The Forgotten War (34 page)

He nodded at her and continued his stew.

The nights were drawing in now and, as a pallid sun lay low in the western sky, Sir Norton took them to the war council. The grand pavilion was easy to find, being the enormous tent at the
centre of the camp flying the pennants and flags that represented everybody present, with the blue, grey and white of Tanaren flying above them all. The pavilion was crammed with men standing cheek
by jowl and, lit as it was by dozens of braziers and lanterns, it was also pretty hot. She could not see another woman there and in her red robe she felt not a little self-conscious. They stopped
at the back of the crowd, from where she could see nothing – a situation she was quite happy with – but then Sir Norton started into the crowd.

‘Make way for the mages.’

To her surprise, everyone immediately stood aside for Marcus and her. She followed the two men through the avenue of bodies until finally they were clear at the head of the room. There, sitting
at a table, she recognized Reynard and Dominic, the two knights she had met earlier along with another dozen or so other men, all of differing ages, but all armoured and bearing various insignia.
At the centre of the table in a great chair and sporting a breastplate displaying the emblem of a mace was a man of middling years with red rheumy eyes – this, she assumed, was Baron Felmere.
To her horror, she saw Sir Norton go around the table and indicate two chairs behind it for them to sit on. She followed Marcus as he complied, making sure she sat at the very edge of the table.
Sir Norton sat between Marcus and another knight wearing a red-and-white surcoat. They waited for ten minutes or so until everyone was settled and then Baron Felmere spoke.

‘It is good to see you all here. Many of us have worked long and hard trying to assemble an army such as this, one of the largest I have commanded in the last nine years. And, my friends,
we are all here for a purpose, for within the week we will be sitting in the baronial manor at Grest looking down at the Whiterush and drinking the finest wine the north has to offer!’

Most of the men cheered at this. It was the sort of thing they wanted to hear. After waiting for the noise to subside, the Baron continued.

‘I am sure we have many doubters here who remember the last time we tried to take the town, how their artillery and their mage had us running backwards in no time. Well, let me assure you
that will not be happening again.’

A man in the crowd, bald, middle-aged and with a spade-like beard spoke.

‘There is a larger force here for certain. But scouts tell us that the Arshumans have also swollen their numbers and the difference between us and them will not be that great. How can you
be so confident that we will be successful this time?’

‘A good point, Kenvor; you are right of course – they, too, have been reinforcing themselves. But there are two major differences between then and now.’ He stopped and scanned
the eyes of the men facing him. ‘The first thing, as you can see, we have two mages to counter their one.’ He indicated Marcus and Cheris and there was a general murmur of approval.
‘I am sure the veterans here recognise Marcus of the Isle of Tears and are well aware of his capabilities. With him is his protégée, a lady called Sherise who Reynard assures me
is of equal competence.’

She felt all eyes turn to her; she didn’t really care about the mispronunciation of her name, but however briefly she was the centre of attention and she was not sure she liked it. The
Baron spoke again. ‘OK, lads, no leering over the mages; there are other women in camp who would happily accommodate you afterwards. Their job here is to neutralise the mage opposing us. And
they have another task...’ He stopped again. ‘Well, written orders will be handed out to you all this evening. The final contingents of men will arrive tomorrow. The day after this we
march for Grest.’

‘But what of the artillery in the town?’ The man in red next to Sir Norton spoke. ‘This will be a major difficulty for us to overcome.’

‘Ever the cautious one, Lasgaart,’ laughed the Baron, ‘but I have a plan for that. Grest was never an Arshuman town. Most of our people fled it when the war started but some
still remain there. The Arshumans believe they have all switched allegiances but this is not the case. What if I was to say that three days from now when dusk falls the gates will be unlocked? That
if we deploy for battle at that time the enemy will be looking at us, not at their own artillery, and that a small force should be able to break into the barely defended town and destroy the
catapults and ballistae based there.’ He paused, letting the observers digest this information. The murmuring became a crescendo. Felmere raised his hand for silence. ‘Any
questions?’

One man stepped forward.

‘Ostark?’

The man spoke. ‘Two questions. Baron: the first is how can you be sure there is not a double betrayal going on and the gates will remain locked despite the assurances you have been given.
The second is: why not capture the catapults and use them against the foe rather than destroy them?’

‘To your first question: well, you can never be wholly certain but I am as certain as it is possible to be. Like you, I have been here long enough to know bullshit when I hear it and the
people that have ... come forward have been promised much in return. But you are right, insurance will be required. The men going up the hill will be volunteers only and Marcus the mage should go
with them.’ Marcus started at this but let the Baron continue. ‘As for your second question, in order to target the Arshuman deployment, all the artillery would have to be moved
substantially, and we will not have the time or manpower up there for that. So what I propose is that they are all burned so that the fire will rattle their troops and give us the attack signal.
All this will be in your orders.’

‘May I speak, Baron?’ It was Marcus. The Baron nodded at him. ‘It may be not such a good idea to split the two of us up. My colleague is every bit as capable as I, but this is
her first engagement and I was rather hoping to show her the ropes, as it were, rather than plunge her in head first.’

‘I appreciate what you are trying to say, Marcus, but the mission to destroy their artillery is the absolute priority here. The men going there will need all the protection they can get
just in case something goes wrong, so as far as I am concerned a mage has to go, and it should be the most experienced. Does your colleague feel this will be a problem.’ He looked directly at
Cheris for the first time.

She swallowed. Her throat was dry. ‘No, it will be fine, Baron. Marcus should go with your surprise attack.’

She didn’t hear the next few minutes of the council. It was decided then! Despite Marcus’s reassuring words about looking after her, she would be on her own. The Baron had spoken and
she could see he was not going to change his mind. Still, she didn’t feel frightened. Nervous, yes, and her throat was dry and raw in the heat from the braziers and dozens of closely packed
bodies, but she was not frightened. In a way, it might even be better for her to be on her own, making her own decisions. She switched back to the council. Felmere was speaking again.

‘Now, as for numbers, I will be providing a thousand foot soldiers, many of them experienced men; Lasgaart here has three hundred, as has Vinoyen. Haslan Falls have sent five hundred,
Athkaril two hundred, Barons Maynard, Bruchan and Sowden two hundred between them. The heavy cavalry has Reynard’s Eagle Claw – two hundred strong – with an additional fifty from
the Serpent Order. The real bonus is Sir Dominic Hartfield’s fifty Silver Lances. The elite cavalry of Tanaren, their banner alone will make the enemy quail. As for light cavalry, I, Lasgaart
and Maynard have rustled up some one hundred between us. They will have spears and short bows and will deploy to protect our flanks. We are looking at some three thousand men here, much more than
our usual complement.’

‘How many archers?’ said a voice from the crowd.

‘I have two hundred good men; Wyak of Athkaril has sent a hundred; Lasgaart and the others have supplied a hundred or so between them. That, if my mind is not addled, gives us some four
hundred archers and cavalry, plus the two thousand regular troops. The finalised battle deployment you will get on the day of the battle.’ He stroked his chin thoughtfully.

‘One other thing. The people of Grest are
our
people. We want them on our side. When we take the town there is to be no violation of its womenfolk. Failure to comply will be
punishable with twenty lashes, no exceptions. Do I make myself clear?’

One of the soldiers spoke up. ‘They would do it to our women. A lot of the troops see it as their right, the spoils of war.’

‘Not any more,’ said Felmere. ‘We need to win minds here. A man whose wife is spoiled by our soldiers will never join our cause. This sort of thing has gone on long enough and
I should have stopped it earlier.’ He put his hands behind his head and stretched.

‘And that, my friends, is that. Tomorrow the advance guard will move out, with everyone else following the day after. It is the day after that when Artorus and Mytha will determine our
destinies. And remember, we need a nice slow deployment with as much fanfare as possible; we do not want them to focus on anyone but ourselves; they need to be looking at us and not the town or its
catapults. Now, unless there are further questions, we can call these proceedings closed.’

Cheris remembered little else of that day; Sir Norton escorted her back to her bed with Marcus joining her a little later. They did not speak, Marcus’ sensing correctly that this was not
perhaps the right time. All she could recall afterwards was that before sleep took her she prayed to Elissa, to Lucan and Artorus himself, as well as to all the saints she could remember, for the
first time in many years.

The following morning, though, she was on form. Seeing Marcus’ sheepishness she sensed a kill.

‘Any words of comfort for me, O great protector?’

He sighed, expecting no less. ‘I am as happy as you about this; I did not want us split up. The only one with the authority to tell us what to do is the Baron himself and unfortunately he
has done just that. I will return to you as soon as I possibly can, I promise.’

‘And how can I trust anything you say anymore?’

He groaned exasperatedly. ‘Don’t be like that, Cheris! How was I to know what was going to happen? If I had known, I would have brought someone else. As I said, I will get to you as
soon as I can.’

‘I will probably be dead by then.’

This time he snapped at her. ‘No, you will not. Whoever this mage facing us is I know two things about him. The first is that he is not more talented than you, and the second is that he is
certainly not cleverer than you. He may be more experienced and know how to rough you about a bit, but ultimately you will be more than a match for him.’ He left her and went over to talk to
Sir Norton.

Cheris watched him go with pursed lips. ‘I hope you are right. As Elissa watches over me, I hope you are right.’

It was an opulent room. Its walls were panelled in dark wood and hung with heavy cloth tapestries. The drinking vessels on the richly carved table appeared to be made out of
silver. Velvet-clad servants secreted themselves as discreetly as possible into darkened corners. The windows were large and wide and admitted shafts of mid-morning light. Through them could be
seen an impressive view, dominated by a waterfall with a drop of some twenty feet, around whose broad circular splash pool were cluttered some low stone houses interspersed with trees. Nearer to
the windows, occupying an elevated position on a flat-topped hill, was a house of Artorus with its conical spire built in the same grounds as a house of Xhenafa, a small box-shaped stone building
overlooking a cemetery. Both religious houses occupied a sward of level ground between falls and hill and were surrounded by the town’s more humble dwellings. A man clad in a rich
green-and-gold surcoat was standing at the window at this moment, mesmerised by the fall of the water into the pool and the cloud of spray that constantly hung over it. It never changed, he
thought. How unlike a man could that be? Could it not see how change was dynamic and positive, how it threw the deserving high into the air to stand over the weak, the foolish, the gullible. Some
people lived to be led, to feed like a dog on scraps thrown at them from the high table while all the time braying their gratitude at the thrower. He could never live like those people – by
Artorus, he was change’s fiercest instrument. The next few months would see to that.

A servant, all wariness and deference, sidled up to the man. ‘Baron Fenchard, the man you wished to see has arrived.’

‘Show him in, and fill up two goblets.’

He went and sat down at the head of the table in a high-backed chair whose carvings were hidden by cushions. The servant poured the wine, which he drank immediately; it was too early really but
Keth himself wasn’t going to tell him what to do.

The door opened and in strode a man who looked like he was born on a battlefield. Six feet of hulking muscle, almost as broad as he was tall, clad in tarnished plate mail bearing no insignia. He
was bald with dark merciless eyes that glared at Fenchard over a broad grey-black beard. His right ear looked like it had been partly chewed and a long-healed white scar lined his right cheek. He
smiled at Fenchard, showing some missing teeth – the ones remaining were blackened and irregular. He spoke, with a voice so deep it seemed to emanate from somewhere underneath the nearby
cemetery:

‘Of what do you wish to speak?’ The man’s presence was unsettling.

Unnerved as he was, Fenchard was determined not to show it. ‘Sit down. The wine is poured; drink your fill.’

The man sat but did not reach for his goblet. ‘I do not.’

‘Very well. I asked you here, Sir Trask, after Baron Ulgar mentioned you.’

‘What did he say?’

‘Many things. That you were a knight expelled from the order as your methods were unpalatable to them. That you have since become a freebooter, fighting for both sides and for whoever pays
the most. That you are utterly ruthless and determined and that nothing gets in your way.’