Forge of Darkness

Ilgast shook his head. ‘Hunn Raal is of the Issgin line. This is all down to his family’s fall from glory. He yearns to be a noble and sees himself as his bloodline’s champion. He will ride the wave of every concession the Legion wins, and if the foam should turn red, so be it.’



Calat nodded. ‘His ambitions are well known, Lord.’



‘I will keep the Wardens in a state of readiness, commander. Of course I but hold them so until your return. Then, with great relief, I will yield to you and quit this.’ He looked up. ‘Friend, do you think me irresponsible?’



‘I cannot say, Lord. I continue to believe that the greatest threat to Kurald Galain is the Vitr. If you can glean its truths from among the Jaghut, or even the Azathanai, then we may all bless your devotion a century from now.’



Ilgast snorted. ‘A century? Then I will gird myself to weather a hundred years’ worth of curses until that time. Preferable, I think, to this wayward tugging I now suffer.’



‘In announcing your neutrality, Lord, you perhaps offer a way out for many, highborn and common alike. I cannot imagine that every old captain of Urusander’s Legion is thrilled with this pogrom. Those falling to their swords might be Deniers, but they remain Tiste. Lord, I am appalled by this turn of events.’



Ilgast considered Calat’s words. He rubbed at his face. ‘There is a madness, commander, that runs like a poison stream through us. It flows beneath the bedrock of our much vaunted propriety. The stone bears pressure until it cracks. Civility drowns in that vile flood, and the disingenuous thrive in the discord that follows.’ He leaned back, making the chair creak with his weight. ‘In my bleakest moments, I wish for the coming of a god, a thing righteous yet cool of regard. A god to reach down among us and pluck forth our most venal, self-serving kin. And then, in a realm that burns like acid through every deceit, every cynical lie, make for them all an unwelcome but most deserving home.’ He closed his eyes. ‘I long for a power to wash away the worst that is in us, Calat.’ After a long moment he opened his eyes again, to see the commander motionless, studying him. Ilgast managed a wry smile. ‘Would I fear such power in Mother Dark’s hands?’



‘Voice no confessions to me, Lord. I have doubts enough of my own.’



‘I wonder, where are our formidable wits, commander, that we should so easily be driven into this wash of treachery by thick-skulled, obvious fools? By the malign of intent and the heartless of spirit?’



‘You begin to question your neutrality, Lord?’



‘I suspect its evasiveness. Still, I see before me but one path not soaked in blood. I shall travel west, into the lands of the Jaghut and the Azathanai.’



‘And your Houseblades?’



‘They will maintain my holdings. That and nothing more. So I have ordered.’



‘Will you journey alone?’



‘I will take a handful, for the company.’



Calat nodded. ‘Lord, I shall endeavour to not linger too long at the Sea of Vitr. I see well the burden of this favour I have asked of you.’



‘If I can, commander, I will not move from this chair until your Wardens are once more safely under your wing.’



‘Trust in my officers, Lord.’



‘Indeed, and if possible, I will avoid the necessity of giving a single order.’



Calat strode to the door, gathering up his weapon belt and strapping it on. He faced Ilgast Rend. ‘This god you wish for, Lord. The very thought of it frightens me.’



‘Why so, commander?’



‘I fear that, in the name of righteousness, it would reach down and pluck us all.’ Calat Hustain departed, closing the door behind him.



Ilgast stared at that barrier of rough wood for some time.



‘In facing the unexpected,’ said Kagamandra Tulas, ‘we are revealed to ourselves. I have seen this borne out among the hunting dogs I trained. Some flee. Some growl. Some attack. But I would wager, not a single beast is truly surprised by its own actions. Yet, we cannot say the same, can we? Between our bristling hide and the muscles that might quiver underneath stretches a layer of shame, and it is upon that warp that self-regard weaves its delusions.’



The wind coming down from the north was dry and cool, carrying with it dust from the harvested fields, and chaff spun in the air like a presentiment of the snows soon to arrive. Sharenas Ankhadu contemplated her companion’s words, watching the wagons burdened with grain wending into Neret Sorr, although the village itself was almost lost amidst the tents of Urusander’s gathering Legion.