Forge of Darkness (69 page)

He beat her to death, but justice was mine, mine to deliver
.

He found himself back on his horse, riding clear of Neret Sorr, winding tracks, low stone walls and farmhouses before him. He was trembling and his left hand ached.

He had been counted strong, even by the soldiers he’d sparred with. And he had, with one hand, just crushed a man’s throat. A grip that had seemed filled with rage, with almost mindless fury – if only it had blinded him; if only he’d not been able to see the man’s face, his eyes, his open mouth and the jutting tongue. Somehow, even that ghastly mask had simply made him squeeze harder.

Osserc could not understand what had happened, how any of this had happened. He had meant to ride away unseen by anyone, setting forth on a new life. Instead, in his wake they would find a dead man, strangled, a parting gift of horror from the Lord’s son.

Thoughts of his father struck him then, like blows to the body that left him sickened. He urged Kyril into a fast canter, fighting to stifle a moan.

The night, so vast around him, seemed to mock him with its indifference. The world held no regard for his feelings, his fears; the mad cavort of all the things filling his head. It cared nothing for the ache in his left hand and how it felt as if it still grasped that throat – the throat with its hard muscles that slowly surrendered to the ever-tightening pressure of his grip, and the way the windpipe finally crumpled into something soft and ringed that moved too easily, too loosely. All these sensations roiled in his fingers, in the flattened throb of his palm, and though he dared not look down, he knew he would see murder’s own stain – a stain invisible to everyone else but unmistakable to his own eyes.

Hunched over, he rode on. And there came then a bleak thought, repeating in his mind amidst the thumping drums of horse hoofs.

The darkness is not enough
.

* * *

Beneath bright morning light, Serap rode into Neret Sorr from the south track. Once on the high street, she swung her horse left and made for the keep road. But the way ahead was blocked by a flat-bed wagon, the ox rigged to it, and a small crowd. Three of the town’s constabulary were there, and Serap saw two young men approach from a lane opposite, carrying a body between them on a canvas tarp. They clutched the corners but kept losing their grip. Though other men walked with them none made a move to help.

Reining in, Serap looked to the nearest constable and saw that the man was studying her. After a moment he stepped forward.

‘Lieutenant Serap.’

She studied him. ‘Ex-Legion, yes? Ninth Company.’

‘Sergeant Yeld, sir. I was on Sharenas’s staff.’

‘What has happened here?’

‘Murder last night, sir. A local got strangled.’

‘If you’ve a mind to hunt down the killer,’ she said, ‘I have some experience at that. Has he run or he is holed up somewhere?’

All at once the sergeant looked uncomfortable. ‘Not sure, sir. No witnesses.’

‘Is there a seer in town?’

‘Old Stillhap up at the keep, sir. We haven’t sent for him yet.’

Serap dismounted. Her back was sore. She’d ridden hard from Kharkanas, bearing the latest news along with Hunn Raal’s usual exhortations to ensure that she spoke directly with Lord Urusander. Although the news she had been instructed to give him made her uneasy, since much of it was close to a lie, she was now committed. Still, a minor delay here in town might give her time to compose her thoughts, quell her misgivings, before seeing Urusander. ‘I will examine the body,’ she said, walking over to where the two men had finally reached the wagon with their burden.

The sergeant joined her. ‘Mason’s apprentice, though his master tells us he ain’t been showing for work up at the keep the past two days, and no one recalls seeing him in that time either. He was up to something, I suppose.’

The body was on the bed now and Serap climbed aboard the wagon. She drew the canvas to one side, revealing the corpse.

Yeld grunted. ‘Ugly way to die, sir.’

‘Not a rope or garrotte.’

‘No sir. Was hands that done that.’

‘Not hands, sergeant. One hand.’

Mutters sounded from the crowd now gathered round.

Serap straightened. ‘Takes a strong man to do that. I see a knife sheath at his belt but no knife.’

‘Found a dozen paces away, sir,’ said Yeld.

‘Blood on it?’

‘No. But look at his hands – seems he fought back.’

‘Anyone with a bruised face in this mob?’ Serap asked with a half-smile as she scanned the townsfolk. ‘No,’ she added. ‘That would be too easy.’

Someone spoke from the crowd. ‘Anyone seen Renarr?’

‘Who’s Renarr?’ Serap asked.

‘The woman he was courting,’ Yeld replied. ‘From what I gather.’

‘Millick was courtin’ and plannin’ t’marry,’ someone else said.

‘Where does this Renarr live?’

Yeld pointed to a solid stone house at the western end of the high street, close to the Tithe Gate.

‘Send anyone over there yet?’

‘Sir, she’s Gurren’s daughter. Gurren was married to Captain Shellas.’

‘And?’

‘And Gurren’s got no love for Legion. Or ex-Legion. I doubt we could get in the door.’

‘But she needs to be told, sergeant. Out of decency, she needs to know.’

‘I expect she knows, sir. It’s been on everyone’s tongue all morning, this whole mess.’

Serap returned to her horse. She gestured Yeld close and kept her voice low as she said, ‘Was this Gurren’s work? Did the boy – Millick – rape his daughter, you think? Knock her up?’

Yeld clawed at his beard, squinting at the ground. ‘Gurren’s got a temper. And he used to be a smith – still has a hand in, so long as it ain’t Vatha or Legion work. But sir, no one wants to lose a smith. This town’s only got the one who ain’t working day and night for Lord Urusander. I admit, living here now, I’m pretty reluctant to stir up a wasp nest—’

‘A mason’s apprentice was murdered in the street, sergeant.’

‘And no one’s looking at Old Smith Gurren. That’s the problem.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Meaning I heard from one of last night’s High Gate guards that Osserc rode out two bells past midnight, trailing a spare mount and kitted for a journey. He ain’t come back, and it gets worse.’

‘How?’

‘Clean horse tracks on the lane up to and then around the body. Freshly shoed, just like Osserc’s mounts were. Osserc’s probably the
strongest
man I know, lieutenant. Take all that and add to rumours from a few days ago, about Renarr coming back late from the stream – same track as Osserc rode in on earlier that morning … so you see, right now there’s rumours and just rumours and still plenty of mysteries. It’s a wasp nest no matter which side we kick at it.’

Serap cursed under her breath. ‘That gate guard been talking?’

‘Just to me.’

‘And those horse tracks?’

‘I took note, since I was put in mind of Urusander’s boy riding out. But I don’t think anyone else noticed. Get plenty of riding back and forth, and I obscured the path that went round the body. Scuffed it up, I mean.’

‘I know what you meant,’ she replied, irritated with the detail. ‘Has Lord Urusander been informed of any of this?’

‘Not yet, sir. I was on my way when you arrived.’

‘You could clear Gurren by making him put his left hand round the dead man’s neck – see if the imprint fits.’

‘Yes, sir, I could, though the body’s starting to swell up some.’

‘But if you did and Gurren was cleared of suspicion, you’d be left with one choice—’

‘Yes, sir, and it’s a rumour already out here. Going after Gurren would make it worse, if you see what I mean. Worse for Lord Urusander. Worse for the Legion.’

‘You’ve thought this through, Yeld.’

The sergeant shrugged. ‘We can’t make it go away, sir, but we can let it rust.’

Serap swung into the saddle. ‘I will report all this to Lord Urusander.’

‘All of it?’

‘All that he needs to hear. There’s been a murder. No witnesses and no suspects. The rest is just base speculation. The loss of a mason’s apprentice will be a hardship on the family, and no doubt the mason, too, and we both know that the commander will do what’s necessary to ease their loss.’

The sergeant nodded up at her. ‘Very good, lieutenant. Oh, and welcome.’

She eyed him jadedly at that, but he seemed sincere. She edged her horse past the wagon and then through the crowd. The mood around her wasn’t yet ugly, which was something. She did not envy Yeld and his squad.

Riding on, she drew opposite Gurren’s stone house and reined in. She eyed the shuttered windows, and then the faint wisps of smoke rising from the chimney. Dismounting, Serap left her horse standing on the track and made her way to the front door. She thumped on the blackwood.

There was no response.

Serap waited for a time and then made her way round to the back yard. Pushing through the gate, she saw Gurren hunched over the forge, stirring the coals.

She approached, but from one side, to give him the opportunity to see her. He offered up a single glance then returned to his work.

‘Old Smith,’ she said. ‘We’ve not met, but I know of you and, of course, of your wife. You have my deepest sympathies.’

He made no reply.

‘Gurren, where is your daughter?’

‘In the house.’

‘She does not come to the door.’

‘Ain’t surprised.’

‘Why?’

He faced her. He was not as old as his local title suggested, but he was bowed; the muscles from a lifetime with hammer and tongs were still visible but the skin around them was slack, as if he had been ill for a long time. The watery grey eyes were like broken glass. He spat yellow mucus on to the ground and said, ‘Night before last she barely made it back to the door, beaten half t’death. Witch Hale comes over and works on her, and comes out and tells me. Broken jaw, broken cheekbone; won’t see good outa her left eye ever again.’

‘Someone killed the man who did that, Gurren.’

‘I know. Hale got the girl to talk.’

‘What did she say?’

Gurren’s face was impossibly flat, impossibly empty of all expression. ‘From what Hale could make out, Urusander’s lad plucked her, but tenderly. But Millick saw enough to guess and took the rest out on her. And now Millick’s dead, choked in North Lane last night, and Osserc’s gone.’

‘That’s right,’ Serap said, seeing no need to dissemble. ‘Some rumours are going around that you might have been the one doing the killing.’

Gurren nodded. ‘I set those out, lieutenant.’

‘To muddy the trail.’

He eyed her, and then said, ‘I been holding a long hate for your lord, and your Legion that saw my wife killed, taken from me and Renarr.’

She nodded. ‘Poets have written of Urusander’s grief over your wife’s death.’

‘Poets can go fuck themselves.’

‘Well …’

‘I’m dying,’ Gurren said. ‘Witch Hale says it’s too late. Had my doubts about Millick all along, but she was set on him, you see, and with me leaving and all …’

‘I’m sorry how it turned out—’

‘I’d be a lot sorrier,’ he snapped, ‘leavin’ her to a lifetime of beatings and maybe worse. So it’s like this. I owe Osserc and if I could, why, I’d kneel before him, take that murdering hand of his, and kiss it.’

Serap stared, struck silent.

Gurren turned back to the forge. ‘Tell your lord this, lieutenant. Between us, now, the water is clear.’

‘I will tell him,’ she whispered.

‘But I want my daughter taken care of.’

She nodded. ‘I will swear to that.’

He shot her a hard look. ‘Legion vow?’

‘Legion vow, Gurren.’

The man suddenly smiled, and years vanished from him, despite the sickness behind his eyes. ‘I’ll be seeing my wife soon. There’s nothing like waiting, when the waiting’s about to end. Go on with you, then. I got me some chains to melt down for the nailmonger, and this fire ain’t nearly hot enough yet.’

* * *

‘Commander, it is good to see you again.’

Vatha Urusander seemed to study her for a moment before gesturing her to sit. They were in the room Hunn Raal called the Vault. Shelves lined all the walls, reaching to the ceiling. Scrolls, bound books, manuscripts and clay tablets bowed every shelf. A single work table dominated the room. Two chairs were pushed up against it, while the lower, padded chairs they now occupied stood like sentinels to either side of the low doorway.

The positioning was awkward in that Serap could not face Urusander unless she perched sideways on the seat. As expected, the commander seemed indifferent to this detail. There was an air of distraction about him that Serap had seen each time she had visited over the past two years, and she gauged it as the look of a man slowly losing himself. It pained her.