Forge of Darkness (The Kharkanas Trilogy #1)

Forge of Darkness (The Kharkanas Trilogy #1) Page 299

‘You call her young and make of the word a belittlement. This hints of arrogance, Kagamandra.’

‘Without the sharing of years to bind two souls-’

‘Then share those to come. But at last we reach to the core of things. You yield your claim to your wife from a place of fear, a place deeply wounded and chary of sensation’s return. It is no sacrifice at all, but self-indulgence. Your every wound is a trophy, with suffering worn in most resplendent regalia. But you have outstayed its season, friend, and it is threadbare. If not a wife to draw these rags from you, then who? Hear me now. If you see no courage in each woman you look upon, then you are blind and, worse, you scorn the dignity of the woman you lost years ago. Go to Faror Hend. In this much at least, your instinct is true. But meet her eye and see for yourself — she will not flinch.’

When she looked across to him, she felt a sudden fear, so pale had his visage become. Remorse cut through her. ‘Oh, forgive me. I leap past all propriety. Send me on this wind with a curse and I will go without complaint. This is my flaw, and it pulls from my grasp every wisp of love. See well, sir, that my life is as forlorn as yours, and in my every word of advice I poorly hide my own bitter self.’

He said nothing for a long time, and then collected up the reins. ‘It is no wonder, then, Sharenas Ankhadu, that we are such friends. We take this hill by bold storm only to be bludgeoned half senseless by truths. The wind and the grasses mock our self-importance, and the season begins to show us a cold regard. Had I known more of you, I would have silenced every offer but yours.’

Her breath caught, and she felt heat rush through her. ‘I would strip the hide from you.’

‘And make of it a better trophy.’

‘Worn,’ she whispered as she met his eyes, ‘with pride.’

Then there was a moment, as if the sun had sliced through the heavy clouds, when the years were stolen from his gaunt face, and she saw the man a woman had once loved; a man from before the wars, from whom not every precious thing had been stolen away amidst violence and treachery. An instant later, it was gone and he broke her gaze.

‘We will not speak this way again, Sharenas Ankhadu.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I imagine not.’ But these words felt like water washing down cracks in stone.

‘I will leave in the morning. As a highborn, it is necessary for me to relinquish my rank in the Legion.’

‘It is soldiers like you and Ilgast Rend that Lord Urusander so values, Kagamandra. You stand bridging the gulf and through you he sees a path to compromise.’

‘You think he will forbid me?’

‘I do. That said, if you depart now, with the coming of darkness, then I will inform the commander tomorrow morning. If in anger he deems it prudent to pursue you, I will tell him that you have ridden to Kharkanas.’

‘Why not leave the same time as me, Sharenas?’

‘No. Too many of us cautious advisers suddenly abandoning Urusander will wound him, and the imbalance will open the breach for Hunn Raal’s backers.’

‘Urusander will not be tugged by fools.’

‘He is old, Kagamandra. Not in flesh, but in spirit. Daily we see his indecisiveness afflict him like a bout of illness, and again and again he steps out from the command tent — and that tent in itself is an affectation, and dangerous besides, since he yields his keep to that white-skinned witch — he steps outside, and looks long upon the Legion’s flag.’ She paused, and then said, ‘I cannot guess what thoughts take him in those moments, but they trouble me none the less.’

‘It seems,’ ventured Kagamandra, ‘that he values Serap’s presence.’

‘He does. She remains the least objectionable of Hunn Raal’s whores. But it is easily forgotten that she stands close to Hunn Raal, for the simple reason that she too is of the Issgin bloodline.’

Kagamandra grunted. ‘Wealth to the Legion and their estate restored? Yes, I see how those two desires are now intertwined.’

‘Many ambitions can share one root,’ she said, nodding. She reached across to him, with a hand warmed by horseflesh, and set it firm against his shoulder. ‘Give her what you dared give me this day, friend, and see how she answers.’

He nodded without meeting her eyes. ‘I will.’

Sharenas let her hand fall away. A moment later, looking out past the edge of the tent rows, she rose in her stirrups. ‘See that rider and the banner he bears? That is Sergeant Yeld. At last, we shall have word of the events at Kharkanas.’

‘I will hear of that,’ Kagamandra said.