Forge of Darkness

‘We were convinced of the inherent madness of codified inequity. All cooperation involves some measure of surrender. And coercion. But the alternative, being anarchy, is itself no worthy virtue. It is but an excuse for selfish aggression, and all that seeks justification from taking that stance is, each and every time, cold-hearted. Anarchists live in fear and long for death, because they despair of seeing in others the very virtues they lack in themselves. In this manner, they take pleasure in sowing destruction, if only to match their inner landscape of ruin.’ He moved out to stand beside her, huge and almost formless in the close gloom of the downpour. ‘We rejected civilization, but so too we rejected anarchy for its petty belligerence and the weakness of thought it announced. By these decisions, we made ourselves lost and bereft of purpose.’



‘I would think,’ she said, ‘that despair must stalk every Jaghut.’



‘It should have,’ Varandas said. ‘It would have, if not for the Lord of Hate.’



‘It seems that he was the cause of it all!’



‘He was, and so in return he took upon himself our despair, and called it his penance. He bears our hate for him and our self-hate, too. He holds fast to our despair, and laughs in our faces, and so we hate him all the more.’



‘I do not understand you Jaghut,’ Korya said.



‘Because you seek complexity where none exists.’



‘Where has Haut gone?’



‘He is upon the roof of my tower.’



‘Why?’



‘He watches the battle in the valley below.’



‘Battle? What battle? Who is fighting?’



‘We’re not sure. It is difficult to see in this rain. But come tomorrow, he will take you to the Lord of Hate.’



‘What for? Another lesson in humility?’



‘Oh, an interesting thought. Do you think it is possible?’



Korya frowned.



Lightning flashed again, and this time the sound of thunder rumbled through the ground beneath her feet, and she heard things rattling in the tower behind her. She was soaked through, and she still needed to pee. ‘Do you think he can see anything from up there?’



‘Of course not. I am afraid I am to blame, as I bored him witless talking about my new series of dolls. They please me immensely, you see, and soon I will set them free to find their own way in the world.’



‘I locked mine in a box,’ she told him.



‘To what end?’



Korya shrugged. ‘Perhaps to keep guard over my childhood.’



Varandas grunted. ‘That is a worthy post, I think. Well done. But not too long, I hope? We must all earn our freedom eventually, after all.’



She wondered if the Jaghut standing beside her, this maker of dolls, was perhaps mad. ‘So,’ she asked, ‘when will you set your new creations free?’



‘Well,’ he replied, ‘they need to wake up first.’



I was right. He’s mad. Completely mad.



‘Skin and flesh, blood and bone,’ Varandas said, ‘sticks and twine, leather and straw are all but traps for a wandering soul. The skill lies in the delicacy of the snare, but every doll is temporary. My art, mahybe, is one of soul-shifting. My latest dolls will seek out a rare, winged rock ape native to the old crags of a desert far to the south. I name this series Nacht.’



‘And what did you name the series you gave to me?’



‘ Bolead. But I fear I made too many of them, especially given their flaws.’ He paused, and then said, ‘Creation involves risks, of course, but what is done is done, and by these words one can dismiss all manner of idiocy and atrocity. I utter the epigraph of tyrants without irony, are you not impressed?’



‘Very.’ She set out towards the side of the tower, out of the Jaghut’s sight.



Almost directly below, a tower erupted in a blinding concussion, staggering her. As she stumbled against the stone wall she felt it trembling against her. From the doorway Varandas called, ‘Not too far, mahybe! The argument below grows fierce.’



Korya shivered, but the rain was suddenly warm. She decided that she had gone far enough and crouched down to empty her bladder.



Thunder shook the hillside again.



‘Make haste,’ Varandas said. ‘The argument approaches.’



‘Frightening me doesn’t help!’ she retorted.



The hillside was thumping, as if to giant footsteps.



She straightened and quickly made her way back to the doorway.



Haut had joined Varandas, and Korya saw that he was in his armour and helm again, and in his gauntleted hands he held his axe, all of him glistening as if oiled. A massive shape was clambering up the slope, straight for them.