Forge of Darkness (Kharkanas Trilogy 1) (111 page)

Witch Hale came out to stand beside her. ‘He is gone,’ she said.

Renarr nodded, if only to appease the old woman. But she had seen her father die some time before, when she had met his eyes and saw in them no feeling, and he had but studied her, detached, as if gathering details. And she had understood something then. This was how death came to the dying: from the inside out; and this was how the living took it: from the outside in.

She gathered about herself the new, rich clothing a guilt-ridden man had bestowed upon her, and then said, ‘I am going down to the village.’

* * *

Coming from the barracks, where she had been lounging with a half-dozen veteran sergeants before hearing the bell clang, Lieutenant Serap made her way across the compound towards the keep’s front entrance. She saw that Sergeant Yeld had returned. A crowd surrounded him, but he was holding up his hands, as if to defy their questions. Haradegar had rushed inside a few moments earlier, to sound the bell that would summon Urusander back up to the keep, and thence to the Campaign Room.

Two more riders appeared from the gate and Serap glanced over to see Sharenas Ankhadu and Kagamandra Tulas. They cantered across the courtyard, forcing a path through the milling soldiers, stablers and servants, and reined in close to Yeld, who pushed free, straightening against his weariness, and saluted Sharenas.

Serap reached them, but said nothing as she followed Yeld, Sharenas and Kagamandra into the keep. Their boots rang hollow as they marched down a corridor, the walls of which bore only the bleached impressions of the tapestries that had once lined it. The sergeant looked worn, as befitted someone who had ridden through the night.

Serap had been given to understand that Captain Sharenas had sent Yeld to Kharkanas. She had assumed that the sergeant carried orders to Hunn Raal, demanding his return.
But my cousin is not in Kharkanas. What then the cause of this tension?

Castellan Haradegar, along with the High Priestess Syntara, was awaiting them in the Campaign Room. As she had done the few other times she had seen the High Priestess, Serap found herself staring at
Syntara
, half in fascination and half in revulsion. She forced herself to look away and concentrated instead on Sharenas. ‘Captain, did you by chance see Commander Urusander on the road up to the keep?’

‘He comes,’ she replied. ‘Sergeant Yeld, I trust your insistence that we make this a command meeting is justified by the news you bring.’

‘It is, sir.’

‘Were you able to speak with Hunn Raal?’

‘No,’ Yeld replied. ‘Sir, it is believed he has journeyed to the Hust Legion, bearing wagons burdened with gifts to the soldiers. Presumably, sir, he seeks entreaty with Commander Toras Redone, to ensure that no hostilities arise between our legions.’

‘Does he now?’ Sharenas said, eyes narrowed. She then swung to Syntara. ‘High Priestess, I wonder about the role you imagine for yourself at this meeting?’

‘Permit me, captain, to stand as a symbol of your unease.’

Sharenas scowled. ‘I doubt any of us needs one so animate, High Priestess.’

‘I regret that you seem disposed to be suspicious of me, captain.’

‘High Priestess, I doubt that ranks high among your list of regrets,’ Sharenas retorted. ‘But since you will speak of them, I would hear more.’

‘Very well. Among my foremost regrets, captain, is that I do not yet know my place in this meeting, or any other. The uniform you wear announces your role no matter what the setting. To look upon you is to understand your talents in command, in warfare, and the logistics that are necessary to maintain a company of soldiers. Now, do not shy away as does Lieutenant Serap, and look upon me. What do you see? I stand here announcing a changed world, captain. If its taste is bitter, then spit me out and proclaim the end of change for all to hear. Who can say if the world will heed you?’

Sharenas stared at the High Priestess for a long moment, and then snorted. ‘Forgive me, High Priestess. It was my understanding that you women of the temple talked only with your cunts.’

‘You have bent an ear too often to Ilgast Rend, captain. He comes from a time when swords ruled and spoke for all. We sought to oppose and indeed usurp that domination, and offered the pleasures of lovemaking instead. Is it not curious that he finds us such a threat?’

‘Perhaps I have indeed listened to Ilgast Rend too often,’ Sharenas admitted with a faint smile. Then the smile faded. ‘Alas, the age of swords has returned.’

‘This regret has ascendancy in my soul, Captain Sharenas, if you would know the list complete. But then, I see before me soldiers one and all, and so anticipate an enlivening of expressions with whatever dire news your sergeant is about to deliver.’

Yeld grunted as if Syntara’s words had delivered a blow to his chest. He coughed and said, ‘My pardon, High Priestess, but I anticipate no joy from the tale I must tell.’

They heard the thump of boots from the corridor and a moment later the door opened and Urusander strode into the room. Whatever fires Serap had seen reignited in Urusander had dimmed beneath the burden of the Legion’s rebirth. Or, perhaps more likely, it had waned beneath the fugue of confusion now afflicting the companies that had gathered in answer to his summons. He looked harried and in short temper as his flat eyes fixed on Sergeant Yeld. ‘I am waiting,’ he said.

‘Sir, I must tell you a tale of massacre.’

Urusander’s hard, angular face darkened. ‘I am sickened enough, sergeant, by the reports I have already had. This murder of Deniers must cease, even if I have to lead my entire Legion into the wood.’ He swung a glare on Serap that made her recoil. ‘These renegades will hang.’

Yeld shifted uncomfortably. ‘Sir, these victims were not Deniers. They were highborn.’

Urusander seemed to stagger. His back connected with the wall behind him. ‘Speak on,’ he whispered.

‘Sir, forgive me this dread news. The House Enes wedding procession was attacked. Lord Jaen and his daughter were slain. Hostage Cryl Durav as well. I was told that the first to find them was Enesdia’s brother, Kadaspala.’

A sound came from Urusander, but Serap could not pull her gaze from the sergeant, and she saw Yeld’s face suddenly twist. ‘Sir, in grief the artist gouged out his own eyes. It is said he is lost in madness. He curses all who seek to comfort him. He curses Mother Dark. He curses Lord Anomander for delaying too long in Kharkanas. Among the dead were bodies of Deniers, but Kadaspala accuses Legion soldiers – he – he points a finger at Captain Scara Bandaris’s company, which he met in the wood.’ Yeld abruptly stopped, and Serap saw how the poor man trembled.

No one spoke.

Then Sharenas Ankhadu whispered, ‘Scara would not do this. Commander, Kadaspala has indeed gone mad. He rages at the world.’

Kagamandra slumped into a chair and sank his face into his hands.

‘Still your thoughts,’ said Syntara in a cold, hard voice. ‘All of you, draw down hard upon the outrage and horror afflicting you. Yes, I but stumble on this new path, but I am struck. A question assails me. Lord Urusander, hear me.’

His bleak eyes fixed on her.

She took his silence as assent. ‘By what laws shall we be governed? Soldiers of your Legion demand recognition. They demand compensation
for
their sacrifices. They insist that the gifts of this world do not solely belong to the highborn. Well then’ – and her uncannily pale eyes now travelled across them – ‘show me this grief for the fallen peasant. For the Denier cowering under superstitious dread. A poor young girl’s father has just died in this keep. From the tower I saw a funeral procession up to the town’s cemetery only two days past. And yet.
And yet
. Look upon yourselves. See how you measure this latest tragedy, as a loss of greater worth. Why? Because the slain are
highborn
.’

‘This attack is unseemly,’ said Sharenas in a low growl. ‘You berate us for the breadth of our feeling? Who weeps more for strangers?’

‘I refute your defence, captain. If you will weep for one, then weep for all. Know that every stranger has kin, has loved ones. Every stranger was as trapped in their skin as we find ourselves. I have stood here. I have listened. I watched you all suddenly appear upon the top rung of grief’s ladder.’

‘You speak cruelly, High Priestess,’ said Sharenas, ‘and so pluck our open wounds. But I hear no offers of balm or healing in your words.’

‘By what laws shall we be governed? This question burns me, captain. Its flames rage high, engulfing my soul. Take upon yourself the burden of the righteous, but do so with humility. Weep for us all – I assure you none here will run out of tears.’

Sharenas’s hands had curled into bloodless fists at her sides. ‘To what end?’

‘Justice.’

Urusander’s head snapped up, his eyes suddenly hard and bright.

The High Priestess straightened, as if suddenly proud of the curse that bleached her skin. ‘I know of no law that proclaims the death of some to be greater cause for grief than the death of others.’

‘There
is
one,’ Sharenas said. ‘We gauge their deeds in life, for some. For others, we measure our distance from them, and the closer they are, the deeper we grieve. When you speak of a deluge of tears, I see not a blessed ocean, High Priestess, but a bitter sea. The laws that bind us are measured by the limits of our flesh, and the capacity of our souls. What you demand would empty us—’

‘Leaving what?’

‘The Abyss.’

‘A crowded soul, captain, is a place of shadows and gloom. Scour it clean, and nothing will remain to block the light. Hear me. I tell you, I am so afflicted. I am burned away inside. All that remains of the woman I once was is this shell you see before you, and see how even it is transformed by the Light burning in my soul.’ She stepped closer to Urusander. ‘Lord, do what needs to be done, to return Kurald Galain to peace. I will await you, and as proof of my power I will yield now this gift.’

Kagamandra Tulas rose suddenly, sending the chair toppling. Hands to his face, he staggered to the door, and then into the corridor. The sound of his feet as he fled was like that of a drunken man.

Sharenas snarled something Serap could not make out, and then rushed after her friend.

A moment later golden light spilled out from the High Priestess, filling the chamber. Blinded, Serap cried out.

She heard Syntara speak. ‘When all your grief for the dead is washed from you, what remains? Each of you, turn now from death and face life. Grieve not for the dead but for the living. For kin and stranger both. Grieve, until you are ready to come to me.

‘Come to me, and we will speak of justice.’

The light poured in, filling Serap’s flesh, her bones, setting all it touched to flame. She fell to her knees, and wept like a child.

* * *

Shuddering, Kagamandra Tulas leaned against the wall at the corridor’s end. Sharenas reached him, drew him round. He resisted, but her will would not be denied and a moment later she held him in her arms. ‘Damn that High Priestess,’ she hissed. ‘Shock weakened us and she pounced – no, I cannot guess at her ambitions. I know only to fear them. This much I have learned.’

‘Stop,’ he said. ‘There will be war now. Don’t you see that?’ He pushed her away with a hard shove that sent her stumbling. ‘I’ll not fight. This I swear! I’ll not fight!’

She stared at him from across the corridor. There were people in the main room and they had turned in alarm at this confrontation, but her eyes were for her friend and none other. ‘Kagamandra, please. The highborn will do nothing. Not yet. None of them – not even Anomander. They need to summon the Hust Legion. And the Wardens. They need to make an alliance with Sheccanto and Skelenal—’

His eyes widened. ‘What?’

‘Listen. A rival to Mother Dark was born in the room we just left.’

‘I would not listen. I stoppered my ears! I will not!’

Sharenas shook her head. ‘Not Syntara, friend. She was but a mahybe, set among us Tiste by the Azathanai. There is no hope of any of us gleaning the purpose of that, unless it was to see Kurald Galain destroyed. We have seen the beginning, but cannot know the end.’

‘There will be war!’ His shout bounced from the walls, echoed fierce into the Great Hall.

‘I am not blind, Kagamandra. But nor am I helpless, and neither are you!’

‘I will not fight!’

The door to the Campaign Room slammed open further up the corridor and both turned. A moment later, Urusander appeared.

His skin was white as alabaster, his once-grey hair shot through with threads of gold.

‘Here then,’ Sharenas said in a low voice, ‘comes her rival.’

Urusander strode past her and stood before Kagamandra Tulas, who stared at Urusander as if he had come face to face with a ghost, a singular apparition bearing with it a thousand losses exhumed, shaken clean, proffered like trophies. His back pushed harder against the wall when Urusander raised a hand, as if to touch him. A moment later the hand fell back.

‘Old friend,’ said Urusander. ‘I beg you, ride to them. Tell them that I was not behind this. Tell them that I will hunt down these murderers. Tell them the Legion is at their disposal.’