Forge of Darkness (The Kharkanas Trilogy #1)

Forge of Darkness (The Kharkanas Trilogy #1) Page 346

There had been a faint sense of betrayal in this, given Rise Herat’s promise to abide, but upon leaving the chamber and finding himself in a corridor crowded with half-panicked denizens, and learning of the frightening manifestation of darkness in the courtyard, Endest pushed away his disappointment.

The Consort’s dramatic return had reverberated throughout the Citadel, and it seemed that the conjurations of that day were far from done. He had felt Night’s awakening, and then had fled, like a child, the flood of darkness that took first the Citadel, and then all of Kharkanas.

Carrying nothing, he had set out upon the river road, sleeping in whatever remaining hovels he could find amidst the grim wreckage of the pogrom. He saw no one for long stretches at a time, and those he did come upon shied from his attention. Nor was he inclined to accost any of them, hungry as he was. They had the furtiveness of wild dogs and looked half starved themselves. It was difficult to comprehend how quickly Kurald Galain had surrendered to dissolution. Time and again, as he walked, he had felt tears streaming down his cheeks.

The bandages still wrapped about his hands had become filthy, freshly soaked through with blood each night, drying black in the course of the day. But he now walked clear of the sorcerous darkness, and still as the forest was, with its burnt stretches and scorched clearings, he had found a kind of exhausted peace in his solitude. The river upon his left marked a current that he felt himself pushing against on this road. He had begun this journey knowing nothing of his destination, but he had realized that that ignorance had been a conceit.

There was but one place for him now, and he was drawing ever closer to it.

The rider came up from behind and Endest heard the animal’s pace slowing, until the stranger appeared alongside him. Endest desired no conversation and cared nothing for the rider’s identity, but when the newcomer spoke it was in a voice that the priest knew well.

‘If we are to adopt the habit of pilgrimage, surely you are walking the wrong way.’

Endest halted and faced the man. He bowed. ‘Milord, I cannot say if this path belongs to the goddess. But it seems that I am indeed on pilgrimage, though until you spoke I knew it not.’

‘You are weathered by your journey, priest,’ said Lord Anomander.

‘If I fast, milord, it is not by choice.’

‘I’ll not impede your journey,’ Anomander said. He reached down and drew out from a saddle bag a leather satchel, which he threw over to Endest. ‘Break your fast, priest. You can do so while you walk.’

‘Thank you, milord.’ In the satchel, there was some bread, cheese and dried meat. Endest partook of this modest offering with trembling fingers.

It seemed Anomander was content, for the moment, to keep pace with Endest. ‘I have scoured this forest,’ he said, ‘and have found nothing to salve my conscience. No birdsong finds me, and not even the small animals spared by our indifference remain to rustle the leaves at night.’

‘The meek of the realm, milord, have but one recourse to all manner of threat, and that is to flee.’

Anomander grunted, and then said, ‘I’d not thought to include the forest animals, or the birds for that matter, as subjects of the realm. It is not as if we can command them.’

‘But their small lives, milord, tremble atop our altars none the less. If we do not command with the snare and the arrow, then we speak eloquently enough with fire and smoke.’

‘Will you lift back your hood, priest, so that I may see you?’

‘Forgive me, milord, but I beg your indulgence. I do not know if penance awaits me, but this journey is a difficult one, and I would not share it for fear of selfish motives.’

‘You choose, then, to walk alone, and to remain unknown.’ Lord Anomander sighed. ‘I envy your privilege, priest. Do you know your destination?’

‘I believe I do, milord.’

‘Upon this road?’

‘Just off it.’

Something changed in the First Son’s voice then, as he said, ‘And not far, priest?’

‘Not far, milord.’

‘If I made a spiral of my search,’ said Anomander, ‘I now close upon a place where I believe it ends. I think, priest, that we will attend the same altar. Will you make of it a shrine?’

Endest started at the notion. He fumbled to close the satchel, and then made his way over to Anomander to hand the leather bag back. ‘Such a thing had not occurred to me, milord.’

‘Your hands are wounded?’

‘No more than my soul, milord.’

‘You are young. An acolyte?’