Forge of Darkness (Kharkanas Trilogy 1) (112 page)

But Kagamandra shook his head. ‘I will not, sir. I go to find my betrothed. I will take her from Kurald Galain. As far away as we can ride. If need be, I will bind her with ropes, a gag about her mouth, a sack for a hood. Sir, leave me alone.’

There were tears on Urusander’s cheeks. He stepped back, his gaze dropping. ‘Forgive me,’ he whispered.

‘I will go,’ said Sharenas.

The High Priestess was approaching, and behind her in the corridor walked Serap, Yeld, and Haradegar. With their pallid visages, they made an uncanny procession. Behind them all, white light spilled and roiled like smoke, drawing closer.

‘I will go,’ Sharenas said a second time, pushing herself forward. She reached out and grasped Kagamandra’s sleeve, pulling him with her as she set out for the front door.

‘Yes,’ said Urusander behind them, ‘best to flee, my friends. I cannot stop her.’

Sharenas cursed under her breath.
In this light, even justice will burn
.

* * *

Dead?

Ilgast Rend sat behind the desk, frozen, like a man nailed to his chair. He stared across at the dishevelled messenger with the red-rimmed eyes. Panicked thoughts flitted through him.
Send a rider to Commander Calat Hustain. Recall him. The Vitr will have to wait. We now have war
.

But I cannot wait. The soldier in me cries out. Urusander is still weak. His companies are scattered across the realm. He hides in Neret Sorr and deems it a distant island in rough seas. I have the Wardens in readiness, and here I am like a hound-master holding a thousand
leashes
. I swore to do nothing, but that vow – foolish old man! That vow was made in a time of peace
.

Highborn blood had been spilled. Innocents had been slaughtered.

Urusander, you pushed too far. But I see you in your keep, enthroned, and all the crows in your company chatter and caw until you are deafened, and the flapping wings blind you and the rush of air is sweet blessing against your face, and you think this the measure of the world
.

Will we await your next move?

I think not
. He struggled to control his breathing, and cleared his throat, twice, before speaking to the messenger. ‘I trust Lord Anomander has assembled his Houseblades. I trust the other Greater Houses are stirred to arms.’

‘Milord,’ said the messenger, ‘there were slain Deniers at the scene—’

Ilgast Rend snorted and rose suddenly. ‘We are to believe the rabbit showed teeth? The crassness of such deception delivers a mocking insult. No, we are not even meant to be fooled. Urusander’s Legion has struck – I saw as much in Hunn Raal’s eyes, when in argument he bludgeoned with threat and indignation in equal measure. He invites confusion, but does so with contempt.’

‘Your orders to me, milord?’

‘Rest, and then take three horses and ride to Calat Hustain in the Glimmer Fate.’

‘Best I not rest, milord,’ said the young man.

‘You are exhausted.’

‘This news is urgent. Perhaps another rider in my stead?’

‘Rest. I would not have this tale become blurred beneath too many layers of varnish. Calat will hear from you what I have heard. But add this: I lead the Wardens to Neret Sorr. I intend to attack Lord Urusander while his forces remain scattered. I intend to cut out the heart of this rebellion.’

The man’s face was grey, but he saluted.

‘Send in my captains,’ Ilgast Rend said to the man as he made to depart.

‘At once, milord.’

Ilgast Rend sat once more. He settled his hands upon the flat, worn surface of the desk.
The soldier in me sees clearly. He expects us to wallow in our grief, to stand unmoving in our shock. This was calculated to make us reel in disbelief
.

He began to suspect the complicity of the Shake – Skelenal and Sheccanto could not be pleased at the resurrection of their long-dead river god. How many Deniers even recognized the religious authority of the monasteries?

They have done nothing to prevent the slaughter of the Deniers, have they?

The tramp of boots approached along the corridor outside the room. Ilgast Rend drew a deep breath. He folded his hands together on the desktop. To still their trembling.

* * *

With a third of their journey to Yan Monastery ahead of them, Finarra Stone and Faror Hend came upon the first mass of refugees. Their state shocked Faror, and she followed her captain when Finarra led her horse and second mount off the track. They reined in to watch the hundred or so broken figures shamble past.

‘Where are they going, sir?’

‘East, as you can well see.’

‘There is nothing out there,’ Faror objected. ‘Except for this season’s headquarters, and that is but a modest fort of bound grasses and salvaged wood.’

‘Just so,’ Finarra said. ‘Ilgast Rend is about to face a nightmare in logistics.’

Disbelieving, Faror Hend shook her head. ‘Sir, we do not have enough food. Or shelter. And the winter on the Glimmer Fate—’

‘I am aware of all of that, Warden.’

‘Yes sir. Your pardon.’

‘Deniers, one presumes,’ said Finarra, studying the wretched men and women. ‘But few of them old, few of them children, and no newborn. There is something here, Warden, that is not right. Select one – that thin man who’s twice looked at us – and bring him here. I will have the truth from him.’

‘Yes sir.’ Faror Hend dismounted and made her way to the bedraggled man her captain had singled out. He saw her coming and seemed to sag. When she gestured, he pulled away from the others and limped over on bandaged feet.

‘Do not fear us,’ Faror Hend said to him. ‘We are Wardens and would hear what news you have to tell.’

The man squinted at her, and then shrugged.

Together they re-joined Finarra Stone.

The captain wasted little time. ‘You are east of the monasteries, sir. What refuge do you people seek?’

‘They sent us away,’ said the man.

‘Who?’

‘The Shake. But first, they took our children. That was the bargain they offered. Food for us, and the promise that our young ones would be safe with them.’

‘And the elderly?’

The man shook his head, and then smiled as if at a joke. ‘Our mothers and fathers were of the wood and the river. They chose to remain. Now they are all dead.’

‘The Wardens cannot keep you,’ Finarra Stone said to him.

He shrugged again.

‘They can, perhaps, protect you from bandits and … other enemies. But against starvation and the cold of winter, they cannot save you.’

‘We have nowhere else to go.’

‘Are there many more of you on this road?’

The man nodded, shifting weight from one bloodied foot to the other.

‘You may go, sir,’ said Finarra Stone.

They watched him hobble his way back to the ragged column. The breath hissed from the captain. ‘They took the children.’

‘Sir,’ said Faror Hend. ‘You carry word to Sheccanto and Skelenal that the Wardens are pledged to them. But if Calat Hustain knew of this – that the Mother and Father of the cult were turning away their flock, and making of children bitter coin …’

‘We will deliver our message,’ Finarra said, gathering up the reins. Then she paused and looked across to Faror. ‘Forgive me, Warden, I have made of this journey a tense one, unpleasant. The waters are muddy between us, and I regret that.’

‘As do I, sir.’

‘But such things diminish before the plight of those we see here on this road.’

‘Yes sir.’

Finarra hesitated, and then said, ‘When you are done with the Hust Legion, Faror Hend, choose a place in which to wait.’

‘Sir?’

‘A place. Tell me of your choice before we part, and I will see to it that word will be sent to … to whomever you wish to know of it.’

Faror Hend held her captain’s gaze. ‘Sir, I will not desert the Wardens.’

‘Name a place, and tell me by whom you will have it known.’

‘Sir, if word must reach someone, it must be my betrothed. But I say again, I will not desert the Wardens.’

Finarra nodded. ‘I understand. Nevertheless, think of a place—’

‘A refuge.’

‘In the season to come, Faror Hend, love will need such refuges.’

Faror studied her captain for a time, and then nodded. ‘I will give it some thought, sir.’

‘Very good. Now, we shall have to ride overland – I expect this road to be impassable at least as far as Yannis Monastery.’

‘Could you have made such a bargain, sir?’

Finarra shot her a look. ‘I have never birthed a child, Warden, so I
cannot
say.’ Then she shook her head. ‘If they see no hope ahead, and yet are offered salvation for their children … well, what mother and what father would not sacrifice their own lives to save those of their children?’

‘The Shake well understood that, I think,’ Faror said. ‘Still. When I came upon one of their troops, in the wreckage of a bandit camp, it was said in passing that they had made a similar offer, only to have the mothers slit the throats of their own get.’

Finarra blinked. ‘That seems a selfish act.’

‘Perhaps, sir, some hold freedom higher than life itself.’

‘Well enough if that life is your own. I doubt a single child welcomed the blade’s kiss.’

Faror Hend fell silent, unable to argue against her captain’s words. But the recollection haunted her. They rode on for a time, slowly as the ground was uneven and stony. Then she said, ‘Sir, for nights afterwards, I dreamed of mothers and fathers killing their own children. But no bargains had been offered them, and no threat drew close to force their hands.’

‘A disturbing dream, Warden, if there was no cause to their deeds.’

‘But there was, sir, of sorts. With each child slain, I saw the slayer’s wealth grow, in coin stacks, in gems and silks, and slaves at their feet. I saw them grow fat, but through windows there was the flicker of flames, drawing ever nearer.’

‘Let us bend to our task here, Warden, and speak no more of ill dreams.’

When Finarra Stone pushed her mount ahead, into a pace verging on reckless, Faror Hend followed. The day’s light was fading, and upon the track to their left, the stream of figures lost all colour, gave up no light, and soon were swallowed in the gloom.

NINETEEN

THE SOUNDS OF
revelry filled the hust legion camp outside the command tent. Smiling, Hunn Raal studied the woman seated opposite him. ‘It seemed a modest gesture at the time,’ he said, ‘but I cannot refute the blessing of this outcome.’

Toras Redone did not smile in return. Her expression remained unchanged, and this detail had begun to unnerve the captain. She held her tankard in her left hand and the jug of wine, from her private stores, in her right, resting both on her thighs. ‘If you think,’ she said, only slightly slurring her words, ‘gifts of wine and ale to my soldiers are sufficient to win everlasting accord between our legions, captain, then your drunken ways have led you astray.’

Hunn Raal lifted his brows. ‘It ever pained me, commander, that we came to view each other as rivals—’

‘Your dislike of the Hust has nothing to do with rivalry. You fear our weapons and their songs of war. It is not my soldiers whom you need to ply with liquor to achieve peace between us, but perhaps such generosity applied to your own soldiers could improve matters.’

‘Songs of war? Abyss below, commander, we can list the many words available to describe the uncanny cries of your weapons, but surely not the language of music.’

Her level gaze remained fixed on him. ‘Indeed? What stirring symphony would you wish for war, captain? Drums to quicken the heart? A rising crescendo to mark the momentous clash of two foes meeting in combat? Sorrowful dirges to settle like ashes upon the inevitable scene of slaughter to follow? Are you a romantic, captain? Do you dream of glory and virtue, of heroism and bravery? Are we
all
brothers and sisters under the armour, under the skin and down among our bones which, when at last laid bare, lose all provenance?’ She raised her tankard and swallowed down another mouthful. ‘Is this the man who has come among us? Sodden and sentimental, yet eager to raise a hand and point an accusing finger at unbelievers?’