Forge of Darkness

‘Commander, the Hust Legion is not our enemy.’



‘Barring the Deniers in my ranks.’



‘They are your concern, not mine.’



‘I am relieved to hear you say that, captain. Now, feel free to use the spare cot in this tent. I doubt I will return before dawn.’



‘Have you quit sleep, too, commander?’



‘I save that for my staff meetings. Now, if you will excuse me.’



He rose when she did. ‘It has been a fascinating evening,’ he said.



Toras Redone studied him. ‘You never drink as much as you pretend to, captain. Why is that?’ Without awaiting an answer, she marched from the tent.



Hunn Raal stared at the tent flap, watching it settle following her departure. He sat back down. Well, why should I be surprised? When it comes to drinking, you can’t fool a drunk. The insects had all scattered with the rustling of the canvas, but now they returned. He stared at them. An audience with low expectations, one presumes. Better than that canny bitch of a commander.



His gaze travelled to the jug he had given her, and then away again. Sighing, he collected his cup and filled his mouth with the tart liquid. A soldier needs no excuses to drink. You can’t just walk away from dancing with death, after all, and no wall holds you up for long.



There was a sound at the tent entrance and he looked up to see Sevegg peering in. He gestured her to enter.



‘I saw her march out,’ she said.



Hunn Raal nodded. ‘We’re leaving soon. Inform the others. Have them depart quietly and singly. Leave the wagons and animals.’



‘Our horses, cousin?’



‘That’s “sir” to you, lieutenant.’



‘Yes sir. Your pardon.’



‘They remain hobbled well outside the pickets?’



‘As instructed, sir.’



‘Take four soldiers with you. Saddle up our mounts and then lead them to the east track. We will all rendezvous there. I want us riding before dawn.’



‘Yes sir.’ She saluted and left.



He looked down at the tankard in his hand, and then tilted the cup, spilling the contents to the dirt floor, and set it upside down on the centre of the commander’s small map table.



All I wanted, Toras Redone, was peace.



Captain Ivis climbed the ladder and emerged on to the parapet of the northwest tower. He came up alongside Corporal Yalad. ‘Well, what is it I need to see?’



The man pointed to the ridge of hills to the west. ‘Another army, sir. But this one is not passing through — see them? I’d swear they were presenting for battle.’



Ivis squinted. He could make out riders working into position along the centre hill, arraying in ranks. With the rising dust behind them, it was impossible to tell how many there were. To either side, more soldiers had dismounted and were forming up in skirmish order. ‘Can you make out that banner, corporal?’



‘No sir.’



Ivis rubbed at the back of his neck. His eyes felt full of sand. He’d not slept well since his journey into the wild forest — since his visit to that cursed goddess. At times, he managed to convince himself that he had but dreamed the whole ordeal, but then, he had not the imagination to conjure such horrors. What few nightmares he experienced in his life were all singular and banal in their obsessions. The loss of teeth, walking naked into a crowded hall, the maddening inability to find the stirrups on a panicked horse rushing for a cliff edge, a broken sword in the midst of battle. There were no sharpened stakes rising from a glade’s matted grasses, and no woman lying impaled upon them and regarding him with calm eyes.



‘What should we do, sir?’



Blinking, Ivis shook himself. ‘Call to arms, corporal. With luck, we’ll have the time to assemble. I see nothing in the way of siege weapons.’



‘No sir. We could let them circle the walls until their horses drop from exhaustion.’



Ivis turned to study the eastern sky. The pall of smoke seemed unending. He faced the unknown enemy again, watched their ragged preparations. ‘No, I have had my fill with this. It is time to test our lord’s heavy cavalry. Whoever they are, we’ll bloody their noses and send them away, and if word races to the ears of every highborn in Kurald Galain, all the better.’



‘Yes sir.’



He glanced across at the corporal and scowled. ‘You’re looking pallid enough to faint. Steady yourself before tackling the ladder, corporal.’



‘Yes sir. I will.’



‘But not if the effort takes all morning. Get moving!’



The young soldier scrambled for the trap.