The Forgotten War (84 page)

‘We followed you last night,’ he said with a smile. ‘We were going to cut your throats as you slept, just like we did with these knights, but then you went and started your
little bonfire. So we had to wait and watch for survivors, to ambush you before you could fry us. I would like to thank you for doing two-thirds of the job for us; it means we can take more time
with the remaining third. And, believe me, we will take our time – weeks in the field have made the boys ... hungry, if you know what I mean, and a delicate little specimen like you is just
the perfect answer.’

He turned and started to walk away. ‘Bring her to the clearing and keep her angry; it’s all the better when they wriggle.’

They started to carry her, like a sack or piece of baggage, laughing as they went. Cheris felt empty, a hollow vessel. Nothing more could be done to her surely. She just hoped they killed her
quickly; she realised dully that there was nothing else she wanted, nothing she wanted at all anymore. Just death and eternal sleep.

‘Right. So what do we do know?’ Ceriana hunched her shoulders and stared straight ahead into the gloom.

The climb up the hill had taken about half an hour. There was a path cut through a narrow defile in the hillside with room for two people to walk abreast. This they had followed until it had
opened out on to the grassy hilltop. At last, she saw they were among the ruins. And, despite the fog shrouding everything, she could tell immediately that these ruins were not of human origin.
Architecture in Tanaren was square or rectangular – large functional blocks of stone put together to make buildings in which practicality was all. There were exceptions, the Grand Cathedral,
the Ducal Palace, but in most cases aesthetics were a secondary consideration. Obviously, the Wych folk had seen things differently. The towers that had not collapsed were tall and elegant,
reminding her rather of delicate ladies’ fingers. They were circular in design and she noticed, at least in one tower where the wall had partially collapsed, a narrow but elegant spiral
staircase. Fragments of marble still covered some of the steps, though most had long been stripped off by looters. There were graceful colonnades holding up long-vanished ceilings, floor mosaics
all broken up and obscured by grass, and fragments of high walls and parapets with fluted walkways. At its peak, the city must have been a joy to behold. But its peak was long ago and, of course,
its destruction had been partly due to her ancestors carving out their own territory on the backs of this now long-departed people.

Her companions were not in such a reflective mood, except perhaps for Ulian, who stopped briefly to contemplate the wonder still visible in the murk.

‘If only circumstances were different and I had more time,’ he said. ‘Cedric did invite me to come with him on more than one occasion, but fool that I am I always declined. I
have never been one for travel.’

‘All my life I have lived in castles and palaces, surrounded by cities that are little more than shanty towns, but this is an entire city built like a palace – it goes on for miles
and miles.’ Ceriana spoke in hushed tones, the fog still oppressed her.

‘And the others are leaving us behind,’ he replied quickly. ‘Come, let us not get lost in this mist.’

They quickly caught up with the others, who had struck a path towards a cluster of three small and crumbled towers surrounded by an encircling wall that was pierced by a single delicate archway,
narrow and slender. It was through this that the strange light shone. The wet grass soaked the hem of Ceriana’s thick velvet dress and her thin shoes, already derided by her husband as
utterly impractical, offered her no protection from either wet or cold. She drew her cloak closer around her.

‘Footprints,’ said Haelward. He indicated a patch of grass bruised by several booted feet. The grass was springy but had not yet recovered from its trampling.

‘Recent, too,’ said Wulfthram. ‘And we can all guess where they lead.’

Ceriana followed them, knowing full well that they would lead to the archway. And so it proved. Once they got there, the prints proceeded inside, clustering around the central tower. The whole
enclosure was a mass of tumbledown stone. Very little remained of the integrity of the towers, but any rubble obstructing the route to the central tower had recently been cleared away. It was here
where they now stood contemplating the next move.

‘We have to go in,’ said her husband.

‘I thought we were waiting till morning?’ Ulian asked.

‘Day and night are the same in a tunnel and we have the lanterns. We are here now; there is no point going back. Let’s get this finished.’

‘I am unsure,’ said Ceriana, ‘about the rest of you coming with me. With this amulet I am theoretically protected from harm, but no one else here is.’

Wulfthram gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Not this again. Are you protected from the creators of these footprints? Is hiding in the town any safer than being here? If anyone wishes to go back
to the ship, they are welcome to do so, but from what I have seen there is no sanctuary to be found, not even there.’

‘None of us is going back,’ Haelward said softly.

‘Then let us press on.’ With that Wulfthram strode towards the ruined tower, Ceriana following close behind.

A series of wide and steep black steps led downwards close to the entrance to the tower; at their foot she expected to see a floor with some sort of doorway, but no, the steps just went down and
down straight into the bowels of the earth through a circular hole in the ground. It was not a haphazard construction, lined as it was with smoothed and rounded stone. And it was from here that the
green light emanated before being trapped and reflected by the fog swirling about them.

‘The steps are damp and slippery,’ said Wulfthram. ‘Take them carefully; if you slip who knows how far down you will fall.’

He took the lead, holding a lantern before him, although the green light provided plenty of illumination, Ceriana followed him closely. It was a difficult climb, for the steps were steep and she
was the shortest person there. She put her hand into her husband’s and he assisted her firmly but gently as they made their way downhill. They passed the stone-lined underground entrance,
which was not much more than a glorified hole in the ground. The sickly green light revealed a narrow shaft, walled with bricks covered in mossy green and smelling of damp and earthy decay. Ceriana
still could not see how far it descended. They pressed on; time passed and the steps continued. Ceriana’s thighs were aching in protest at their forced exertion. Her feet were wet and cold,
and there was a dewdrop hanging miserably from the end of her nose. The strange light still had no visible source. Then Wulfthram stopped so suddenly, she bumped into him.

‘Well, here we are,’ was all he said.

She realised with some relief that they had cleared the last step and were standing on a small uneven landing before a great arched opening in the wall. It would have been another delicately
tapered entrance but the weight of the earth above it had cracked and buckled it and the tallest among them would have to stoop slightly to pass through. The strange green light seemed to stop
here. The tunnel ahead was swathed in total darkness. The small party exchanged nervous glances.

‘I lead with one lantern. Strogar, bring up the rear with the other. Ulian, keep next to me with your scroll; anything you can see that can point the way for us, just shout out. Ceriana,
just stick behind me. Maybe your amulet will help those stood close to you.’

‘You do like shouting out your orders, don’t you?’ she whispered in her husband’s ear.

‘I do. They always appear wasted on you, though.’

‘Then I will obey this time –
just
this time.’

Wulfthram grunted and strode forward, his lantern casting wild shadows on to the narrow walls.

The heavy boots of the soldiers echoed on the uneven stone floor. Every sound was amplified tenfold in this confined space. Ceriana felt as though her breathing sounded like that of an
exhausted, panting dog, and every time she looked up she half expected to see a strange wraith-like phantom waiting for them at the edge of the darkness, beckoning them to their doom. So far,
though, there was nothing except the drip, drip of water leaking through the cracked ceiling and running in rivulets down the dank green walls. Her feet were certainly getting no drier.

Then came their first dilemma. Ceriana felt a draught tug at her ears and realised that there was a shaft to their left. Wulfthram stopped and held the lantern up to it.

‘Another passage,’ he said. ‘This was bound to happen sooner or later.’

‘Hold the lantern here a second.’ Ulian was fumbling for something in his pack. He produced some parchment and started scribbling on it with a piece of graphite. ‘It’s as
good a time as any to start a map.’

‘But which way do we go?’ Ceriana asked.

‘We could split up,’ suggested Haelward.

‘Probably to never see each other again, to get lost and hunted down in the dark, forgotten by everyone until we are nothing but bones and shadows.’

Haelward looked at Ceriana. ‘Bad idea, then?’

‘She is right,’ said Wulfthram. ‘We do not separate down here.’

‘I’ll say it again.’ said Ceriana. ‘Which way do we go?’

Ulian was peering at the archway in the dim light when he suddenly gave an uncharacteristic whoop of triumph. ‘Here, bring the lantern here ... No, lower ... That’s it, now what do
we have here.’ He put down his ad hoc map and pulled out one of his many other scrolls. Everyone crowded round him so closely he had to shoo them away.

He indicated the third stone of the arch on the right. Ceriana had keen eyesight but even she couldn’t make it out at first, but then there it was – a series of elegant fine white
scratches carved by a strong hand.

‘By Elissa, how did you see that?’

‘Years of deciphering spidery scrawls in many books. It gives you an eye for this sort of thing. Now hopefully I have the pattern written down somewhere.’

Drip, drip, drip. Ceriana shuffled from one foot to another waiting for the scholar to pronounce judgement. After an age which soon became an eternity, Ulian spoke again.

‘I do not find an exact reproduction here, but I have found something that is a close approximation – three cross strokes, a diagonal and that pattern there. The closest I have is
the symbol for home. It is to home that this passage leads, whatever that means.’

‘Home,’ said Wulfthram. ‘Well, I had rather it had said the place where the red stone belongs, but I suppose it will have to do.’

‘Towards home then?’ asked Ulian.

‘Towards home. It sounds like the place we should be heading. Unless there are any objections?’

There weren’t. Wulfthram ducked under the narrow arch and carried on.

Shortly after, they came to a junction, and then another. Each time this happened Ulian would amend his map and look for the tell-tale symbol. Fortunately, he found it on each occasion. And so
they continued, into this dark forgotten place where time did not seem to exist.

They came to a flight of broken steps; there weren’t many but it helped reinforce an impression Ceriana was getting.

‘We are going ever deeper,’ she said. ‘The passage was sloping downhill already. Did anyone notice? And it is getting warmer and drier; my feet aren’t nearly so
cold.’

There was an air of agreement among her companions, though no one actually spoke. As they continued along the passage, Ceriana listened to her companions’ rhythmic breathing –
Ulian’s was thin and wheezy; Strogar’s deep and sonorous; Derkss’s fast and short; her husband’s deep and assured; Haelward hardly breathed at all... And then she heard
something else; it sounded like breathing but, no, it wasn’t; it was more like whispering. There it was again, like a soft freezing wind passing over jagged shards of ice. It was barely
perceptible, more like a gentle hiss, but for all that a hiss cloaked in threat and menace, a dagger in a velvet scabbard. And there were words there; she couldn’t understand them but there
was a form to the noise that had to be language of some sort.

‘Did anyone hear that?’ she asked.

Ulian stopped and looked at her. ‘No. What did you hear?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘But I think something is watching us.’

Wulfthram’s face was a warm orange under the lantern. ‘What exactly do you think it is?’

Ceriana said nothing, but her expression gave her thoughts away.

‘The guardians,’ said Ulian. ‘If they know we are here, why aren’t they attacking us?’

‘Perhaps they are curious about us? Perhaps they want to see why we are here first?’ Ceriana sounded hopeful.

‘Well, concealment was always going to be unlikely down here,’ said Wulfthram. ‘Come on, let us continue while the lanterns burn.’

Ceriana felt the amulet against her skin. She had thought that the heat of her body would take the coldness from it and make it barely noticeable, but this had never happened –it was
always cold as a winter lake, a constant reminder of her predicament and of the life she had lost after that fateful day on the beach. A fleeting memory of Doren and her family made her stop and
swallow sadly. Then she composed herself once more; feelings of loss and regret were entirely inappropriate at this time.

Not twenty steps further on and they all stopped almost in unison. There was a swirling draught and a sense of space about them. And above them. The lanterns gave little away, except to show
that the walls had disappeared.

‘A cavern?’ asked Haelward.

‘If it is, it is one without a floor.’ Wulfthram stepped forward and by the light of the lantern they saw the dead drop ahead of them. The ground disappeared over a wet stony lip and
into a chasm of pure darkness. Ceriana sighed in disappointment, thinking it was journey’s end, but then saw that this was not the case. A thin finger of stone, a pathway maybe five feet
across, extended in front of them. It was not like any bridge she had ever seen before, for it twisted like a fast-moving snake and seemed to extend downward into nothingness. As to where it ended
or led, the lantern’s small light could give no indication.