She followed his finger to the flat-topped hill that she had seen many times that day without making the connection that it was the objective of their enterprise. It was less than ten miles away, she reckoned; the hill and the ground around it were steeply wooded and the surrounding fields were strewn with copses. ‘So that is Grest,’ she said absently. ‘It doesn’t look that important from here.’
‘Oh but it is, the hill controls the river and the land around for many miles. The soldiers I am travelling with are grumbling because they will miss Mytha’s ceremony tonight.’
‘What is that exactly?’
‘You will not see it. It is for warriors only; there will be several ceremonies at the various army tents. They pray to Mytha to make them great warriors; they are anointed with bear’s blood and have to eat raw flesh, so I am told.’
‘Charming!’ she said. ‘So I am keeping company with men who eat raw flesh and think nothing of violating the enemy’s women. Such circles you have me moving in these days.’
‘These are warriors, Cheris; war and the dangers it holds can terrify even the bravest. It provokes behaviour from men that they would normally find unthinkable.’
She nodded. ‘May the Gods protect you tonight.’
‘And may they protect us both tomorrow.’
They returned to her tent and Cheris went over the powers she would use tomorrow. ‘You need not use many, but you must know their workings by heart,’ Marcus had told her. She read and reread the incantations, even though she knew them all word for word, until she felt tired. She shut her eyes and had a little nap.
She felt a tap on her shoulder. After stirring grumpily, she saw it was Marcus leaning over her. ‘It’s not dark already?’ she asked.
‘It is, Cheris. I have to go now. The other men are ready.’
She swung her legs over and stood up. He was clad in black; she noticed he had even camouflaged his face with some paint or other. She kissed him lightly on the cheek. ‘Lucan protect you, Marcus.’
He gave her a sad smile. ‘Just make sure you are here when I return. I shall admit now that I am doubting whether I should have brought you. I fear my head ruled my heart in this case; I know you can shine out here but you are so young. I am more worried for you than I am me.’
‘Head should always rule heart,’ she said. ‘I am proud that you have such faith in me. It is not the time for regrets or recriminations. We are all in the hands of the Gods now.’
‘I do have faith in you. More than I have in myself, if truth be told. Remember, I don’t know who the other mage is or where he comes from, but he is just a man not a god, and not more powerful than you. Believe in your abilities and you will prevail.’
‘I will, Marcus. See you in two days.’
He hugged her, took one last look at her and was gone.
She went to the opening of the tent to see him strolling away from her with long purposeful strides. How many times over the years had she had to run to keep up with him! He disappeared behind another tent, maybe gone for ever. She was about to go back inside when a group of young men strolled past her; they were soldiers, obviously in high spirits, laughing and joking with each other. Despite the half-light, she could see that their hair and faces were covered in sticky blood. It was drying on their skin in the cool air. She looked at her feet and closed her eyes. Then, shaking her head slightly, she turned and went back into the tent feeling very small and alone.
On the morrow the wagon was out again, preparing to move her with the army. She had slept fitfully and had barely managed to eat her breakfast. Now she had butterflies doing somersaults in the pit of her stomach. Despite that, she asked Sir Norton if she could sit up front with him; maybe watching the army mobilise would distract her somewhat.
It was a fine bright morning and signs of activity were everywhere. Many of the tents had been taken down and loaded on to the army’s baggage train, dozens of large six-wheeled wagons due to be pulled by sturdy, shaggy horses that were now placidly grazing the bruised grass, grabbing a quick meal before being put to work. The camp followers – cooks, civil servants and the medical teams – were to remain here, guarded by a nominal force; everyone else was on the move. Felmere’s infantry were the first to mobilise, the largest block of men in the army. She could see they were seasoned men by the way they calmly went about their business. While the others were still sorting out their armour or cleaning their blades, they were hoisting the banner of the mace and the great banner of Tanaren and marching off singing one of the many battle songs of Mytha. She knew little about such songs, but all of them sounded the same, stirring and powerful when sung by dozens of young men with the light of battle in their eyes – the sort of songs that would unsettle all bar the most fanatical of enemies.
As they left, she caught sight of the Silver Lances, easily the most visually impressive contingent she had seen – clad as they were in full suits of silver armour, their helms sporting high crests of blue feathers, their great steeds clothed in blue-and-silver barding, and a great banner of two crossed lances on a blue-and-white background flapping above them. Enough to make a girl weak, she said to herself, not without irony. She could certainly imagine the impression they would make on the pampered ladies of the Grand Duke’s court. The Serpent knights with their green crests and then those of the Eagle Claw rode with them, both a sight to behold, although they were maybe not quite as impressive as the Silver Lances.
The light cavalry, with their smaller, nimbler horses, leather armour and short bows and spears, were a much more mundane sight and did not ride as a single unit; rather, they spread out ahead and to the flanks of the main body of troops, screening them from surprise attack. After all these came smaller contingents of men. She could not remember them all: some wore red and white; others green and white. The men of Haslan Falls she remembered, as their banner gave their origin away. They were towards the rear of the column, their armour polished and looking like it had never been used in a fight – not until now anyway. Finally, she saw the contingents of archers, one of which, marching under yet another Felmere banner, carried crossbows, the heavy-hitters of the missile troops. Each section of the army had its own drummers and horn blowers, the horns blasting the signal to start marching and the drummers beating a steady, leaden tattoo to give everyone a rhythm to follow. She watched them all go; it took over an hour for everyone to leave.
‘Impressed?’ Sir Norton asked.
‘It is a lot of people, indeed,’ she replied. ‘So many people. See how far into the distance they go.’
‘Three hours and they will be at Grest. They have been told to arrive with as much fanfare as possible so as to distract the Arshumans’ attention from the town itself. They will be ready and deployed shortly before the sun goes down. The enemy will have to rush to match them.’
A small contingent of men carrying a banner displaying a golden sun marched past them, looking around she realised that that was it, the whole army was on the move.
‘And now,’ said Sir Norton, ‘it is our turn.’
He tugged the rains and chivvied the horses, jolting them into life; six other Knights of the Thorn rode ahead of them. Above, the pale sun climbed towards noon; her time had almost arrived.
Several blasts on the horns told the army to stop and rest. They had barely been going for two hours, following the wide Grest road, but as Sir Norton pointed out strength had to be conserved for the battle tonight. Men everywhere were stopping, talking, and breaking open their water flasks or field rations. It was army policy for a soldier to always keep three days’ field rations in his supplies in case he got separated from his unit for some reason. Above them was a fine autumn sky, a pale-cyan colour flecked with grey-tinged clouds. The air was also quite humid and close, and Cheris pulled at her collar to let a draught of cooler air pass under her clothes. She asked Sir Norton if she could hop down and stretch her legs; he consented and a minute later she was walking over the tussocked grass drinking from her own f
lask.
A building some two hundred feet away had caught her eye. As she got near to it, she realised that she was approaching another ruined village standing slightly apart from the main road. The building she had noticed was obviously the old house of Artorus; it was the only building left that had not been razed to the ground. All that remained of the rest of the village were blackened outlines where once walls had stood. A few of the crossbowmen were here, sitting on the grass or lying on it; a couple were leaning against the wall. She sidled past them, excusing herself, and stood at the front entrance. The door had gone; only a blackened part of the frame remained, but some trailing ivy hung down over the gaping hole as if trying to replace what was missing. She brushed it aside and entered the building.
It was a small house of worship, typical of those found in villages; she guessed it could hold some thirty to forty people if they packed inside. The narrow windows had long gone, though some of the leaded frames remained, and above her parts of the ceiling were missing, allowing shafts of light to break through. A rural building such as this would only have had a packed-earth floor and it was now covered in yellow grass and weeds. The small stone pulpit was cracked and lay on its side and the single remaining pew had mostly disintegrated. A bird sang forlornly from one of the roof beams. As she looked up at what remained of the ceiling, though, she noticed that fragments of its original artwork remained. She was looking at a painted sky of royal blue, together with a carpet of silver stars surrounding a pale full moon. Above where the pulpit used to be were crude but colourful paintings of the Trinity, Artorus, Camille, and Elissa, staring benevolently down at their long-vanished flock. There was some bold writing underneath them which said simply: ‘Artorus defends and preserves. Camille teaches and protects. Elissa nurtures and loves.’
She stared up at it for a minute or more, lost in her thoughts, oblivious to the idle chatter of the men outside or the strengthening wind tugging at the ivy at the door, then she turned slowly, took one more gulp from her flask and left the building for ever.
For the rest of her journey she remained inside the wagon. She read, reread and read again the relevant pages in her tomes of magic until she could replicate them word for word in her head. After less than two hours the wagon stopped. It was still light. Shortly afterward Sir Norton knocked at the rear door.
‘We have arrived, my Lady; the army is deploying for battle.’
‘Thank you. How long have I got?’
‘Oh at least an hour, I would say; where would you like to stand?’
‘I haven’t the faintest idea – what would you advise?’
‘There is a low hill to the right of the deployment position; from the looks of things some of the light cavalry are lining up close to it. If we stand there, we should get a decent view of the field. That will be very important for a mage; you do need to see what’s going on.’
‘That sounds sensible enough; I will stand there then.’
‘We will be with you – that’s six of us and four who arrived earlier. We will stand around you in a circle to protect you from assassins and other targets. You understand mages are prime targets.’
‘Yes,’ she said airily, ‘that seems to be the case. I will prepare myself for now. Can you call me when it is time?’
‘Of course, my Lady.’ He nodded to her and shut the door.
She lit the lantern and pulled back its hood, letting the light flood into the wagon. She went over to her trunk and fetched her staff, something she had almost forgotten about. Gripping it firmly, she felt its power comforting her greatly. Opening the trunk, she pulled out the staff’s blade and attached it to its base. She tried some practice swings with it against an imaginary enemy but only succeeded in upsetting the lantern which swung crazily, throwing light and shade around the wagon’s interior.
‘Behave, you idiot!’ she admonished herself.
That task done, she pulled out her mirror. Her hair had grown long. Taking up a small knife, she carefully cut the offending strands until her hair barely covered her neck. Contorting herself into various ungainly positions with the knife and mirror, she tidied her handiwork up until her bob looked respectable. Satisfied, she opened her small make-up box. She took some dark powder and blackened her eyebrows and lashes. She then dusted her lids and around her eyes with a deep-blue colour, then her cheeks ever so lightly with red. She then painted her lips, trying to make them look even richer and more sensual than they actually were. She flicked her tongue over them and picked up the mirror. Perfect.
Before she had even landed at Tanaren, Cheris Menthur had decided that, if she was going to die, then by Elissa she would look damned good doing it. Picking up her staff, she opened the door and found Sir Norton by the horses. The light was fading and the stiff breeze carried the scent of warm grass and earth.
‘Actually, Sir Norton, I am ready now. Please show me where I am to stand.’
21
‘Get the brushwood in the wagon and the lamp oil. Lay it here in front of us.’ Morgan barked out the order; they had very little time. The loping shapes in the distance were getting bigger all the time. They would be upon them soon. One good thing, though – the creature hanging on the mountain side appeared to have come to a dead end. Its footholds or handholds had obviously disappeared and it now appeared to be looking around to see the best way to climb into the Saddle. Leon stood next to Morgan, one of his arrows readied. It was one of the special, double-pronged arrowheads used to fell large beasts.
‘As soon as one gets within thirty paces it’s going to run into this,’ he hissed.
Varen came out, his arms full of brushwood. ‘Where shall I put this?’
‘Along here.’ He indicated the ground in front of Leon. ‘Come, I will give you a hand.’ Hastily he tried digging a trench in the snow, with limited success. Varen dropped the brushwood into it. Rozgon, Willem and Haelward brought more and did the same. Samson, Morgan and Varen brought out the remainder.
‘The lamp oil, quickly!’ said Morgan.
Varen had it. He started to douse the wood. ‘Shall I use it all?’ he asked.
‘We will probably have to. We don’t want the snow putting the fire out.’
‘Won’t we need some tomorrow?’
‘At this very moment in time, none of us is seeing tomorrow!’
Varen complied; Samson stood next to him with a torch. The monsters were getting ever closer and they could distinguish individuals now, their breath expelled in powerful white jets and their barking getting louder and louder. They ran on all fours, with great loping strides that ate up the ground. They would be on them in under a minute. The climbing monster had managed to scrabble down the mountain and joined his fellows in the rear.
‘Willem!’ Morgan called. ‘There are some bandages in the wagon. Tear some strips off them and wrap them round some arrows. He nodded at Samson, who pulled some shafts from his quiver and held them out for Willem to grasp. ‘There is some brandy in the wagon; soak the bandages in that first.’
‘Give me two minutes,’ said Willem and scurried off.
The ettins were some thirty seconds away. Scenting human flesh, they started lifting their heads to the sky and braying ferociously.
Morgan looked at Samson: ‘Now!’ he said.
Samson lowered the torch to the brushwood. To Morgan’s relief, it caught immediately. A river of flame leapt from one side of the cleft in the rock to the other. He saw the ettins slow their pace somewhat, as if suddenly hit by doubt.
‘Here’s something else to think about,’ said Leon. letting fly his arrow. It sped through the flame and slammed into one of the creatures, hitting it full in the chest. It stopped for a second, looking dumbly at the shaft protruding from it. Then it swept its claw against the arrow, snapping it but leaving the head still stuck in its body. It bared its teeth and let out a howl of pain and anger.
The ettins were finally at the flame barrier and they stopped dead. Although it was in truth a flimsy barricade t
hat could be dislodged with one bold sweep of a great claw, they did not seem to grasp this. Morgan assumed they had never seen fire before, as they had stopped behind it and just stared, apparently confused.
Willem came out with an adapted arrow; Samson took it and put it to the torch, which he then gave to Willem. The arrow started burning with a blue flame. Samson smiled and loosed the arrow, hitting a monster full in the face. This time the creature did not howl; it screamed. A cry of agonised terror left its throat. It turned tail and fled, scooping snow over its wounded face. It took no account of its direction, hitting one rock face, then lurching in the opposite direction only to hit the other. A couple of the remaining creatures were already starting to slowly back off when Leon fired again. Then Samson. Then Leon.
It was enough for the rest of them. Frightened by the flames, some wounded and burning, they all broke and fled howling this time in fear and desperation. The men cheered their triumph as the ettins grew smaller and smaller until the night finally swallowed them. Morgan kept watching them till he was certain they had disappeared, thinking all the time that it had seemed a little too easy. The flames were starting to go out already. He wondered if any of the wood could be salvaged. The wolves started to howl again, a sound he found strangely comforting.
‘Hey,’ said Willem, his cheeks red and a stupid smile on his face. ‘It’s stopped snowing.’
Morgan looked at the skies. A couple of stars were peeking out from behind the cloud; even a ghostly moon could be seen casting its chill glow on to Morgan’s upturned face. He suddenly felt the cold again.
And the boy was right about the snow.
None of them slept that night. Although only two of them were supposed to be on watch, none of them could rest, the cold and their parlous situation was making them too tense and nervous. The brushwood fire didn’t last long and they all feared the ettins would notice that and return. All of them kept a constant eye on the pathway, half expecting to see the loping white shapes appear in the distance, but to their relief nothing else happened all night.
The Forgotten War Page 32