The Forgotten War (72 page)

‘As I said before, it is not strong. I can help with minor wounds, warm the stones and such things. I rarely use it. Tell me, you were going to fight my brother one more time,
weren’t you? The decider, you called it.’

‘Yes, we had won a duel each; I burnt my foot when I lost to him.’

‘Then I will fight it for you, when I have the time.’

‘Really? I have seen you with a bow and knife but I have no idea of your abilities in combat. I wondered if they were just ceremonial.’

She laughed; there was a note of incredulity in it. ‘I have led my tribe in battle,’ she said. ‘It is true I cannot stand toe to toe with the likes of you for long – you
are too strong, after all – but there is no better archer in the tribe than I and no one faster with a spear. I have fought my brother many times over the firestones and lead him by quite a
margin. He will be annoyed when he finds out I have become your champion.’

‘I will leave it in your hands then. The important thing for me was that I wasn’t humiliated and that I did not embarrass you. Hopefully I managed to achieve that.’

‘I think you did. When I leave you I will hear from others about your performance, but I am not worried about it. Most people are too excited about Armentele to think about anything
else.’

‘When does it start tomorrow?’

‘Early. Terath will fetch you and Cedric. There is a ceremony to herald the end of the harvest and greet the onset of winter, but after that it is a case of feasting and drinking
jenessa
, the spiced berry drink you had the other day. It ends as the sun goes down; there is a procession with torches back here to the island. There is a lot of singing and dancing. I am
sure a warrior like yourself will find it all beyond tedious, guest of honour or no.’

‘On the contrary,’ said Morgan with a smile, ‘I am looking forward to it, especially to the dance of the princess of the Morioka.’

She smiled, almost shyly. ‘You will be underwhelmed, I am sure. I will leave you now. Rest your foot, otherwise you will see nothing tomorrow apart from these four walls.’

She left him and he fell flat on the bed, still feeling the soothing waves of energy pulse through his foot. It felt so soothing he was asleep in minutes.

The following morning he found himself sitting on the grass with Terath and Cedric. The Mhezhen was there, too, though he had to be carried there on a litter. He was the only
one seated, for his throne had been brought here, too – the grass had to do for everybody else.

They were some two miles from the island, between the lake and the sea. It was another place where the land dropped sharply; there was a sheer rock face on the south side covered in moss,
creeping vines and lichen. Through a cleft at its centre was another waterfall, this one falling in a sheer drop of some fifty feet, throwing up a cloud of fine spray from the dark pool under it.
The water continued as a narrow river, dancing and babbling over copper-coloured stones as it wound through the glade and into the woods to the north. The other main feature of the glade was
sitting right beside the pool. In times past, a large section of the cliff face must have split off and crashed to the ground. There it lay, a vast slab of grey, nearly ten feet high and around a
hundred feet across. It was perfectly flat, and ideal, as Terath had explained to them, for a stage. And it was facing this monolith, on both sides of the river, that everyone was sitting.

‘Armentele is an occasion where we say farewell to the abundance of summer and autumn and prepare for the onset of winter. Fire is the symbol we use, the guardian against the frost and
snows that await us,’ Terath said solemnly.

As he spoke, figures appeared on the great stone slab; they were carrying buckets or similar containers and were pouring some viscous-looking substance on to its surface. When that was done,
other men put torches to it. Immediately the substance ignited, great sheets of flame roaring skywards from the rock, all at least ten feet tall. The flames themselves were a variety of colours;
Morgan almost expected this by now. As well as the reds and blues there were greens and pale yellows, all the colours constantly shifting. There was little breeze in this dell, so the flames were
not buffeted by wind, keeping their shape – high walls of incandescence, crackling and reverberating – the noise of the fires echoing against the cliffs behind them. Musicians started
to play. Two girls strumming an instrument similar to a harp played a haunting introduction, before the drummers and flautists joined them. Shortly afterwards, the singing started; a choir had
joined the musicians at the back of the ‘stage’ and their voices melded with the instruments to produce a song of great complexity, its cadences rising and falling in time with the
rumbling falls and the swaying fingers of flame.

Food and drink was put out before the watchers. The meat was spicier than he had tasted before and the spiced berry drink went down a treat in the fresh air, despite the early hour. Cedric, who
had spent a lot of his time indoors with Terath, seemed to be relishing the change of scene, smiling beatifically as he watched the performance.

And then the dancers arrived. Men and women in shimmering white robes appeared leaping through the walls of flame. The men would pick up the women, hoisting them high as they stretched
languidly, moving and swaying their arms with a gentle grace. Their costumes reflected the colours surrounding them, so that it was something like watching a thousand shifting, moving rainbows
against a background of frowning cliffs and dark imperturbable trees.

And then he saw Itheya. Given her status, it was no surprise to see her at the centre of the ensemble, moving or being lifted and carried from one dance partner to the next, her long ponytail
almost dragging on the floor as she stretched her graceful limbs behind, in front of and through the fire. Like the other elves, she had an almost feline poise; it was almost like watching a ballet
performed by hunting animals, lithe and hypnotic, sinuous and elegant. Like the remainder of the audience, Morgan found himself almost being drawn into the performance – the trees, the damp
grass, the sound of the shallow river were all forgotten as the dancers wove their exquisite tapestry. Time passed unnoticed and the fitful sun was a distant memory as the swaying dancers twirled
and spun rhythmically. Morgan yet again felt as if he was in a waking dream.

And then it was over. The audience got to their feet, raised their arms to the stage and called, ‘
Satala, zana teripeto! Satala zana elethena! Satala za fimaremi!
’ As they
stood and watched, the fires died, the last of the musicians picked up their instruments and the choir solemnly ended their song. Within a minute the stage was empty.

‘It is always important with our people that the successor to the Mhezhen participates in all aspects of our society. With human lords, I believe this is seen as demeaning, but that is not
the case here.’ Cenarazh was smiling, proud of his daughter’s performance.

Everyone was feasting now, the spiced meats, the fish flavoured with herbs and wild garlic, hard cheeses and flatbreads all washed down with the jenessa. Morgan had the elves figured as quiet
respectful people, but that was hardly the case today – people were laughing and gossiping, some were dancing with each other, a crowd of young elf children had climbed on to the stage and
were attempting their own imitation performance, watched and cheered by their families.

‘May I humbly ask where your son is today?’ Cedric enquired of Cenarazh.

‘Patrolling our border. Either he or Itheya usually lead these patrols. We have to be constantly watchful; we have humans to the west and tribes that have little love for us elsewhere. Our
vigilance is necessary, if unfortunate.’

‘I have often wondered,’ said Cedric, ‘whether the outcome of the tragic wars between our peoples might have been different if your tribes had been more unified.’

Cenerazh smiled. ‘Our disunity has always been our greatest folly, one further compounded by our inability to learn from past mistakes. In my youth, I dreamed of uniting the tribes,
moulding our people into a force again, but I soon learned it would be easier to touch the moon; I do not know what it is like in human society but with us every facial gesture is an imagined
slight, every misplaced word an insult. The older one gets, the more wearisome it becomes.’

As he spoke, Itheya joined them. She still wore her white tunic and her thin torque, removed for her dance, was back around her neck. She greeted and kissed her father then came over to the
humans and sat beside them.

‘Did you enjoy what you saw? Or did it send you back to your slumbers?’

Morgan realised from her excited face that she was actually seeking their approval. He realised that he still couldn’t work her out.

‘I found it utterly hypnotic,’ effused Cedric.

Her brow wrinkled. ‘Hypno...? It is not a word I know.’

‘He said he found it entrancing,’ said Morgan. ‘As did I.’

‘Thank you. I am not sure I believe you, but thank you anyway. I need to sit with Father now, to discuss the
krasa
. Enjoy the festivities; I will speak with you later.’

And enjoy them they did. They ate and drank till they were fit to burst and then, as the sun receded over the lands of the humans, they joined the slow torch-lit procession back to the island
and Zamezhenka. The singing and music accompanied them all the way and, after attending the feast that continued on the third floor, Morgan retired to his room with a feeling of tired elation. He
was beginning to feel that he would be quite happy to stay here and never go back to the Seven Rivers – to war, cruelty and death, blood and loss. As he shut his eyes to sleep, he saw his
wife’s face for the first time in years, only briefly, but it jolted him like a kick from a horse. He sat upright in the bed, sweating, but could only see the light of the glowstones and hear
the sounds of muted passion coming from Itheya’s room. She had obviously found some company for the night.

‘Ah, Lis,’ he whispered softly, ‘where are you now, I wonder? The Gods watch over you, always.’

With that he lay back on the bed and, with the wish that Itheya would just get on with it, finish with the fellow and give him some quiet so he could rest properly, he drifted off into a slumber
full of dreams, but little peace.

The two-masted ship bobbed at anchor as it was slowly enveloped by mist. Within the narrow confines of its cabin were sitting Ceriana, Wulfthram, Ulian, Alys, Willem and
Haelward. Ceriana had forbidden Ebba from coming and, for the first time she could remember, she had no handmaiden but she was coping manfully with the loss. She rather enjoyed the independence, in
fact, and having her husband to help dress her had provided some of the more comedic moments of the past few days.

They were aboard the
Arnberg
, a caravel sporting two lateen sails and one of the fastest vessels in the Baron’s small navy. Built for speed, it had little room for luxury, hence the
single cabin with its solitary bench-cum-bed used by Wulfthram and his wife, who had spent the nights on board clinging to him, desperately trying not to fall off. The weather had been cold, with a
persistent fine rain that had only ceased with the arrival of the mist, so the other four voyagers had been allowed to sleep in the cabin, too. This in itself was something of a triumph of
ergonomics as there was barely enough room for a man to stand and walk five full paces without bumping into the low-hanging lantern or the creaking timbers of walls and door. The captain and crew,
who were also few in number, slept outside, finding shelter where they could.

Not that Willem was complaining. For the first time he could sleep with Alys in his arms, her hard little head on his shoulder and her soft breath caressing his ear and cheek. He had told her of
Cedric’s proposal to pay for his education personally; she was thrilled but also concerned – how could such a great debt ever be repaid? He told her to speak to Cedric about it; the man
had an amazing ability to allay any fears about any subject and Willem had never seen him lose an argument, even against his fellow professors.

Now, however, they were all awake, sitting around a low table that held Cedric’s books. Night was approaching and there were no crying gulls or cursing sailor to break the sounds of the
soft waves, the groaning of the ship’s beams or the sigh of the slightest breeze coming in through the cabin’s tiny half-open window.

‘Now,’ said Wulfthram, ‘tomorrow when this mist clears we will arrive at Oxhagen. I will send my men out to ask around for someone who knows the location of this tower. As you
know, the fishermen who fled to Osperitsan refused to return with us.’

‘That augurs well,’ said Haelward.

‘Whether they were too afeard to return or just did not want to risk losing the foothold they had gained for themselves, I do not know,’ said Wulfthram. ‘Anyway when a guide
has been secured, I, Haelward, Ulian and my men Strogar and Derkss will take the stone to the tower; the others will remain here with the ship’s crew.’

‘Nice try,’ said Ceriana, ‘but do you really think I am going to remain here?’ She held out the stone. It had been enclosed in a silver fitting and chain which she
proceeded to put around her neck.

‘I could take it from you by force.’

‘In front of all these people? With me all screaming and helpless?’

He sighed, smiling ever so slightly. ‘Very well. I cannot stop you from coming, but do not go anywhere on your own. We have come here to protect you, after all.’

‘I can accept that,’ she said. ‘Being surrounded by strong muscular warriors has its compensations.’

‘And by me,’ said Ulian.

‘Of course, every expedition needs its brains.’

‘Speaking of which,’ said Ulian, ‘I have been searching these books, the ones Willem brought here, for some reference to the “guardians” your fisherman referred to
in the tunnels.’

‘And?’ said Wulfthram.

‘Well, I have found something.’

‘Yes?’

‘It isn’t good.’