Forge of Darkness (The Kharkanas Trilogy #1)

Forge of Darkness (The Kharkanas Trilogy #1) Page 250

Kellaras shook his head. ‘Even poets must eat, sir.’

‘And folly is a most pernicious wine, always within reach with sweet promises, with no thoughts of tomorrow’s aching skull. Alas, it is not only poets who attend the feast of our condition.’

‘True, sir, but they chew longer.’

Silchas laughed. And then, when Anomander stepped forward to take Hish Tulla’s hand on his arm, the Lord’s brother grunted and said, ‘What think you of that old gristle waiting in the wings?’

‘His presence disturbs me,’ Kellaras admitted. ‘Gripp Galas had other tasks and I fear his presence here marks failure.’

‘Let us hope not,’ Silchas said in a mutter.

Kellaras lifted his gaze, considered the northern sky. ‘I also fear for the estates upon the edge of the forest, sir. Too many fires and no rain in many days. Bogs are known to swallow flames but not kill them. Should the wind veer…’

‘The river god battles those flames, captain. It will only fail when dies the last Denier in the forest.’

Kellaras glanced across at Silchas. ‘The Houseblades but await the command, sir.’

Silchas met his eyes. ‘Will you risk your life defending non-believers, captain?’

‘If so commanded, sir, yes.’

‘And if Mother Dark deems the Deniers her enemy?’

‘She does not.’

‘No, she does not. But still I ask.’

Kellaras hesitated, and then said, ‘Sir, to that I cannot speak for anyone else. But I will not follow any deity who demands murder.’

‘Why?’

‘Because we know murder to be wrong.’

‘Is it as simple as that, captain? Are there not exceptions? Do we not draw circles in the sand and claim all outside them to be less than us, and by this distinction do we not absolve ourselves of the crime of murder?’

‘Sophistry, sir.’

‘Yet, as a warrior, captain, you have committed murder in the name of our people, and in the name of your lord.’

‘I have, but in the taking of life I appease no god’s command. The crime is mine and upon no other shoulders do I set it. If I did — if we all did — then no god could withstand the burden of those crimes. But more than that: we have not the right.’

‘Urusander’s Legion disagrees with you, captain.’

‘With sword I stand ready to make argument, sir.’

Lord Anomander and Lady Hish Tulla were on their horses now, and Kellaras saw Gripp Galas join them. A moment later the procession lurched into motion once more. The captain wondered if Andarist, ensconced in the lead carriage, had chafed at the delay, or sought explanation from his servant. His eyes then fixed on the sword now strapped at his master’s hip, encased in a lacquered blackwood scabbard. A weapon blessed by a goddess, forged to take life. But she refuses to tell him which life. Who will die in her name?

But the blade was un-named, and so it would remain until after Andarist’s ceremony. There would be no omens attending this marriage scene. If perfection were possible, Anomander would seek it for his brother and Enesdia. Or die in the attempt.

Beside him, Silchas said, ‘Andarist is the best among us.’

Kellaras understood the meaning of that ‘us’. Silchas was referring to his brothers, as if his thoughts had followed parallel tracks to the captain’s own.

‘For him,’ the white-skinned Andii continued, ‘we will bring peace to the realm. By all that follows, captain, you may measure the fullness of a brother’s love. Like you, Kellaras, Anomander will not murder in her name.’

It is well then that the sword has no voice.

As they rode out from Kharkanas and on to the north road, Captain Scara Bandaris arrived with his troop. Greetings were called out and jests followed. The sun was low in the western sky and the night promised to be warm.

Long before they came within sight of the estate the dog began to cower, casting glances back at Grizzin Farl, as if to question their chosen course down the road. By this sign, the Azathanai’s steps slowed, and it was with deep trepidation that he continued on.

He had no words with which to ease the dog’s growing distress, since he could find none for himself. The title of Protector was not an honorific, and not one he willingly chose for himself. The things he guarded against none could withstand, but he would be first to stand in their path, first to weather their storm, and first to bleed. He knew that few understood him, even among the Azathanai. And among the Jaghut, the Lord of Hate was the only one to turn away, avoiding his gaze.