Forge of Darkness (The Kharkanas Trilogy #1)

Forge of Darkness (The Kharkanas Trilogy #1) Page 120

‘I never knew,’ said Errastas as Sechul, with only one working arm, awkwardly helped him to stand, ‘that killing could be so much fun.’

Sechul shuddered. ‘Errastas, look at what we have done. Invited her here under false pretences, and then set upon her like wild beasts. We have awakened the wrath of the Jaghut. Nothing good will come of that.’

‘Night comes to the Jaghut, Setch. Their fury is as nothing now.’

‘Too easy your dismissal, Errastas. We have just murdered his wife.’

‘And Hood will weep — what of it? Now, let us go, before they draw close enough to hear us. Besides, it is not Hood who approaches, is it?’

‘No,’ Sechul Lath muttered, ‘only his brother.’

Haut paused on the trail, squinting upward.

Behind him, Korya sagged down in exhaustion. Circling the top of a tower did not make for much exercise. Three strides from edge to edge; such was her realm, the span of faith for her godly aspirations. It seemed paltry, small, and she had begun to suspect that the world ever delivered lessons in humility, even to gods and goddesses.

‘It is not far now,’ said Haut. ‘I should have selected the sword; this axe grows heavy. Bold my pride; feeble my aged muscles.’ He glanced back at her. ‘Have you given more thought to this scattered treasure?’

‘Was I to have given it more thought?’

‘I await your wisdom.’

She shook her head. ‘Of wisdom I have little, master. But I see it as a deliberate mockery of worth.’

‘Yes, but why?’

‘Maybe we are being told that only what awaits us at the end of this trail holds true worth.’

‘Possibly. The Azathanai are curious creatures. They are not acquisitive. In fact, there is one among them who bears the title of Protector, yet protects nothing. The Jheleck came to their villages and stole all they could carry, and he but smiled.’

‘Perhaps he protects what cannot be seen.’

‘And what might that be?’

She considered, taking her time as it gave her further respite. ‘There are many virtues that cannot be measured in a material manner.’

‘Indeed? Name one.’

‘Love.’

‘Torcs and rings of gold, brooches and diadems; expensive gifts, a solid home and a roof that does not leak. A child.’

‘From all those love can be stripped away, yet still they remain.’

‘Excellent. Go on.’

‘Trust.’

‘Guard my wealth and I will pay you in return.’

‘That is a transaction.’

‘One that purchases trust.’

‘Such material exchanges as you describe are meant to symbolize the virtues I mentioned. They are not the virtues in and of themselves.’

‘But is this not the meaning of all wealth, hostage?’

‘I think not. After all, greed is not a virtue.’

‘Greed is the language of power, the hoarding of symbols.’

She shook her head. ‘Virtues cannot be claimed; they are but shown.’

‘Shown. How are they shown?’

Korya scowled. ‘By the gifts you describe.’

Haut nodded. ‘Listen well. You are right to not conflate the symbol with the meaning; but you are wrong in thinking that to do so is uncommon.’

‘Then I would say, the Protector defends the distinction, and so to make his point, he must stand aside when thieves take away the material symbols of the virtues whose sanctity and purity he defends.’

Haut grunted. ‘A fine theory. I will consider-’

His abrupt stop made her look up. Haut was staring down at his feet. After a long moment he drew free his axe and then faced upslope once more.

‘Master?’

‘By what measure then, Azathanai wealth?’

‘Master? What is-’ Faint motion caught her eye, something glittering, and she looked down on the path. A thin, crooked stream was wending its way down through the twisted rings and cut gems. In the strange, colourless light it looked black as ink.

Haut set out, climbing once more with the axe readied in his hands.

Pushing herself upright and taking care to avoid the rivulet, Korya followed.

Another half-dozen strides upward and it became impossible to step around the draining liquid. Is this blood I see? She thought of gods and goddesses, the notions of sacrifice — so long ago abandoned by the Tiste — and this place at once seemed colder, crueller.

No more questions to ask Haut; this was not the time. She remained silent, but her mouth was dry and her heart beat fast in her chest.