Morgan looked up appraisingly. ‘Indeed, and if you marry judiciously, your position would be even more secure. One of Calvannen’s sisters maybe, the one that isn’t
pregnant.’
The following day they left the pass behind them and made for the Taethan. The mood became a little more subdued among the party; both Itheya and Morgan knew it would soon be
time to part ways. And, two days after that, the time finally arrived.
Dirthen and Astania had already disappeared together under the dark eaves of the Aelthenwood. Haelward and the escort remained on the bank while Morgan and Itheya rode into the shallow waters
stopping at its halfway point. To their left, not a hundred yards away, was the island with the statue of Culmenion, the place they had first met all those months ago.
‘Can you not smell the trees?’ said Itheya excitedly. ‘No forest smells like this one; it is good to be home.’
‘I do not have your sense of smell,’ Morgan replied. ‘But I can appreciate the sentiment.’
‘It was not a question that demanded an answer.’
‘Then it was rhetorical?’
Her brow wrinkled slightly; evidently it was a word she had not come across before. ‘Is that right? I do believe you have finally taught me something. I have a new word.
Rhetorical
.’ She licked her lips as she said it. ‘Let us call it a parting gift; alas, I do not have one for you.’
‘I do not need one,’ said Morgan. ‘This will not be a day I will forget in a hurry.’
‘No,’ she concurred, ‘but it is one that we knew would come.’
Morgan nodded. ‘And what are the Lady Itheya’s future plans?’
‘I have a tribe to lead, and a new loremaster, one who is younger than I. It will be difficult; all of my chief advisors of old are gone. But when the situation allows I intend to lead a
delegation of my people to Zerannon, to see what trade can be re-established there.’
‘Then I shall head there immediately to inform them; otherwise the sight of a band of elves appearing on the horizon may not get the response you wish.’
She smiled. ‘Thank you; that did worry me a little. And of course I intend to keep our ties with the people of Felmere strong; I will visit there regularly, too – once a year if I
can.’
‘You will be welcome. I will try to secure what artefacts we hold as gifts for you when you arrive. I will also try to get you permanent access to Roshythe; unfortunately both things
depend on the assistance of the Grand Duke and I know little of him.’
‘This Mhezhen of yours, you are wary of him, yes, and is it true there might be war, an internal war, not unlike like the Ometahan fighting the Morioka?’
‘Exactly like it, I am afraid. I fear I may have to pick sides, though I will remain neutral if I can. How he responds to my requests regarding your people will inform the situation, I
feel. Other than that my strongest ally is Dominic Hartfield and his opinions on the Grand Duke are somewhat ... coloured. I am sick of war and want no part of any new one.’
‘Well know you this Morgan, if things go badly for you in your country the forest will always be a sanctuary for you. You know the secret pass; just head through there and your exile with
us will be a formality. But do not expect us to join with you in any new war, not unless we are badly slighted. I would be unlikely to get the support of the tribes again. We lost fourteen people
in total – not a huge loss for a human army but damaging enough for us.’
‘Any war that we have now, if we have one, will be a messy affair and not one you should involve yourself in. If I am endangered, though, I will be into the forest faster than a startled
fox.’
She smiled at the analogy, then looked over at the statue nearby. ‘You know it is a great pity that we have lost much of our stone craft. A similar statue of you on one of the islands
would be fitting for your friendship to our people; we have few examples of such statues left.’
‘No,’ Morgan replied, ‘I have only seen this one, the statues in Roshythe and the way you fashioned the road in the pass.’
Her violet eyes deepened with amusement. ‘Do not give us credit for that which we did not do. The road in the pass was not us. It is ancient even by our standards.’
‘Not you? Then who?’
‘The Derrega, a people of antiquity who moved from these lands long ago; the dragon lady saw their city. They were said to be skilled in stone and tough as it, too. And short in stature
also; perhaps you have some of their blood.’ She laughed at her last remark.
‘And any statue of me would not clear the height of the trees anyway. Do not try and tease me about my height; I really have heard all the jokes before.’
‘But they all deserve telling. My sweet Morgan, you should see your face.’
‘How I would love to pull your hair, Mhezhena or no.’
She looked back at the trees. ‘Normally, I would dare you but we are being watched; the woods are ever vigilant.’
‘I have seen you fight now; I may come out worst in any contest. I will let your words pass, just for now.’
She laughed a little, then stopped. Suddenly she was serious again; her delicate beauty was always shown to its best effect when she was serious, or so Morgan thought. ‘Culleneron will not
be put off, you know; I may have to marry him sooner than I wanted.’
‘Then do so, Itheya. Get it done and over with; do not hold back for other reasons. We are both in demand anyway. The Lady Mathilde desires my hand and she is right – cold logic
dictates that it would be an ideal move for me.’
‘Then our paths are set. You must forget your wife at last.’
Morgan raised his hand, as if stopping a horse. ‘Not just yet, I am planning to charter a ship to seek her out, and my boy if at all possible. I cannot go with them, of course, but I will
give whoever I send say, two years, after which the Lady Mathilde will see me answer in the affirmative.’
‘Do not tell her you are seeking your wife! Give her a rough date for a wedding and stick to it. She deserves as much.’
‘Yes.’ He nodded resignedly. ‘She is far more than I deserve and I should not treat her badly. And as for us...’
Itheya put out her hand, touching his own. ‘Maybe one day, Morgan. If relations between our peoples continue to improve; maybe one day we can be together. In the meantime, when I visit
Felmere we should go riding, just the two of us; there are many forest glades that remain unexplored.’
‘Yes,’ Morgan said quietly, ‘I would like that.’
She looked back at the forest again. ‘I will be going shortly, or people will start to talk; my people gossip even more than yours after all. I will say just one more thing at our parting.
I want you to know that I love you and will always do so. Do not say the same back to me! A man who feels for his wife the way you do cannot love another to the same degree. I know your feelings
for me are strong but there is no need for you to exaggerate them by saying you love me in return. I understand, I really do.’
Morgan’s voice dropped even lower. ‘You are far nobler than I. I do love you, Itheya, but Lisbeth’s disappearance will haunt me for ever if it is not solved. I at least have to
try to find her. Will you believe me when I say not one day will pass when I do not think of you?’
‘I will believe it. I still have your knife, it is under my bed.’
‘And I keep your ring here in my chest pocket; it does go everywhere with me.’
She seemed pleased with that. ‘It is gratifying to know. Now I must go.’
He smiled. ‘Is this where I get to use the only Elvish phrase I know?’
For a second she seemed distracted as if forgetting where she was. ‘I miss my brother, and my father’ was all she said, not to Morgan, but to herself. Then she came too again and
smiled at him. ‘Perhaps we shall try another one, yes? How about “
Ara verjema x’hashko puisga, ze xera peresoskra
”?’
Morgan attempted a poor copy, making her giggle.
‘It means,’ she said finally, ‘“Our hearts will remain strong, as will our memories.” It is always said at the parting of lovers, that they will not forget nor will
their feelings change while they are separated.’
‘It is true in our case,’ said Morgan. ‘But I will never remember those words. Instead, I will say
moton at ate sheren
, for the last time this year at least.’
‘Then
moton at ate sheren
it is. Farewell, Morgan; maybe when you see me again I will have a child in tow.’
‘As long as it takes after its mother in looks and manner!’
‘Indeed, and it had better be a she, too; the thought of raising a son would be beyond endurance. Anyway, the time passes, farewell my human love; remember me till we meet
again!’
And she turned her horse and was gone. She did not look back as she vanished under the shadowy trees, Morgan knew it would have looked bad to her people if she had. ‘I will
remember,’ he said quietly. ‘I will always remember.’
Then it was his turn to spin his horse around. He rode towards Haelward, who was waiting patiently at the bank with the escort. He noted how clumsy he was compared to her consummate grace. No
matter, the end result was the same.
‘We will stop at Zerannon first,’ Morgan told them. Haelward groaned. ‘Do not worry, we will be guests of Baron Fredo this time; the accommodation should be more to your
liking. Come!’
And he spurred his horse and was gone, taking the lead for once as they rode away from the dark forest under whose thick branches even the spring sunshine seemed laden with foreboding.
And Itheya watched them go, though they knew it not. Concealed among the trees she saw them dwindle into tiny specks barely discernible on the horizon. Her thoughts, whatever they may have been
at that time were known only to her, so inscrutable were her features. Then, with a heavy sigh, she turned her beautiful white charger and plunged into the forest where Dirthen and Astania waited
patiently for her.
The beach was long, narrow and consisted of a fine powdery white sand. The sea that lapped softly against it had no colour at all; it was pure and clear as the most delicate
glass. It was warm too, heated by an intense sun that had not relented since the early morning. Where the beach ended the jungle began, an endless array of thick broad-leaved palms and ferns and
other trees, too, whose vibrant waxy green vegetation also held heavy clusters of fruit that would not ripen for many days.
The beach was the domain of the crabs. When they deemed it appropriate they would emerge from their secluded hiding places under the sand and scuttle along for a little while before reburying
themselves. One such crab was doing this now, running along as he had done all his life, but then suddenly he stopped, sensing a change in the air, or something different, threatening.
Alas, his hesitation was to cost him his life. A heavy, but supple, black boot trod directly upon it, crushing its armoured carapace with a loud crack. Another boot planted itself alongside the
first.
The owner of the boots was a tall man, clad entirely in black with his head clean shaven. He had alighted from a small boat whose prow was shaped in the likeness of a dragon and lay at anchor in
the shallow sea.
The man was responding to the call of another of his kind, one who had just emerged from the heart of the steaming jungle. Picking up pace, he walked towards him. The calling man was joined by
two more of his colleagues; the three men seemed excited by something.
Finally, he caught up with them. It turned out that, here, a small river emptied into the sea, colouring the waters with its muddy sediment. A small rowboat had been pulled on to the sand. it
was weathered and bore the marks of one that had recently undertaken a lengthy journey.
The man stopped; he seemed excited.
‘Show me!’ he said at last. ‘Show me.’
The calling man was smiling. It was the beatific smile of one who had recently seen the face of his god. He opened his hand and held the object it contained up to the sky. The other three men
fell to their knees and bowed their heads.
‘Our work continues, my brothers. The great cleansing of this Earth is still at hand. Behold the secret that the jungle has given up after thousands of years!’
And those that knelt looked up at the man, and the object he held in his triumph. They beheld its glittering beauty – how the sun shone through it and how the inner part of the great red
stone appeared to move, as though some thick fluid was contained at its very heart.
The pass here, where it finally opened out into the great green plains that marked the beginnings of Arshuman territory, was wide, even and easy to traverse. It was guarded by
a turreted stone fort, but this appeared to be deserted; even its customary yellow flag had been taken down.
But this was not the concern of Commander General Vergonen as he sat atop his great armoured steed on the hill the fortress occupied, just in front of its opened gates. Beside him sat the
chiselled features of Ambassador Hylas and together they watched as the great Western Army of the White Empire of Chira, a force twenty-five thousand strong, slowly made its way on to the Arshuman
plain.
The most striking feature of a Chiran army was its uniformity. Each infantryman wore a beaked conical helmet with a long neck guard of close-fitting metal scales. They also wore long shirts of
similar scale armour; it would have been almost fish-like in appearance had not every scale been washed with lime so that each man there gleamed pristine and white in the sun. Their shields were
white, too. Kite-shaped they were with each bearing a simple device, the blue diamond of the Western Army, over which was a number, denoting each man’s company within the army itself. Like
Tanaren, blue was the colour of the Western Army, reflected in the cloaks of the soldiers and their banners, Tanaren and Chira, after all, did share a common heritage. Each man carried a tall
silver-headed spear and at his waist was a sword belt. Short, stabbing swords were favoured in the Empire, far more effective when men were closely packed together. And when Chira fought, its men
were always closely packed together.