The Forgotten War

by Howard Sargent

  She walked back to Marcus and held the book up to the light so that he could see it clearly. Despite his paralysis, his eyes widened with horror.

  ‘Yes, Marcus. It is so. The Arshumans have but one army left – destroy that and the war is won. Felmere cannot do this; he might push them back, but then months will pass, they will push him back and the whole sorry mummers’ play continues. What I am about to do will annihilate the Arshumans and make peace the only possible solution. You will look at me as a saviour when this is done.

  ‘I came to this cottage last winter and went over and over the ritual in my head, but for it to work I needed a beacon, a magnet of magical power to draw my quarry to me, and now this year you two came. It is as if the very Gods are on my side. Tonight it is then. I am well into the ritual already. I just need some blood from the two of you and I can start the final incantations. And when they are done, Marcus, when they are done, there will be four of us in this room, us three and the demon. The demon I will summon to finish this war for good.’

  42

  Thunder clouds sat heavily over the southern mountains and thin strands of mist wound their sinuous path between the trees overhanging the dank, still waters of the silent lake. It was a chill dawn, the sort in which Morgan always tried to grab an extra few minutes under the blanket before anyone noticed him. But not today; today he was stomping round his room stretching his muscles over the radiating warmth of the glowstones. It had been a couple of days since the festival, days in which he had been largely confined to his room, Itheya being busy with other duties. She did eventually get round to see him the evening before, just as his confinement was beginning to gnaw at him and the view from the window had long since lost its novelty.

  She had walked in as though he should have been expecting her.

  ‘Are you bored to insanity yet?’ She was wearing a simple green tunic patterned with broken black stripes, rather like the markings on a cat.

  ‘You have cut your hair,’ he said. It was true – her ponytail, though held high on her head, barely fell down below her shoulders.

  ‘If I am to go into battle, long hair is just a hindrance. It grows back very quickly, far quicker than it does in humans. Tomorrow I leave for the krasa. I have been with Father most of the last couple of days; he is unable to attend himself so I must represent him. We have decided it is silly for you to stay here all day, so Terath will watch you when I am gone. He is performing some ceremony tomorrow regarding that tooth, so you and Cedric can attend with him. I will return in two or three days.’

  ‘Slow down – that is a lot of information in a short time. So I am going with Terath tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes. Early. He will take you to the cave in the morning. He is trying to locate a dragonstone; he has already said he does not expect success but he has to try.’

  ‘And you? What will be happening with you?’

  She sat on the bed and sighed.

  ‘I wish you and Cedric could come, but no humans are allowed. I will be meeting with the heads of the other tribes to tell them of your proposal. I will try to persuade them but you have no idea how difficult these gatherings can be, especially as I am not even the Mhezhen.’

  ‘You have said that none of you get on with each other. How many tribes will be there?’

  ‘All the western tribes will be there, tribes affiliated to our own – the Etutha, the Panugraic, the Cephellan, the Atagon, the Denussi and the Gapharan. Then there will be our chief rivals, the Ometahan, and their allies – the Chuchethen, the Boia, the Atrebenes, the Syrta and the Leretel. We may see the deep forest tribes – the Rengereth, the Coul and the Brantha – but we definitely will not see the tribes from the deep valleys carved into the mountains, tribes like the Obrosh and the Kesta, for they bother with no one but themselves. Even though I mentioned that tribes are affiliated to us, they are under no obligation to agree with me in this instance.’

  ‘Do you end up having a vote on this?’

  ‘Yes, but it is not straightforward. The Morioka have ten votes as befits their status – all will be in favour of joining you – other tribes have different numbers of votes – the Denussi have four, the Atagon five, for example. But not all those votes need go the same way, so the Atagon may have three votes for and two against, depending on the way their leaders feel. And this does not take into account the deals the tribes will do on the side or the fact that, even if there is a clear yes or no vote, tribes are still free to act independently if they so desire.’

  ‘So you mean, even if the krasa votes no, some tribes may still decide to join us?’

  ‘Yes, but if things go badly, they cannot call a krasa for aid, for none will be given.’

  ‘It sounds extremely complicated; no wonder I haven’t seen you for two days.’

  ‘It is. I am sorry I have been away. but there has been much for me to take in. Since Armentele my head has been pounding with the things I have to remember. This is the first krasa I have had to take myself. It is an onerous responsibility; I must not let Father down.’

  ‘You don’t get much time to yourself, do you?’

  She did not answer; instead she put her head in her hands, drawing her knees up to her chin.

  ‘Itheya? Are you all right?’

  ‘I am fine,’ she said. She stood and came up close to him; her strange eyes had an anguished look to them. She whispered softly, ‘Father is very ill; the last two days have been ... difficult. Just talking to me tired him out, and his pain never ends despite the healing magic. There are times...’ – she stopped and looked at the floor. ‘There are times when I just want to get on my horse and ride until I am completely alone, just surrounded by trees and birds, no one to talk to or to remind me of my responsibilities. I confide in you because I cannot confide in my own people. I am their leader; I cannot be uncertain or weak in front of them.’

  He put his hands on both her arms, gently pinning them to her side. She was wiry and strong and did not resist him.

  ‘You must be prepared for the worst with your father.’ She nodded slightly. ‘There is no easy way to say it. I am sorry you feel alone, but if you need to talk to me, then I am going nowhere; I will be here for you.’

  ‘Thank you.’ she said. ‘I still like your smell.’

  ‘Stop flirting,’ he said, smiling. ‘I am human remember.’

  ‘I remember,’ she said sadly, ‘I never forget. I must go now. I will see you in about three days.’

  To his surprise, she leaned forward and kissed him softly on the cheek. ‘Moton at ate sheren, Morgan.’ Then, without another word, she turned and left the room.

  That was yesterday evening and by the time Terath called on him she had already gone.

  And then it was into the woods again. This time Terath, Cedric and Morgan took a boat to the lake’s farthest shore, on the east. Two young elves, one male and one female, accompanied them, steering the boat and assisting Cedric when it was time to walk again. Terath introduced them.

  ‘This is Dirthen and Astania, my assistants; they have a little of your language, but are not confident with it. They help me prepare the glowstones and the lights and flame you see around the village, but they have many other duties as well that you probably have not seen.’

  The two younger elves, both dark with vivid blue eyes, led the rest of the group into an area of woodland that was darker and wilder than any Morgan had previously seen. The trees here were truly ancient, twisting into many tortured shapes with great roots springing from the earth and winding around each other like mating serpents. Great trailing beards of lichen hung from the low overhanging branches, which interlocked with those from other trees to such an extent that they formed a great roof-like canopy peppered with crows and jackdaws, denying light to the forest floor. The five travellers were locked in a permanent twilight where flashes of moss and fern provided the only real colour.

  After travelling with difficulty over the uneven surface for about half a mile they came across a narr
ow stream that cut across their path. It could be crossed easily with an elongated step, but instead the elves turned towards the mountains and started following its course. They had not gone far when the land dropped sharply. Cedric stumbled and almost fell as the sharpness of the incline caught him by surprise; his feet kicked up loose mud and shale as Dirthen and Morgan struggled to keep him upright. Once he was steady again, they continued downhill.

  They were surrounded by high ferns that closed in around them, eventually reaching over their heads the farther they travelled. The air was still, close and stifling, and the smell of dank vegetation was overpowering. The two men were concentrating fully on not stumbling, though Morgan had awareness enough to notice that the elves had far less difficulty in navigating the treacherous path than he.

  After what had seemed an age the ground levelled out and they came upon a flat stretch of muddy ground clear of vegetation. Ahead of them was a high bank of earth and loose stone, and at its centre, fringed with tree roots, like a single black unblinking eye, was the mouth of a cave. The stream merrily ran ahead of them and disappeared into it; they could hear it echoing as it plunged downwards once inside.

  ‘We are here,’ said Terath. ‘This cave has great magical power; it comes in through the stream and the roots of the trees. The stones in the cave pool have the most power of all. Come with me and you shall see.’

  ‘Is it an easy climb?’ asked Cedric cautiously.

  ‘Yes, there are steps, look.’

  He pointed. Next to where the stream entered the cave was a broad flat stone. As they approached it, they could see it was but one of a series that descended into the darkness. They could see it wasn’t a straight climb down; rather the stairs wound to the left the further down they went. Terath plunged into the darkness, brimming with enthusiasm. Morgan entered a lot more slowly, followed by Cedric and the two young elves.

  As Morgan made his way carefully down the steps, he kept expecting the darkness to engulf him. That it didn’t happen seemed rather confusing. Then, after over thirty steps, he reached the hard earth floor and could look around him properly.

  He hadn’t realised how far down he had climbed. He was confronted by a high-ceilinged cave; it was not large but broad and circular with many tree roots punching through its earthen walls. The stream fell in showers of rain on to a bed of large flat pebbles before running gently back the way it had come and emptying into a clear shallow lake. At its centre, reached by a narrow causeway of loose stones, was a circular island of dark earth, Morgan could see it had low benches and a large stone bowl at its centre. Surrounding the island, placed carefully at its edges, was a series of wide flat glowstones, whose warm crimson light reflected off the lake and on to the cave ceiling, but they were not the only light source present. As Morgan looked fixedly at the lake, he blinked uncertainly, before realising that the bottom of the lake was covered with pebbles all of which were marbled with an iridescent sapphire blue – it was this that was giving off a pale light making the waters shine like the iris of an elven eye. So that was it – the cave roof glowed a warm red and the lake an icy blue, between them illuminating every nook and cranny of Terath’s grotto. The two young elves busied themselves with lighting a series of candles perched on stones or natural ledges and before long the faint citrus smell he was now so familiar with added its own ambience to the surroundings.

  ‘This,’ said Terath, ‘is Haraskolon, the cave of power. This is where the glowstones are prepared, the source of all magic for the Morioka. It is the perfect place to try to perform the ritual inscribed on the dragon’s tooth.’

  Terath walked along the causeway, beckoning them to follow. Cedric spoke to Morgan:

  ‘We have deciphered – well, Terath has deciphered – about a third of the inscription. The writing on it is tiny and in an obscure dialect little known by modern elves but Terath is working through it slowly. This ritual is one of the first things mentioned; its purpose is to detect any dragonstone within a reasonably close proximity.’

  Cedric took a seat on a bench, Morgan sitting beside him. They watched as Astania filled a jug with lake water and poured it carefully into the large stone bowl at the island’s centre. She did this three times until the bowl was three-quarters full. Terath then produced from his robe a large dully coloured red stone which he dropped into the bowl’s centre.

  ‘These dragonstones are of similar composition to that corundum,’ Cedric explained. ‘It is all about establishing a connection between us and them. They will also need some dragon’s blood and some herbs and toxins found in the forest.’

  ‘Two questions, Cedric.’ Morgan replied. ‘First, is that a real unpolished ruby?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You could pretty much buy a baronetcy for that.’

  ‘It has far more value here, don’t you think? It is not healthy to see everything in terms of crowns, ducats and pennies, and it will not avail you here.’ Cedric looked at Morgan closely.

  ‘I agree, Cedric; I have seen what money can do to people.’

  ‘Good,’ said Cedric, his voice echoing in the hollow surroundings. ‘And your second question?’

  ‘Dragon’s blood. Where by all the gods does one obtain dragon’s blood?’

  ‘I shall answer that,’ said Terath. ‘When we moved to Seyavanion eight hundred years ago we brought with us many magical components, often collected at great cost. Many of these components have perished over the years, despite our best efforts, but the dragon’s blood, powdered as it is, has survived all this time; we should only need a small amount hopefully.’

  Dirthen and Astania were adding further items to the bowl – dried leaves and some clear liquids poured from small stopper-topped bottles. A light steam started to rise from the bowl. Terath then stood over it and pulled out another bottle from the folds of his robe.

  ‘Here it is – the blood of a dragon.’ He shook the tiniest amount of red dust from the bottle on to the water’s surface. As Morgan watched, the surface of the water turned the deepest scarlet, and the steam coming from it intensified.

  ‘Now we are ready,’ Terath whispered.

  The three elves kneeled around the bowl and started to slowly chant. Morgan looked across at Cedric, to see if he understood any of it, but was met by a shrug of incomprehension. The chant was slow and sonorous, echoing off the cave wall like the drone of some giant bee. It seemed to gain in volume and power, as though it was not being chanted by a mere three elves but by a whole choir, full voiced and throaty. It was starting to make his head sore when, suddenly, the ruby at the centre of the bowl started to pulsate a deep throbbing crimson. Terath stopped chanting.

  ‘It has started. I am unsure as to what happens next but at least one of you keep an eye on the lake!’

  Morgan craned his neck to look but saw nothing on its shimmering surface. Cedric stood, so he could see the entire vista, but he, too, gave no indication of anything untoward.

  This continued for some time, the deep chant, the ruby throbbing like a beating heart, steam from the bowl rising as a column up to the cave ceiling, but there was nothing to observe, either on the lake or elsewhere. Itheya said they did not expect success, he thought. Then, though, Cedric gave an excited squeak.

  ‘Look! Over there!’ he pointed at the lake’s surface. Terath followed the man’s finger, as did Morgan.

  He saw nothing at first; the shine on the lake meant his eyes were constantly readjusting. But then there it was, like a painting, a painting that moved. It was a man’s open hand, and at its centre was a red stone, pulsing just as the one in the bowl was. The vision moved, pulling away from the hand and turning until the face and upper body of the man could be seen.

  ‘Ugh,’ said Morgan. It was a horrible sight. The man wore a tattered black robe and his skin was waxy and pale. His open mouth appeared to be black inside and Morgan could not see any teeth or tongue. It was the eyes that drew him, though – they were enormous lifeless orbs of pure darkness, without whites
or iris, and appeared to be weeping a substance from the corners which ran freely down over the waxy skin.

  ‘What, by all the Gods, is that?’ breathed Cedric.

  The vision pulled backwards further and further till the man creature was but a tiny distant feature. They were looking at a wide lake, its impenetrable waters whipped by the wind and glittering in the winter sun. Beyond the lake lay miles and miles of reeds and rushes covering a land bereft of hill and mountain, in which only rare clusters of trees broke up the level horizon. Then from the lake rose a great beast, a colossal serpent bearing the tiniest of wings, putting Morgan immediately in mind of the golden dragon they had presented to Cenarazh about a week ago. It plunged again, disappearing beneath the surface and leaving a colossal wave in its wake that broke over the reed beds, briefly submerging them and sending the water birds into the air eager to escape the inundation. Then the vision disappeared.

  They waited a little longer for something else to happen. Eventually another image appeared; this one, however, was too dim to make out clearly.

  ‘Something is blocking it,’ muttered Terath.

  All they could see was shadow. There was the vaguest outline, a woman maybe, but it was very indistinct.

  With a frustrated growl Terath removed the stopper from his bottle and added another pinch of red powder to the bowl. He and the other elves restarted their chant, increasing the power of their voices. As Morgan and Cedric watched, a clearer picture started to appear. It was a girl, thin, lightly freckled with long light-brown hair and large sensitive eyes. She wore an expensive dress and a beautiful green brooch pinned at her bosom. The vision swung to that of a great grey cliff crested with scores of ruined stone towers.

  ‘The City of Light!’ breathed Cedric.

  They were looking at the girl again; she was looking puzzled and put her hand to her chest. Morgan made a mental note of every detail of her face and clothing, then the vision started to fade, becoming shadowy and indistinct again, until finally it was gone. They kept looking and looking but nothing returned. Terath and the elves stopped chanting and the pillar of steam petered out. Morgan looked at the bowl. All it contained were a few dried shrivelled leaves, everything else, including the ruby, had completely disappeared.