Forge of Darkness (Kharkanas Trilogy 1)

by Steven Erikson

  ‘Yes sir.’ It struck Faror, suddenly, that in Calat Hustain and his wife, Toras Redone, she saw a possible fate for her and Kagamandra Tulas. It seemed they knew little of each other and were content to keep it that way. That Calat did not know his wife’s mind on the matter of her faith, and what it might lead her to do with her legion, struck her as pathetic, and, in this instance, potentially disastrous.

  ‘One last thing,’ Calat Hustain said, ‘you are to bypass Kharkanas. Cross the river well downstream and avoid contact with Legion garrisons or troops.’

  She thought back to her commander’s earlier words. ‘Sir, I could seek out my betrothed in the city, if only upon my return from the Hust Legion encampment.’

  ‘You could, but you shall not. Kharkanas is about to become a web. With an indifferent mistress at its centre, I foresee a convergence of … males, each one eager for her embrace.’

  ‘Sir, your analogy invites the notion that whoever wins will end up being devoured … by Mother Dark. This seems an odd victory.’

  He grunted. ‘Yes, it does, doesn’t it?’

  Neither spoke for a time, until Faror Hend began to wonder if she had been dismissed.

  Then Calat spoke. ‘You were displeased when the Yan Shake assumed responsibility for the Azathanai. I imagine they now regret their presumption.’

  She thought back to Caplo Dreem with his airs of superiority, and Warlock Resh’s bludgeoning presence. ‘It would be pleasing to think so, sir. But then, by the Azathanai’s will, their river god was resurrected.’

  ‘Just so, and from this added injury to their ambitions, Warden, I wager your name has been cursed more than once.’

  ‘Sir, you imply a taint of cynicism to the brothers and sisters of the cult.’

  ‘You think me pessimistic by nature, Warden? Perhaps you are right. When Captain Finarra Stone is busy speaking with Mother Sheccanto, take the measure of the Shake. I will value your opinion on their determination.’

  ‘Sir, I am already of the opinion that Urusander’s Legion will regret antagonizing the Shake.’

  ‘If they rely upon the neutrality of the Wardens, then indeed they will.’

  Shock rippled through Faror Hend and then she nodded. ‘We delivered T’riss to the Shake, sir, it is true. Rather, I did, and so I must bear some responsibility for all that has happened.’

  ‘Hardly. The Azathanai set out seeking an audience with Mother Dark. She would have managed it sooner or later even if unaccompanied.’

  ‘But would she have resurrected the river god if she had not encountered the Shake?’

  He shrugged. ‘That we will never know. We deceive ourselves if we imagine that we proceed through life with any semblance of control over what is to come, and we should be thankful for the humility. For if it had been otherwise, if indeed every event in history were guided by our hands, then we have long since relinquished any claim to virtue. Every triumph we might weigh would be little more than a redressing of scales to answer our own crimes in the past.’ He gestured, as if dismissing not only his own words, but all of history and its host of sordid truths.

  ‘Sir, when I depart the monastery, will Spinnock Durav remain with the captain?’

  ‘Spinnock Durav will be riding with me to the Sea of Vitr, Warden.’

  ‘Oh. I see.’

  He studied her. ‘Observe well the likely failure of my intercession, Faror Hend, and consider for yourself the crimes your loss of control shall force upon not just you, but many others.’

  She felt herself grow cold and was unable to respond.

  Calat Hustain looked away. ‘Dismissed,’ he said.

  Faror Hend stepped out back into the main hall, her thoughts in turmoil. She saw her captain seated in her place at Spinnock’s side. The thought of joining them sickened her. This is Finarra’s work. She’s spun lies in Calat’s ear. Spinnock needs no mothering from you, captain, and by age alone you are a poor meet to his challenge.

  Fury warred with shame in her. And now I must ride with you, obedient at your side. I am no child to be so curbed, and one day I will show you all the truth of that.

  Glancing up, Finarra Stone caught Faror’s eye. The captain rose and approached.

  ‘Our mounts are being readied, Warden,’ she said.

  ‘Very good, sir. I will see to my kit.’

  ‘There is a pallor to your cast,’ Finarra said. ‘Are you unwell?’

  Faror shook her head. ‘No sir.’

  The captain ventured a faint smile. ‘I dread to think that the substance of the message you are to deliver to the Hust Legion has so stolen the life from your face.’

  ‘No sir, although I will admit that we seem caught upon a current—’

  ‘And see naught but rocks ahead, yes. We have our orders, Warden, and by these we will be guided.’

  Faror nodded. ‘Sir, I must see to my kit.’

  ‘Do not take too long. I will meet you near the gate.’

  * * *

  Finarra Stone watched her Warden set off, and felt some surprise to see the woman studiously avoiding her cousin. She saw Spinnock’s gaze following Faror’s departure from the main hall, and then the young man rose, as if to set out after her. The captain moved forward.

  Perhaps Calat had warned Faror away from her cousin. The woman had emerged from her meeting with a ghostly visage and had stood visibly shaken. If there was truth to this supposition, then their imminent journey together would be strained.

  ‘Spinnock.’

  The young Warden turned. ‘Sir. It seems that my cousin is upset.’

  ‘Not upset,’ she replied. ‘Distracted. We are to leave at once and she must get herself ready.’

  ‘Ah, of course.’

  ‘Are you eager to return to the Vitr, Warden?’

  He shrugged. ‘It did not top my list of immediate ambitions, sir. I regret no longer being under your command.’

  ‘We face difficult times, Warden. It may be some while before things return to normal and we can resume our routines. You will be in the care of Sergeant Bered while in the commander’s train.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘You need not worry overmuch. He is a veteran of Glimmer Fate and the shores of the Vitr.’

  Spinnock nodded, and then sighed. ‘I will miss you, captain.’

  She felt something deep inside rise in answer to his words, and the sensation left her feeling momentarily weightless. She glanced away. ‘Let us hope Bered is better proof to your charms, Warden, than I am.’

  Spinnock stepped closer. ‘Forgive me, sir. When I carried you back from the Vitr, ill as you were, well, I never tired of the embrace.’

  ‘Yet another reason,’ she muttered, ‘to regret my fever. Spinnock, be careful now.’

  But he shook his head. ‘I know I am young. Perhaps too young in your esteem. But we—’

  ‘Enough of that, Warden. This is not the time.’

  ‘But it is all we have, Finarra.’

  The figures moving past them seemed but blurs, like a host of wraiths bound to otherworldly tasks. She dared not meet Spinnock’s eyes, even though she knew that only in them could she right herself and rid her senses of the wheeling vertigo that threatened to take her. ‘It shall have to wait,’ she said. ‘Please, step back. There is proper decorum to consider.’

  He did so, with a half-smile. ‘I do not regret my impulse, sir. At least now you know my feelings.’

  And here I thought to seduce Faror, and find for Spinnock another woman’s arms. Confusion roiled in her and yet she felt almost drunk. ‘Be safe, Warden, and we shall one day resume this conversation.’

  ‘In private, I hope.’

  ‘That,’ she allowed, ‘would be best.’

  Out in the compound, she paused, drawing deep, steadying breaths. She recalled little of that ride through the night, as Spinnock bore her back to the fort. Had he spoken to her? Cajoled her to keep her from slipping away? She had been bound to him, knotted by leather straps. She remembered the heat com
ing from him, and the sweat between them. He would have felt her against him, her breasts, her belly; even her arms had been drawn round his waist.

  Warden Quill came up to her. ‘Sir, your mounts are saddled, equipped and waiting.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she replied. ‘Warden.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘You ride in Bered’s troop, yes? Good. I trust you have been informed that young Spinnock Durav will be with you.’

  ‘Indeed, sir.’

  ‘The commander thinks highly of him, Quill.’

  The man nodded. ‘I will keep an eye on him, sir.’

  ‘Be not so obvious as to embarrass him.’

  ‘I have already known his company at the games table, sir, and would count him a friend.’

  ‘Oh. Of course.’

  Quill smiled. ‘I will be guarding his left side, sir, with Stennis on his right.’

  ‘Very good. Thank you.’

  She set off for the horses. Now, Spinnock, I’ll have my legs round you yet. As for you, Faror Hend, you have a husband in waiting, and too many crimes to cross to ever lie with your cousin. Even Calat sees the temptation in your eyes.

  There was no guessing the paths of desire. He is young, but I will have him.

  For a time.

  * * *

  ‘I confess that I am without resolve.’

  At Spinnock’s words, Faror Hend turned, to see him leaning in the doorway to her cell, his arms crossed and his eyes dancing with reflected light. She shook her head. ‘I have not seen that in you, cousin.’

  ‘I envisage a life where I am like a blade of grass, flattened by the faintest breath of wind.’

  ‘Then you will know bruises in plenty.’ She studied him. ‘What has taken you so, Spinnock?’

  ‘Brave words from me, while I stood far too close to our captain.’

  She looked away sharply, returning to readying her kit bag. ‘There is a reason Finarra Stone is yet to find a husband.’

  ‘I see something wayward in her eyes, it’s true.’

  She snorted. ‘She longs for no husband, cousin. She’d rather a wife.’ She looked back suddenly. ‘Did you not know that?’

  The surprise on his face shifted into a smile. ‘Now there’s a challenge.’

  Faror Hend straightened, moved close to him. ‘Spinnock, listen to me. She would play with you. You’re not the first man she has teased. But her lust lies in the feel of soft breasts in her hands, and yielding wetness between the legs. She shies from a stubbled kiss and hungers only for velvet lips.’

  ‘I shall scrape every whisker from my face, and deceive her in the dark.’

  ‘You deserve better than to be used.’

  ‘Hence the weakness of my resolve, cousin.’

  ‘Then yield to this.’ She grasped the back of his head and brought her mouth against his. She heard a grunt from him and then he pulled away. Faror moved close again and reached with her other hand between his legs, cupping the weight of him and feeling his heat through the silk.

  Spinnock set his hands on her shoulders and firmly pushed her back. ‘No, cousin.’

  ‘Did you think me deaf to your invitations, Spinnock?’

  He shook his head. ‘I thought we but played. A game with no risk of resolution. Faror, I am sorry, but this cannot be.’

  She backed away and then swung round to fix the straps of her pack. Without facing him, she said, ‘Resolution is the least risk to such games, Spinnock, when in every move we fence in strategies of desire.’

  ‘Beloved cousin, do not misunderstand me. If we were not cousins, I would have earned revile from every Tiste for stealing you from your betrothed, for making of your body a thing well used.’

  She struggled to slow her breathing, cursing herself for the pounding of her heart in her chest. Every ache felt delicious and yet tortured. She could still feel his lips against her own, and her left palm remained damp with his sweat.

  ‘What you did just now—’

  ‘Every game turns serious, Spinnock, eventually. Now let’s see your hasty retreat, cousin, and know the proof of unexpected resolve.’

  ‘My retreat, cousin, is the very opposite. Our captain awaits you, after all.’

  She twisted round to glare at him. ‘In games of love, cousin, we all play to wound.’

  ‘That is a bitter vision, Faror.’

  ‘Is it? What greater courage than love’s confession? When the duelling is done unto exhaustion, one or the other must drop their guard, and then smile at the spilling of their own blood. Next comes the question: will the one doing the wounding now step close to set tongue to that wound?’

  ‘No, he will turn the blade upon himself, cousin, and so conjoin this crimson flow.’

  ‘And so the game ends with the promise of scars.’ She shook her head. ‘Play on, then, cousin, and think not of me.’

  He edged out from the doorway, his expression filled with sorrow and dismay. ‘Fare you well in your journey, cousin.’

  ‘And you.’

  When he was gone she shut the door, and then sat down heavily on her cot. The blood runs clear until every drop becomes a tear. The game is lost the moment you forget that it was ever a game. To hear the song of love is to be deafened by a chorus of fools! Wiping at her wet cheeks, she resumed her preparations.

  * * *

  ‘One thing at a time,’ Calat Hustain said. ‘I need you here.’

  Ilgast Rend grunted, and then sat down heavily in the chair behind the map table. ‘I cannot understand Urusander. He should have reined in Hunn Raal – Abyss take me, he should have had the hide whipped from the dog long ago.’

  ‘Hunn Raal’s machinations would have stumbled, and then stalled,’ Calat said as he paced. ‘Without that damned Azathanai’s interference at Yannis, this contest would have remained purely political, and so open to compromise. This war of faiths is like a weapon thrust into his hand.’

  Ilgast shook his head. ‘Hunn Raal is of the Issgin line. This is all down to his family’s fall from glory. He yearns to be a noble and sees himself as his bloodline’s champion. He will ride the wave of every concession the Legion wins, and if the foam should turn red, so be it.’

  Calat nodded. ‘His ambitions are well known, Lord.’

  ‘I will keep the Wardens in a state of readiness, commander. Of course I but hold them so until your return. Then, with great relief, I will yield to you and quit this.’ He looked up. ‘Friend, do you think me irresponsible?’

  ‘I cannot say, Lord. I continue to believe that the greatest threat to Kurald Galain is the Vitr. If you can glean its truths from among the Jaghut, or even the Azathanai, then we may all bless your devotion a century from now.’

  Ilgast snorted. ‘A century? Then I will gird myself to weather a hundred years’ worth of curses until that time. Preferable, I think, to this wayward tugging I now suffer.’

  ‘In announcing your neutrality, Lord, you perhaps offer a way out for many, highborn and common alike. I cannot imagine that every old captain of Urusander’s Legion is thrilled with this pogrom. Those falling to their swords might be Deniers, but they remain Tiste. Lord, I am appalled by this turn of events.’

  Ilgast considered Calat’s words. He rubbed at his face. ‘There is a madness, commander, that runs like a poison stream through us. It flows beneath the bedrock of our much vaunted propriety. The stone bears pressure until it cracks. Civility drowns in that vile flood, and the disingenuous thrive in the discord that follows.’ He leaned back, making the chair creak with his weight. ‘In my bleakest moments, I wish for the coming of a god, a thing righteous yet cool of regard. A god to reach down among us and pluck forth our most venal, self-serving kin. And then, in a realm that burns like acid through every deceit, every cynical lie, make for them all an unwelcome but most deserving home.’ He closed his eyes. ‘I long for a power to wash away the worst that is in us, Calat.’ After a long moment he opened his eyes again, to see the commander motionless, studying him. Ilgast managed a wry smile. ‘
Would I fear such power in Mother Dark’s hands?’

  ‘Voice no confessions to me, Lord. I have doubts enough of my own.’

  ‘I wonder, where are our formidable wits, commander, that we should so easily be driven into this wash of treachery by thick-skulled, obvious fools? By the malign of intent and the heartless of spirit?’

  ‘You begin to question your neutrality, Lord?’

  ‘I suspect its evasiveness. Still, I see before me but one path not soaked in blood. I shall travel west, into the lands of the Jaghut and the Azathanai.’

  ‘And your Houseblades?’

  ‘They will maintain my holdings. That and nothing more. So I have ordered.’

  ‘Will you journey alone?’

  ‘I will take a handful, for the company.’

  Calat nodded. ‘Lord, I shall endeavour to not linger too long at the Sea of Vitr. I see well the burden of this favour I have asked of you.’

  ‘If I can, commander, I will not move from this chair until your Wardens are once more safely under your wing.’

  ‘Trust in my officers, Lord.’

  ‘Indeed, and if possible, I will avoid the necessity of giving a single order.’

  Calat strode to the door, gathering up his weapon belt and strapping it on. He faced Ilgast Rend. ‘This god you wish for, Lord. The very thought of it frightens me.’

  ‘Why so, commander?’

  ‘I fear that, in the name of righteousness, it would reach down and pluck us all.’ Calat Hustain departed, closing the door behind him.

  Ilgast stared at that barrier of rough wood for some time.

  * * *

  ‘In facing the unexpected,’ said Kagamandra Tulas, ‘we are revealed to ourselves. I have seen this borne out among the hunting dogs I trained. Some flee. Some growl. Some attack. But I would wager, not a single beast is truly surprised by its own actions. Yet, we cannot say the same, can we? Between our bristling hide and the muscles that might quiver underneath stretches a layer of shame, and it is upon that warp that self-regard weaves its delusions.’