The Forgotten War (53 page)

The magistrate blustered. ‘My Lady, I must protest!’

‘Your objection is noted; the case is for the moment closed.’ She waved to the guards, who used their halberds to shoo the petitioners out of the room, the magistrate continuing to
grumble to anyone who would listen.

After they had all left Bruan came up to her. ‘You should not have angered the magistrate. Like the man before he could whip up local resentment against the Baron.’

‘Then Wulfthram can smooth things over with him. I have done the right thing. It seems that everybody could whip up resentment if they so chose; it is impossible to keep everybody
happy.’

‘As you say, my Lady.’

That night Wulfthram returned. Ceriana was in her room dressed for bed and combing her hair when he walked in.

‘I hear you have been taking petitions today,’ he said drily.

‘I have listened to my father’s judgments many times. I used to sit in on as many as I could, even if only to remind me of how lucky I am in never wanting for food and warmth. I have
always fancied myself as a bit of a judge; it was much more difficult than I thought, though. I take it I have annoyed you again?’

‘Not at all. However, I would rather you didn’t do it again without warning me first. I know most people around here and how to keep everyone happy. Bruan was impressed
anyway.’

‘He was? I wish he had told me. I felt like a naughty child.’

‘Well, you are perhaps wilful rather than naughty and a young woman rather than a child. Bruan sees me as a boy, though, so there is not much we can do about it. It is all a matter of
perspective, I suppose – Bruan sees me as young, I see you as young, but we are both capable in our own way.’

‘Were you happy with what I did?’

‘Yes. I would have flogged the brothel-keeper, though; he treats those girls abominably.’

‘Oh, I wanted to as well. He got away lightly then.’

‘You hit him in the pocket though; he won’t like that.’

‘And the fishermen? What shall we do about their story.’

‘Nothing,’ said Wulfthram. ‘I shall ask Farnerun to investigate the tower.’

‘Didn’t you listen to what the man said? The men in black got what they came for. Perhaps all I need to do is return the stone there, if that was what they were referring to. This
whole mess could be cleared up easily.’

‘And these guardians? What if they kill you first?’

She snorted, climbing on to the bed. ‘I have to do something!’

He looked at her, her dark eyes brimming with frustration ‘Maybe. I am tired; it has been a long day. Let me sleep on it; we can talk tomorrow.’

‘How did you find Vorfgan?’

‘Untrustworthy, like everyone else. He avoided all questions about how he acquired his baronetcy and then told me that the Baron immediately to his north had retired to the country and
given Vorfgan his title. He was in his seventies with no heirs and his lands were small, though they include a port and a small gem mine ... but even so, Vorfgan’s hand continues to grow. He
is one to watch ... closely. Right, I am sleeping now and do not want to hear from you till the morning.’

She looked him in the eye. ‘Sorry for calling you a bastard.’

He laughed. ‘I spoke wrongly to you. I was only thinking of your safety. As I said, we shall discuss it in the morning.’

She looked at him impishly. ‘Was that an apology?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Goodnight. Artorus keep you safe.’

‘Good night. And Syvukha keep you, too.’

Light. She could see light. She was surrounded by stone. She could sense it; it enclosed her on both sides and the darkness was almost complete. But ahead, there it was. She
felt a pain in her eyes as she looked at it, a shaft of purest white lancing its way through the void. As she walked towards it, she felt the ground shake under her claws. Just how big was she?

She snorted and two small jets of flame leapt skywards. Yes, the flame illuminated the dark stone of a tunnel; she sensed she had been crawling through it for many days and that without a doubt
it lead upwards. She – it – was close to the surface. The shaft broadened as she got nearer. As her eyes got used to it, she could see it was not one shaft but several, all fairly close
together and positioned so their narrow beams joined each other, making a large pool of radiance that broadened as it filtered downwards. Positioned? Was this a natural feature or had these shafts
been punched through the mountain by hand. And if so, why?

Her pace increased and suddenly she felt space. The walls of rock either side of her and above her had disappeared. Ahead of her was a broad flat ledge whose lip fell away into nothingness. In
the light she could see she was looking at a colossal cavern, the size of which she could only determine by stepping up to the ledge and looking over.

To her surprise the creature she inhabited stopped. It was exhausted and needed to rest, but the ledge was only twenty feet away. To her surprise she felt herself saying:

‘Go on, look over the edge – rest later.’

And the creature responded. With a supreme effort it hauled itself upward and crawled to the lip ahead of it. And looked over.

Where, by all the Gods, was this place?

To call this a cavern would be understating it to a ridiculous degree, for below her was a fall of hundreds of feet into a bowl-shaped cave the diameter of which must have been well over a mile.
She saw that the light shafts she had seen initially were not the only ones here; they were clustered about the rock above her so that the entire cavern was illuminated. She saw a dark river that
spilled out of a shaft halfway up the rock, falling as a waterfall and crashing into a broad plunge pool. It then regained its course and neatly bisected the cave, before it disappearing through a
dark chasm almost directly underneath her. But it was not that that had caught her attention.

For either side of the river was a city.

The majority of its buildings hugged the river and all of them seemed to be of a gigantic size. They were constructed not out of bricks but of great stone monoliths, skilfully jointed together
so that no mortar or binding substance seemed required. She could see parapets and plazas, buildings crowned by battlements and others climbed via external zigzagging walkways. Low stone bridges
crossed the river and there were vast waterwheels, too, presumably used to power machinery. And, in the plunge pool of the waterfall, sitting upon a colossal stone plinth, was a statue. A hundred,
no possibly two hundred, feet high, it was a figure bearded and mailed, its two gnarled hands clasping the haft of a great double-headed axe. Atop its head was a great battle helm, flat-topped and
fringed with geometric stone shapes giving it the appearance of a crown.

Despite the grandeur of the city, everywhere there were signs of neglect and abandonment. A waterwheel had come loose and lay on its side in the river, piles of dust silted up the open doorways
of buildings, and loose stones and rocks lay strewn about its once-grand roads and squares. Nobody lived here now and the aura of faded opulence, of glory long fled, cast a melancholic aura over
the black eyeless windows and the long shadows cast by the high edifices beneath her.

She suddenly felt vigour return to the creature’s body. The vista beneath it had obviously given it a new excitement and purpose – though perhaps it was deriving it from her? It was
she who had asked it to move earlier and it had done so; now was it drawing strength from her curiosity, her wonder at seeing this mysterious city?

The next thing it did, though, was definitely not prompted by her. She felt it stretch its long body and dig its claws into the dust. She heard it hiss. She heard the beating of great leathery
wings, the sound pounding in her eardrums, making her head throb. Then she saw as the creature cast itself off the ledge and into the air...

For a few terrifying moments she felt it plummeting towards the river, its churning grey waters getting closer and closer, then it levelled out and started to gain altitude.

It was flying.

She could feel the thrill running through its body, the blood pumping fit to burst a vein, the stale air rushing over the skin. It flew high, close to one of the light shafts and through it,
briefly, she caught a glimpse of high cloud and the pale sliver of the moon. So it was moonlight that filled the chamber!

The dragon – for there could be no doubt of the creature’s nature now – followed the course of the river, swooping past the high crowns of the buildings left and right,
disturbing dormant clouds of dust that billowed into the air. Then it landed, coming to rest on the crown of the great statue. Despite the size of the structure, it still had difficulty finding the
space to set down its great legs. Once it had, though, it threw back its great head and roared. A jet of flame sped forth like nothing she had ever seen. It almost reached the ceiling of the cavern
and, when it finally died, she saw its smoke filtering through the light shafts and escaping into the outer world.

And then it was answered. As she looked around, she saw, emerging from the buildings or from unseen shafts in the cave walls, other creatures, all winged and serpentine. They were smaller than
the creature she was sensing, though, and she realised they had no forelimbs, just powerful taloned legs. On the ground they walked clumsily, or withdrew their wings and legs and slithered like a
primitive snake. In the air, however, they moved seamlessly. And that was just where they were taking to, for now a great flock of these monsters was flying above her. There were dozens of them,
maybe more, and they croaked, hissed and swooped around her in a great circle as though welcoming an old friend. Maybe, though, they were recognising a master.

A master who had finally returned home.

Wulfthram grumbled in his sleep and turned over, pulling the blanket over him. Instinctively he reached out for the slight figure who should have been next to him.

But she wasn’t.

Sighing deeply, he forced open his sleep-filled eyes, trying to focus on the room around him, to see where in the name of Keth she was. Suddenly, with a shock, he sat bolt upright in the bed. He
was awake now all right.

At the foot of the bed facing him was Ceriana. Her arms were outstretched and her head was thrown back and flushed with excitement. Her large eyes were euphoric. Her large
red
eyes.

Through her thin nightdress he could see the thin tracery of veins running through her body shining like liquid metal. Her blood was luminous and glowing, rendering her skin translucent. He
could see her blood running through her ears, her lips and behind her eyes. She seemed oblivious to what was happening, though. She saw him and spoke, her voice tremulous and ecstatic.

‘Oh Wulf, can’t you see? I’m flying!’

In a couple of bounds he was out of the bed and pulling the box in which she kept the stone out of the drawer. As he opened it, its fierce glow filled the room, turning his face crimson. He went
to touch it but recoiled in alarm; it was fiery hot and burned his fingertips. In the draw was a handkerchief. He grabbed it, folded it round the stone and dropped it into the water jug she always
kept at her bedside. A pillar of steam shot forth from the jug as the stone sizzled. Then the glow rapidly abated.

He grabbed his wife and held her close. Her skin, her veins, were as normal again, although she was feverishly hot. With a pathetic whimper she subsided into his arms, tears flowing as she
realised what had just happened.

‘It’s all right, little one ... Don’t you worry, we will take care of it,’ he said, trying to sound soothing, although it was obviously something that did not come
naturally. He looked at her nightdress and felt his spirits lower even further.

It was covered in thin, black scorch marks and they were still smoking.

‘No no, you lose this time. Four ones beat two fives and two fours.’

‘But my score is higher than yours.’

‘That only applies where no one throws a double.’

‘Artorus’s beard, I have studied all of the fifty-seven known wedding songs of the Wych folk – how each song applies to a different set of circumstances and how changing one
letter in them turns high praise into an insult – but I have never encountered anything so intractable as dice gaming before. And why is this game called Killer anyway?’ Cedric stroked
his chin in frustration.

‘Because it generally turns the loser into a killer,’ said Morgan laconically. ‘Go on, give the dice a shake; you should be good at that with your illness... Now
roll.’

The dice sped over the muddy ground coming to rest at the base of the statue.

‘Ha!’ roared Cedric triumphantly. ‘Three threes! Beat that.’

Morgan picked them up and rolled. ‘Three fours, my friend. Have I cleaned you out yet?’

‘Almost,’ grumbled Cedric. ‘Go on take another penny.’

‘I am six pennies to the good,’ said Morgan with a smile. ‘Much more of this and I can buy a loaf of bread.’

‘Well, I can’t stay crouched like this much longer. I need to stretch my legs before I continue. How long have they been gone now?

‘The Wych girl? Just over two days.’

‘Odd little thing, wasn’t she?’ Cedric walked slowly towards the river, stretching his stiff limbs.

‘If by “odd” you mean murderously inclined and supercilious, then I would agree.’

‘Now you see, I didn’t get that from her; from him, yes, but she seemed a lot more reasonable than I expected. She seemed to take a shine to you, too.’

‘I think it’s all in your head, Cedric. I read nothing but hostility from her.’

‘Let’s bet on it then. My six pennies say that you two end up friendlier in a week than you are now; in fact, I should say friends rather than friendly, for I am sure that will be
the case.’

‘And how, by all the Gods, are we to judge that?’

‘It will be obvious surely. If you can swear on whatever you hold dear that you two will feel greater enmity towards each other in a week than you feel now, I will stake another six
pennies that you will not – enough for a loaf of bread and some salted meat. Is it settled?’