Forge of Darkness (Kharkanas Trilogy 1) (66 page)

He drew out his tinder box and found the embers he had this very morning collected from the cookfire. ‘I do this wanting to hurt you, Olar Ethil. And I want that to matter.’

He set the embers down beneath a thick twisted bundle of grasses, watched as the smoke rose, and then, as flames licked to life, Rint stepped back.

The fire spread, and then found the oil. Like serpents the flames climbed the trunk of the tree. The lowest branches, with their nests of black lichen, burst alight.

Rint backed away from the heat. He watched as the flames surged from branch to branch, climbing ever higher. He watched as branches from the trees to either side caught, and the sound was a building roar.

When he heard her begin screaming, he walked back to his horse, climbed into the saddle, and rode away.

Her shrieks followed him down the hill.

* * *

Feren stared up at the burning trees. She could hear the witch’s frantic screams and they made her smile.

When Rint re-joined them they turned as one and made their way back through the village.

This time Azathanai were emerging from their homes, to stare up at the wall of flames commanding the hilltop, and the grey smoke rising from them. Then they turned to watch the Borderswords riding past, and said nothing.

Feren held her smile, and offered it to every face turned her way.

* * *

Father and son rode side by side through the morning, saying little. Shortly after noon Draconus reined in suddenly and twisted in the saddle. He peered eastward, in the direction they had come. Arathan did the same, but could see nothing untoward.

‘Father?’

Draconus seemed to hunch slightly. ‘Raskan is dead.’

Arathan said nothing. He did not want to believe his father’s words, but he did not doubt the truth of them.

‘She saw it as mercy,’ Draconus continued after a moment. ‘Does that make a difference?’

The witch killed him?
He thought of the clay figurine in his saddle bag. He had not wanted to take it from his father’s hands. He wished now that he had refused him.
When your love is too much to bear. For the fire, boy, for the fire
.

‘They found the body,’ Draconus said. ‘It is their rage that I now feel. I was careless. Unmindful, my thoughts elsewhere. But I made plain my
protection
. Olar Ethil mocks me. Too often we strike at one another. From the ashes of our past, Arathan, you will find sparks that refuse to die. Be careful what memories you stir.’ He drew a deep breath then, and let it out in something like a shudder. ‘I admire them,’ he said.

‘Who?’ Arathan asked.

‘The Borderswords. I admire them deeply. They have struck back at her, not in my name, but because it was right to do so. Olar Ethil will be scarred by this. Terribly scarred. Arathan,’ he added, taking up the reins once more, ‘she who bears your child is a remarkable woman. You are right to love her.’

Arathan shook his head. ‘I do not love her, Father. I no longer believe in love.’

Draconus looked across at him.

‘But,’ Arathan allowed, ‘she will be a good mother.’

They resumed riding. He wanted to think about Raskan but could not. He was leaving a world behind, and the faces that he saw in that world remained alive in his mind. It seemed to be enough. The day ahead stretched before Arathan, as if it would never end.

TWELVE

‘DO YOU KNOW
who I am?’

The young woman stood on the roadside, looking up at him.

She was old enough to have had her first night of blood, and there was a looseness about her that invited lust. At his question she nodded and said, ‘You are Lord Urusander’s son.’

By any measure, her respect was less than satisfying, verging on insult. Osserc felt his face reddening, a trait of his that he despised. ‘I am riding to my father,’ he said. ‘I deliver words of great import. From this day,’ he continued, ‘you will see changes come to the world. And you will remember this chance meeting on this morning. Tell me your name.’

‘Renarr.’

‘My father awaits me with impatience,’ Osserc said, ‘but for you I will make him wait.’

‘Not too long, I should think,’ she replied.

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Only, milord, that I am sure the world is eager to change.’

He stood in the stirrups and scanned their surroundings. He had just crossed the ford of the nameless stream that half encircled Neret Sorr, although from here the settlement remained hidden behind the low hills directly ahead. Scrub flanked the stream’s basin, growing over the stumps of cut trees. The bushes seemed filled with birds, chattering in a thousand voices.

By the wet upon her leggings Osserc surmised that she too had been down at the stream, although she carried no skins or buckets. But he
saw
that she held something in one closed fist, and could guess at what it was. That alone made him feel ugly inside. ‘Are you from the village, then? I’ve not seen you.’

‘I don’t spend my evenings in the taverns, milord.’

‘Of course you don’t. But it seems that you know that I do.’

‘It’s known.’

‘Women fight to sit in my lap.’

‘I am happy for you, milord.’

‘What you are is insolent.’

Her expression faltered slightly and she looked down. ‘I am sorry that you think so, milord. Forgive me.’

‘It’s not your forgiveness that I want.’

And he saw then how his words frightened her, and that was the last thing he desired. ‘What do you hide in your hand?’

‘I – I do not hide it, milord. But it is personal.’

‘A stone from the stream.’

Eyes still downcast, she nodded.

‘A boy in the village?’

‘He is past being a boy, milord.’

‘Of course he is, to have earned your affection.’ Osserc drew up his spare horse. ‘You can ride? I will escort you back to the village. The day is hot and the road dusty, and I see that you wear no shoes.’

‘That is a warhorse, milord—’

‘Oh, Kyril is gentle enough, and most protective.’

She eyed the roan beast. ‘I did not know you gelded warhorses.’

‘Kyril would fight with my father’s horse, and that could not be permitted, as it endangered both of us – me and my father, that is – and distracted the other mounts. Besides,’ he added, ‘I grew tired of fighting him.’ After a moment, she still had made no move, and Osserc dismounted. ‘I was, of course, intending for you to ride Neth, since, as you say, it’s safer.’

She nodded. ‘You will be most impressive, milord, riding Kyril into the village. All will see that the son of Lord Urusander has returned, pursuing important matters of state. They will see the dust upon you and wonder what lands you have travelled.’

Osserc smiled and offered her the reins.

‘Thank you, milord,’ she said, pausing to sweep back her golden hair and deftly knot it behind her head; then she accepted Neth’s reins and drew close to the horse.

She waited for Osserc to swing into Kyril’s robust saddle before lithely leaping astride Neth’s back.

‘Ride at my side,’ Osserc said, guiding his mount alongside her.

‘I must not, milord. My beloved—’

Osserc felt his smile tightening and there was pleasure when he hardened his tone. ‘But I insist, Renarr. You will humour me in this small gesture, I am sure.’

‘Milord, if he sees—’

‘And if he does? Will he imagine that we dallied by the stream?’

‘You may wish him to think so – him and others, milord. And so make sport of him. And me.’

Osserc decided he disliked this young woman, but this made her only more attractive. ‘Am I to be challenged on my father’s own lands? By some farm boy? Will he think so little of you to imagine you unable to resist my charms?’

‘Milord, you are Lord Urusander’s son.’

‘And I am far from starved of the pleasures of women, as he must well know!’

‘Also known to him, milord, is your insatiability, and your prowess.’

Osserc grunted, feeling his smile return, but now that smile was relaxed. ‘It seems I have a reputation, then.’

‘One of admiration, milord. And perhaps, for young men, some envy.’

‘We shall ride side by side, Renarr, and should your beloved appear I will speak to put him at ease. After all, we have done nothing untoward, have we?’

‘You have been most gracious, milord.’

‘And you need never fear otherwise. As proof of that, I insist that you call me Osserc. I am my father’s son and we are humble before what modest privileges our family possesses. Indeed,’ he continued as they trotted up the road, ‘we take most seriously our responsibilities, which seems to be too rare a virtue among the highborn. But then, we are not highborn, are we? We are soldiers. That and nothing more.’

To this she said nothing, but he found her silence pleasing, since it told him that she was listening to his every word.

‘I will tell your beloved that he should be proud to have won your love, Renarr. The Abyss knows, I am too wayward and my future too uncertain, and besides, I have no freedom in such matters. For me, marriage will be political, and then there will be hostages and commissions and postings in border garrisons and the like. I see my future as one of service to the realm, and have made my peace with that.’

When he glanced across at her he saw that she was studying him intently. She quickly looked away. ‘Milord, there are some in the village – sour old women, mostly – who do not approve of your nightly visits with – to the taverns, I mean.’

‘Indeed?’

‘But by your words I see that you must find what pleasures you can, and I will speak against their harsh judgement, on your behalf. A life of sacrifice awaits you, milord.’

He laughed. ‘Then once again I am forgiven in your eyes?’

‘Please excuse my presumption, milord. A village is like a tree filled with birds all talking at once. All manner of things are said.’

‘I don’t doubt it.’

They approached the slope of the last hill before the settlement. Off to the right, forty or so paces from the road and at the end of a rutted track, was an old stone house that had been abandoned generations past, its roof long since collapsed. Osserc slowed his mount and eyed the climb of the road. ‘You may not believe this,’ he said, ‘but I value your forgiveness, Renarr. In my mind, these are my last days of freedom, and with the news I bring, that claim feels starker than ever before. But I tell you,’ and he looked across at her, ‘I do yearn for a tender touch that I have not paid for.’

She met his eyes, and then turned her mount on to the rutted track. The glance she cast back at him was veiled. ‘I think your father and the world can wait a while longer, milord?’

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

‘
When you want a woman to give freely of herself, Osserc, let her know that the privilege is yours, not hers. Be tender in your touch, and afterwards, make no boasts to anyone. There are many kinds of love. Some are small and brief, like a flower, while others last much longer. Value each one, for too few are the gifts of this world. Are you listening, boy?
’

‘
I am, Hunn Raal. I always listen to what you have to say … until you’re too drunk to say anything worth listening to
.’

‘
But boy, I ain’t never that drunk
.’

Halfway to the abandoned house, he saw her let the polished stone slip from her hand. It vanished in the yellowed grasses.

* * *

They hobbled the horses behind the house, out of sight from the road, and Osserc took Renarr’s hand and led her in through the gaping doorway. The grasses were thick on the floor, lumpy with wooden remnants from the rotted, fallen roof. He spent a short time clearing a space and then laid out his cloak.

She stood watching him as he stripped off his armour and then set aside his sword belt. He was not ashamed of his body, for it was lean and he bore the muscles of a fighter. When he had pulled off his sweat-stained linen shirt he looked over to see that she had slipped out from her tunic. She wore no undergarments, telling him that she had bathed in the stream; perhaps to wash away a night of lovemaking with her beloved, and perhaps she still felt his clumsy, rough hands upon her body, his desperate kisses.