is possible.’

She let Morgan release her and stood before them both. ‘Then it is time I left. I do feel the need for rest. Four days then and we will meet again, though in what circumstances I truly
cannot tell.’

She gave Morgan the lightest of kisses on his cheek, even then her lips were hot to the touch. She then kissed her brother who still seemed in shock and then finally she leant over her child,
who still slept peacefully.

‘Goodbye, little one. They will tell you that you are the link between the north and the capital, the one that can unite the two peoples finally under the blue banner. But never forget
that you are my child and that in these last few days I have loved you enough for a lifetime. And so fare thee well. Be strong, be a Hartfield and remember your duty.’ She put her fingers out
to touch the infant but the emotion must have been too great for her fingers started to rage with colour. She withdrew her hand with a frustrated sigh and instead blew a soft kiss in the
child’s direction. ‘Goodbye, Sofie.’

‘Sofie Ceriana,’ said Dominic.

‘As you wish, brother, as you wish.’

She gave both men one last smile, pulled up her cowl and was gone, leaving both men standing silently, dumb as statues. The only thing that brought them to their senses was the sound of
something great and heavy moving in the trees. There was a crashing of branches and then, silhouetted against the moonlight, they saw it, heading up the mountains, the dragon princess and her
mount, a sight out of children’s tales and legend that induced further awestruck silence from both of them. They watched it get smaller and smaller until it was swallowed up by the night
sky.

‘It is true then,’ said Morgan quietly. ‘What army could stand against that?’

Dominic nodded; his words when they came were thick with emotion..

‘Indeed. Come, let us get the child wrapped up warm and see that she is fed. There is a wet nurse in the camp about to make a fortune out of me.’

They retraced their steps down the mountain side, Dominic in particular treading like a swan walking over a thinly iced pond. Back with the horses, Morgan forestalled Syalin’s exclamation
of surprise on seeing the child.

‘I will tell you back at camp,’ he said. ‘Know you now, though, that I have but one more task for you, one of vital importance, after which you can consider yourself a free
woman, with only obligations to yourself. I will tell you more in the morning for we both have way too much going on in our heads to continue a conversation right now.’

Across the western bank of Lake Winmead, standing among the trees and high grass, five thousand men looked expectantly at the night sky. Morgan had shied away from telling the
men directly about a sign from the Gods, lest they laughed at him. Rather he went and told the priests and the priests dutifully did as he asked. And so the late-afternoon sermon told of a shared
dream of the Baron of Felmere and Dominic Hartfield of the Silver Lances. Artorus had come to them and told them to attack treacherous Arshuma; he would send a sign of their impending victory.
After the sermon Morgan deflected all questions; he had told the priests, he said, because he could scarcely believe it himself, but, if it was true, the sign would be there for them. He did not
join the men at the waterside; rather he returned to the hill between the human and elven camps and looked at the night sky with Itheya and Syalin in tow. The moon was pretty much at its highest
point. If it was going to happen, then it would happen in the next few minutes.

‘There!’ Itheya and Syalin spoke simultaneously, pointing at the same spot in the eastern sky. There it was, a long streak of flame, high in the heavens, at a point where the moon
would cast no light on whatever caused it. A minute or so later it came again, closer to the mountains this time, and then after another minute came a third, final flare. The hubbub and commotion
from the lake side was easy to hear from where they stood.

‘It sounds like it has worked,’ Morgan said calmly. ‘We will be marching in the morning with an army inspired by the zeal of the Gods.’

‘The enemy would have seen the same signs,’ said Itheya.

‘It will not trouble their king,’ said Syalin. ‘He is not lacking in confidence, especially if his army is as large as you have been told. If he takes it as anything, he will
take it as a sign of his own victory.’

Itheya nodded reluctantly, not particularly wanting to agree with the other woman. ‘I should return to my camp.’