Forge of Darkness

‘I will have it.’



Smiling once more, Errastas strode closer. ‘Have you even considered the precedent set in the making of this, Draconus? I doubt it. You’re too old. All acuteness has dulled in your mind, and by love alone you are blind as these hunting bats.’



‘They hunt you, Errastas? Then you had best flee here.’ So saying, Draconus reached out and took up the object.



‘This is consecrated ground, O Lord. They wheel, sensing me near, but they cannot find me. These things I am now able to do, and much more besides. Will you understand this at least? What we have done — you by your demand and me by the answering of it — will see the death of the old ways. The death of wandering itself.’ He gestured with his now empty hand. ‘Our kin who kneel before the Azath, and so make deities of insensate stone, will find new assurance in what they worship, because like it or not, we have made true their faith. Power will find those places now, Draconus, and though the worshippers will remain ignorant of its source, it is all by our hands.’ He laughed. ‘Is that not amusing?’



‘This gift is singular, Errastas.’



The young man shrugged again. ‘Indeed it is.’



‘You have made none other?’



‘Of course not.’



‘Where is Sechul Lath?’



‘Near, but he has no wish to speak with you.’



‘If I find that you deceive me here, Errastas, I shall hunt you down, and with far greater efficacy than these helpless trackers.’



‘No doubt. But I tell you the truth. I have made no rivals, neither of Night’s aspect, nor of any other’s.’



Draconus was silent, studying Errastas.



‘I swear it!’ the Azathanai laughed. ‘Look at me! Do you think I would willingly repeat the ordeal I have suffered in the making of this Teron? How do you imagine I bound so much power to those crushed leaves? You above all others will comprehend the limits of wood, the atrocious absence of subtlety in stone, and the infuriating elusiveness of water and air. Did you truly think Night would readily yield to such binding? And by what coin could I make such purchase?’ He stepped back and essayed a grand bow. ‘See how I wear my wealth, O Lord?’



All at once Draconus staggered as if struck.



Before them Errastas, still in his bowing pose, was fading, like a ghostly apparition. Behind him the roof of the house suddenly slumped, collapsing inward in a dusty crash.



Bats thundered in, a chaotic maelstrom descending upon the site. Ducking, buffeted by wings, Arathan moved to the shelter of Besra’s side — but the beast was tossing its head in fright, dragging him across the ground in its panic. The warhorse Hellar, however, stood fast, and though Besra could with ease drag Arathan, it was drawn up short when the lead between it and Hellar snapped taut. Sheltering between the two beasts, Arathan covered his head, crouching low.



A sudden concussion erupted.



Moments later the air was clear — entirely empty, as if the bats had simply vanished.



Shaken, Arathan looked up, and then across to where stood Draconus.



His father had the bearing of a wounded man. His broad shoulders were hunched, his head lowered. For all his girth and height, he suddenly seemed frail. Then Arathan heard Draconus whisper a single word, a name that he had heard before.



‘ Karish.’



All at once Arathan remembered the scene between his father and Olar Ethil: the sudden sheathing of verbal knives, the dismissal of threats. ‘ An Azathanai has committed murder.’ A woman among the Jaghut. Her name was Karish and Father knew her, enough to be shocked by the news, enough to grieve and seek comfort from his old lover.



‘Your gift to Mother Dark,’ said Arathan, ‘is soaked in blood.’



When his father said nothing to that, he continued, ‘Errastas needed it, he said. To achieve what you wanted. Now he wears his raiment plainly, and in that boldness he reveals his thirst for more… more blood, and the power that comes from it.’



‘She will make this gift pure,’ Draconus said, without turning. ‘When Night unfolds once more, it will scour clean the binding — it will purge this poison.’



‘And so hide the crime from her eyes. You will not tell her, will you, Father?’



‘Nothing stays broken for ever.’ These whispered words were like a promise. He turned to face Arathan. ‘You think to hold this secret over me?’



Arathan shook his head. He felt suddenly exhausted and wanted only to turn away from all this. ‘Kurald Galain,’ he said, ‘is not for me. Neither is Mother Dark, nor you, Father. None of it is for me. Offer her your flawed gift if you must. I care not. I wish I could spit out this secret we now share, and if Errastas were here to read my thoughts at this moment, he might have cause to fear.’