Forge of Darkness (Kharkanas Trilogy 1)

by Steven Erikson

  The girl nodded. ‘I think so, yes. I am rarely here, mistress. But there are flues from the Great Hearth, leading everywhere.’

  ‘Then this is not a cold house in the winter.’

  ‘No, mistress, it is blessedly warm!’

  Sandalath looked round. ‘I feel welcomed by this house, most welcomed.’

  The girl smiled again. ‘You are very pretty, mistress. We’d thought—’

  ‘What did you all think? Tell me.’

  ‘We thought you’d be a child, mistress.’

  ‘As are most new hostages, yes. But you see, I have done this before. And truth be told, in some ways I feel a child again. Every day, the world is born anew.’

  The girl sighed.

  ‘Born anew,’ Sandalath repeated, breathing deep the warm, scented air.

  SEVEN

  THERE WERE MOMENTS of lucidity, when finarra stone became aware of strange, discordant details. She was bound to Spinnock Durav, a horse labouring under them both. Black blades of Glimmer Fate’s savage grasses rasped against the mount’s wooden armour, rustled past like swirling waves. It was night and she could smell Spinnock’s sweat, could feel his heat against her chilled body.

  She slipped away, only to awaken again, and this time she saw before them a wavering blur of yellow light, swimming in a penumbra that seethed with moths and bats. The frenzied motion of the creatures hurt her eyes and she looked away, to where the high grasses had been chopped down, forming a killing field surrounding the fort; and then the walls, stretched out beneath the lantern suspended above the gate – the ‘logs’ of bound grass, patchy with sun-fired black clay – the gate opening and sudden voices – she felt Spinnock sag as ropes were cut and she was gently drawn away from him.

  Firm hands carried her quickly into the fort, crossing the compound, a flare of harsher light, the gust of heat from a fire, and then she was inside the main room. They set her down on a bench. A dog brushed close, wet nose smearing the back of her swollen hand, and was then sent scurrying with a slap.

  Finarra blinked her vision clear and found she was staring up at her commander’s face, the man’s features grave, his eyes firelit from a blazing hearth. ‘We have guests, captain,’ he said to her. ‘Serendipitous guests. Ilgast Rend is with us, well versed in the healing arts. The poison will be expunged – he wagers your leg will be saved. Do you understand my words?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Spinnock tells us of Faror Hend’s mission – she has not yet returned. Tracking a stranger from the Vitr – this was not wise.’

  ‘The decision,’ Finarra said, startled at finding her voice sounding so thin, so cracked, ‘was hers.’

  ‘Her betrothed is with us. He even now prepares a troop to set out in search of her.’

  Kagamandra Tulas? Has he come for her, then? She stumbled in the confusion of her own thoughts. Where was Spinnock? What had driven Faror Hend into such a foolhardy venture? She suddenly recalled the look in Faror’s eyes, at the moment when she was about to ride into the high grasses. The lust for death, the curse of the Tiste. Had Faror known that her betrothed was coming for her? But Finarra had heard nothing of that before they’d departed, and she most certainly would have done.

  ‘She is in great danger,’ she said to Calat Hustain.

  ‘You know more of this stranger, then?’

  ‘Inimical. Defiant of death. They may be … Soletaken.’

  ‘From the Vitr? You speak of more than one – have invaders come among us?’

  ‘They come,’ she said. ‘Eager to slay. The one Faror tracks, it took a human form. A child or woman. No less dangerous. Upon the shore … my horse, slain.’

  ‘I will send a troop back upon your trail, captain.’

  ‘Tell them … do not assume death in what they find, no matter the evidence before their eyes.’

  ‘Ilgast Rend will attend to you now, captain. He will make you sleep.’

  She struggled to sit up. ‘I have slept too long as it is—’

  ‘You are fevered. Infection has set in – the bite of a naked wolf. He will scour it from your blood. If you refuse to sleep, there will be great pain. There is no virtue in knowing it.’

  ‘I was careless—’

  ‘If this proves a matter for disciplining, that is for me to decide, captain. Lie back, the Lord insists.’

  She relented, caught site of Ilgast Rend’s broad, battered face, the softness in his eyes. He set a calloused hand upon her brow, and darkness flooded up to take her.

  * * *

  Watching from a distance, Hunn Raal stood with his arms crossed, his back resting against a smoke-stained wall of cracked clay. He was drunk, but in the way of old, in that few could tell, and his thoughts, while loose, were clear enough. Beside him was Osserc, his young face high with colour from the unexpected excitement of this broken troop’s return. The Vitr was a mystery, to be sure, but until now it had been indifferent in its destruction, no more malicious than a winter storm or spring flood. The thought of that vast sea bearing ships or some such thing, followed by the heavy footfalls of invaders, was indeed alarming.

  They did not need another war, and yet in that possibility Hunn Raal could see certain advantages, though he could not but view them with unease. The resurrection of Urusander’s Legion. An invasion would give cause to take up arms once more, in a flurry of veterans reinstated, and so set the stage for undeniable clout should internal matters turn sour and threats were needed. Of course, this assumed that the invaders could be quickly dealt with, and Hunn Raal was reluctant to walk that path. He well understood the risks of being dismissive, and was not unaware of how sweet self-serving beliefs could taste in these heady times.

  He could see Calat Hustain’s sudden sharpness on the matter. The commander had a quick and sure cause now to dismiss the turgid debate that had threatened to bog them all down in this fort for days, if not weeks. Ilgast Rend had spoken in private with Calat, and there had been betrayal in that, Hunn suspected. The firstborn son of Hust Henarald was now adamant in his neutrality, and in the immediate aftermath of that decision this had amounted to a defeat in Hunn Raal’s eyes.

  But in truth he had no cause to be shocked by it. And in some ways, now that he’d time to mull on the matter, he might even consider it a kind of victory. Calat was married to the commander of the Hust Legion, after all, and everyone knew that the Hust Legion belonged to Mother Dark, and were one and all her children.

  There would be highborn who were determined to oppose the ascension of Urusander, but without the Hust Legion behind them, they could hardly pose a credible threat to Urusander’s forces. Houseblades were all very well, impressive in battle, but they numbered too few. The will of seven thousand soldiers, all loyal to the cause, would drive Urusander into Mother Dark’s arms, and if they needed to roll over a few hundred Houseblades on the march, well, that would suffice as clear warning to the other noble families.

  Power will shift to us. But we seek no tyranny. Only justice. We fought and many of us fell, and those that remain must not be forgotten or cast aside.

  ‘This is disturbing,’ Osserc said under his breath. ‘Hunn Raal, have you seen this Vitr for yourself?’

  Hunn Raal shook his head. ‘A devouring sea, I am told.’

  ‘What manner of invaders might come from there? Soletaken – might they be kin to the Jheleck, then, taking the form of giant wolves?’

  ‘We shall find out soon enough.’

  Osserc leaned close. ‘Ill-timed, this. We must set aside—’

  ‘Not at all,’ Hunn Raal cut in. ‘If anything, this has potential to serve us well. Our disbanded kin will have their commissions returned to them – indeed, I envisage our new mission to be riding to Kharkanas with word of this new threat. Or, rather, I will do so. You had best return to your father, to apprise him of what may be, by Mother Dark’s own command, his necessary return to service.’

  Osserc frowned. ‘He may well refuse.’

  ‘He will not,’
Hunn Raal replied. ‘Your father knows his duty.’

  ‘Perhaps he will charge me with taking his place.’

  The obvious answer to that served no value, so Hunn Raal instead assumed a thoughtful expression, but one bearing a glint of amusement. ‘Why do you think I invite you to bring the news to your father? The two of you will speak, and decisions of the blood will be made. Stand tall before him, friend, and be resolute in your regard. Show nothing of eagerness or avid desire. Assume a troubled mien, but not too troubled, obviously. Sober and stern shall serve our cause well, in both your imminent aspiration and indeed in ours as well.’

  Osserc slowly nodded. ‘Well said. I shall leave at once—’

  ‘I would think morning will do. Perhaps even later. It will do us well to hear Calat Hustain’s thoughts on the matter of this threat, and his course of action beyond sending a troop out to investigate. We are now here as representatives of the Legion, and we must be direct in our offers to assist.’

  But Osserc scowled. ‘Well enough for you, Hunn, but I am representative of nothing—’

  ‘Untrue. Here, and in the morning, you will stand in your father’s stead, and I will be certain to make the others aware of that.’

  ‘But what will I say to them?’

  ‘Nothing. Just listen and, if a sharp question pricks you awake, voice it. But be spare in your queries – let others ask the bulk of them, and heed well the conversations to follow.’

  Osserc nodded, although he remained nervous.

  ‘See Sharenas over there?’ Hunn Raal asked. ‘She watches and listens – not to my cousins so eager to adopt her, but to Ilgast and Calat. Heed her methods, Osserc. She plays well these political scenes.’

  ‘We must learn more of this Vitr.’

  ‘We shall,’ Hunn Raal assured him. And probably have little say in the matter, for I feel events quickening.

  * * *

  Sharenas had watched Tulas leave the room, had observed with interest the man’s sudden acuity. Dead in spirit he might be, but in the matter of salvation of others – in this case his betrothed – he was first to the fore. In fact, she could almost see the lurid flames ignited in him, this potential opportunity to die in defence of the woman he was to take as wife, and so live pure in noble grief for ever, rather than descend into the squalid truths of an unhappy marriage, where old ashes would begin settling on glory before the last stone was set on the threshold of their new home.

  There was something almost pathetic in Kagamandra’s energy as he prepared to set out into the night in search of Faror Hend. This was a man who would wither without hands and feet, without the promise of sure motion and actions to undertake with verve and will. But those brave expostulations were all short-lived, the echoes of deeds quickly falling away, and what was the poor man left with, but a renewed silence or, worse, the unheard howl inside his own skull? No, far better these hands in motion, these feet to carry him; better all these things that need doing, and indeed could be done with.

  To bind a broken man, by word or thread or chain, was ever a lost cause. Worse yet, how likely was the broken man to in turn break all that was given to him, including young Faror Hend? Was it not Gallan who wrote ‘On trembling floor / ashes will flow’, and would not Faror’s world tremble so in the company of Kagamandra Tulas? He will dust her, coat her from head to toe, and she will become the hue of stone, a statue blind to every garden. Gallan, you should write about this betrothal, and set it well upon a stage. I see knives in the wings.

  Serap leaned close, ale-soured breath hot on Sharenas’s cheek, ‘Join us tonight, will you? See how heated it’s all become? Blood rushes close under the skin at times like these.’

  ‘What times would those be?’ Sharenas asked drily.

  On Serap’s other side, Sevegg giggled behind her hand.

  Hunn Raal’s whores. That’s all they are. He brings them and casts them out among those he would make into allies or, Abyss forbid, friends. But I’m not interested in that, dear captain. I fall in on your cause, as will my sister and cousin. Be content with that, lest you sour my regard. She stepped away from the cousins, evading a drunken paw from Risp, and strode from the main room.

  In the small compound, she found Tulas saddling a horse. Six Wardens were doing the same with their own mounts, while a dozen of their comrades checked over the kits of those soon to leave the fort. Lanternlight played out yellow and filled with night insects. Sharenas found a groom standing nearby and gestured him over. ‘Ready my horse,’ she told him. ‘I will ride with them.’

  The boy hurried away.

  Looking up, she saw Tulas staring across at her.

  Sharenas walked to him. ‘You know my skill with a spear,’ she said.

  He continued studying her for a moment longer, and then turned back to his horse. ‘You are most welcome, Sharenas Ankhadu, and I thank you.’

  ‘There is too little love in the world to see it so endangered.’

  She saw how her words made him stiffen – but slightly, as he was a man used to self-control. ‘Have you spoken to Spinnock Durav?’ she asked.

  ‘I did, before exhaustion took him.’

  ‘Then we have a trail awaiting us.’

  ‘Yes.’

  The groom returned with her horse. She resigned herself to a long, wearying ride. But she was determined to witness this pursuit. Anyway, better the horse than the whore. If that Durav had eyes open this night, well, I might have stayed in the fort. A most handsome young warrior.

  I wonder if Finarra and Faror shared him out there in the wilds?

  Amused by the thought, she climbed into the saddle and took up the reins.

  The others were ready. The gate was opened once more this night, and they all rode out.

  * * *

  Ensconced in the commander’s private room, modest as it was, Ilgast Rend settled in the rickety chair, wincing as it creaked beneath him. Opposite him, in a matching chair, Calat Hustain asked, ‘Your thoughts on what she had to say, Lord?’

  Ilgast rubbed hard at his eyes, blinked away swimming blots of colour, and then scratched down through his beard, considering. ‘I spared them no room, commander.’

  ‘Ah, of course. The efforts at healing must try you, Lord. I admit to a sense of wonder, at this rare skill with earth and heat, moulds and roots. Upon battle’s field, I have seen miracles performed with sharp knife and gut and thorn, but this mysterious sorcery you have found in such mundane things, it is most astonishing.’

  ‘There is power in nature,’ Ilgast replied, ‘and what is often forgotten is that nature lies within us as much as it does out there, amidst high grasses or shoreline. To heal is to draw across the divide; that and nothing more.’

  ‘It is said that such power grows.’

  Ilgast frowned at the suggestion, not because he would deny it, but because the notion – which he himself sensed – disturbed him. ‘It was ever my belief, commander, that we who blinked the mist clear from our eyes, and so saw truly the flow of life, were but privileged, by quirk of temper or gift of vision. We beheld a power in constancy, yet one unaware of itself. Of no mind, if you will. Neither living nor dead; rather, like the wind.’ He paused, chewing on those thoughts, and then sighed and shook his head. ‘But now, I grow to sense … something. A hint of deliberation. Purpose. As if, in taking from the power, it shifts a shoulder and sets regard upon the taker.’

  ‘That is … strange, Lord.’

  ‘As if in looking down into the river,’ Ilgast continued, his frown deepening, ‘one discovers the river looking back up at you. Or a stone returning stern attention. A glance catching the eye of earth, or sand.’ He rubbed vigorously at his face again. ‘It leaves one startled, I tell you, as if in an instant the world is unmade, and all its comforts are revealed as false, and the solitude we’d thought private was in truth played out before a silent audience; and the minds that gave thought to all we did, why, they think nothing like us.’

  He saw Calat Hustain look away, i
nto the fire.

  ‘Forgive me, commander,’ Ilgast said, with a gruff laugh. ‘Healing wearies me. There is a Shake word to describe that sense, as of the myriad things in nature giving sudden and most fixed attention upon a person, and the uncanny shiver that comes of it.’

  Calat nodded, eyes still on the fire. ‘Denul.’

  ‘Just so.’

  ‘But the monks speak of it as a kind of ecstasy. A moment of spiritual revelation.’

  ‘And if the revelation diminishes the self? What ecstasy is found in that?’

  ‘That of helplessness, I should imagine.’

  ‘Commander, I dislike helplessness.’

  ‘And so you wage battle with Denul.’

  Perhaps. Yes, it could be seen that way. ‘Her wounds will mend. The poison is gone. She will lose no limbs, and even now the last of the fever rides out on her breath. Your captain will return to you, sound of mind and body, in a few days hence.’

  ‘I thank you, Lord.’

  Ilgast studied the commander for a moment and then asked, ‘This Vitr – you have taken its challenge upon yourself. What can be made of the captain’s claim that strangers have crossed this inimical sea?’

  Calat smiled. ‘So you gave heed after all.’ He shook his head. ‘I admit, I am inclined to disbelieve. Stone is devoured by the liquid. Wood crumbles after a few moments in contact with it. Flesh burns and the air upon the sea is itself caustic. What vessel could survive those alien waters?’

  ‘She spoke of no vessels, no ships. She said the strangers have come from the sea. She spoke, with little coherence it is true, of a demon lying on the beach, a thing that appeared to be dead.’

  ‘This night,’ Calat said, ‘I have only questions.’

  ‘Have you theories on the origin of this Vitr?’

  ‘You well know I am firm in my opinion that it poses a grave threat to Kurald Galain. It is destroying land. With each surge of wave more of our world is taken away, never to reappear. Storms open like jaws and teeth descend to tear away stone and clay. Cliffs weaken and crumble, slide down into oblivion. We map these inroads—’