The Forgotten War

by Howard Sargent

  The smaller isle was called the Isle of Healing. It held a low single-storey building which had spread until it covered almost half of the island’s surface. This was the great hospital of the mages where those on the mainland sent their sick and infirm, if they had the coin. Research and education were its other functions – many aspiring young doctors resided there including those who had no magical gift at all, as the college did not discriminate. Mages were so rare after all and it was only the more prosaic methods of healing that were available to most people. It also housed a small house of prayer dedicated to Meriel, goddess of healing, and an equally small chapterhouse of the Knights of the Holy Thorn, there to police errant mages. The chapterhouse in the Grand College itself was much larger.

  Cheris and Marcus had not spoken since leaving the garden. Her mind was racing so fast that one question was immediately displaced by another before she had the wherewithal to ask it. They were about to go up the steps to the college when she seemed to come to her senses.

  ‘Excuse me a minute,’ she said. She then proceeded to extract a small bag which seemed to be concealed in a pouch in her robes. (Mage robes are voluminous enough to contain many pouches, the majority of which contained many rare and, to the common man, wondrous ingredients.) She turned aside from the path and called out in a clear ringing voice only slightly diminished by the wind ‘Fidget! One-eye! Knocker!’ A few seconds later she called again.

  From somewhere over the other side of the hill three cats started running towards her. They were all large, well-fed, black-and-white cats. One had an eye missing.

  She opened the bag and emptied its contents, pieces of ham and chicken, on to the ground. As the cats tucked in she made sure that each of them had roughly the same amount of food, talking softly to them as she did so. ‘Don’t be so greedy, Knocker; let Fidget have some more, he is smaller than you. Come on, One-eye, tuck in! Here’s some chicken; I know you prefer it.’

  When they had finished she stayed a while stroking each in turn, then stood up to return to the path. ‘Who will feed them now, I wonder?’ she mused sadly. She rejoined Marcus, and they turned up the path together, climbing the stairs to the college and escaping the wind, which was picking up as the sun started to go down.

  The great doors, dark wood bound in iron pitted by salt, were open just enough to admit two people. Two knights, in dark mail covered in white cloaks emblazoned with the symbol of a blood-covered thorn, stepped aside to let Cheris and Marcus in. Their eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the cool darkness but the surroundings were so familiar they could walk through them blindfold.

  The Great College was fashioned out of unyielding black stone. There was little that was beautiful about it; rather, it was a building in which function was all important. The reception area was small, though flanked by two great staircases, partially carpeted, and lit, badly, by candles set in strategic alcoves along the walls. The windows, as they were elsewhere, were too small to make much difference, although now, as the sun began to set, they cast shafts of light, shot through with dust motes, on to the floor.

  Through the next set of oak doors was the main hall, in which major meetings were held and dignitaries received. It made an attempt at grandeur; its walls were lined with tapestries with busts of the many former Chief Magisters filling the gaps between them, aping the Grand Duke’s palace in Tanaren City. It also held four great chandeliers, which, though they usually held candles, could be fitted with many glass orbs that could be lit magically. The college, a place of austerity with many strict rules, usually frowned on the frivolous use of its arts, but if visitors needed to be impressed then rules could be set aside, if only for one night.

  Through the next set of double doors were the refectories, with the kitchens leading off them to the south and the lay brothers’ cells to the north, and through yet another set of great doors was the initiates’ library, one of the busiest rooms in the building. Teaching was done in very small groups or on a one-to-one basis so no teaching rooms existed, although the library had alcoves in which mentor and pupil could sit together. The library was not a place of silence. Quiet study would take place in the initiates’ cells just off the library. These small, spare rooms just held a bed, chair, table and bookshelf. There was also a small wardrobe in which the initiate hung their robe, no other form of dress being permitted. Light came through a small grilled window which could be closed with a wooden shutter. A little shrine to the mage god, Lucan, stood in every cell along with the Book of Lucan, a holy book full of dire warnings concerning casual use of magic by the foolish or ambitious. Initiates were supposed to pray for guidance from him every night, but Cheris hadn’t done so for years – she wasn’t the only one.

  Up on the second floor were two great balconies, one facing east to catch the sunrise and one facing west for the sunset. The eastern balcony overlooked the cliffs on the highest part of the island, but apart from that there was just the white-flecked sea, endless and imperturbable, and the small patch of ground under which were housed the rarely used prisons.

  The western balcony overlooked both islands and it was here that, after taking a meal, Marcus and Cheris now stood, watching the light becoming ever more eerie, dappling the water and turning the unfussy buildings of the hospital into sinister blocks of shadow that seemed to absorb the light around them. About their heads great white seabirds swooped and screamed in their seemingly ceaseless agitation. These birds could be a problem at times and necessitated a canopy of sturdy sailcloth over both balconies. Other mages were gathered here – watching the sunset was a popular daily event.

  ‘I told you at dinner,’ Cheris opined sweetly, ‘I am no soldier. I cannot try to take another’s life; I find the idea repellent. I don’t even eat meat.’

  ‘Yes, that is a strange habit of yours,’ said Marcus with a smile. ‘I am amazed the cooks put up with you.’

  ‘Oh believe me, I have had a few frank discussions with the cooks over the years. They tolerate me these days rather than just glare; we have developed an uneasy truce. Anyway, you are ignoring my last statement, so I will say it again. Why do you wish me to go to the mainland to see the ugliness of battle and possibly be required to take life? This war is of no relevance to me; I see no purpose in my going at all. And why, by all that is holy, do you want me to go when there are plenty of others itching to leave the island?’

  ‘It is not that simple and you know it.’ Marcus was frowning, his tone almost wistful. ‘Unfortunately, Cheris, or maybe fortunately, I do not know, Lucan has given you the rarest of talents. You could have been a healer or a conjuror of illusions, but we both know what you are best at. Your talent is one of pure destruction. No one at your age should be able to wield fire and lightning the way you do. Your power is one that would achieve full congress on the field of battle. Apart from that ... you are my pupil and no one knows your capabilities better than I, and believe me when I say that most of it has yet to be tapped. So there you have it: your potential simply demands that you leave here.’ He looked her in the eye, emphasising each word. ‘No one mage here, including myself, has the abilities that you could display. Believe me, to your foes you could become the god Xhenafa, the reaper of the dead.’

  She looked uncomfortable. ‘You see me as the god who takes the last breath of life from all of us, before leading us to our judgements? No, you are describing a demon ... a monster. Is that truly what I am? Is it the way you see me?”

  ‘Not at all – a monster is savage, unreasoning. You, however, know how to exercise restraint. Your powers would be used to save the lives of our soldiers, lives that otherwise could easily be lost.’ He saw her shake her head. ‘And as much as you may deny it, they are our soldiers. You may have spent much of your life here, but you are a citizen of Tanaren, just as much as I am.’

  She sounded derisive. ‘Citizen of a country that sent me into exile as a child just because I am ... different.’

  ‘If they hadn’t done that, you would most lik
ely be dead now; no one knows how many children the lynch mobs get to first. If you are lucky and your parents are the first to spot the signs, you get given to the authorities and sent here. If not, it is a rope or a pyre for you. I spoke with one of the knights here earlier on; he was a new arrival and told me his last duty on the mainland was to cut down the bodies of two children no more than six years old. On the mainland you are a witch and I am a wizard, and neither of those terms are ones of respect.’

  ‘Then I say it again: these are not my people and I owe them no loyalty.’

  Marcus sighed. ‘We have these gifts, Cheris; for good or ill we have them. As mages, there are many unpalatable truths that we have to face up to. All countries are the same – once our abilities are noticed we are sent into exile to learn how to harness and control our powers. From then on our exile only ends if our return is requested for whatever reason. Even then, once our job or period of service is completed, we have to return into exile again. On the mainland we have to wear distinctive red robes, though we may conceal them in battle. People, the common folk, are terrified, absolutely terrified of us. When we walk down a street it is to the sound of doors and shutters slamming, children being hushed into silence by their mothers – even the taverns go quiet. The Knights of the Thorn are with us constantly to protect us from them and them from us. It is the way.’

  She laughed disdainfully. ‘You are not making it sound any better.’

  ‘No,’ he smiled, ‘I am not. Look, how long have you been here on the island?’

  ‘Fifteen years.’

  ‘Well, I have made many trips to the mainland for one reason or another. If I had never left, I would now be in my forty-fifth year here. I like to think I have a fairly active mind and I know you have, but if I had never left the island even for short periods I would now be on our neighbouring island in their asylum by now. If you don’t leave now, you may never be allowed to. You may have another sixty years of life left; do you really think you can spend all of it here?’

  She pouted. ‘There are other reasons mages leave here, not connected with war. Things like council business, whatever that may be.’

  ‘That is true but the council members who discuss our business with the Grand Duke are all my age or even older. I have been to a couple of council meetings but it is only as a junior member. For a young person to leave here there are only two viable reasons, either as a healer or as a warrior. And, alas, your healing skills are not your strong point.’

  She looked downwards. ‘I do not know battle or violence. I do not know how I would ... manage in such situations. I have never been close to peril before; I just do not know how I would react.’

  ‘That is something we never know until we have to face it, but I will be with you and the knights act as protectors in the field. And, as for battle itself ... well, I believe you are far stronger than you seem to think you are. My first, second and third engagements made me physically sick but it is like anything else. The more you do something, the more used to it you get... Please don’t think I am trying to force you; you can say no right up to the day the ship departs. It is just that we mages are limited in our choices: if you wish to leave here at all, then this is the only way open to you.’

  She nodded her head slowly, her eyes sad and thoughtful. ‘I see.’

  He turned to face her. ‘Do your parents still write to you?’

  ‘Yes, I get letters once or twice a year. I write back but all my letters sound the same – “got up, studied, annoyed my mentors” – that sort of thing.’

  ‘You are very lucky that they can read. Most people have to be taught when they get here. Where do they live?’

  ‘In the capital, in the Loubian district; they are quite well off. Father is a merchant. He has some ships and does well out of the southern spice trade, or so his letters say. Are you thinking I might get to see them?’

  ‘It would be difficult. I have already told you of the reception we will have, but the secondment is for a year, so I will see what favours I can call in. Perform well and it will become easier for us.’

  ‘Thank you for that. If I choose to go, when would we be leaving?’

  ‘A ship will be here in about four days. Say your goodbyes and don’t forget to arrange a cat feeder. Let’s go in.’

  He went in through the doorway behind them leaving Cheris alone on the balcony. After taking a deep draught of the chill air she turned and followed him inside.

  Night had set in. Most of the initiates had retired to their cells, save for the few who were gossiping in the library. Cheris, however, had gone to her room to find her blue robes waiting for her. She put them on and tried studying her appearance in a small mirror, her own personal possession, on the table.

  It was impossible to see herself properly. Instead, she left the initiates’ quarters and crept upstairs. The mage quarters were much larger with more luxuries allowed, a reward for a successful graduation. She pitter-pattered as quietly as possible along a dark, barely lit corridor, before arriving at a door in which candlelight was showing through the gap at its bottom. Ever so softly she tapped on it and, on hearing a muffled reply, she crept in.

  The room was twice as large as hers. The bed was larger and more comfortable; there were many books on shelves and rugs on the floor. In a large high-backed chair near the shuttered window a mage was reading. He would have been about ten years older than Cheris, strong-jawed with a crop of well-tended jet-black hair that had the bluey sheen of crow’s feathers. His eyes were grey, very pale, almost dissolute, but his mouth, which was almost always set in a permanent sardonic smile, dispelled any concerns as to a lack of moral rectitude. He had only one weakness, and a prime, healthy specimen of it was now standing before him, arms outstretched, showing him her new robes.

  ‘Well? What do you think?’

  ‘I would prefer a silk dress on you personally.’

  ‘Oh, Mikel, so would I! It is a little big, to be honest, but still, I won’t be wearing it for long.’

  ‘Why not? Don’t tell me you have been promoted to the council!’

  ‘If only!’ she laughed. ‘No, it will be red robes for the next year. I am not sure red suits me, though.’

  ‘You are off to the mainland? Already?’

  ‘Yep, Marcus is taking me. I have a war to fight apparently.’

  Mikel stroked his chin in surprise. ‘I wonder why he chose you? You are not bedding him, are you?’

  ‘No!’ She spoke with false indignation. ‘I was going to say, “Of course I am not, he is my mentor,” but then that didn’t stop us, did it?’

  He looked thoughtful. ‘But you going away will though, won’t it?’

  She stared at him, her eyes amazed but knowing. ‘Don’t you dare tell me that you will miss me, or that you will keep it in your robes until I return. I wasn’t your first, or even your twenty-first. The second I leave you will be after somebody else. My guess is Elsa – pretty, quiet, needs a firm hand...’

  He returned her smile. He had already spoken to Elsa that day; she was coming up for an extra tutorial on the morrow. ‘I suppose I made my nature clear to you from the outset, although in my defence I was hardly your first either. I will miss you, though; that is the truth. There is nothing I like more than feeling the sharp edge of your tongue... Now, wait a second, where is it?’

  He got up and pulled out a chest that was concealed under his bed. He opened it and rummaged through various scrolls and papers until he found a small leather pouch. Opening it, he pulled out two gold coins as well as some pennies. ‘Two crowns, take them and here are some ducats. Money can be useful; you never know when you might need it. Oh and take this too.’ He threw her a separate pouch. ‘Spell components, iron filings, nitre and other stuff ... just in case.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She was surprised; altruism was not a notable characteristic of his. He sat back down.

  ‘Not used to seeing money, eh?’

  ‘Well, we don’t need it here. I doubt if I
have ever had more than a few pennies. Where did you get it?’

  ‘My last trip over. I have been to the mainland three times now. I did a favour for someone. Anyway, do I get a reward?’

  She looked uncertain. ‘I should go back downstairs; you know how the knights prowl.’

  ‘Then you had better stay here till dawn. I wonder how we will fill up the time?’

  Her uncertainty seemed to dissipate immediately. Smiling, she walked up to him and kissed him gently on the forehead. ‘I am sure we can think of something.’

  He blew out the candle.

  3

  ‘Time to wake up, my Lady; your bath is ready.’

  ‘Five minutes, Doren, just five more minutes.’

  ‘As you wish, my Lady.’

  Lady Ceriana Hartfield, buried under finest silk sheets, invisible save for a tousled mass of nut-brown hair, turned on her side and fell asleep again.

  Five minutes later. ‘My Lady, your bath is getting cold. I have fetched more hot water but even that will cool shortly.’

  ‘All right, Doren, I will be there presently.’

  ‘Thank you, my Lady.’

  Ten minutes later she was reclining in a bath strewn with rose petals and heavy with the aroma of scented oils. Doren, a dumpy lady of early middle years, was gently pouring more hot water from a ewer on which the symbol of the House of Hartfield, a rearing white deer, was emblazoned. Lady Hartfield was tapping on the water with her big toe, looking idly at the rings the water was making. Then her leg started to ache so she sunk it back under the surface again. ‘Is Father back yet?’ she enquired.

  ‘He has sent word that he intends to arrive on the morrow, just after dawn. It is a time I am not sure my Lady is aware of, though I can always call you then, if you desire it.’

  Lady Ceriana’s sharp features became even sharper. ‘I swear by all the Gods you are the most insolent handmaiden a woman could have! I absolutely insist that you call me the second he is sighted from the Archer’s Tower. Once you have done that you may leave my service; I am sure a more obedient girl can be found among the kitchen staff.’