Forge of Darkness (36 page)

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.’

‘There is power in nature,’ Ilgast replied, ‘and what is often forgotten is that nature lies within us as much as it does out there, amidst high grasses or shoreline. To heal is to draw across the divide; that and nothing more.’

‘It is said that such power grows.’

Ilgast frowned at the suggestion, not because he would deny it, but because the notion – which he himself sensed – disturbed him. ‘It was ever my belief, commander, that we who blinked the mist clear from our eyes, and so saw truly the flow of life, were but privileged, by quirk of temper or gift of vision. We beheld a power in constancy, yet one
unaware
of itself. Of no mind, if you will. Neither living nor dead; rather, like the wind.’ He paused, chewing on those thoughts, and then sighed and shook his head. ‘But now, I grow to sense … something. A hint of deliberation. Purpose. As if, in taking from the power, it shifts a shoulder and sets regard upon the taker.’

‘That is … strange, Lord.’

‘As if in looking down into the river,’ Ilgast continued, his frown deepening, ‘one discovers the river looking back up at you. Or a stone returning stern attention. A glance catching the eye of earth, or sand.’ He rubbed vigorously at his face again. ‘It leaves one startled, I tell you, as if in an instant the world is unmade, and all its comforts are revealed as false, and the solitude we’d thought private was in truth played out before a silent audience; and the minds that gave thought to all we did, why, they think nothing like us.’

He saw Calat Hustain look away, into the fire.

‘Forgive me, commander,’ Ilgast said, with a gruff laugh. ‘Healing wearies me. There is a Shake word to describe that sense, as of the myriad things in nature giving sudden and most fixed attention upon a person, and the uncanny shiver that comes of it.’

Calat nodded, eyes still on the fire. ‘
Denul
.’

‘Just so.’

‘But the monks speak of it as a kind of ecstasy. A moment of spiritual revelation.’

‘And if the revelation diminishes the self? What ecstasy is found in that?’

‘That of helplessness, I should imagine.’

‘Commander, I dislike helplessness.’

‘And so you wage battle with
Denul
.’

Perhaps. Yes, it could be seen that way
. ‘Her wounds will mend. The poison is gone. She will lose no limbs, and even now the last of the fever rides out on her breath. Your captain will return to you, sound of mind and body, in a few days hence.’

‘I thank you, Lord.’

Ilgast studied the commander for a moment and then asked, ‘This Vitr – you have taken its challenge upon yourself. What can be made of the captain’s claim that strangers have crossed this inimical sea?’

Calat smiled. ‘So you gave heed after all.’ He shook his head. ‘I admit, I am inclined to disbelieve. Stone is devoured by the liquid. Wood crumbles after a few moments in contact with it. Flesh burns and the air upon the sea is itself caustic. What vessel could survive those alien waters?’

‘She spoke of no vessels, no ships. She said the strangers have come
from
the sea. She spoke, with little coherence it is true, of a demon lying on the beach, a thing that appeared to be dead.’

‘This night,’ Calat said, ‘I have only questions.’

‘Have you theories on the origin of this Vitr?’

‘You well know I am firm in my opinion that it poses a grave threat to Kurald Galain. It is destroying land. With each surge of wave more of our world is taken away, never to reappear. Storms open like jaws and teeth descend to tear away stone and clay. Cliffs weaken and crumble, slide down into oblivion. We map these inroads—’

‘Commander, I would hear your theories instead.’

Calat scowled. ‘Forgive me, Lord, but in that I am frustrated. Where are the legends of the Vitr? Not among us. Perhaps among the Azathanai there are old tales referring to it, but I know nothing of them. The Jaghut, in all their written histories, might well have made note of the Vitr; indeed, the entirety of its reason might have been plainly writ in their works—’

‘But those works have all been destroyed, by their own hands—’

‘By the Lord of Hate, you mean. It was his arguments that mined unto crumbling the foundations of the Jaghut, until they could not trust all they stood upon. The losses to us all, of that vast knowledge, are immeasurable.’

Ilgast Rend grunted. ‘I never shared your respect for the Jaghut, commander. They remind me of the Deniers in the manner in which they turned away from the future – as if to wash their hands of it. But we must all face our days and nights, for they are what await us. Not even a Jaghut can walk back into his or her past. No matter how directionless a step seems when taken, it is always forward.’

‘The Lord of Hate would not disagree with you, Lord. Which is why he has chosen to stand still. To take no step at all.’

‘Yet time bends not to his deep root,’ Ilgast retorted in a growl. ‘It but flows around and past. He vows to forget and so is forgotten.’

‘He has slain their civilization,’ Calat Hustain said, ‘and in so doing, proclaimed all knowledge to be dust. And so I am made to feel, Lord, gaping pits awaiting us ahead, that need not have been, if not for the Lord of Hate.’

‘The loss is only in what was written, commander. Might it serve us, in the matter of the Vitr, to seek out the counsel of a Jaghut? All have not dispersed, I understand. Some still reside in their old keeps and holds. I am of a mind to seek one out.’

‘Yet now the Jheleck have laid claim to the abandoned lands.’

Ilgast shrugged. ‘They could claim the heavens, for all it matters. A Jaghut choosing to remain in a tower cannot be moved, and those Soletaken fools should know better.’ He snorted. ‘Like any dog that’s been whipped, it is never humble for long. Stupidity returns triumphant.’

‘Hunn Raal carries word to Kharkanas in the morning,’ Calat Hustain said.

Ilgast regarded the commander with level eyes.

* * *

Trailing the woman she had named T’riss, Faror Hend saw the last of the high grasses dwindle a short distance ahead, and beyond it, worn and rotted, the range of denuded hills lying to the west of Neret Sorr. The sun was past zenith and heat shimmered in the still air. They rode clear and Faror called out to halt.

Their journey through Glimmer Fate had been uneventful, and in her exhaustion Faror had begun to believe that they wandered lost, despite her reading of the night sky, and that they might never find a way through the endless cobwebs and rustling blades. But now, at last, the Fate was behind them. She dismounted, legs weak beneath her. ‘We must rest for a time,’ she said. ‘I wager your horse is tireless, but mine is not.’

The woman slipped down from the grass-bound beast, stepped away. The simulacrum stood motionless, a woven sculpture too robust, too raw to be elegant. The faint wind against its angular form made a soft chorus of whistles. Red and black ants swarmed its neck, emerging from some hidden root-nest.

Faror Hend drew free the heavy water bag for her horse, loosened the leather mouth and set it down for the beast to drink. She drank from her own waterskin and then offered it to T’riss.

The woman approached. ‘Vitr?’

Startled, Faror Hend shook her head. ‘Water. Against the thirst.’

‘I will try it, then.’

Faror watched the woman drink, tentatively at first, and then eagerly. ‘Not too much too quickly, else you sicken.’

T’riss lowered the skin, her eyes suddenly bright. ‘The ache in my throat is eased.’

‘I imagine Vitr did not manage the same.’

The woman frowned, glanced back at the forest of high grass. ‘An excess of vitality,’ she said, ‘can burn the soul.’ She looked again to Faror. ‘But this water, it pleases me. I imagine it in full coolness, about my limbs. Tell me, is there water in abundance?’

‘In places, yes. In others, no. The hills to the south were once green, but when the last of the trees were cut down the soil died. There remains a single spring, which we must now ride to. It is, however, a risk. There are outlaws – they first became a problem during the wars. Men and women who refused to join the legions and saw opportunity once the soldiers departed. Such militias as a town or village mustered were too small to extend patrols beyond the settlement’s outskirts.’

‘These outlaws command the spring?’

‘Like us, they depend upon it. When a troop of Wardens or a well-armed caravan arrive to make use of the water, they hide. We are but two, and they will see in that an invitation to make trouble.’

‘Do they wish to rob us, Faror Hend?’

The Warden looked back at the grass horse. ‘They may have cause to hesitate. Otherwise, we must fight to protect ourselves.’

‘I will see this spring, this place of abundant water. Are you rested, Faror Hend?’

‘No. Feed for the horse, and then for us.’

‘Very well.’

Faror Hend regarded her. ‘T’riss, you seem new to your … your form. This body you wear and its needs. Water. Food. Do you know what you were before?’

‘Tonight,’ T’riss said, ‘I will dream of water.’

‘Do you not understand my meaning?’

‘Dreams in the Vitr are … unpleasant. Faror Hend, I begin to understand this world. To make, one must first destroy. The grasses I made use of are even now losing their life, in this my mount, and in these my clothes. We dwell in the midst of destruction. This is the nature of this world.’

‘You are indeed a stranger,’ Faror observed. ‘A visitor. Do you come with a purpose?’

‘Do you?’ T’riss asked. ‘Have you its knowing upon your birth? This purpose you speak of?’

‘One comes to discover the things that one must do in a life,’ Faror replied.

‘Then what you do is your purpose for being, Faror Hend?’

‘No,’ she admitted. ‘Not always. Forgive me, but I saw you as a harbinger. Created by someone or something unknown, for a cause – and come among us for a reason. But your challenge shames me. None of us knows our own purpose – why we were born, the reason that sets us here. There are many meanings to each life, but none serve to ease the coldest question of all, which is
why?
We ask it of the Abyss, and no answer arrives but the echo of our own cry.’

‘I meant no challenge, Faror Hend. Your words give me much to think about. I have no memories of the time before.’

‘Yet you recognize
Azathanai
.’

But T’riss frowned. ‘What is Azathanai?’

Faror Hend blinked, and then her eyes narrowed. ‘There is knowledge hidden within you, T’riss. Hidden with intent. It pushes your thoughts away. It needs you unknowing.’

‘Why would it do that?’

I can think of but one reason. You are dangerous
. ‘I don’t know,
T’riss
. For now, I am taking you to Kharkanas. The problem you pose is well beyond me.’

‘The Vitr is your enemy.’

Faror had turned to feed her horse; now she shot T’riss a sharp look over a shoulder. ‘Is it?’

But the strange woman’s face was blank, her eyes wide and innocent. ‘I believe I am hungry.’

‘We will eat, and then ride on.’

T’riss was as enamoured of food as she had been of water, and would have devoured all that remained of their supplies if not for a word from Faror Hend. The Warden thought to question her guest further, but did not know where to start. The child-like innocence in her seemed to exist like islands, and the seas surrounding them were deep, fathomless. And each island proved barren once reached, while between them, amidst dark tumultuous waves, Faror floundered. But one thing seemed clear: T’riss was losing knowledge, as if afflicted by a disease of the mind, a Loss of Iron; or perhaps the new body she had taken – this woman’s form with its boyish proportions – was imposing its own youthful ignorance. And in the absence of what she had been, something new was emerging, something avid in its appetites.