‘Well, here I am wrapped in a blanket and you just stood there in your thin leather.’ He took the blanket off himself and held it out for her to take.
She did so. ‘The leather is not that thin, but thank you.’ And then to his surprise she went and sat down right next to him putting the blanket over them both.
‘Like this, yes? We can keep each other warm.’
And warm she was. The bare skin of her arm brushed, feather light, against his hand. She pulled herself even closer to him so that they were in full contact. He had the sweet smell of the river in his nostrils again. She spoke, as if such intimacy was incidental.
‘I believe that you both can make a good impression with my father, and with loremaster Terath. Please do not be flippant with them as you can be with me.’
‘My flippancy annoys you?’
‘No, it is just unusual for me to be spoken to that way. I am used to it now but Father will not be.’
‘What about your mother? You have never mentioned her.’
‘She is dead.’
‘I see. I am sorry.’
‘It is all right. She died bringing my brother into this world, so I never really knew her. Father misses her, though.’
She stretched out and lay flat on her back, ‘I have drunk too much. Zhath doesn’t get you at first – it takes time – and then when you do not expect it, it hits your head like a charging bear.’
‘Do you all drink this stuff often?’
‘Only at festivals and on great occasions. I think meeting you two counts as a great occasion. At the Festival of High Summer we drink all day and usually wake up next morning lying next to someone with whom we have never exchanged two words before.’
‘Sounds like the old Glaivedon harvest feast.’
She giggled, an enchanting sound even to his own dulled senses. ‘You know, if you weren’t human, I would probably end up lying with you.’
‘Does my being human make a difference?’
She looked at him, her wide eyes incredulous. ‘Yes, the very idea; to lie ... with a human?’ She collapsed into a fit of hysterical laughter, rolling on to her side and pulling the blanket over her. Morgan found himself joining in, lying flat under the canopy of leaves and branches, listening to the rain and the crackle of the fire. After some minutes she stopped and turned to him, wiping tears from her eyes.
‘Crizhonat ke Vheyuzheke,ve ne tulteth, em ozhotin oro benefe. Stavena vono.’ On seeing Morgan’s look of incomprehension, she put her hand to her mouth.
‘Sorry, wrong language. I may not see you after tomorrow, but if I do I will teach you some of our words – if you still live. I am sure you will still live, but you never know.’
‘Why not teach me some now?’
‘Because I will be asleep soon.’
‘Go on, just a couple of words.’
‘Very well, now say after me: Presh kulk azha thenestra.’
‘Presh kulk azha thenestra. Now what does it mean?’
She started giggling again. Morgan slowly realised what she was up to.
‘You are teaching me bad words, aren’t you?’
She nodded, still giggling. ‘Stavena vono, Morgan, forgive me; I couldn’t resist it. I will sleep now; tomorrow will not be as funny.’ She lay back and was gone in a trice. Morgan pulled the blanket so that it covered them both and was asleep within a minute.
He was awoken the next day by the sound of Cedric coughing and spluttering into a bush. Itheya was stood next to him, her arm around him as he was doubled over. ‘Do you feel better now? Drink some water when you can.’
Morgan sat up, rubbing his sore head. Itheya shot him an unfriendly look.
‘You said he would be all right. Can’t you see? He is poisoned.’
‘No, no, I am fine,’ said Cedric. ‘One half-hour and I will be able to ride. It has just been many years since I have drunk anything of that nature. I knew what I was doing. I used to drink far more than what was good for me. I am old enough to make my own mistakes.’
The rain had stopped and it was warmer than yesterday. Morgan’s head felt like Keth was inside it, hammering away at his furnace. Itheya looked fresher than them both. He was dimly aware of feeling her next to him that night – indeed, he was pretty sure that at one point her head had been resting on his chest with her arm around him – but aside from that he had been as close to unconscious as it was possible to be. He certainly could not remember when she had got up.
‘Big day today,’ he said to her.
She nodded. ‘I hope he will be well.’
‘He will. He has been working towards this for a long time.’
She went into her pack and passed him something resembling flatbread.
‘I will help you as much as I can, but be aware that there are many of us who would happily see you to your death. Be respectful at all times. Both my father and Terath speak your tongue as does my brother, so watch everything you say.’
‘Cedric is the important man here. I will just sit back and let him impress them.’
‘That would be good, but I suspect you may be called upon more than you think. You are a curiosity to us; we may be hostile to you but we may also wish to know of the world you come from. Even I have many questions that I have not yet asked and may never get the chance to.’
‘You should have asked them yesterday.’
‘The zhath was talking more than I. I apologise if I acted inappropriately.’
‘You were fine. I apologise to you for the same thing, although personally I feel there is nothing wrong in a little inappropriateness from time to time.’
She smiled. ‘You are strange human. I am glad I have met you.’
He smiled back. ‘And I, you. Come, let’s get moving.’
A swift walk, some fresh air, a draught of water and a mouthful of bread later, Cedric declared himself fit and well and able to continue. Shortly afterwards they were all mounted and on their way. The forest looked different in the fitful sunlight, all warm greens, yellows and browns. The leaves were falling more swiftly now; great swathes of them would swirl about the riders before settling on the ground and, as they rode, their thoughts were frequently drowned out by the chorus of birdsong coming at them from all directions. They passed a couple of small lakes, almost hidden by the trees, and just now and then from the corner of his eye Morgan was sure he could see figures watching them from behind the trees. When he turned to look, though, nothing could be seen.
Noon came and went and the afternoon sun started to sink behind them. Morgan was hot and saddle-sore and rather fancied stopping to rest awhile; he was about to suggest this when Itheya stopped ahead of them.
‘Ahead and just after the bend in the road – Atem Morioka. My home. See, we will have an escort.’
He saw them. Four figures on horseback patiently waiting just where the road curved northward. As he looked, he fancied seeing a flash of silver through the trees – was it water? He realised he knew nothing of the place they were going to.
Itheya was riding slightly ahead of the men. As they approached the escort, one of its number rode out to meet her. He, too, was dark-haired and sharp-featured and wore a dark-green cloak that covered most of his body. Morgan could see his tattoos extended up his neck and his eyes were a more garish violet than the girl he was greeting.
‘Satala, Itheya. Ta’zhena ne an atan pekha.’
Morgan saw Cedric blanch slightly but control himself almost immediately.
Itheya spoke to the man. ‘Satala, Dramalliel, zhur sessala ezho seazha nesteratsen araelveth.’
‘I care not,’ said the man. He faced the humans. ‘I am Dramalliel, Itheya’s brother. I have met few humans and most of them I have killed. And do not trust my sister; she has killed more than I. Follow me.’
His grasp of the language was not as comprehensive as Itheya’s and his accent more pronounced. Itheya shot both men an unhappy look before following her brother down the path. Cedric leaned over to Morgan.
/> ‘He called us grubs, or worms; obviously another uncomplimentary name for us. Prepare yourself – we will be walking on egg shells from now on.’
They trotted around the long sloping bend and slowly Atem Morioka revealed itself to them.
As Morgan suspected, they were facing a broad still lake, bordered by trees, at least a mile wide. The wind had subsided and barely a ripple disturbed its tranquil surface. Before the lake, starting at the point they now stood, was a broad green lawn covered in thick fresh grass. Pitched upon it were a series of tents, or rather pavilions, in a variety of colours. For some reason Morgan expected everything to be green but nothing could be further from the truth, for their coverings were coloured in blues, reds and golds. Some had two colours running down them in broad stripes; others were plain. Large flags hung limply from the tent poles, many of them green and gold in colour, leaving Morgan to guess that these were the colours of the tribe.
Cedric asked Itheya what the tents were for.
‘Various things – the craftsmen work here; horses are stabled here; some store food or other goods such as medicines or dyes. There are two other places like this at other places on the shore. Some people sleep here but most of the village is on the island ahead.’ She gestured ahead of her.
As they passed the tents, they fully beheld the lake. Close to the shore, less than two hundred yards distant, was the island of which she spoke. It was large and like an irregular rectangle in shape and, although trees still grew there, it was covered in wooden buildings. From what Morgan could see, each building was a perfect circle, although the size of each varied. However, it was the building at the centre that dominated the others. As well as being the largest building, it was the only one over one storey high. Three storeys it must have been, each storey dotted with small windows that could be closed off with shutters. A series of hide-covered diagonal posts made up the roof of each building. But the most notable feature of each building were its flags. Even the most humble construction was dwarfed by its flagpole and the colossal flag attached to each one. With the wind dead, the full effect could not be seen, but it was obvious that this was not a place desperate to conceal itself. The central building had half a dozen flagpoles surrounding its roof, pointing outwards like spokes, with an additional one upright at its centre. That one was flying the green and gold.
‘Just how large is your tribe?’ Morgan asked. To his surprise, it was Dramalliel who answered.
‘We are over four thousand strong and can put nearly a thousand warriors in the field with just an hour’s notice. This is our major settlement but there are others close to the lake. Our father is waiting for you in our main building on the island.’
Morgan suddenly became aware that any work in the tents had stopped and a crowd had gathered behind them. He could hear the words vheyuzheko and pekha being whispered and curious children asking questions of their parents. He turned and gently waved at them. Most of the children ran and hid behind the adults, but a couple of them responded in kind, smiling shyly as they did so.
Nestling against the shore were several large log rafts covered in planks. Several elves armed with large poles stood waiting to punt them to the island. They dismounted, leaving the horses to be led away, and climbed on to a raft. Itheya stood next to the men as two elves pushed the raft into the water and proceeded to steer them gently onwards. During the short journey Morgan noticed many elegant sailing vessels gracing the water, becalmed at present, waiting for the wind to pick up. This was obviously a prime location in the forest, belonging to an important tribe. How important he was yet to find out.
The rafts came to rest on the island. Itheya and Dramalliel led them between the smaller roundhouses to the grand building at the centre. Morgan noticed all the houses were decorated with painted wooden carvings, detailed depictions of horses, birds, wolves and stags. He wanted to stop and look, but he was already being left behind so he put on a spurt and rejoined the others.
‘This is Zamezhenka, the leader’s house,’ said Itheya. ‘You are welcome here and no harm will be done to you while you remain; no weapons are allowed to be drawn inside it.’
They were in front of it now. It was a colourful building, its walls painted in pale blues, greens and golds. From the second floor, poles jutted out at a right angle to the walls carrying banners displaying the animals of the forest – deer, bears, wolves, eagles and herons – all richly painted and shown engaged in various activities – running, rearing, flying... Unlike the smaller houses, the window spaces were teardrop shaped and the frames were carved in the shape of animals, their heads jutting out at the bottom, leering and growling at passers-by. At length they came to the great double door. It was all black wood with a great carved wolf’s head at the centre of both panels. A loose stone path led to the door on either side of which were more banner poles flying the green-and-gold banner of the tribe. Guards attired in livery of the same colour and carrying spears stood at the open door and ushered them inside.
Morgan was expecting a packed earth floor and a dark room lit by torches. Instead, he walked into a light and airy circular inner courtyard open to the sky with a white tiled floor patterned in blue with depictions of trees, birds and waterfalls. Looking up, he saw that the central floor sections of the second and third storeys had been raised using a pulley system and that the hides on the roof had been pulled back to allow the light in. Surrounding the courtyard were entrances to several rooms, their doorways closed off by hand-painted sheets made out of a thin white fabric. A citrus smell was heavy in his nostrils, fresh and invigorating. Cedric was already in the midst of the courtyard, casting his eyes about him.
‘The animals you have seen and this painting on the tiles tell stories,’ he told Morgan. ‘There are many elven fables and legends. Storytellers here are much prized, and there are day-long festivals in summer and winter for the children when they are told the history and mythology of their people. The elves hold a lot of festivals.’
‘We do,’ said Itheya. ‘We actually have the festival of Armentele two days from now. Preparations are going on in the pavilions on the shore. That is why it seems so deserted here.’
Dramalliel was ahead of her, standing at a wooden stairway to the next floor. ‘This way,’ he said curtly.
The second floor was laid out like the first, though without the tiled courtyard. They came to another set of steps and climbed them, Morgan allowing Cedric to lean on his arm. Itheya excused herself here. ‘I will change and join you shortly,’ she said, before disappearing behind a curtain into one of the rooms.
They were left with Dramalliel, which was not heartening. Ascending to the third floor, the first thing Morgan noticed was that were no rooms. He then realised that they were in some sort of audience chamber. Even though the central floor section was raised there was still a lot of space here. Following Dramalliel, they passed a few open, unshuttered windows and stood finally before the man they had travelled all this way to meet.
The open roof and windows covered the room in a patchwork of light and shade. However, the high throne they faced would have been in darkness had it not been surrounded by a series of smooth polished stones held in circular bowls on wooden supports. These stones all glowed, giving off a soft red light and a mild warmth which Morgan could feel against his skin even several strides away. In brackets against the walls were lemon-coloured candles whose orange-blue flame was responsible for the citrus smell he had noticed earlier. The throne was made of tastefully gilded wood, carved into which were various abstract shapes – whorls, circles and spirals. Upon it sat an elf clad in black and gold with long silver-white hair spread about his shoulders. He wore a thick golden torque around his neck and each finger held a thin golden ring. His robe was studded in green and white gems and he wore a thin crown of gold with a colossal diamond at its centre. He sat on the throne leaning on his right arm; his right foot bore a boot of supple black leather but his left was unshod and instead rested on a cushioned stool.
Morgan could see it was slightly misshapen and a broad bandage was wrapped around his calf. To his left on a smaller, far less ostentatious, chair was another man, also silver-haired and clad in simple brown. His intense blue eyes fixed both men intently. Dramalliel went and sat on a chair to their left, slightly removed from the others. The figure on the throne looked from Morgan to Cedric with soft violet eyes that were not unlike Itheya’s.
‘Satala, humans. Welcome to Zamezhenka, the palace of the Morioka tribe. I am Cenarazh, the Mhezhen – that is the leader of the tribe. To my left is Terath, our loremaster, that is, he who retains the knowledge and history of our people. Please be seated.’
Servants, whom Morgan had not noticed before, placed some padded wooden chairs behind them. As he sat, he noticed that these, too, were beautifully carved. Carpentry was obviously a revered profession here.
‘Satala, Mhezhen Cenarazh, Satala Terath, I am Cedric of Rossenwood, scholar – that is loremaster – of my people. With me is Morgan of Glaivedon, warrior of renown, and a man who tends to my infirmity. I come here partially seeking enlightenment from your people and also with a request from our Mhezhen, the Grand Duke.’
‘Indeed, my daughter has already mentioned your imperfect health, something I can detect now you sit before me. Our people are blessed with a more robust constitution than yours and are far less likely to suffer from the plagues and agues that haunt mankind. Ironic, is it not, that I should be one of the few among my people to be afflicted with a canker of the leg? It will kill me eventually but I will resist it as long as I am able.’ He clapped and the servants returned. ‘Pileti ivvita hanara baramboros azhaza codarahenezharon zaikele frotan.’
As Morgan tried to wrap his ears around the mellifluous complexities of the language, the servants departed.
‘I am sorry to see that illness has impaired your abilities,’ Cedric said. ‘At least, unlike me, you have a son and daughter capable of assisting you with your onerous duties.’
‘That is true. We have few children here and it is important that they fulfil the expectations we as parents have for them. Mine have done that and more.’
The Forgotten War Page 46