Forge of Darkness (The Kharkanas Trilogy #1)

Forge of Darkness (The Kharkanas Trilogy #1) Page 263

‘This is his gift you abuse,’ Sechul observed. ‘I will not welcome his ire when he discovers what we are about.’

‘I will be ready for him. Don’t worry. A man bled out is a man left weak and helpless.’

‘I am already weary of running.’

Errastas laughed. ‘Our flight is about to become frenzied and desperate, Setch. Draconus comprehended — there, at the very end, I am sure of it. And even now he travels to the Lord of Hate. Will he confess his role in that first murder? I wonder.’

‘If he chooses silence,’ said Sechul, ‘then he will make the Lord of Hate his enemy.’

‘Do you not relish the thought of those two locked in battle? Mountains would break asunder, and seas rise to inundate half the world.’ Errastas took hold of two broken limbs and resumed dragging the corpse towards the heap of tiles.

‘Just as likely,’ said Sechul, ‘they join in alliance, and seek out K’rul as well, and then all set themselves upon our trail!’

‘I doubt that,’ Errastas said. ‘Why would you even think the Lord of Hate feels any affinity for his murdered kin? I see him sitting across from Draconus, weathering the Suzerain’s furious tirade, only to then invite the fool to a cup of tea. Besides, Draconus must return to his precious woman, bearing his precious gift, and in exquisite ignorance will he give it to her.’ With the body now beside the stacks of tiles he had singled out, Errastas knelt. He selected the tile from the top of the stack nearest him and, finding a large enough wound on the body, pushed it inside. ‘There is no ritual beyond repetition and a chosen sequence, yet we deem ritual to be a vital component to sorcery. Well, this new sorcery, that is. Of course, ritual does not create magic — all we do with ritual is comfort ourselves.’

‘It is the habit that comforts,’ Sechul Lath said.

‘And from habit is order found. Just so. I see a future full of fools-’

‘No different from the past, then. Or the present.’

‘Untrue, brother. The fools of the past were ignorant, and those of the present are wilfully obtuse. But the future promises a delightful rush into breathtaking idiocy. I charge you to become a prophet in our times, Setch. Be consistent in your predictions of folly and you will grow rich beyond avarice.’

‘A fine prediction, Errastas.’

Errastas was busy covering tile fragments in gore, studding the torn corpse with the flat stones. ‘Nature mocks all certainty but the one it embraces.’

‘Can you keep hiding us, Errastas?’

‘I doubt it. We must truly flee the lands of the Azathanai and the Jaghut.’

‘Then do we travel to the Jheck? The Dog-Runners? Surely not the Thel Akai!’

‘None of those, for the borders they share with the Azathanai. No, we must cross the sea, I think.’

Sechul Lath started, and then scowled. ‘Whither fled Mael? He will not welcome us.’

‘Indeed not,’ Errastas agreed. ‘I think… beyond his realm, even.’

‘The High Kingdom? Those borders are closed to the Azathanai.’

‘Then we must bargain our way into the demesne, friend. There must be good reason why the King is so beloved among his people. Let us make this our next adventure, and discover all the hidden truths of the High Kingdom and its perfect liege.’

Sechul Lath looked down at his friend. Blood painted red the man’s hands, but upon the soaked tiles the same blood had etched arcane symbols. No two tiles were alike. The rank smell of outrage was thick in the air. ‘Errastas, I was wondering, where did all that earth and rock come from?’

Errastas shrugged. ‘No idea. Why?’

‘I don’t know. Nothing, I suppose.’

Korya could hear rain rushing down stone in a steady torrent. She opened her eyes. It was dark. She was lying on a floor of cold pavestones that felt greasy to the touch. There was a heavy animal smell to the air, reminding her of the Jheleck. Bewildered, struggling to find her memory, she sat up.

Varandas was seated at a table, hunched over something he was working on. The tower’s interior was a single chamber, with an old wooden ladder rising from the centre of the room, leading to the roof. Haut was nowhere to be seen.

She coughed, and then coughed again, and all at once she recalled sitting at the fire, setting an ember to the pipe bowl as Haut had instructed, and then drawing hot smoke into her mouth, and then down into her lungs. Beyond that moment, there was a void. She glared over at Varandas. ‘Where is he?’

The Jaghut glanced over. ‘Out. Why?’