Forge of Darkness

by Steven Erikson

She had been making her way forward while Rancept was speaking, and she felt him move alongside her, but at his last words she drew up. ‘Tell me, did you offer her anything?’

  His mouth-breathing stuttered slightly. ‘I would have to be a Denier to do that, milady.’

  Sukul thought back, to the time before he had taken her hand. Was there movement from him? Was he standing near the witch? She did not know. Reaching for her leather purse, she loosened the draw-strings.

  ‘Careful now,’ said Rancept, and she realized that he was watching her, somehow – no, not ‘somehow’. He sees because he believes. In this temple Rancept worships. Yet, he chose to lead me here. There would have been other ways through, other paths. But he brought me here.

  She drew out a memory stone, found upon the banks of the Dorssan Ryl. For the brother I lost to the wars.

  ‘Milady. Sukul Ankhadu, I beg you. This gesture must not be a careless one. Will you bind Mother Dark to the Sleeping Goddess of the Dog-Runners?’

  Her breath caught. ‘I am not a highborn, castellan. I am not a priestess.’

  ‘Does your faith lie with Mother Dark? No, do not answer me. If it does, however, then surely you shall bind these two women. More than this, you shall bind the Deniers and the Tiste. There is no more holy place than this temple, but it is lost to the Deniers. I alone know of it – do you understand me?’

  ‘And you are a man with secrets, yet bold or foolish enough to reveal this to me. Why?’

  ‘Truth?’

  ‘Truth, Rancept. Give me that at least.’

  ‘Tiste schooling is rubbish,’ he said.

  She almost yelped her laughter, and it echoed loudly in the chamber. At the sound Ribs bolted past her and up the tunnel.

  Beside her, the castellan’s astonishment was palpable to her senses.

  ‘Forgive me again, Rancept …’ and then her words faded away.

  The air had changed in the chamber and she felt her skin prickling. ‘What is it?’ she asked in a frightened whisper. ‘What have I done?’

  ‘Put the stone away,’ said Rancept. ‘She is a Dog-Runner still, it seems.’

  ‘I don’t understand – what is this I’m feeling?’

  ‘Her blessing, child. What greater or more precious gift could you give her, but laughter? Breath of the Sleeping Goddess, you have healed her, Sukul Ankhadu.’

  She started as the huge man knelt in front of her, and somehow – though still her eyes remained shut – she saw the glitter of tears on his cheeks. ‘The roots no longer bleed,’ he said gruffly. ‘I thank you, milady, with all my heart.’

  ‘For this learning,’ she heard herself say, ‘I make payment with pleasure.’

  She felt his wry smile and smiled in return.

  He rose and together they headed into the passage ahead.

  When he took her hand again she welcomed it, though both knew she no longer needed any guidance from him. No, this was more like friendship, and the notion startled Sukul, so that she almost laughed again. Instead, she sent her delight back down the tunnel, back into that wondrous chamber, where flesh and wood were one, and eyes grown shut could see all there was to see.

  As they clambered back towards the surface – where dawn’s pale light made a plate of silver-blue above and ahead of them – Sukul said, ‘Rancept, the Deniers who remain must be told of this temple. They deserve that much.’

  ‘There is no need,’ he replied. ‘I shared her dreams below – yes, it is plain now and I will not dissemble. I am a Denier – though I deeply dislike that name. No matter. In sharing those dreams, I saw a truth, newborn and wondrous.’

  ‘What did you see?’

  They rose into the light of dawn and he looked back at her with a half-smile transforming his twisted features – an expression she had never before seen on him and one that she thought would stop the hearts of the castellan’s guard should they ever witness it – and he said, ‘Burn dreams of a river, milady. She dreams of a river.’

  * * *

  Gloved hands gripping the rope, Risp made her way down the crevasse. Unfamiliar twinges assailed her shoulders and back. Climbing was not a common activity among the Tiste – a better excuse than her general unfitness, she decided. Below her the lantern anchored the rope, resting on broken rock. The air was dusty and chilled by eternal shadow, and she felt a kind of belligerence in this place, as if the stone walls resented her intrusion.

  Just nerves, she told herself. And anxiety. The light had revealed no obvious body on the floor below, but it was clear that the crack extended to either side for unknown distances. Risp was certain that no cold corpse awaited her; the clenching of her gut was proof of her conviction. Men like Gripp Galas possessed that infuriating luck that seemed to ride the shoulders of old soldiers. He’d never fall in battle. When death took him he would probably be lying on a woman in some rank bordello.

  She worked her way over a sloping bulge in the stone wall that showed signs of scraping, a few spots of blood now dried and black as ink, and two body-lengths below that she reached the bottom, boots scrabbling for purchase on the loose stones. More blood, spattered amidst dislodged rubble.

  Looking back up the crevasse, Risp wondered how Gripp had ever managed to climb back out. She then turned and crouched, untying the lantern and taking the handle in hand. The smell of scorched leather came from her glove and she could feel the handle’s heat. Ignoring the faint discomfort she straightened and set out to explore.

  No body, but she’d already guessed as much. The fissure narrowed quickly at one end. In the other direction – eastward, she judged – the crevasse continued on, down a sloping, choked floor littered with dry branches, and the remnants of bird nests built from twigs, mud and snarls of goat hair.

  She made her way forward. A dozen paces along, the walls leaned inward, tightening the passage so that she had to angle sideways to go further. Feeling the stone pressing in on her front and back triggered a momentary panic, but she fought it down and pushed ahead. The crevasse widened again and here the fallen rocks formed a slope leading upward. She made out a bloody handprint on a stone halfway up it.

  Risp followed the obvious trail. The crevasse broadened out still more, and now huge broken boulders filled the space. Dust was scraped clear here and there, on obvious hand- and footholds. Dawn’s light revealed the surface only a dozen paces onward. Moments later she scrambled into the clear. The road was thirty paces to her left, the span in between a wash of sand on which Gripp’s bootprints were visible. One leg had been dragging.

  Dousing the lantern, she walked to the road, scrambled up the bank and swung left. Just beyond the bend waited her troop, the soldiers dismounted and still busy building cairns over a row of bodies on the far side of the road. Her sergeant, she saw, was still at the crevasse, squatting and peering down. At a word from a nearby soldier he twisted round to see her approaching on the road.

  ‘Alive,’ she said upon re-joining them. ‘But bleeding and with a bad leg. Looks like he came back here after Silann left. Where he went after that is the question, isn’t it?’

  ‘He went after the boy,’ the sergeant replied.

  ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘Maybe he wasn’t just guarding goat and sheep skins, sir.’

  ‘You think the boy was important?’

  The veteran shrugged. ‘Laskan was going through what the fire didn’t burn. There was a soldier’s trunk. Korlas crest, solid blackwood, which was why it mostly shrugged off the fire. But the lock melted. Boy’s clothing inside, and what looked like lead soldiers all melted down into slag.’ He paused, eyes on her. ‘Korlas, sir. That would make the boy of that bloodline. There was a Korlas Houseblade who served as a captain in Urusander’s Legion.’

  ‘Can this get any worse?’

  ‘If Gripp collects up the boy and they get out of these hills, yes, sir, it can get much worse.’

  ‘A highborn child on his way to Kharkanas …’

  ‘Yes sir, a hostage. To the Citade
l. Captain, that boy was under Lord Anomander’s protection, the moment he left the estate. That’s why Gripp Galas was with that caravan of skin-sellers.’

  Risp felt sick inside, a strange quavering that rose into her throat. If she gave sound to the feeling it would emerge as a moan. Her sergeant was staring at her, expressionless, and she felt the attention of the other soldiers in her troop – even the burial detail had drawn close. She was tempted to voice regrets that she’d ever volunteered to clean up this disaster. It was Silann’s mess, after all. If that fool were at her side right now, she would kill him. She thought it unlikely that his wife would even object. She’d probably hand me the knife. ‘There were a few highborn serving in Urusander’s Legion,’ she said.

  The sergeant nodded. ‘Greater Houses without enough wealth to assemble a decent cadre of Houseblades. If there were a chance, they’d end up with the Houseblades of other Houses. But Korlas was a proud man, as I recall.’

  ‘You knew him?’

  ‘Captain, I served under him. Same for Laskan, Helrot and Bishim. He was a good man. Died a hero.’

  All at once a new fear took hold of Risp: the loyalty of this man standing before her. ‘You said that Gripp and this hostage cannot be allowed to get out of these hills alive, sergeant.’

  ‘No sir. I said things would get even worse if they did.’

  ‘I see. Then what do you suggest?’ So much for exercising the power of command. My first test and I fail.

  ‘We need to find them, sir. And make it right.’

  ‘How do we do that?’

  ‘We let Silann hang, sir.’

  ‘He just up and decided to become an outlaw? You can’t be serious, sergeant. He still holds a rank in the Legion, and so do half his soldiers.’

  ‘We don’t have to know why he did what he did, sir. It’s a mystery to all of us, maybe even his wife.’

  ‘So, instead of hunting down and killing Gripp and the boy, ensuring that all of this goes away, you’re advising we act in baffled horror and disgust. That we find the old man and this hostage and help them, maybe even escort them to Kharkanas.’ She looked around, scanned the faces of her soldiers. She barely knew them, but Hunn Raal was certain of their loyalty. Nevertheless, under these circumstances, even that loyalty was being stretched – she could see as much in their expressions. Hostages were sacred, and this particular hostage was under Lord Anomander’s protection, which added genuine fear to their discomfort. ‘Esthala needs to know of this change in plans.’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  ‘Send Laskan and Bishim back to her. And then what, Silann’s own wife arrests him?’

  The sergeant shook his head, but said nothing.

  Risp closed her eyes briefly and then looked away, up the road. ‘No, she won’t do that. Silann is too weak to keep his mouth shut. She’ll have to kill him, and his soldiers.’ She met the sergeant’s eyes again. ‘She’ll understand the necessity, won’t she? There is no other way out of this. Is there?’

  Still he remained silent, watching her.

  ‘Send them.’

  ‘Yes sir.’ The sergeant gestured and the two men mounted their horses and a moment later set off.

  ‘Send Helrot to Tulla Hold,’ she went on. ‘To report the slaughter and make known our search for survivors. And to ask for assistance.’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  She would have to get rid of this sergeant. She didn’t want him in her troop. He gave too little away; she could not tell what he was thinking and this unnerved her. His silence had felt like a judgement, and for all she knew she had failed in the balance.

  ‘Collect up that trunk. We’ll take it with us. Then we ride east. We eat in the saddle.’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  * * *

  Rancept slid back down to where she huddled. ‘Three riders dispatched,’ he said. ‘Two back the way they came and one up the road – likely on her way to Tulla. The rest are heading east.’

  Exhausted, chilled and miserable, Sukul sighed. ‘What does all that mean?’

  ‘Not party to the killing, I’d wager, milady. They’re all Legion, and that raises another question.’

  ‘What are they doing out here?’ Sukul said, nodding. ‘Since no Legion troop ever rode within sight of Tulla Hold.’

  ‘Not wanting to be seen.’

  ‘But one is now riding to Tulla, you said.’

  The castellan grunted, squinting at Ribs, who was curled up asleep against Sukul’s feet – and the animal’s heat now warmed her aching toes, and she looked upon the creature with a fondness she had not imagined possible.

  ‘Should we go down to them?’ she asked.

  ‘Too late.’

  ‘I told you we should have taken horses and just ridden the road.’

  ‘In hindsight,’ Rancept allowed, ‘maybe so. But what doesn’t change is that none of this feels right.’

  She wasn’t about to argue that point. The wheezing old castellan’s feelings couldn’t be dismissed this time. ‘So who killed those traders?’

  He shook his head, and then straightened. ‘Let’s go down. Maybe Ribs will tell us.’

  ‘Castellan, he’s just a damned dog, not a seer.’

  ‘Milady, he’s my dog.’

  Her eyes narrowed on him. ‘Are you some kind of priest of Burn, Rancept?’

  ‘No priests among the Deniers, milady.’

  ‘What about the Dog-Runners?’

  ‘Witches and warlocks,’ he replied. ‘Bonecasters, they’re called.’

  ‘They throw bones?’

  ‘No. Well, maybe, but I think the name goes more to what we saw in that temple, milady. Bone to wood, bone to stone. As if to ask, if we can be one why not the other? As if it’s only a matter of how we talk to time.’ He paused and then added, ‘It’s said they gave the Jheleck the gift of Soletaken, which is yet another way of seeing the casting of bones.’

  Ribs lifted his head without any signal from Rancept, and she felt the unwelcome chill in her feet once more. Sighing again, she rose. ‘Tell me they buried the bodies at least.’

  ‘They did, milady. Cold stone on cold flesh and sorrow in the silence.’

  She shot him a look. ‘I think you surprise people, Rancept.’

  ‘Yes, milady, I do that.’

  They made their way down a side track, rounding the butte they’d mostly ascended in order for Rancept to look down on the road. ‘I trust Lady Hish knows you well enough to value you.’

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘If she doesn’t, then I’ll do my best to steal you away, castellan. You … and Ribs, too.’

  ‘That’s a kind thing to say, milady. But I will serve Lady Hish Tulla until my dying day.’

  Something in those words told Sukul of a love beyond that of a castellan for his mistress, and the very notion threatened to break her heart.

  Ribs snaked down the stony slope ahead of them. ‘He’s just a dog, isn’t he?’

  ‘Just a dog, milady.’

  ‘Not Soletaken.’

  Rancept snorted. ‘If he once was, he’s long forgotten his other body, leaving him what he is now, and that’s just a dog.’

  Once down on the road, they approached the site of the killing in silence, Ribs staying close on Rancept’s left. Before reaching the scene both the dog and the castellan halted. Eyes on the ground, Rancept said, ‘The killers rode past the caravan and then went back to them. More proof that they weren’t bandits. They were back up to a fast trot, two lines in close formation, before they turned round. Someone gave a command.’

  ‘Disciplined, then.’

  ‘To start with,’ he replied, as he and Ribs set out once more. ‘But I saw what was left of one of the guards. There was anger in that butchery.’

  ‘Your eyes are that good?’

  ‘Was easy to see. The ones doing the burying carried him over in pieces.’

  She pushed down her imagination, squeezing shut figurative eyes upon the image. The smell from up ahead was foul, not
just from the still smouldering ash heaps where the wagons had burned, but also the stench of bile and urine. A horse’s carcass was lying on the road’s flank, this side of the row of cairns. The beast had been stabbed in the gut, the slash vicious enough to spill out stomach and intestines, now stretched out and partly wrapped about the animal’s hind legs as it had tried to kick free of its own ruin. Sukul found herself staring at the pathetic creature, seeing its terrible death and feeling pain as the scene seared into her mind. ‘I will never be one for war,’ she whispered.

  Rancept, picking among wreckage, heard her and glanced over. ‘It’s an unpleasant business that’s for sure, especially when the sack is opened.’

  She pulled her gaze away. ‘What sack?’

  ‘You. Me. The sacks of our skin, holding everything inside.’

  ‘Surely we are more than that!’ Her words were harsher than intended. ‘Even this horse was more than that.’

  He straightened, wiping his hands. ‘Milady, though you ain’t asked for it, here’s some advice. Most of the time – the best of times, in fact – it’s good to think that. We’re more than just a sack of blood and organs and bones and whatever. So much more, and the same for every animal, too, like that noble horse and even old Ribs here. But then comes a time – like this one – when you can’t let yourself think that. When what you’re looking at now is just a broken open sack, with stuff spilled out. Whatever was “more” inside of us is gone – it’s gone from that carcass and it’s gone from those bodies under those stones. It’s not down to what we’re worth—’

  ‘No,’ she snapped, ‘it’s down to what we’ve lost!’

  He seemed to flinch and then he nodded, turning away once more.

  Sukul felt bad, but she wouldn’t take back her words. She understood his meaning, but she didn’t like it. Seeing people and animals as just sacks of skin made ruining those sacks that much easier. If no one looked at the loss, they were left with no sense of the worth. In such a world not even life itself had any value. She looked over at Rancept once more. He was standing in the centre of the road, opposite the cairns, but his gaze was on the track ahead, beyond the road’s bend. Ribs sat at his heel. There was something hopeless in the scene and she felt herself close to tears.