Forge of Darkness

Orfantal took the man’s hand. ‘Thank you, milord. I heard you had white skin, but I did not think it would be as white as it is. Upon my grandfather’s scabbard there is ivory, and your skin is just like that.’



‘Lacking the polish, however,’ Silchas said with a smile, ‘though surely just as worn.’ He led Orfantal back to the doorway, pausing for a final glance back at his brother. ‘Anomander, do not make her wait too long.’



When they had left, Gripp Galas cleared his throat. ‘My pardon, milord. The boy has yet to find somewhere to stand.’



‘That is not cut out from under him, yes,’ Anomander said. ‘Pray he finds firm footing here, and if so, I will envy him.’



Gripp Galas hesitated, and then said, ‘Milord?’



‘Yes?’



‘If you have no further need of me-’



‘Abyss take it, friend, I see no end to my need for you.’



Emral saw the old man’s eyes tighten, as if his master’s words were somehow cause for pain, but he nodded and said, ‘As ever, milord, I am at your disposal.’



‘Prepare our horses, Gripp. We shall depart Kharkanas before the day is done.’



‘Very good, milord.’



Anomander turned to Emral. ‘High Priestess, I would welcome your company on my way to the Chamber of Night.’



‘Of course,’ she replied.



Orfantal felt that he had made a fool of himself. He walked with his hand swallowed up in Silchas’s grip, and was already lost in the maze of corridors and hallways. At least those rushing people they came upon in their journey were quick to step aside, so none of the rough jostling that had afflicted him and Gripp Galas earlier occurred this time. He berated himself for his thoughtless words, the first he had spoken to Lord Anomander. With luck, the First Son would soon forget the introduction had ever happened.



He vowed that he would do better next time, and find the words to make Lord Anomander understand the pledge of service he intended. In time, he sought to become as necessary to the First Son as, it seemed, was Gripp Galas. It had surprised him to see the high regard that had been shown the old man, and he realized that he had been careless in his opinion of Gripp.



For all that, he reminded himself that Gripp was a murderer, cold-blooded and not above treachery. He still remembered that soldier’s look on his face when the old man stabbed him in the back. In that face there had been shock, and disappointment, as if to ask the world why, with all its rules, it could do no better than this. It was a look Orfantal understood. In his games of war he had fallen to a thousand knives in the back a thousand times, and though he had never held up a mirror to gauge his expression at any of those fateful moments, he suspected that he would have looked no different from that poor soldier.



He heard the scrape of claws on the tiles behind him, and a moment later a skinny dog pushed up against his legs. Startled, he paused, and Silchas turned at the same moment.



The dog’s mangled tail was wagging fiercely as the animal circled in front of Orfantal.



Silchas said, ‘Well, already you’ve made a friend, hostage. This dog is from Lady Hish Tulla’s household. For some unknown reason, it came in the company of an Azathanai.’



They continued on, with the dog now close by Orfantal’s side.



‘If such beasts could tell their stories,’ Silchas mused, ‘what do you imagine they might say?’



Orfantal thought of the horse he had killed. ‘I think, milord, they would just ask us to leave them alone.’



‘I see nothing of that sentiment in this animal.’



‘Milord, what if what we see as happiness is in truth begging us not to hurt them?’



‘A dreadful thought, Orfantal.’



The boy nodded agreement. It was a dreadful thought.



Lady Hish watched Gripp Galas approach. The Grand Hall was crowded with servants, with messengers bearing frantic questions and few answers, with Houseblades gathered in clumps like wolves circling an uncertain prey, and priests and priestesses passing to and fro as if desperate to find something to do. She stood near the first of the columns lining a wall, struggling to make sense of the expression on the face of the man she loved.



She spoke the moment he joined her, ‘He demands yet one more task from you? Are we to be delayed then?’



‘Beloved,’ Gripp said, unable to meet her eyes, ‘I must remain at his side. We are to ride this day. I cannot join you, not yet.’



‘He has refused us?’



‘I am sorry.’



‘Where is he now?’