Forge of Darkness

‘We must learn more of this Vitr.’



‘We shall,’ Hunn Raal assured him. And probably have little say in the matter, for I feel events quickening.



Sharenas had watched Tulas leave the room, had observed with interest the man’s sudden acuity. Dead in spirit he might be, but in the matter of salvation of others — in this case his betrothed — he was first to the fore. In fact, she could almost see the lurid flames ignited in him, this potential opportunity to die in defence of the woman he was to take as wife, and so live pure in noble grief for ever, rather than descend into the squalid truths of an unhappy marriage, where old ashes would begin settling on glory before the last stone was set on the threshold of their new home.



There was something almost pathetic in Kagamandra’s energy as he prepared to set out into the night in search of Faror Hend. This was a man who would wither without hands and feet, without the promise of sure motion and actions to undertake with verve and will. But those brave expostulations were all short-lived, the echoes of deeds quickly falling away, and what was the poor man left with, but a renewed silence or, worse, the unheard howl inside his own skull? No, far better these hands in motion, these feet to carry him; better all these things that need doing, and indeed could be done with.



To bind a broken man, by word or thread or chain, was ever a lost cause. Worse yet, how likely was the broken man to in turn break all that was given to him, including young Faror Hend? Was it not Gallan who wrote ‘ On trembling floor / ashes will flow ’, and would not Faror’s world tremble so in the company of Kagamandra Tulas? He will dust her, coat her from head to toe, and she will become the hue of stone, a statue blind to every garden. Gallan, you should write about this betrothal, and set it well upon a stage. I see knives in the wings.



Serap leaned close, ale-soured breath hot on Sharenas’s cheek, ‘Join us tonight, will you? See how heated it’s all become? Blood rushes close under the skin at times like these.’



‘What times would those be?’ Sharenas asked drily.



On Serap’s other side, Sevegg giggled behind her hand.



Hunn Raal’s whores. That’s all they are. He brings them and casts them out among those he would make into allies or, Abyss forbid, friends. But I’m not interested in that, dear captain. I fall in on your cause, as will my sister and cousin. Be content with that, lest you sour my regard. She stepped away from the cousins, evading a drunken paw from Risp, and strode from the main room.



In the small compound, she found Tulas saddling a horse. Six Wardens were doing the same with their own mounts, while a dozen of their comrades checked over the kits of those soon to leave the fort. Lanternlight played out yellow and filled with night insects. Sharenas found a groom standing nearby and gestured him over. ‘Ready my horse,’ she told him. ‘I will ride with them.’



The boy hurried away.



Looking up, she saw Tulas staring across at her.



Sharenas walked to him. ‘You know my skill with a spear,’ she said.



He continued studying her for a moment longer, and then turned back to his horse. ‘You are most welcome, Sharenas Ankhadu, and I thank you.’



‘There is too little love in the world to see it so endangered.’



She saw how her words made him stiffen — but slightly, as he was a man used to self-control. ‘Have you spoken to Spinnock Durav?’ she asked.



‘I did, before exhaustion took him.’



‘Then we have a trail awaiting us.’



‘Yes.’



The groom returned with her horse. She resigned herself to a long, wearying ride. But she was determined to witness this pursuit. Anyway, better the horse than the whore. If that Durav had eyes open this night, well, I might have stayed in the fort. A most handsome young warrior.



I wonder if Finarra and Faror shared him out there in the wilds?



Amused by the thought, she climbed into the saddle and took up the reins.



The others were ready. The gate was opened once more this night, and they all rode out.



Ensconced in the commander’s private room, modest as it was, Ilgast Rend settled in the rickety chair, wincing as it creaked beneath him. Opposite him, in a matching chair, Calat Hustain asked, ‘Your thoughts on what she had to say, Lord?’



Ilgast rubbed hard at his eyes, blinked away swimming blots of colour, and then scratched down through his beard, considering. ‘I spared them no room, commander.’



‘Ah, of course. The efforts at healing must try you, Lord. I admit to a sense of wonder, at this rare skill with earth and heat, moulds and roots. Upon battle’s field, I have seen miracles performed with sharp knife and gut and thorn, but this mysterious sorcery you have found in such mundane things, it is most astonishing.’