Forge of Darkness (Kharkanas Trilogy 1) (59 page)

‘Alive,’ she said upon re-joining them. ‘But bleeding and with a bad leg. Looks like he came back here after Silann left. Where he went after that is the question, isn’t it?’

‘He went after the boy,’ the sergeant replied.

‘Why would he do that?’

‘Maybe he wasn’t just guarding goat and sheep skins, sir.’

‘You think the boy was important?’

The veteran shrugged. ‘Laskan was going through what the fire didn’t burn. There was a soldier’s trunk. Korlas crest, solid blackwood, which was why it mostly shrugged off the fire. But the lock melted. Boy’s clothing inside, and what looked like lead soldiers all melted down into slag.’ He paused, eyes on her. ‘Korlas, sir. That would make the boy of that bloodline. There was a Korlas Houseblade who served as a captain in Urusander’s Legion.’

‘Can this get any worse?’

‘If Gripp collects up the boy and they get out of these hills, yes, sir, it can get much worse.’

‘A highborn child on his way to Kharkanas …’

‘Yes sir, a hostage. To the Citadel. Captain, that boy was under Lord Anomander’s protection, the moment he left the estate.
That’s
why Gripp Galas was with that caravan of skin-sellers.’

Risp felt sick inside, a strange quavering that rose into her throat. If she gave sound to the feeling it would emerge as a moan. Her sergeant was staring at her, expressionless, and she felt the attention of the other soldiers in her troop – even the burial detail had drawn close. She was tempted to voice regrets that she’d ever volunteered to clean up this disaster. It was Silann’s mess, after all. If that fool were at her side right now, she would kill him. She thought it unlikely that his wife would even object.
She’d probably hand me the knife
. ‘There were a few highborn serving in Urusander’s Legion,’ she said.

The sergeant nodded. ‘Greater Houses without enough wealth to assemble a decent cadre of Houseblades. If there were a chance, they’d end up with the Houseblades of other Houses. But Korlas was a proud man, as I recall.’

‘You knew him?’

‘Captain, I served under him. Same for Laskan, Helrot and Bishim. He was a good man. Died a hero.’

All at once a new fear took hold of Risp: the loyalty of this man standing before her. ‘You said that Gripp and this hostage cannot be allowed to get out of these hills alive, sergeant.’

‘No sir. I said things would get even worse if they did.’

‘I see. Then what do you suggest?’
So much for exercising the power of command. My first test and I fail
.

‘We need to find them, sir. And make it right.’

‘How do we do that?’

‘We let Silann hang, sir.’

‘He just up and decided to become an outlaw? You can’t be serious, sergeant. He still holds a rank in the Legion, and so do half his soldiers.’

‘We don’t have to know why he did what he did, sir. It’s a mystery to all of us, maybe even his wife.’

‘So, instead of hunting down and killing Gripp and the boy, ensuring that all of this goes away, you’re advising we act in baffled horror and disgust. That we find the old man and this hostage and help them, maybe even escort them to Kharkanas.’ She looked around, scanned the faces of her soldiers. She barely knew them, but Hunn Raal was certain of their loyalty. Nevertheless, under these circumstances, even that loyalty was being stretched – she could see as much in their expressions. Hostages were sacred, and this particular hostage was under Lord Anomander’s protection, which added genuine fear to their discomfort. ‘Esthala needs to know of this change in plans.’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Send Laskan and Bishim back to her. And then what, Silann’s own wife arrests him?’

The sergeant shook his head, but said nothing.

Risp closed her eyes briefly and then looked away, up the road. ‘No, she won’t do that. Silann is too weak to keep his mouth shut. She’ll have to kill him, and his soldiers.’ She met the sergeant’s eyes again. ‘She’ll understand the necessity, won’t she? There is no other way out of this. Is there?’

Still he remained silent, watching her.

‘Send them.’

‘Yes sir.’ The sergeant gestured and the two men mounted their horses and a moment later set off.

‘Send Helrot to Tulla Hold,’ she went on. ‘To report the slaughter and make known our search for survivors. And to ask for assistance.’

‘Yes sir.’

She would have to get rid of this sergeant. She didn’t want him in her troop. He gave too little away; she could not tell what he was thinking and this unnerved her. His silence had felt like a judgement, and for all she knew she had failed in the balance.

‘Collect up that trunk. We’ll take it with us. Then we ride east. We eat in the saddle.’

‘Yes sir.’

* * *

Rancept slid back down to where she huddled. ‘Three riders dispatched,’ he said. ‘Two back the way they came and one up the road – likely on her way to Tulla. The rest are heading east.’

Exhausted, chilled and miserable, Sukul sighed. ‘What does all that mean?’

‘Not party to the killing, I’d wager, milady. They’re all Legion, and that raises another question.’

‘What are they doing out here?’ Sukul said, nodding. ‘Since no Legion troop ever rode within sight of Tulla Hold.’

‘Not wanting to be seen.’

‘But one is now riding to Tulla, you said.’

The castellan grunted, squinting at Ribs, who was curled up asleep against Sukul’s feet – and the animal’s heat now warmed her aching toes, and she looked upon the creature with a fondness she had not imagined possible.

‘Should we go down to them?’ she asked.

‘Too late.’

‘I told you we should have taken horses and just ridden the road.’

‘In hindsight,’ Rancept allowed, ‘maybe so. But what doesn’t change is that none of this feels right.’

She wasn’t about to argue that point. The wheezing old castellan’s feelings couldn’t be dismissed this time. ‘So who killed those traders?’

He shook his head, and then straightened. ‘Let’s go down. Maybe Ribs will tell us.’

‘Castellan, he’s just a damned dog, not a seer.’

‘Milady, he’s my dog.’

Her eyes narrowed on him. ‘Are you some kind of priest of Burn, Rancept?’

‘No priests among the Deniers, milady.’

‘What about the Dog-Runners?’

‘Witches and warlocks,’ he replied. ‘Bonecasters, they’re called.’

‘They throw bones?’

‘No. Well, maybe, but I think the name goes more to what we saw in that temple, milady. Bone to wood, bone to stone. As if to ask, if we can be one why not the other? As if it’s only a matter of how we talk to time.’ He paused and then added, ‘It’s said they gave the Jheleck the gift of Soletaken, which is yet another way of seeing the casting of bones.’

Ribs lifted his head without any signal from Rancept, and she felt the unwelcome chill in her feet once more. Sighing again, she rose. ‘Tell me they buried the bodies at least.’

‘They did, milady. Cold stone on cold flesh and sorrow in the silence.’

She shot him a look. ‘I think you surprise people, Rancept.’

‘Yes, milady, I do that.’

They made their way down a side track, rounding the butte they’d mostly ascended in order for Rancept to look down on the road. ‘I trust Lady Hish knows you well enough to value you.’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘If she doesn’t, then I’ll do my best to steal you away, castellan. You … and Ribs, too.’

‘That’s a kind thing to say, milady. But I will serve Lady Hish Tulla until my dying day.’

Something in those words told Sukul of a love beyond that of a castellan for his mistress, and the very notion threatened to break her heart.

Ribs snaked down the stony slope ahead of them. ‘He’s just a dog, isn’t he?’

‘Just a dog, milady.’

‘Not Soletaken.’

Rancept snorted. ‘If he once was, he’s long forgotten his other body, leaving him what he is now, and that’s just a dog.’

Once down on the road, they approached the site of the killing in silence, Ribs staying close on Rancept’s left. Before reaching the scene both the dog and the castellan halted. Eyes on the ground, Rancept said, ‘The killers rode past the caravan and then went back to them.
More
proof that they weren’t bandits. They were back up to a fast trot, two lines in close formation, before they turned round. Someone gave a command.’

‘Disciplined, then.’

‘To start with,’ he replied, as he and Ribs set out once more. ‘But I saw what was left of one of the guards. There was anger in that butchery.’

‘Your eyes are that good?’

‘Was easy to see. The ones doing the burying carried him over in pieces.’

She pushed down her imagination, squeezing shut figurative eyes upon the image. The smell from up ahead was foul, not just from the still smouldering ash heaps where the wagons had burned, but also the stench of bile and urine. A horse’s carcass was lying on the road’s flank, this side of the row of cairns. The beast had been stabbed in the gut, the slash vicious enough to spill out stomach and intestines, now stretched out and partly wrapped about the animal’s hind legs as it had tried to kick free of its own ruin. Sukul found herself staring at the pathetic creature, seeing its terrible death and feeling pain as the scene seared into her mind. ‘I will never be one for war,’ she whispered.

Rancept, picking among wreckage, heard her and glanced over. ‘It’s an unpleasant business that’s for sure, especially when the sack is opened.’

She pulled her gaze away. ‘What sack?’

‘You. Me. The sacks of our skin, holding everything inside.’

‘Surely we are more than that!’ Her words were harsher than intended. ‘Even this horse was more than that.’

He straightened, wiping his hands. ‘Milady, though you ain’t asked for it, here’s some advice. Most of the time – the best of times, in fact – it’s good to think that. We’re more than just a sack of blood and organs and bones and whatever. So much more, and the same for every animal, too, like that noble horse and even old Ribs here. But then comes a time – like this one – when you can’t let yourself think that. When what you’re looking at now is just a broken open sack, with stuff spilled out. Whatever was “more” inside of us is gone – it’s gone from that carcass and it’s gone from those bodies under those stones. It’s not down to what we’re worth—’

‘No,’ she snapped, ‘it’s down to what we’ve lost!’

He seemed to flinch and then he nodded, turning away once more.

Sukul felt bad, but she wouldn’t take back her words. She understood his meaning, but she didn’t like it. Seeing people and animals as just sacks of skin made ruining those sacks that much easier. If no one looked at the loss, they were left with no sense of the worth. In such a world not even life itself had any value. She looked over at Rancept once more. He was standing in the centre of the road, opposite the
cairns
, but his gaze was on the track ahead, beyond the road’s bend. Ribs sat at his heel. There was something hopeless in the scene and she felt herself close to tears.

‘Is there a smaller grave?’ she asked, refusing to look too carefully at those cairns, not wanting her eyes to witness yet one more unpleasant truth.

He shook his head. ‘The boy got away, at least to begin with. Our friends are just ahead, by the way. Trying to skirt the mudflat, and you need to be on foot to do that – no place for horses. I’m thinking the boy was being pursued and took his horse out on to it.’

‘And?’ She made her way towards him.

‘There’s a lake under that flat,’ he said. ‘A lake of mud and it’s deep. His horse wouldn’t have made it. Could be the boy went down with it.’

‘Have they seen us yet?’

‘No.’

‘Step away, then.’

He frowned at her and then moved behind the butte once more. ‘What are you thinking, milady?’

‘When that rider comes to Tulla Hold not even the castellan will be there. Does anyone know where we are?’

‘Sergeant Broot’s commanding in my absence. He’ll stare and blink and eventually that messenger will decide he’s got rocks for brains.’

‘And then?’

‘And then the rider will leave, going back to wherever she needs to be. Done her duty and left the tale at the feet of Broot.’

‘I think we need to make sure, if we can, whether Orfantal is still alive.’

‘The boy was meant to be a hostage, milady?’

‘Yes, in the Citadel itself.’

‘And he was sent along with nothing more than a handful of caravan guards as escort?’

‘Yes.’ She hesitated, and then added, ‘There might have been reasons for that.’

Rancept looked away again, his mouth hanging open as it always did, and the man’s ugliness now struck her as something tender, almost gentle.
In that temple, in the vision in my mind, I could have made him beautiful
. She wished she had. She wished, with sudden ferocity, that she had made him anew.

‘Castellan, can’t they heal you? Your nose, I mean.’