The Forgotten War (185 page)

Morgan and the men behind him watched in stunned silence as the dragon flew over the enemy, biting, grabbing, swiping as it did so. When it obviously felt it had done enough, it turned and
headed skyward, even its wing beats knocking men off their feet. And then Morgan saw her, impossibly tiny, clinging to the great beast’s neck and he reproached himself for ever doubting her
words.

The Arshuman line was in abject confusion. The left of the line had been unaffected so far but even they had stopped marching, trying to see exactly what was happening. The right though had
fragmented completely; line discipline had gone and people were milling around in groups seemingly unsure whether to regroup or flee.

Then, as they watched, the dragon turned in the air, dropped its height and came at them again. Any decision they needed to take was made for them there and then.

They scattered like chaff at the beast’s approach, no longer giving thought to anything other than their own survival. A full third of the Arshuman army disintegrated like a seed pod
bursting under a child’s breath. East and west they fled and, once the dragon had passed over them, to unleash its destruction elsewhere, many turned northwards – to the gates of
Roshythe and the sanctuary to be found there.

From one of the high towers in Roshythe Palace the whole battlefield could be surveyed. And it was here that the Arshuman King, sitting in his padded chair with its silk
covered cushions, had chosen to watch his final triumph in this war. And for much of the time he had enjoyed it – the deployment, the sight of his numerically superior force spread out over
the ground, even the charge of his cavalry with their myriad yellow pennants flapping in the stiff breeze.

But all that was forgotten now.

Open-mouthed, he watched in horror as he saw his hopes, dreams, his anticipated victory and even his kingdom evaporate in smoke before his very eyes. There was no coming back from this, he knew,
as he saw fully one flank of his army collapse in utter confusion and terror. Men were running everywhere, throwing away their arms, their shields, even their armour in their haste to escape. In
ten short minutes half his army had gone; it had taken months, months of hard work to assemble, and all for nothing.

Obadrian came up to him, his calm veneer gone the same way as the army.

‘Magic and dragons,’ the King kept hoarsely repeating. ‘Magic and dragons.’

Obadrian gently touched the King on his shoulder, something he would never normally dream of doing. The King started and stared at Obadrian, not recognising him. ‘Magic and dragons! Who
can fight that? Who can possibly fight that?’

‘My King,’ Obadrian said, his voice urgent and panicked. ‘We need to evacuate you, get you away from here out of the side gate and back to your palace in Kitev. When you are
there we can organise you a ship – we can sail to Crown Haven or Fash – but you need to move now!’

The King stared at him, gaping like a fish; he seemed to not know where he was. ‘Your Majesty.’ Obadrian shook him this time. ‘You need to leave now!’

And at last the King came to his senses; he stared around him sweat running in rivers down his brow. ‘Leave. Yes, Obadrian, we have to leave.’

‘Good, Your Majesty; a wagon is prepared.’

The King raised his hand to stop his chamberlain in his tracks. ‘Two things first.’

‘Your Majesty?’

‘The priests, the ones that said the fire in the sky that night was a portent of our victory...’

Obadrian knew what was coming. ‘Yes, Your Majesty?’

‘Bring them with us. When we are clear of here and watched by no one, have them all killed. Quickly and without fuss, but have them killed and buried.’

‘Priests, Your Majesty? And not cremated?’

‘Charlatans one and all, and I want no trace, no smoke, nothing.’

‘As you wish, Your Majesty, and the second thing?’

‘The assassin. She knew. She set this up. Have her killed. Now.’

Obadrian swallowed hard. ‘That might be a little difficult, Your Majesty.’

The king coloured, his eyes glittering in fury. ‘Why?’

‘She has escaped, Your Majesty. Three guards were found dead, their weapons taken; I have men searching...’

‘Forget it! No wonder all this has happened. I am surrounded by incompetents and cretins. Get me out of here. I will go into exile. If the Tanarese don’t get me here, the Chirans
will. But I will come back! I will drag this land back under my control, no matter how long it takes or how much blood is spilled doing it!’

He stood, pushed Obadrian to one side, and stormed out through the doorway. Obadrian ran after him, thankful at least that the King was not giving up. The country they would be fleeing to was a
lot sunnier than here and Obadrian liked the sun. As his father had told him once: on every mud beach was a grain of golden sand. He would cling to that thought as he left this ruin behind.

The mood had shifted from one of utter shock to ecstatic triumphalism among the men of Felmere. Hardened men were whooping with delight as the enemy line started to fall into
complete chaos before them. Morgan, though, was keeping a clear head and he was not the only one. Someone among the Arshumans had the wherewithal to restore some discipline into what was left of
their army. The left flank was still grouped together and they started to move slowly away from Morgan’s men, up the road and back towards the gates of Roshythe. Many others among the
vanished right flank were heading that way, too. Morgan grimaced; there were enough of the enemy left to defend the city effectively for a long time. A protracted siege was what no one wanted. He
sounded the order for the infantry to advance; maybe they could cut enough of them off before they could gain the gates. He saw the cavalry were thinking the same way, for they started to move
forward too, but warily for the dragon had disappeared and no one knew what it would do next.

All Morgan could think at the moment was that this could get very, very messy.

Again, just seconds later, Morgan knew he should never have doubted – for from behind the same rock formation where he had seen the dragon appear earlier it emerged again. Leaping from its
perch and flying not twenty feet from the ground, it swooped across the front of the city to land directly in front of the gates, interposing itself between the city and the fleeing soldiers. The
men, who had been running full pelt for the sanctuary of the city, stopped dead in their tracks. And the dragon breathed again, sweeping its head from left to right, enveloping the closest men in
fire.

There was hardly anywhere else for the men to flee – westwards was the lake, southwards were the Tanarese enemy and northwards was the great beast itself. All that was left was east. East
to Arshuma, eastwards to home and an escape from this accursed land. And so they fled that way, weapons dropped, armour discarded, thoughts of the glory of war forgotten. The dragon turned about,
hooking one of the gates in its great claws. Morgan saw archers on the battlements firing at the creature – he imagined it was barely irritated by their paltry arrows – even so it
bathed the wall in fire, incinerating all those trying to get close for a better shot. Then, finally, it succeeded in its efforts. One of the gates came free in its claws. Flapping its powerful
wings, it slowly lifted it into the air, leaving the other gate to collapse free of its hinges on to the road with a great clatter. It was determined to show no mercy to the hapless Arshumans.
Soaring above the terrified men, it dropped the gate, crushing many under its great frame.

And then it was the turn of the organised line of Arshumans heading towards the city, the remnant of the once-proud army. It flew directly towards them, expelling great gouts of flame before it.
It looked like it would barrel directly into them such was its low trajectory, crushing, burning and killing everything in its path.

It was the very last straw.

Any semblance of order, of organisation dissipated completely at the dragon’s charge. The remainder of the Arshuman army broke at last, hurtling eastwards at breakneck speed. The dragon
still rode through them, killing many not quick enough to get out of its way, but then, once its run had finished, it soared upward again before being lost in the low cloud.

Morgan sensed that the dragon was not coming back, at least for a while, and at last it was down to his own men to do something again. He signalled the cavalry who were close by now and Itheya
and Esric rode over, Esric’s face was awestruck.

‘Harry them!’ Morgan shouted hoarsely. ‘I don’t want to see their arses for dust. Don’t let them regroup. I will take these men up to the city and wait for you
there.’

‘Did you see that!’ Esric called back. ‘The Gods have answered us today! I will take up my pen again; this requires a poem like no other!’

The cavalry didn’t really need telling – they were gone and among the enemy within minutes, Itheya’s elves leading all of them. Morgan led the march northward. After some ten
minutes or so they were close enough to see inside the city, through its now gateless doorway. Trees and marble seemed to be everywhere; all of the advancing men were keen to have a real look
inside, the first men of their nation to do so in generations. But, when just out of bowshot of the entrance, Morgan called a halt.

‘We wait here,’ he said, with some authority.

And wait they did. They could see no Arshumans on the walls. None seemed to be waiting inside. The men were chafing but Morgan was adamant. Finally the cavalry started to come back – the
Arshumans were scattered with no hope of organising again.

Itheya came over to him. ‘It is done, Morgan, we have lost nine of our number but it is done.’

‘This city is as much yours as ours,’ Morgan said. ‘More so, if truth be told. We go in together.’

She did not smile. Morgan knew that to smile before humans was a weakness. Instead, she nodded; he sensed her relief rather than saw it.

They were about to march in when a cry came up from the left flank. Morgan looked in that direction and then to the skies, brow knotted in confusion. For the dragon was below the cloud line
again and heading towards them over the lake.

‘Strange!’ Itheya said. ‘Why is she doing that? Does the dragon have control of her now? Does it want to kill us?’

Morgan did not answer. There was nothing he could do if the dragon attacked, nothing. All he could do was watch.

There was nothing like flying, Ceriana had thought. Her new body did not feel the cold, nor did the lack of air seem to bother her. Instead, it was pure exhilaration as the
wind whipped her hair behind her and tore more of her dress, exposing her translucent red skin. Her eyes glowed alternately red and yellow and, as she ran her tongue over her mouth, she could feel
that her teeth were somehow sharper. She had been on a mainly meat diet for a while; perhaps that was the reason why.

How well had the battle gone? It was all about terror, she thought. If enough men had banded together and stood and fought them, the outcome might have been a lot different. Instead, one look at
what she was riding had been enough for most of them. It was good, really, for she had killed fewer than she might have had to have done otherwise. And what she had started the horsemen and foot
soldiers had finished for her. The battle was over. The war was won and the Grand Duke was nowhere to be seen.

And now there was just one more aspect of her plan to put into action. The lake looked beautiful beneath her – the spray and cloud from the falls, the still blue mirror of the lake itself
– just beautiful. As she flew, getting lower in the sky, she reflected on all that had happened to her. She had been a fool, after all. The Gods had never abandoned her; it was just that
their plan had been beyond her own meagre sight. Elissa had delivered her child safely and Artorus had won this final battle. She had been their instrument – that was why she had found the
stone in the first place. There had been a purpose to everything that had happened and she had played her own part to perfection. The wars in both east and west had been ended largely by her own
hand. And, as for the price – well, she no longer minded about the price; it was but a small one considering what had been achieved. She thought of her family, her father who was still alive
after all, her mother and sisters, her nieces and nephews, her brother and the glory he could claim from all this. And her own daughter. She was Elissa’s own child was Sofie – the
goddess had been beside her throughout the birth and Ceriana could not imagine anything ill ever happening to her, such was the divine protection the infant already seemed to have. And then there
was her husband, a strong and stern man whom she had come to love. He was with the Gods now and she would see him again, she just knew it.

And now it was her time. And, for the first time she could remember, she felt no fear. She thought of all the dreams she had had of her falling; they were premonitions of this very moment, she
knew that now. It felt just as she had imagined it would feel – liberating, free, a surge of excitement that other nobles could attain only by imbibing spirit grass. She saw her red skin and
laughed. What did it matter now? She was Ceriana and in the last few months she had known joy, sorrow, laughter, tragedy and love of far greater intensity than most people would ever
experience.

She stroked the dragon. ‘You know what we have to do; you know what I feel. Do this for me and sleep. I am sorry for waking you before your time but it will not be for much longer. Thank
you. Thank you for saving me. Thank you for helping me to do my duty.’

She wrapped her arms tighter around the great beast. She felt elation course through her. Elation and sadness as well, of course; she could not deny that, but it was done now and there was
nothing she could do to change things. And she threw her head back and laughed, and as she laughed her skin and eyes changed. Her pale skin returned, her eyes reverted to their natural brown, her
freckles were there. She was Ceriana again. For one last time. And she continued to laugh, even as tears welled up in her eyes and the lake below grew ever bigger.