The Forgotten War (96 page)

‘Stop the executions! The man is innocent. Death is coming to us, they are coming! They are coming!’ He disappeared under a sea of arms.

Esric watched the struggle a little longer then said quietly but firmly.

‘Bring him before us.’

Eburg sat back down, aware that he had lost all control of proceedings; his mother seethed quietly beside him.

Esric’s men half carried, half pushed the man towards him. The man ceased his struggling and allowed them to do what they wished. Finally, weapons pointed at him, the men fell back leaving
the man standing alone before Esric. Esric and Eburg both choked back exclamations of surprise.

For the man was an albino.

He cringed slightly at the stern expression of the powerful baron on his horse. He was bathed in sweat; his clothes were of decent make but were stuck to him; his hair was also plastered to his
forehead. His breath came in short ragged gasps.

‘Well, my man,’ said Esric. ‘You have caused quite a perturbation in the square. I hope the explanation you are about to give me is a plausible one, for your own
sake.’

‘It is, my Lord.’ The man was breathing heavily, doubled over. Esric waited patiently, giving him time to compose himself. Finally he spoke again. ‘My Lord, I have run nearly
all the way from the trading post in the south; my horse threw me almost as soon as I escaped.’

‘Trading post? You mean Tath Wernig?’ Eburg knew immediately this was the man mentioned in the magistrate’s letter.

‘Escaped? What do you mean escaped?’ Esric grew sterner.

‘Yes, my Lords, Tath Wernig was attacked late last night. All the horses were killed; I don’t know about the villagers ... I barely got out with my life; they were dragging people
into the river.’ The man looked over at the selfsame river, just visible behind a row of wattle-and-daub buildings that huddled close to it and recoiled, almost as if it was about to come
alive and strike him like a snake.

‘Who were dragging them into the river, man? Who?’ Esric’s tone was harsh.

The albino gasped, his voice barely a whisper. ‘Monsters, my Lord, just as the Marsh Man said. He is innocent, my Lord; my partner, Gorton, tried to rob him and fell in the river. It was
not his fault. He tried to tell us, he did, but we wouldn’t listen – we just wanted his trade goods, Artorus forgive me.’

Eburg stood again, affecting all the outrage he could possibly muster.

‘You are the albino Onkean mentions in his deputation, are you not? You are saying that you lied to my own appointed official? That you perjured yourself before him in order to condemn an
innocent man? Then it is you that shall replace him on the gallows! Take him to the scaffold, Jeffen!’

He forgot himself for a second. Jeffen and his men, heavily outnumbered, were standing some way from proceedings and did not move at his command. Esric raised an admonishing hand.

‘Patience, Eburg. This man could have fled into the country, never to be seen by us again. Instead, he came here and is plainly terrified. I am inclined to believe him. Do any of you men
here know him?’

One of his men at arms, halberd pointed at the albino, spoke.

‘Yes, my Lord, he is well known in some parts of Sketta; we come from the same district. He is a slippery customer, always a step ahead of the law. He runs with the gangs by the river and
among the warehouses. Whitey, we all call him.’

‘Whitey,’ Esric murmured quietly. ‘Tell me, Dennick,’ he said to the man-at-arms. ‘You were once with the gangs, were you not?’

‘Yes, my Lord, a lot of us were, but we are all your men now – those days are long in the past.’

‘Yes,’ said Esric, ‘I know. Tell me, Whitey, do you believe in redemption? That a man can undo all the wrong in his life by turning from the road he has journeyed since his
birth and serving the cause of justice?’

Whitey looked at the ground, clasping his hands together.

‘Of course, my Lord.’

‘Then I give you a choice. You can submit to Baron Eburg’s justice and dance on the gallows for the entertainment of the mob or you can submit to my justice. Which would you
prefer?’

‘I, I do not wish to hang, my Lord.’

‘Very well,’ Esric said briskly. ‘Dennick, induct this man into the guard, give him a uniform and his basic training, and before anyone says anything I do not wish to hear that
superstitious claptrap about pink eyes being bad luck, understand?’

The men mumbled their assent, not necessarily wholeheartedly.

‘And as for you, Whitey, I will be watching you carefully. If one weapon vanishes from the armoury, one joint of pork disappears from the kitchens, one silver button goes from my
sister’s jewellery box, then it is to you I shall turn. Understand?’

Whitey gulped. ‘Yes, my Lord.’

‘As to the matter you have reported to us, I will question you further presently. Expect to be assigned to the troops designated to defend us from this strange new threat. Captain
Jeffen!’

Jeffen looked at Eburg, who opened his hands in supplication, then to Esric.

‘My Lord.’

‘There will be no hangings today. Return the two prisoners to their cells and bring the Marsh Man to the manor house. Baron Eburg and I have matters to discuss over dinner.’

He spurred his horse towards Eburg’s home, leaving its owner to catch up behind him. Josar, riding next to him, spoke as quietly as he could.

‘You rather usurped Eburg’s authority there; it was boldly done indeed.’

‘I am weary, Josar,’ Esric replied, not caring who heard him, ‘of having charge over barons who are bound and determined to ignore everything I command. It stops here. A man
could have hanged today, a man who knows something of whatever unholy dangers threaten our southern borders, even as the Arshumans press us to the north. And I will do whatever it takes to have
everyone here put their own petty ambitions to one side until this war is over.’

‘Whatever it takes?’ Josar said wryly.

‘Whatever it takes.’

Shortly afterwards, in the courtyard of Eburg’s walled estate, Esric and Josar had dismounted and were facing the Marsh Man and Captain Jeffen. Eburg and his mother had retired to the
dining room to ensure that the kitchens were doing their duty and able to feed extra mouths that day.

Esric noticed Cygan’s injuries.

‘They worked you over pretty thoroughly, did they not?’

‘Indeed.’

‘Allow me to introduce myself. I am Baron Esric Calvannen, Chief Prosecutor of the War in the South. I am the man in authority here and the one to whom you shall speak on the matter of
these creatures and how best to combat the threat they present.’

‘And I am Cyganexatavan of the Black Lake, sent to tell you of the danger on the threshold of your home.’

‘Well met, Cyganexatavan. We shall speak at length shortly. First of all, though, do you think it wise to send some troops to this trading post to gauge the import of the events two nights
ago?’

‘Yes, of course, though it is not for me to tell you what to do with your men.’

‘No, it is not. Captain Jeffen, take twenty of your horse to Tath Wernig, search for survivors and see how the village can be best defended in the future. Twenty of my horse will accompany
you, report back to me.’

‘To you, my Lord?’

‘Yes to me. Now go – it is your people being threatened after all.’

Jeffen bowed and left them. The courtyard was empty bar the three men and a few troops milling around idly.

‘Now to speak to Eburg.’ Esric turned towards the manor house.

‘If it is all right by you,’ said Cygan, ‘I will join you later; I have some small business to attend to first.’

Esric nodded and he and Josar entered the manor house. Cygan watched them go, then turned in the opposite direction. In the high stone wall encircling the estate was a black space, an entrance
that opened on to a flight of steep, dark, slippery steps, leading down into a darkness lit only by a couple of flickering torches, and it was to this entrance that he was now heading.

It was not the food, but the atmosphere, that could be carved with a knife in Eburg’s dining hall. Eburg himself was sitting ashen-faced, distractedly pulling the meat
off a pigeon; his mother, who normally devoured everything within an arm’s radius, could barely force down a piece of dried bread, and their staff and retainers appeared similarly affected by
their Lord’s parsimonious approach to his vittles. Esric, however, was ravenous, appearing to devour his own weight in food and sending to the kitchens for more once his plate was cleared. At
last, the staff of the household returned to their duties elsewhere and it was not long before it was just the two Eburgs, Seneschal Carey, Josar, Calvannen and half a dozen guards, representing
both Houses, left in the hall.

Esric took a draught of watered wine. ‘I heartily commend your kitchens, Eburg. If only my own had the same delicacy of touch; every pigeon I have been given lately is as black as a lump
of Derannen coal.’

‘Thank you, Esric,’ Eburg smiled nervously. ‘Mother vets every member of the kitchen staff personally, from humblest scullion to grandest chef; it is an obsession of hers, to
see that I am well provided for.’

‘That is good to hear,’ said Esric heartily. ‘Where would we all be without the care and attentiveness of our mothers?’

‘Mine died when I was but a child,’ said Josar. ‘Though my father remarried it was hardly the same. The Gods have smiled on you, Eburg.’

‘Yes, in some ways they have.’

‘And now, Eburg,’ – Esric wiped the last of the gravy off his chin with a white cloth – ‘I suppose you are wondering what brought me here unannounced, in breach of
the usual protocols, which is certainly not something I would normally do.’

‘Yes, Esric, I did wonder.’

‘Good. What would a man be without his natural curiosity? Coincidentally, it was curiosity that has driven me here – curiosity as to how the lands closest to the Endless Marshes were
being administered; curiosity as to the quality of the kitchens in houses other than my own, one I may add that has been sated most satisfactorily, and curiosity as to why the baronial House of
Eburg keeps receiving seditious letters, ones that speak with the most earnest anticipation of my forthcoming demise.’

Eburg almost choked. ‘What? W...Whatever do you mean, Esric? I know nothing of such letters.’

‘Worry not, Eburg; I am reassured as to your ignorance of such matters. However, I would like to address this matter to your mother, to whom all the intercepted correspondence has been
addressed.’

Eburg stood up in shock. ‘Now, Calvannen, you have gone too far. This is my house and you cannot enter it and fling about baseless accusations at members of my own family. I think it is
best that you leave these premises and do not return until I say that you can, or at least until you have some hard evidence you can put before my eyes.’

Esric watched him, his eyes keen and determined. ‘I do have some. Lady Eburg?’

Eburg’s mother writhed in her chair as though engaged in some inner conflict. Eventually though she slowly turned her head to Esric, the malice in her eyes enough to make a weaker man
quail.

‘You are an arrogant presumptuous child, are you not? Quite how Duke Leontius named you as Prosecutor is a mystery, even to the wise among us. A dissolute wine-drenched boy, idling his
days writing tawdry poetry and bedding the cheapest, disease-riddled flea-bitten whores that could be found in his city – this is the man chosen to lead our resistance to the invaders? A
cheap joke! And how you dare to step under the roof of the house of the woman whose only son you mutilated and to whom you sent such a grisly token of his terrible demise, Uba knows! You, sir, are
not fit to lead a carnival of drunkards. Motley should be your raiment and juggling coloured balls for your betters your occupation. Was I party to the plot against you? Did I encourage my adopted
grandson to stir for your untimely removal? I most definitely did so. My only regret is that you are still here, a festering tumour at the heart of the lands of the south, the finest, most
desirable lands in Tanaren. Mark my words, boy, the Gods will see to you. I and others will do their work for them, have no fear of that!’ She stood and spat at Esric’s feet, her
wizened face contorted with malice.

Eburg was as white as a sheet. He slumped over the table, head in hands and gasping the single word ‘Mother!’

Esric did not move. He fixed her with an icy stare. Josar had drawn his sword and was standing, waiting for the word. Lady Eburg saw this.

‘And now you would torture and slay me, an old woman. Let everyone see the justice of the Calvannens and make their own judgement upon them.’ Her voice was getting shriller by the
minute.

Esric waved at Josar to sit.

‘Thank you for your opinions, Lady Eburg, and for your full confession to your crimes. I actually only had the scantest evidence for them, so your confirmation is most welcome. I was
advised that not every traitor had been caught the last time.’

‘Traitor!’ she spluttered indignantly. ‘You would call me traitor!’

‘I would. What other word would you use for those that deal in secret with the Arshumans? And now I suppose it is time for you to hear the justice of the Calvannens; I fear that the
opinions of others regarding it will be completely immaterial to you. Seneschal, place this woman under arrest.’

Along with a guard, Carey, somewhat shamefacedly, moved towards Lady Eburg. Once they had reached her, though, Esric signalled for them to stop.

‘Eburg,’ he said, ‘just as with the albino earlier I am going to give you a choice; you can decide your mother’s fate, at least to a degree. Are you prepared to listen to
me?’

Eburg looked to have aged years in minutes; he looked almost as old as his mother. Wearily he nodded at the Baron.

‘Very well. Your mother is guilty of treason and I am perfectly justified in putting her head on the block. However, owing to her age and reported infirmity, I am willing to explore other
possibilities. Your House, Eburg, is fatally compromised and your tenure as baron in question. I have many candidates for this baronetcy and am inclined to offer it to one of them. This is the
choice you have. I have a cousin with estates near the Morrathnay Forest. There is an unused house there with some lands in a secluded spot. Renounce your baronetcy and I will permit you, your wife
and mother to go and live there unmolested. You will have a small income and a cook and a couple of servants. You will, of course, need to sign the official papers for this to happen, but, if you
agree to this, you may live there in peace till the end of your days. Your mother will have freedom to do whatever she wishes as long as she never meddles in politics again.’