The Forgotten War (64 page)

Sir Norton passed boldly through the arched doorway, and the mages followed, Cheris wishing for half of the knight’s assertiveness. They were in the main hall. She looked about her –
torch brackets were hanging off the wall, fragments of pottery were scattered over the floor, a painting lay drunkenly in the corner – it looked like somebody had put his foot through the
canvas. What a party! she thought drily.

Directly ahead was the long table. It had been scored with knives and even partially burned, but it was a sturdy object and stubbornly remained in its original place. It was to the men
surrounding it that her attention was drawn, though. She knew some of them – the knights Dominic and Reynard were there along with another whose breastplate sported a writhing green serpent.
He was a rugged red-haired man with striking green eyes and a couple of days’ growth of stubble on his chin. She saw Felmere sitting at the head of the table, right hand clasping a goblet,
and next to him was Lasgaart and a craggy bald man in his sixties she believed to be Maynard. There were faces there she was unfamiliar with, though – a saturnine man scarred by smallpox, a
boyish-faced blond who appeared to be fonder of the mirror than she, and a dashing dark-haired man of about thirty sporting a blue cloak emblazoned with crossed red spears. The cloak was stained
with mud and grass, suggesting he had travelled a distance to get here. The other man whom she noticed among the crowd she found a little more disquieting. He was massively built, scarred and
bearded, his eyes glittering with dark malice. When they entered the room all eyes turned to look at her, but it was only his gaze that she noticed.

Felmere got to his feet and raised his goblet. ‘The mages!’ It was a cry echoed by everyone there, except the big man who stared at them fixedly and with such intensity she briefly
wondered if she had forgotten to put her robe on.

They were invited to sit at the bottom of the table, Cheris at the opposite end to Baron Felmere; there really was nowhere to hide here.

‘Before we start,’ Felmere said, ‘I probably need to do some introductions and make an apology. These days I am so unused to female company you would at least think that, when
I actually get to meet a woman, I would get her damn name right. The lady present and the architect of our victory is called Cheris, or, as the men are calling her, the “Queen of
Storms”. It is good to see you feeling better, my dear. I formally give you the honorific “Battle Mage of Tanaren” and express the gratitude of myself and my soldiers for your
contribution to our cause.’

He went around the room quickly spouting out names. Ulgar with the scars. The preening Fenchard. ‘This,’ he said, indicating the man in the blue cloak, ‘is Esric Calvannen,
Chief Prosecutor of the War in the South; he has left his army for a few days so information can be shared between us and we can make plans for the future. And this, for those few of us who
don’t know him, is Sir Trask, whom Fenchard has appointed to lead his men and give them the experience he lacks.’ The big man gave no indication that he even knew his name had been
mentioned.

‘Finally,’ said Felmere, indicating the red-haired knight, ‘we have Sir Emeric of the Knights of the Serpent. They also fight mainly in the south, but maybe the time is coming
for us to concentrate our efforts.’

‘Now,’ he continued, looking around the table. ‘We have won a great victory. The scouts tell me that the enemy have withdrawn to Tantala, a small town on the Broken River. It
is poorly fortified and they barely number a thousand men. These are the only substantial body of troops remaining in the north between us and Roshythe. And so we have our quandary – what do
we do next? My plan at first was to rebuild the bridges here and gather the army for a major assault in the early spring, but it is so tempting, just so tempting, to try and smash them while they
are demoralised and without a general. Heart and head are saying two different things, so I would like to hear your thoughts before we decide what to do. Firstly, Esric. I have heard little from
the south in recent months – what are the enemy troop numbers like down there?’

Esric smiled, flashing a row of pearly-white teeth. ‘Before I start,’ he said, ‘I would like to congratulate you all on your victory. The whole balance of power has changed and
perhaps the end is finally in sight for us all. As to the south’ – he paused and took a sip from his goblet – ‘well, it has always been different for us in the south. For
those who know little of our situation, I will give you a brief overview of our more recent travails.

‘In the north you have the gem mines, tracts of arable land and large cities defended by walls of stone. In the south we have none of those things. The land can be fertile but is boggy and
prone to flooding and our cities are smaller and defended by wooden stockades and ditches. When all my forces are summoned, I can at best put a thousand men into the field, backed by a hundred
Serpent Knights. I myself am a baron in exile; our family’s lands lie between the Broken River and the Helkus, an area we have not held in many years. As for our army, I took command after my
father was killed in a skirmish three years ago. The enemy pressed us hard for a long time and our camp was riddled with desertions and treachery. Until recently things were as bleak as I have made
them sound.

‘Then I petitioned Lukas’ – he indicated Felmere – ‘for aid. He sent me a man who found our traitors for us. One of them was even the son of a baron, in the
Arshumans’ pay...’

‘You are referring to Morgan,’ said Ulgar.

‘Yes, to be honest I half expected to see him here.’

‘He is doing another job for me,’ said Felmere. ‘I do not know when he will return.’

‘A pity,’ said Esric. ‘A good man. I was half hoping he could assist me with the new troops I have levied.’

‘Not all of us,’ Trask interrupted, his voice rumbling like a cave avalanche, ‘have such a high opinion of the man of Glaivedon.’

Felmere smiled. ‘Not you – I know, Trask,’ he said. ‘I know of your past run-ins but at least’ – he looked at the man pointedly – ‘he has always
fought on our side.’ Trask said nothing; he almost looked amused.

‘He has insulted me and Ulgar, too,’ bleated Fenchard. ‘Personally I would have him whipped.’

‘And I would have you whipped for having him whipped,’ Felmere replied. ‘He is not the matter here now; he is out of our sight. Carry on with your report, Esric.’

‘As I said, our problem with the traitors was resolved, so I decided on a surprise attack on the main body of their forces. I hoped, seeing as they were still expecting secret reports from
our lines that they would be complacent. And I was right. We moved swiftly, and hit them at dawn. Within the hour their camp was overrun and they were fleeing. The battle continued on the banks of
the Whiterush. Boats were ferrying their men across it, so we kept at their rearguard. By late afternoon it was over. For the first time in four years they had no troops west of the river. Granted,
they still hold some island forts on the Axe – that is the river that runs between the Vinoyen and the Whiterush – but hopefully we have time to take them at our leisure.

‘But every pile of gold holds a copper. We drove them back but killed relatively few of them. Across the river lies the best part of two thousand men. I will bet you my daughter’s
first tooth that a thousand, maybe fifteen hundred, of them will be on the way to Tantala as we speak. You will not be fighting a thousand men there; it will be at least double that. Our scouts
have all but confirmed this.’

‘Would they leave the south so undefended?’ asked Reynard. ‘Wouldn’t they be expecting you to attack them again?’

‘The element of surprise has gone,’ said Esric. ‘They are dug in across the river. I could go north, cross the river at night and try attacking them in the rear, but it would
be very risky; we could lose everything we have just gained.’

‘You can bet their king will be sending reserves, or hastily pressed men, to bolster his army also,’ said Felmere. ‘Their quality may be questionable but the numbers alone will
boost their morale. If it were just a thousand men we were facing, I would be hammering them right now with everything we have, but our men need resting, wounds need treating and supply lines need
organising. We lost nearly a hundred men in the battle with three hundred carrying injuries of one kind or another. Digging in for the winter may be our best option.’

‘Why not send a man to the Arshuman palace at Kitev to present their king with our terms?’ Maynard, the eldest man there, was known as something of a pragmatist.’

‘It is not my place.’ Felmere drained his goblet. ‘It is up to Duke Leontius and, as the possibility of total victory still exists, I doubt he will be interested. The next move
is ours to make, unless he writes to me with different instructions, but I can’t remember the last time that happened. Oh and Esric, well done, you learn fast!’

‘Thank you, Lukas. I can even send you a small force to reinforce your army if required.’

‘Thank you, but no. We are getting more men all the time. Fenchard has brought more as has Lasgaart. In fact, I am in a position to help you. Another mage is arriving. Leontius is pressing
hard for victory. He will work for you when he arrives.’

‘Who is this mage, Baron?’ asked Marcus.

‘He has been here before; you probably know him? Name of Mikel.’

Ha! thought Cheris. Bored with little Elsa already? Can’t keep away from me, can you? She had to smile.

‘That would be a bonus indeed.’ Esric sounded elated. ‘Perhaps I can attack them over the next few weeks, keep them busy, stop any further reinforcements coming
north.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Felmere. He seemed to be thinking. ‘The decision needs to be made. Consolidate over winter and attack in the spring, or attack in the next few weeks and try to
drive them all the way back to Roshythe. Both arguments have their strengths and weakness.’

‘I see no weaknesses in attacking now,’ said Fenchard.

‘There are many.’ It was Dominic Hartfield’s turn to speak. ‘We have tired men and an injured mage; if we are driven back, it will boost their morale at a cost to ours.
Even if we win, we will have to press on deep into the winter. We would have to camp by Roshythe and dig our own defences in the hard ground. Our supply lines would be stretched and we would be
vulnerable to any counter-attack their king could muster if he didn’t sue for peace.’

‘Yet if we stay here we lose a golden opportunity for victory. Their king is a sybarite, but he is not stupid. He may well have no choice but to sue for peace.’ Fenchard was
animated, excited. Was he that desperate for glory? Cheris thought.

‘What we are talking about is taking a risk to end the war quickly, or staying safe and prolonging it still further but at the same time securing our position. Fenchard, the men here have
seen many more battles than you; it makes us more cautious. None of us want to lose more of our men than we have to.’ Felmere sounded weary; his eyes were red and not only from drink.

‘Perhaps you are all so used to war you cannot imagine any other life. Imagine, one victory, just one, could end this for ever.’

‘I have heard that so many times,’ said Maynard. ‘And we are still here, still doing the same thing.’

‘Ask the men,’ said Fenchard. ‘They have won a great victory. They would fight anyone, anywhere right now. We have mages and they do not. They have no leader and are
disorganised.’ His eyes blazed. ‘It is within our grasp!’

‘You speak well, Fenchard,’ said Dominic. ‘It is the duty of knights to seek glory in battle but not to throw lives away senselessly. We are in a much stronger position now
than we were a year ago. We could advance in spring with all the dice in our favour.’

For the next half-hour the argument swung back and forth, from Fenchard’s zeal to Maynard’s phlegmatism, until the man in charge decided to intervene.

‘We have reached an impasse,’ said Felmere. ‘Maybe we should have a vote, see which way the opinion sways. Mages, as this is purely a military matter, I will not include you in
this.’

One by one the barons and other soldiers gave their yea or nay. Eventually only Trask, Fenchard, Lasgaart, Ulgar, Reynard and Felmere himself were left to vote, with the scores tied.

‘I am obviously for an attack now,’ said Fenchard, ‘so count me as a yes.’

‘I cannot disagree with the Baron ,’ growled Trask. ‘I am a yes also.’

‘The yeas lead by two then,’ said Felmere. ‘Lasgaart?’

‘It is difficult,’ Lasgaart replied. ‘I see Fenchard’s vision but the winters here can be cruel; fighting through it is never easy. I will have to say no to
this.’

Cheris saw Fenchard blanch slightly. He was counting on Lasgaart’s vote, she thought.

‘I am a no also,’ said Reynard. ‘I am standing with Dominic in this.’

‘We are tied again,’ said Felmere. ‘Ulgar, it is just you and me.’

‘Fenchard is a lad I have taken under my wing,’ the scarred man said. ‘I have tried to mentor him in his responsibilities; he is a man with much promise. Haslan Falls is
thriving under his leadership; as you can see, he has brought a thousand men to the battlefield, nearly as many as you, Lukas, and more than me.’ He turned directly to his
protégé. ‘I can certainly see your arguments, Fenchard’ – he sighed – ‘but no, son, I cannot agree with you – war is not a game of chance. You only
ever attack when you are certain of victory and too many things can go wrong here. I am sorry.’

Fenchard looked at Ulgar; his face looked as if it was set in frost and granite, his eyes flared with suppressed anger.’ The boy has a temper, Cheris thought.

‘It is up to me then,’ said Felmere. ‘The nays lead by one but I have the casting vote if there is a tie. If I vote yes then we will have a tie so then it will be solely my
decision.’ He sighed and put his head in both hands. When he looked at his audience again, he appeared to have aged ten years in a second.

‘You know, gentlemen, if you had put this to me at any time in the past ten years, except now I would have no hesitation in saying we consolidate, bide our time and wait. When this war
started, my boy, Kraven, was one year old. Now, he is eleven and sits with his stepmother in the castle in Felmere knowing nothing of peace. If we play the cautious game, maybe in two or three
years we can claim victory, but then again maybe we won’t. Maybe we never will. I feel that to win this cursed war someone has to take a chance, risk all in a game of hazard. If we lose, we
fall back to Grest and see out the winter anyway. If we win though, if we could kick their arses all the way to Roshythe or Kitev, maybe we are just one winter away from victory, or a peace
negotiated on our terms and in our favour.’ He hesitated going over things in his head one more time.