Forge of Darkness (Kharkanas Trilogy 1) (68 page)

‘And if I make you commander of the Legion, you will have all the respect you so need?’

‘Yes!’

Urusander had turned back to the window. He now reached up and rubbed a smudge on the frail glass. ‘By title and the burden of responsibility, you will find all you yearn for? You will find this “respect” you’ve heard so much about, from old veterans and drunk fools; from the poets and what you think you see upon the wood panels so finely brushed into likenesses – from historians and other whores of glory?’

Osserc feared for his father’s mind. He struggled to return Urusander to this world, where matters of import needed to be discussed. ‘Father, listen to me. Mother Dark will summon you.’

‘I imagine that she will.’ But when he faced Osserc once more Urusander’s eyes were grave and wounded. ‘And in you, where there was weakness, there will be strength. And where there was strength, there will now be inflexible certainty. Doubts will drown, humility throat-cut and left face down in the mud, and on all sides they will salute you and hang upon your every word – which they must do, since you will hold their lives in your hands, Osserc. Not just your soldiers, but all of Kurald Galain. Every child,
every child
– do you comprehend any of this?’

‘You think me afraid? I am not, Father.’

‘I know, but I wish you were. Afraid. Terrified.’

‘You would have me frozen as a hare beneath a hawk’s shadow?’

‘I would have you afraid, Osserc. I would see you afraid – here, before me in this moment. I would see you realize that fear, and yet take its vast weight upon your shoulders, and stand strong. Resolute. I would see command humble you.’

‘Then, Father, I ask you. How will you ever see any of that if you do not give me command?’

‘Still you do not understand, do you?’

‘Because you offer, only to take away!’

‘Is it only commanders who know fear? What of the crippled widower who can no longer support his family? Or the widow with too many children to feed? What of the lone wanderer who spends a night
without
shelter when the wolves are hunting? What of the broken man who must rise to face every morning when all love is dead and all hope is lost? Tell me, who does
not
live with fear?’

‘Father, you give me nothing with these words. What fears have I faced, when you have kept me locked up here instead of riding with you and your soldiers?’

Urusander sighed. ‘You will find a soldier’s fear in your time, Osserc. I never doubted your courage with blade in hand and self-preservation the wager.’

Even a compliment from his father could sting in its utterance. Before he could muster a reply, however, his father continued. ‘Osserc, why did you ever imagine that I would give you the Legion?’

The question struck like a blow against his chest. Osserc felt his knees weaken and he almost reeled. ‘But – Hunn Raal said—’

Urusander’s brows lifted. ‘Hunn Raal? He’s like a lame dog I can’t keep from under my feet. He’s an Issgin – of course he does nothing but sniff my heels for any scrap he can find. The Issgin yearn for a return to the court, and he’s the closest of their brood to that and no doubt he imagines himself almost within reach of it. He rode to bring word to Mother Dark? He seeks an actual audience with her?’ Urusander shook his head. ‘The man is a drunk with a drunk’s bloated self-image – Abyss knows, drunks think themselves clever, and measure the prowess of their wit by the genius of their rationalizations. Of course, the first fool they deceive is themselves. There will be no audience with Mother Dark. Not for Captain Hunn Raal.’

‘But I am your son! Who else should inherit the Legion?’

‘Inherit? Is Kurald Galain’s only standing army a thing to be inherited? Like a keep, or a precious bauble? Is it a mine? A forge? A fine horse? A throne? Have you understood nothing? One cannot inherit the Legion – one must earn the right to the privilege of commanding it.’

‘Then why didn’t you prepare me for that? I could earn
nothing
here in this keep while the rest of you were out fighting! You have doomed me, damn you!’

Urusander leaned back at his son’s tirade. Then he said, ‘Because, son, for you I wanted something better.’

* * *

Osserc did not even recognize the room he found. It was small, crammed full of rolled-up tapestries from the rooms above. The bare stone floor was littered with moth carcasses and the air was rank with the smell of mould. Locking the door he threw himself down on a musty heap piled up along one wall. Shudders took him as he wept. He hated his weakness: even rage unmanned him. He thought back to Renarr, and saw anew the look in her eyes – which had not been tenderness. It had
been
pity that he saw. Even now, he suspected, she was spinning the tale to her giggling friends.

He wrapped his arms about his folded-up legs and rested his forehead on his knees, still fighting the tears, but now they marked his shame, his helplessness. His father held to glory as a miser clutched the world’s last coin. There was nothing here for Osserc; nothing for a son chained to childhood.

He would seal me in wax. Place me upon the highest shelf in some dusty room. To lie there, like some preserved memory. My father remembers innocent days and yearns for a return to his own childhood. But as that cannot be, he would make me what he once was, and keep me there: Vatha Urusander before the wars
.

I am his nostalgia. I am his selfishness made manifest
.

I will leave here. Tonight. Tomorrow. Soon. I will leave and not return. Not return until I am ready, until I have made myself anew. Indeed, Father, I am to inherit nothing from you, nothing at all. Especially not your weakness
.

I will set out. Seeking truths. Seeking my place, and when I return I shall blaze with triumph, with power. I shall be a man such as … as Anomander himself. You think me not clever, Father? But I am. You think me unwise? You are to blame for what wisdom I lack, but no matter. I shall find my own wisdom
.

I shall leave Kurald Galain
.

And ride alone into the world
.

To such bold claims, he saw in his mind his father’s face, and that look of disappointment as the old man said, ‘
Alone, son? Weren’t you listening? Your fears will run with you, like a pack of wolves howling to bring you down. The only true solitude, to any man, to any woman, to any thinking being, is death
.’

‘I know that,’ he whispered in reply, lifting his head and wiping at his cheeks. ‘I know that. Let the wolves close in – I will kill them all, one by one, I will kill them all.’

His head pounded; he was hungry, but all he could manage was to lie down upon the rolls of cloth and close his eyes. Pain had its own teeth, sharp and eager, and they sank deep into him. Bite by bite, they could tear him away – they were welcome to all that was lying here – until nothing was left.

The shell was gone, shattered by an old man who had tried to convince him that a cell was a palace, and imprisonment a gift. Even Hunn Raal had lied to him. Hunn Raal, an object of contempt to the man whose very life he had saved. Was it any wonder the fool drank to excess?

But he’s been very busy, Father. Speaking in your name. That part was easy, since all he had to fill was silence. You do not even know it,
but
he has your future all mapped out. You’ve surrendered all choice, dear Father
.

I am glad you didn’t raise the flag. The Legion is no longer yours, although you do not yet know that, either. It will march in your name, however. That it will do
.

Changes are coming, coming to us all
.

* * *

Over the next two days Osserc avoided his father, taking his meals in his chambers. He gathered together all that he would need, selecting two swords, including a hundred-year-old Iralltan blade – that forge, rival to the Hust, had been destroyed by the Forulkan, the family slaughtered and the keep fired. The mines had been later taken over in yet another example of Henarald’s acquisitive greed. The weapon had been a gift from Hunn Raal, and it was finely made, bearing an elegance of line that no Hust weapon could match. Osserc had never used it when sparring, although his practice weapon was a perfect match in balance, reach and weight. His other sword was from a secondary family forge, under the ownership of the Hust but tasked with making weapons for Urusander’s Legion. It was plain but serviceable, and held its edge well, although twice the bars of the hilt had been replaced after cracking round the grip.

Many veterans claimed that the Hust had deliberately supplied inferior weapons to Urusander’s Legion, but this was the subject of guarded mutterings in the barracks, since Lord Urusander, upon hearing that opinion, had revealed a rare loss of temper, publicly dressing down the officer who had voiced the suspicion.

Osserc believed the soldiers, although apart from the bars, his Legion sword bore no flaws in workmanship. The iron was free of tin pits and the blade was impressively true.

In addition to these weapons, he selected a hunting knife, a dagger and three lances. The armour he chose was not the full dress set: silver filigree invited a thief’s eye and besides, it was too heavy to suit his fighting style. Instead, he selected a thick but supple leather hauberk, studded over the thighs to pull its weight down. Stained black, it was reinforced beneath the leather on the shoulders and the back of the neck with iron strips bound to the quilting of the inner layer. The heavily studded sleeves ended at his elbows where they were joined by thick straps to his vambraces, which were of matching black leather but banded in bared iron. Over all of this he wore a grey cloak, since the leather of his armour did not fare well under the harsh sun.

The helm he chose was a light skullcap of blued iron with a chain camail.

At two bells past midnight on the third night, he carried his gear
down
to the stables, making use of side passages to avoid the main rooms where the occasional guard wandered. He had done as Hunn Raal had asked of him. He had delivered the news of the Vitr. His responsibilities were at an end, and whatever might now happen in Kurald Galain, he would play no part in it. In fact, he had ceased to care.

He reached the stables undiscovered, and once there he set about saddling his two horses. They had been reshoed since his return and he took a moment to examine the work. Satisfied, he loaded his camp gear on to Neth’s broad back, including two of the lances and the Legion sword. From this moment forward, he would wear the Iralltan blade.

He led both mounts outside and swung on to his warhorse. Both animals were restless as he rode across the courtyard. At the gate two guards emerged.

‘Late to be riding, milord,’ one said.

In the gloom Osserc could not recognize the man, although his voice was vaguely familiar. ‘Just open the gate,’ he said.

The men complied and moments later Osserc rode through and out on to the track. For a change, the route down into the town was unobstructed. Once among the low buildings he eased Kyril into a slow trot. At one point he thought he heard running feet off to his left, crossing an alley, but when he turned he saw little more than a dark shape, quickly vanishing from sight.

He thought nothing of it until, upon reaching the last buildings on the north edge of the settlement, he found a figure standing in the lane before him. Curious, Osserc reined in.

‘You have business with me?’ he asked.

There was some light bleeding out from a house on one side, enough for Osserc to see that it was a man who was blocking his path. Young, heavy-set, breathing hard from his run. It seemed his hands were stained and they hung half curled at his sides.

‘She told me everything,’ the man said. ‘It took a while, but she told me everything.’ He stepped forward. ‘Y’think I couldn’t see? Couldn’t tell that she’d changed? Y’think I’m blind? I been waitin’ for you, sir. Keepin’ an eye on the road. I knew if you lit out, it’d be in the dark.’

Osserc dismounted. He approached the man, and saw now, clearly, the welts and cuts on the man’s knuckles, the kind made by someone’s teeth.

‘You shouldn’t of done that, sir. She was sweet. She was pure.’

As Osserc continued advancing, the man’s eyes widened slightly, his nostrils flaring. When he began tugging free his knife Osserc leapt forward. He blocked the draw and closed one hand tightly on the wrist, forcing it down. His other hand found the man’s throat. He squeezed hard and continued squeezing, even as the man reached up and fought to pull free.

‘You beat her?’ Osserc asked. ‘That sweet, pure woman?’

The eyes before him were bulging, the face darkening. Osserc drew out the man’s knife and flung it away. The man’s legs gave out before him and his weight yanked at Osserc’s grip, so he brought up his other hand to join the first one. He saw the man’s tongue protrude, strangely black and thick.

His struggles weakened, and then ceased entirely.

Osserc studied the lifeless eyes. He was not sure if he had intended to kill the fool. But it was done now. He released his grip and watched as the body crumpled on to the dirt track.

I killed someone. Not in battle – no, it
was
in battle. Well, close enough. He went for his knife. He came to me, thinking to stab me. To murder me. And he beat Renarr – I saw the proof of that. He beat her like a coward. Might be he killed her – would I have heard? I stayed in my room, stayed away from the taverns. I know nothing of what’s happened in town
.