Forge of Darkness

His breath ached in his chest and he could feel how hot the effort was making him, but on he ran, stumbling once when a foot struck a sunken stone in the grasses. Slowly, he realized that he would not make it in time. The horses were on the climb already.



She might well hide. Pretend to not be there, sending Jinia out to say that her mistress was away, or maybe unwell, and they would leave. She would tell them to visit on another day, maybe in a week or so. So, he was running for nothing. Jinia was smart and besides, he loved her, though she teased him all the time for being slow and stupid, when she was neither and older besides.



At nights, under his blanket, he made himself wet thinking about Jinia, like pee but not pee, wishing she didn’t tease him and wishing that he was let in the house so that he could see more of her and she wouldn’t always complain that he stank of horse shit. If he could be let in the house she might one day fall in love with him and when he was older, as old as she was, they could get married and have children and he would name one Orfantal. If it was a boy, of course.



He reached the pasture fence and slipped through it. He could see the dust from the horses at the front of the house, though he was coming up on the building from its back. They had arrived, and dismounted, and there was more laughter and then a shout, but the shout didn’t sound right.



Then he heard Jinia scream.



Wreneck ran again and came round the corner of the house. The scene before him made no sense. The door of the house was open. A little way from the steps, three of the soldiers stood around Jinia and one gripped her by her upper arm, holding her up so that only the tips of her leather-clad feet touched the ground. Another one, a woman, had her hand up the maid’s tunic. The third soldier, a man, was unbuckling his weapon belt and tugging down his trousers.



The other soldiers must have been inside the house, since there were sounds coming from there, along with crashing. The lady’s harsh voice brayed but it was answered by a barking laugh.



Wreneck rushed towards Jinia, raising the switch in his hand.



Someone collided with him from one side, throwing him off his feet. Winded, Wreneck lay on his back. Above him he saw another soldier — the woman who had loosened the sword. She was grinning. ‘Look here! Another damned Denier — you can tell by the shit on his face.’



Aching to draw breath, Wreneck rolled on to his side. He saw Jinia looking at him, but her eyes were dull. The woman with her hand up the maid’s tunic was making pushing motions, but her other hand was gripping her fellow soldier’s stallion, making the same motions. The third soldier, the one holding Jinia, was using his free hand to lift and twist Jinia’s breasts. Wreneck stared into his love’s eyes and saw nothing, nothing living.



Air rushed back into his lungs. He pushed on to his hands and knees, trying to get up.



‘Mother Dark isn’t good enough for you?’ the woman asked, advancing on him. She kicked him, up into his gut, hard enough to lift him from the ground. Once more the air was driven from his lungs. He curled up in the grit and dust.



Lady Drukorlat was shrieking now, and Wreneck saw one of the soldiers reappear in the doorway, dragging the old woman out by the back of the neck. He propelled her through the air over the steps and she fell hard on the cobbles. Something broke, a bone, and the Lady screamed in pain.



‘Too old to fuck, this one,’ pronounced the soldier as he came down the steps behind Nerys. ‘And the house is fucking near empty, though Pryll’s still looking. No other staff that we could see either. It’s pathetic.’



The woman standing over Wreneck had not moved. Her hands were fists and those fists rested on her hips and it seemed she was watching what was being done to Jinia. She was breathing fast and her face was red. She smelled of wine.



Jinia’s eyes had closed and her head lolled, and if not for the soldier holding her upright she would have fallen over. Wreneck was sure that she was dead. When the woman pulled her hand out from under the tunic, it was red with blood. The man she had been gripping had spilled out the pee that wasn’t pee, and he backed away, pulling free as she laughed at him.



The woman spoke above Wreneck, her voice loud and commanding. ‘Sort this up, all of you. If the captain sees or hears of this, we’ll all hang.’



The man from the steps said, ‘Only one way to sort this, sergeant.’



‘So get on with it,’ she replied. ‘Maybe nobody comes up here like they was saying, but these servants got families somewhere, I bet. Thing is, we need to clean it all up, leave no sign of anything.’



There was blood on the ground, and Lady Nerys had rolled on to one side but her leg or hip was broken and she moaned and moaned.