The Forgotten (The Lost Words: Volume 3) (44 page)

Jarman seemed to notice his skepticism again. “How well did you know your father, Emperor Adam?”

This was a topic he did not feel like discussing, but felt compelled to answer anyway. “Not at all. I have never met him. I just heard of him, that’s all.”

Jarman made a funny gesture with his hands. “But I thought you knew about the book and the weapons?” He looked at his slave.

James shrugged. “What book? What weapons?”

The wizard sighed, a long, deep sound. “What do you know about your father’s victory over the Parusites?”

The emperor stepped over a field rock. “He defeated them brilliantly. He used great military cunning against superior forces and crushed them utterly. That’s the sum of it.”

Behind him, Rob coughed. James turned and noticed his friend wanted to say something, but then he just stepped back.

“And what do you know of the past of the realms?”

James recalled reading Blackwood, Askel, and another historian whose name he could not recall. They all made sure to detail the royal lineages of the different realms as far back as they knew, to mention all the slights and skirmishes and wars fought, to delineate a fresh map for each passing decade and century, but the farther back the pages went, the more blurred the truth was.

“Have you ever wondered why we call you the continental people? Why your language is known as the Continental? Why there used to be forms called Vulgar and Elite?”

James waved impatiently.
Continental people? Because you live in your archipelago
. “What is your point, Jarman?”

The Sirtai continued undaunted, as cryptic as ever. “The realms have two histories, one part kept in your libraries in the cities like Eybalen, Somar, Sigurd, some of the old holy places, and the other kept in Tuba Tuba. They differ.”

James felt a pair of eyes boring into his back. He flicked a glance at Rob. His friend’s stare told him he should not dismiss the wizard too easily.

“You probably have no idea of how our age came to be, how the land was formed, how the realms got their name, their culture. But very long ago, there was a huge war fought here.” He gestured broadly. “And it was decided. The victors held the territory you know as the realms. The defeated party was banished. Their leader fled far north, far beyond anyone’s reach, and sealed himself behind a magic curtain so powerful even he could not get through. That’s a very meaningful defense, right there. Probably the only kind that really works.”

James stopped and looked at the Sirtai. Rob joined his side with an expression of keen interest. All around, at a polite distance just out of earshot, the silent mass of bodyguards and followers spread and waited.

Jarman smiled. “After centuries of war, the people of this land were weak. What they learned in those years, they learned from us, the Sirtai. We helped you recover. We gave you the cultural heritage back then. We taught you classes and language. Over time, your religion grew strong and took over. The realms became the domain of the gods and goddesses, ruled by the patriarchs and matriarchs. The Sirtai kept away and evolved. You stayed, unchanged, all these years, all the while rewriting the pages of history so the truth of those early days would never be known. And so the name Calemore and the title White Witch were forgotten, and your northern reaches became a desolate end of the world.”

James had to admit it sounded quite fascinating. A whole deal more dramatic than anything else he had studied. A whole deal more ancient.

“For you, and even for us, the First Age of Mankind is a relic so old you can’t even call it the past. But for the White
Witch of Naum, time is meaningless, and the old scars burn fresh and painful. He is coming back to finish the war he fought, only this time, he will face humans who know nothing of their land’s history.”

For the hundredth time, James wondered,
Why are you telling me this?
Why had this Sirtai chosen him? Why not preach the same to the High Council of Trade or King Sergei?

“And how do you know all this, Jarman?”

It was Lucas who answered. “The Sirtai have a very long memory. We remember.”

Rob was struggling to light a fresh cigarette, but the air seemed too damp. He looked hopefully at the two wizards without a speck of fear or shame. “Do you mind?”

Jarman snorted with light amusement, and the cigarette end burst into fire. Rob opened his eyes in surprised delight and puffed eagerly.

“Let’s assume all this is true,” James said, almost wearily.

Jarman turned serious again. “You must make peace among yourselves. The people of the realms must be united. And you must all turn north to face the new threat. Every single one of you will be needed for this war.”

“What about the Sirtai?” the emperor asked.

The wizard blinked slowly. “We stayed away from the first war, and we will stay away now.”

James pointed. “Then why are
you
here?”

Jarman’s face turned hard. “I, too, have unfinished business.”

James bunched his hand and pounded lightly against his lips, blowing air into the pocket of his fist. The story was fantastic, he had to admit. But he just found it too crazy, too farfetched. He could understand why people might dislike magic. He could believe ancient wars had been fought in some dark, distant past.
That was what the past was all about. However, this magnificent enemy, this Calemore, suddenly coming from the north, beyond weeks and months of wasteland, that was too much.

All the while, he had to win his realm back and defeat the Parusites.

“You mentioned something similar,” James told Rob, recalling last year’s party.

Rob nodded. “You should listen to these Sirtai.”

James could not hold it in anymore. “Why me, Jarman?”

Jarman smiled again. “You are Emperor Adam’s son. Your father was exposed to truths no other human had seen or heard in centuries.”

“How?” James did not like this.

Jarman bit his lower lip. “I do not know exactly, but you will help me find out.”

But there was more. The wizard was hiding something. Every day, he told a new story, or a new facet of an old one, expanding endlessly, but still he kept some dark secret to himself. His new advisers were not only trying to influence his decisions, they were trying to skew his perception of reality, too.

Rob’s face twitched with emotion. James’s mind kept going back to their drunken first encounter, but the details seemed fuzzy. He vaguely remembered being in a cheerful mood, and any apocalyptic references surely had sounded ominous yet entertaining.

He was not so sure anymore.

Nigella, he wished he had her by his side. But then, he had made his choice, the right choice.

“So what now?” James tried to break the tense silence.

“Make peace,” the Sirtai said simply, bluntly.

“Impossible,” James snapped and resumed pacing, dragging muddy grass after him.

“Time is running out,” Jarman insisted, his voice calm and deadly.

Some lone bird took off from the grass farther down the field, flapping off lazily; it must have forgotten to migrate to a warmer climate and was now biding its time before the snows. From within the Weeping Boughs, a small party emerged, led by Warlord Xavier, a small something dangling bloody from the tip of his spear. James felt the moment for an intimate little chat with the wizards was drawing to an end.

Jarman saw the newcomers, and his face flickered with the same emotion.

James frowned in the direction of his legion commander. The other officers had refused this little celebration and were busy planning the defense and offense against the Parusites. James wanted to be present there, but he was deliberately abstaining himself. Trying to be aloof and stately, just like his lady wife had taught him.

The past month had been a quiet one, at least for the people of Ecol and Bassac. Not so for the townsfolk and villagers of many other smaller communities in the north of the realms. Detachments of his army had gone almost every day into the countryside, policing, scouting, hunting for criminals and spies, decorating tree branches with fresh corpses. Not quite the legacy he had desired, but he knew he had to secure a solid foothold in Athesia before making his next steps. Soon, he would be sending his letters of encouragement to the Eracians.

He considered mounting an attack farther south, but that would have to wait for spring. A very long time, but he could afford it. Meanwhile, he would consolidate his grip on what little land he had, build new fortifications and permanent garrisons, rebuild razed villages, maybe even squeeze a coin or two of taxes from his people. He would bring some semblance of normal life back to a realm devastated by terror this past year.

Still, his reign was coming together. He was the emperor that everyone loved and cheered. He had brought peace back to Athesia, at least some parts of it. Now, he was waiting for the storms to clear so that messengers could come to him, bearing words of praise from the High Council. There ought to be ample support, just as Rheanna had promised.

“You are missing all the fun, Your Highness!” Xavier shouted, still some distance away.

Jarman glanced south. “Your father won his victories, and then he settled down and made peace. He knew, he understood the danger. It was just that the timing was wrong. Twenty years sounds like an awful long time for humans, but it’s a blink of an eye in the witch’s life. Emperor Adam knew there must be unity in the realms, and that’s why he laid down his sword. You should do the same.”

“What if the Parusite king is not so eager to stop killing?” James pressed.

The young wizard shrugged. “Well, he hasn’t led any fresh attacks since Roalas fell. He could have mounted a huge campaign and taken the north of this realm with relative ease. Instead, he withdrew his forces from Caytor and did not press to engage you, even after you fought with the Oth Danesh and suffered casualties. He kept his troops stationed after the siege. He is rather tolerant toward the Athesians under his rule. All signs indicate the king is a reasonable man. You should not miss this opportunity.”

Rob stepped closer once again. “Listen, James, maybe—”

“Your Highness! Join us!” Xavier trotted through the line of bodyguards and wheeled about, following them. His horse was whinnying nervously around Lucas, a smart animal.

James looked his warlord hard in the eye.
King Sergei wants peace?
he wondered. “What is the last known report on King Sergei’s troops?”

Xavier was quite cheerful. Then, he saw Lucas, and his face twitched with hatred. “My scouts report only about ten thousand Red Caps within a week of here, and they are badly organized. We have a solid line of almost six full legions ready to defend Ecol. They will not risk an attack.”

Not what James had in mind, but that would do. Then, he recalled some of his sister’s mistakes. “You will treat the enemy with utmost respect,” he said almost as an afterthought.

The warlord blinked heavily. “Yes, sir.”

Peace, the wizard urged. It sounded easy. Send a letter to Sebastian, ask him to move the remaining body of refugees into Athesia. There were plenty of abandoned villages to settle them. He considered moving the rest of the army, too, but he did not want to leave Pain Daye undefended. For some reason, he treated it as a second home of sorts. Not the kind of feeling he had for Ecol. Here, he was the beloved emperor, but it felt like a tedious duty. Or perhaps, leaders were never meant to feel at ease anywhere, and they were supposed to use the bitter sense of discomfort to make tough decisions and send people to their deaths.

Letters. He ought to write one back to his wife and tell her how he missed her. Worried about her. He wondered about love, but it felt a distant concept. Then, he ought to write to the surviving Eracian nobility and assure them of his benevolent interests. No place for mushy feelings there.

“How much longer will this hunt last?” he asked wearily.

Xavier turned toward the forest. Men were coming and going, some empty-handed, others with bloody carcasses dripping from their saddles and lances. Mayor Alistair was there, looking quite happy. “Till dusk, I reckon.”

It was hardly midday. James groaned inwardly. Damn. The worst thing was, these Sirtai were trying to convince him that
none of this mattered. Nothing at all. His acquired taste in expensive wines, his etiquette, his mastery of diplomacy, his military skills, his gains, nothing. He should throw it all away and make his soldiers dig trenches and picket lines facing north. Against a legendary threat that no book nor childhood song ever mentioned.

I was made an emperor almost overnight. I bedded a girl who could tell the future from blood. I ought to have more credit for the wonders these wizards are telling
, he thought. But his heart refused to give up. He could not just stop now, not after coming this far.

The only thing that stayed him from outright dismissal of Jarman’s ideas was Rob’s behavior. The investor always seemed so calm, so sure of himself. This was the first time James saw him worried.

And that worried him.

Everyone seemed to know more than he did. Magical weapons, secret books, ancient enemies, death to all. He felt like a stupid child trying to figure out the dirty lies and half-truths his parents were telling him.

Perhaps he needed a distraction. “Get me a horse,” James ordered. After all, prowling through a wet forest, with ferns slapping against his shins, that was what he knew well. No grim surprises there. He looked at the wizard. The Sirtai looked desperate in his islander sort of way. “We will continue this talk later.”

Shortly thereafter, he rode for the Weeping Boughs, gripping a spear in his arm, the soft fog caressing his face.