Forge of Darkness

Arathan almost heard the added words: leave that to men like your father.



But he would be free of all this soon enough. He had seen the last of the High House, and the way to the west stretched before him. Leading Besra to the second trough, he glanced over at the remaining Borderswords. If he had expected to meet their hard eyes, he was spared that, as Rint, Ville and Galak were all busy preparing the midday meal. Their mounts stood motionless, reins looped over the saddle horns — not ten paces from the long trough of water, and yet not one animal moved. Arathan looked for hobbles about their ankles but found none.



I think I understand. Before there can be disdain, there must be pride.



One day I will find something to be proud of, and then I will find this taste of disdain, and see if it suits me. Should I not think this, being my father’s son?



And yet, I do not. Pride needs no claws, no scaled armour about itself. Not every virtue must be a weapon.



These thoughts are my own. I will not crush them.



Sagander hissed behind him, ‘When next you turn to me, student, I will see the face of my own humiliation. I wish he had left you behind. You’re useless. Hands from the mouth!’



Rint hunched down over the embers, watching as the first flames licked the tinder alight. He fed in a few sticks and then nodded over to Galak, who began breaking up a brick of dried dung. Grunting, Rint straightened.



‘What do you think?’ Ville asked, standing close.



Rint shrugged, forcing himself from looking over to where Lord Draconus stood speaking with his sister. ‘She’s her own mind, as if you don’t know that.’



‘He wants a soft body for the cold nights, is my guess.’



‘We’ll see,’ muttered Rint in reply, and it was all he could do to keep his teeth from cracking at the thought. ‘He is a High Lord, after all.’



‘But he ain’t our High Lord, Rint.’



He glared across at Ville. ‘This ain’t none of your business. None of mine, neither. Feren decides and whatever she decides, we stand behind it.’



Galak grunted from where he crouched over the small fire. ‘Goes without saying, Rint.’



Ville scowled. ‘Still don’t like it. Consorts — what are they, anyway? Crotch-boys. Even worse than the damned priestesses in Kharkanas. Y’think he knows a damned thing about being honourable?’



Rint stepped close. ‘Keep it down, Ville. Any more of that and we’ll do without you, understand?’



In the tense silence following the low exchange, Galak rose. ‘Back in the courtyard,’ he said under his breath, ‘when I saw him standing there, holding out those scales. A shiver took my spine, that’s all. A shiver like the breath of the Abyss.’



Ville grinned at Galak. ‘You and your damned omens.’



‘Get the pot out,’ Rint said to Ville. ‘All this jabbering is wasting time.’



Leaving his two companions, he walked over to Sergeant Raskan and the old man, Sagander. Beyond them, the boy was sitting on the ground at the edge of the clearing, his back to them all. Both men were looking that way and if they’d been talking, it had been under their breaths and they ceased at Rint’s approach.



‘Sergeant,’ said Rint when he joined them. ‘This is the first meal of the journey. In the days that follow, our midday repast will of course make use of food that requires no cooking.’



Raskan nodded. ‘The Lord is well aware of your traditions, Bordersword.’



‘I assumed as much,’ Rint replied, ‘but I just wanted to make certain.’



‘Seems a ridiculous tradition,’ Sagander said, his expression sour. ‘Barely half a day out and we halt to gorge ourselves, when we should be hastening onwards.’



Rint regarded Sagander. ‘The first day of any overland journey, tutor, is always a difficult one, even for hardened travellers. Rhythms need finding, bones need shaking out, and not just for us but for our mounts as well. More injuries take horses on the first day than on any other. The early morning start, the cold muscles… these things pose risks.’



In response, Sagander shrugged and looked away.



Rint returned his attention to Raskan. ‘Sergeant. Two days to Abara Delack. When we are a few leagues out from the village, I will send Galak ahead-’



‘Forgive me,’ Raskan interrupted. ‘My lord has instructed me that we shall be riding around Abara Delack. We shall not be staying in the village, nor will we be guests of any of the resident highborn families.’



Rint considered that for a moment, and then he said, ‘None are to know of this journey.’