The Forgotten War (32 page)

There was a knock at the door and in walked Professor Dearden, a small, slightly hunched man; younger than Ulian but one for whom the troubles of the world seemed constantly to press on his
stooped shoulders.

‘Take a look at this.’ Ulian handed him the letter. Dearden read it then handed it back.

‘The correspondent says little. Do you think it worthy of a reply? Shouldn’t it wait until Cedric returns? It is in his room and is addressed to him after all.’

‘Didn’t you read who sent it! One of Duke Hartfield’s daughters! We have to look into it as a matter of priority. Cedric may not be back for months. Do you know anything of
this ring she is alluding to?’

‘I shall check with the artefacts manager to see where it is stored and have it retrieved for you tomorrow. Might I also suggest you speak to Alys who is waiting outside? It is likely she
has copied its design on to paper.’

Ulian picked up a sheet off Cedric’s desk. ‘Here, she has already provided it.’

Dearden looked. ‘Definitely Cedric’s field. Its design reminds me of ancient barbarian jewellery, or even of the Wych style before the wars.’

‘I thought the same. And what of this man in black? Where does he come from exactly?’

Dearden shrugged. ‘The shaving of the head is often ritualistic, related to religious orders, or orders of warriors. Other than that I cannot say.’

‘Artorus’s beard! Where to start? There must be a book here with the answer. And that is not the only thing. The Hartfield girl mentions health problems. We cannot let this be; one
of us is going to have to visit her, as soon as possible, too!’

‘I would gladly do so,’ said Dearden, growing ever the more oleaginous. ‘Alas, my back prevents me from making journeys of any distance these days.’

‘These days!’ harrumphed Ulian. ‘The last time you left this building the Grand Duke was not even a glint in his mother’s eye!’ He sighed. ‘I will go, but do
me a favour, please. Try and contact Cedric. It won’t be easy, I know, but we do have an idea of where he is going.’

‘I will write and send our best messengers; I will pay the highest rates with a further bonus given a successful outcome.’

‘Good man. Now I had better reply to this letter and inform her of my intentions.’

‘So be it,’ said Dearden and with a small bow he took his leave.

Ulian picked up a blank sheet of paper and dipped his quill into the well of ink. ‘Alys!’ he called.

The girl came in.

‘I will be travelling to Osperitsan in the back end of nowhere in a couple of days.’

‘Yes, Professor.’

‘I say a couple of days because it will take me that long to find any books in this Keth-cursed mess of a room that might explain the drawing you gave me earlier.’

‘Oh, Professor, but they are over there.’ She pointed to some shelves behind him ‘Marked ‘‘Ancient Religions: their practices and rituals’’. Professor
Cedric was always talking about them.’

Ulian’s eyes gleamed hungrily as he made for the books. ‘So he was always talking about them, was he? Alys, do you feel a change of scene might be beneficial for you?’

Margarete may have been many, many miles away but Ceriana felt as if she was being mothered to death. Since Ebba discovered her in her distressed state over a week ago she had
been confined to bed, watched and pampered almost every minute of the day. A doctor had visited her. She had been leeched and forced to swallow antimony, which made her sick as a dog. Wulfthram had
written to the mage healers, asking them to send someone, despite her imploring him not to do so. The fact was, aside from the doctor’s poisonings, she felt fine.

She had hidden the stone before Ebba or anyone else could see it and it had given her no more trouble. They had allowed her to write letters, which she had done with great vigour producing
almost a dozen, the real purpose of which was to render the letter to St Philig’s, the only one she had really wanted to write, inconspicuous.

And then there was her scheduled trip to visit Baron Skellar, which was supposed to take place in two days’ time. Wulfthram had all but cancelled it, but she felt so hemmed in at the
present time that the need to break out and do something else was strong in her. Also she wanted to make her mark here; having her first official visit cancelled on health grounds could not be
borne.

Ebba was sitting with her as she lay in bed, feeling an utter fraud. At one point she even fed her soup with a spoon. Ceriana, though, had warmed to her somewhat; she had been genuinely
distressed at seeing her mistress on the floor all those days ago and her concern since was obviously not affected.

‘Ebba,’ she asked, ‘are you married?’

‘No, my Lady.’ Ebba looked at her. ‘I have a good man, a fisherman who spends many days at sea but we have never got round to be officially wed as of yet.’

‘Is that not seen as scandalous?’

Ebba smiled. ‘A little, my Lady, especially among the more religious folk, but with the necessity of providing food, a house and my father’s limited means in providing a dowry it has
just not been able to happen.’

‘Is there anything I can do to help? If you need money...’

‘No, my Lady, you are kind, but it would not be seemly for you to help the likes of me.’

‘Why ever not? I really would like to help you. I have my own means separate from my husband’s so I need not ask his permission.’

Ebba looked at her; she was evidently wavering. ‘I will speak to my betrothed if it will make you content, my Lady.’

‘Please do so; it would make me very happy.’

At that point the door opened and her husband walked in. Ebba curtsied and left the room. He looked at Ceriana.

‘How are you feeling today?’

‘Oh, Wulf, there is nothing wrong with me! I had an episode and, yes, I was upset and frightened but I am over that now. I need no healer or doctor and would like nothing more than to get
out of bed and take my place at your side. In fact, I am quite happy to demonstrate for you now how fit, active and healthy I feel.’ She had a gleam in her eye as she took his hand and placed
it on her breast.

‘Meriel works quickly I see.’

‘Indeed she does, especially with the righteous.’ Ceriana pulled him on to the bed next to her, putting his hand to her face this time. She stared at him, making her brown eyes as
large and soulful as possible. ‘I wish to be as good a wife to you as possible, whether it be now, in our private time, or in fulfilling the more public duties...’

‘Like visiting Jon Skellar in two days’ time?’ He gently withdrew his hand.

‘Would it be so very wrong of me to do so? How would you feel if at the very first opportunity you had to prove yourself as First Baron of the North you took to your bed with an
ague?’

‘You are young and thin as a wand, and the winds outside are getting colder.’

‘I am as Elissa wishes me to be. Can I not wear a cloak, or even those smelly furs you people here are so very fond of? Let me show how very grateful I can be.’ She put her head to
his chest opening his shirt and kissing him.

‘I am not happy, but maybe if you shortened your stay with him...’ She stopped, looked at him and moved her head lower, then lower again. He closed his eyes.

‘Very well have it your own way. Return after just five days though. One other thing ...’

She stopped again and looked up. He felt her silky hair against his bare flesh as her hands loosened his breeches. ‘Yes?’

‘You called me Wulf. Only my mother and Sofie have called me that.’

‘I am sorry. Shall I stop?’

‘No, don’t stop. Don’t stop at all.’

She was the beast again. She could feel the power in that massive body, even though the bitter cold pervaded its flesh, rendering it torpid and sluggish. She could still hear
the water dripping from the roof into the lake and the echo as an eyeless fish breached its surface before settling back into its nameless depths. There was a difference, though. Difficult though
it felt, she knew it could open its eyes. She felt it doing so, felt the struggle to move its massive lids upwards.
Her
lids. It was done. She knew they were open, even if she could still
see nothing. She sensed it was deep underground, deeper than any man had travelled. The underworld.

Could she move? All concentration and energy were focused on the right forelimb. When her mind was here before it felt like it was cast in stone but not now. There was a pain, like the pain one
felt after sleeping on one arm for too long and one had to wait before it could be moved – but slowly, inexorably, one felt life return to it. She felt the limb slowly lift and the digits
clasp and unclasp, as life energy gradually seeped back into them. This was done for each limb in turn until all was ready for the next step.

With trepidation (she could feel the beast’s trepidation as it were her own) she felt it starting to walk. As each foot came down, the ground trembled slightly and she could hear stones
slide down unseen walls. Then it stopped, exhausted, needing a further rest. There was just enough energy to do one more thing. She felt the head raise itself and breath exhale from the body. As
she stared ahead, a long gout of flame spurted from her. Suddenly the cave could be seen. It was vast! Cathedral-sized, its roof still shrouded in blackness, its walls reflecting the glitter of a
thousand faceted gemstones. Then it was dark again. Exhausted but content, both she and the beast slept.

It was difficult separating the skyline from the horizon. Both were slate grey and brooding, pensive and ominous. Slabs of white-flecked ocean rolled landward before crashing
against the harbour wall, dashing salt and spray into the air to land on Ceriana’s upturned face. They had arrived not one hour ago and, although conditions were far from perfect, she had
been told that the ship would depart very shortly. Servants were loading her luggage on to the war galley that would take her to Thakholm after just under two days’ sailing. It rose and fell
with the swell of the water and she could hear its timbers creaking as the elements did their worst. One thing she was enjoying about living on the island was the freedom she was given to ride a
horse. Back at Edgecliff more often than not she would be forced to sit in a wagon and be driven to her destination, but here it was just assumed that she would be riding herself. Wulfthram had an
idea that the best way to see his country was to experience it in the raw, on a wild day such as this one, an idea she readily agreed with. And so, after an exhilarating three-hour ride southward
through moorland, westward over rugged highlands pierced by a thousand icy streams, with the wind tugging at her clothes and pinching her nose and cheeks till they were pink, she felt completely
stimulated and alive and excited about the journey ahead. Wulfthram was standing next to the boarding plank, talking to the ship’s captain. When he had finished he came over to her.

‘You may go aboard now if you wish; they will be leaving very shortly.’

‘Very well.’ She was smiling. ‘Tell me about where I am headed – what is this island like?’

‘Rocky,’ he said, phlegmatic as ever. ‘And small. Its most important asset is its sheltered harbour, a haven for the ships out here. The Baron’s residence is an
interesting place, too; it is perched on a lip of rock jutting into the sea so you are surrounded by water on three sides.’

‘I grew up in a castle with a similar aspect. It will probably seem very familiar.’ She hesitated a second. ‘Thank you for letting me do this.’

‘There is no need for that. You made it clear that this is what you wanted.’ He kicked a stone into the sea and paused before continuing. ‘The problem I have with you is that
you look so young. You have no meat on you at all, have never left your parents’ side before and, yes, sometimes you behave like you have had just eighteen summers. Other times, however, you
seem closer to my age than your own.’

She didn’t want him to stop, so rarely was he open with her – so she just nodded silently.

‘Sofie was some ten years younger than I. At first it was noticeable – to me she seemed frivolous and shallow and to her I am sure I seemed dour and grim. Over time, though, an
understanding developed and by the time she died, well, we ... were more like very close friends than husband and wife.’

Ceriana stared at the waves. ‘I am sorry for your loss, truly.’

Neither spoke for a minute. They both stood there watching the ship moving slowly and listening to the gulls crying their frustration as they battled the headwind.

‘What is the island’s name again?’

‘Thakholm.’

She laughed. ‘Your accents are so funny, very up and down all the time. Thaaak-hoolm,’ she mimicked, deliberately exaggerating the pronunciation.

By the Gods, she made him smile. ‘At least I don’t sound like I spend all my time with a peach in my mouth.’

She looked amazed. ‘Do I sound like that? Honestly?’

He looked at her. ‘With an accent like yours you could never be anything else than royalty.’

‘Well, I never knew!’ she exclaimed. ‘I wonder what I will sound like after a few years here.’

‘Your father and mother will never recognise you, especially if you cover yourself in our – what was it? – our smelly furs.’

‘Yes and maybe I would have got used to that poisonous ale you drink round here and I will have a blotchy bright-red nose all drinkers seem to have.’

‘Not a bad idea!’ he said. ‘A nice contrast for those freckles.’

Her bony elbow dug him in the ribs. ‘I suppose I had better go.’ She sighed.

‘Yes, ‘ he said, ‘it is time. Don’t let that rogue Skellar try and get his hands on your stays.’

She snorted contemptuously. ‘I think you will find, my husband, that it is only the older or somewhat overweight woman that needs to resort to corsetry. I never wear them. I would have
hoped you had noticed that by now. And Baron Skellar won’t be getting his hands on anything of importance, I assure you.’

The captain waved over at them. Sailors were buzzing over the decks now – departure was obviously imminent. Ceriana made to move.

‘Goodbye, my husband. See you in a week or so.’