Forge of Darkness (The Kharkanas Trilogy 1)

‘It seems that the ability to fight is important in this world, Faror Hend.’

‘It has been and always will be, T’riss. We are savages in disguise, and let no pomp or indolence deceive you. At any moment we can bare our teeth.’

T’riss sat down opposite the Warden, her expression thoughtful. ‘Is civilization nothing but an illusion, then?’

‘Crowd control.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘That’s all civilization is, T’riss. A means by which we manage the proliferation of our kind. It increases in complexity the more of us there are. Laws keep us muzzled and punishment delivers the necessary message when those laws are broken. Civilizations in decline are notable when certain of their members escape justice, and do so with impunity.’

‘Are these a soldier’s thoughts, Faror Hend?’

‘My mother and father lived scholarly lives. An aberration among the Duravs. Both were killed by a Jheleck raiding party, murdered in their home, which was then set aflame. The fate of my younger sisters was, alas, far worse.’

‘And to answer such cruelty, you took up the sword.’

‘I fled, if truth be known. What worth knowledge when the savage bares teeth? Thus, I fight to defend civilization, but know well the ephemeral nature of that which I defend. Against ignorance there is no front line. Against viciousness no border can hold. It breeds as readily behind your back as elsewhere.’

‘What of life’s pleasures? Its joys, its wonders?’

Faror Hend shrugged. ‘Equally ephemeral, but in the instance, drink deep. Ah, the tea is ready.’

The two-handed axe thumped to the ground and a moment later Warlock Resh joined it, grunting and taking a moment to crook his neck to each side. ‘Killing gives me a headache,’ he said in a low rumble.

‘But dying hurts more,’ Caplo replied. He twisted in his seat to regard the two women at the distant fire. ‘I am prone to pettiness.’

‘You are political.’

Caplo glanced back at Resh. ‘I just said that.’

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‘It seems that the ability to fight is important in this world, Faror Hend.’

‘It has been and always will be, T’riss. We are savages in disguise, and let no pomp or indolence deceive you. At any moment we can bare our teeth.’

T’riss sat down opposite the Warden, her expression thoughtful. ‘Is civilization nothing but an illusion, then?’

‘Crowd control.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘That’s all civilization is, T’riss. A means by which we manage the proliferation of our kind. It increases in complexity the more of us there are. Laws keep us muzzled and punishment delivers the necessary message when those laws are broken. Civilizations in decline are notable when certain of their members escape justice, and do so with impunity.’

‘Are these a soldier’s thoughts, Faror Hend?’

‘My mother and father lived scholarly lives. An aberration among the Duravs. Both were killed by a Jheleck raiding party, murdered in their home, which was then set aflame. The fate of my younger sisters was, alas, far worse.’

‘And to answer such cruelty, you took up the sword.’

‘I fled, if truth be known. What worth knowledge when the savage bares teeth? Thus, I fight to defend civilization, but know well the ephemeral nature of that which I defend. Against ignorance there is no front line. Against viciousness no border can hold. It breeds as readily behind your back as elsewhere.’

‘What of life’s pleasures? Its joys, its wonders?’

Faror Hend shrugged. ‘Equally ephemeral, but in the instance, drink deep. Ah, the tea is ready.’

The two-handed axe thumped to the ground and a moment later Warlock Resh joined it, grunting and taking a moment to crook his neck to each side. ‘Killing gives me a headache,’ he said in a low rumble.

‘But dying hurts more,’ Caplo replied. He twisted in his seat to regard the two women at the distant fire. ‘I am prone to pettiness.’

‘You are political.’

Caplo glanced back at Resh. ‘I just said that.’

‘Calat Hustain demands her immediate return? Utter rubbish.’

‘Not entirely. I’m sure he does. In any case, I see some value in our being the ones to deliver the Azathanai to Kharkanas. Besides, Mother Sheccanto felt this one’s arrival.’

‘Felt the twist of her sorcery, you mean. As did I. The ground convulses beneath her. This delivery may earn revile.’

‘That can prove useful, too.’

‘And this is the talent of your mind, Caplo: to stand firm on all sides of a matter.’

‘I accept the possibility, dear warlock, that we invite a viper into our nest. But then, we are hardly chicks waving stubby wings.’

‘Speak for yourself. I keep checking to see that I’m not sitting in my own shit.’

‘You’ve been doing that for years, Resh. This Azathanai — T’riss — is claimed as a spume-child of the Vitr, a most sordid birth for all her physical charms. What threat does she pose? What possible value the voicing of that threat? What portent her stated desire to travel to Kharkanas?’

‘On these three legs you will totter, Caplo Dreem.’

‘On three legs so do we all.’

‘Sheccanto will lather you in grease and send you into the Citadel, if only to see from which crack you squirt back out. And this gives purpose to your life?’

‘The Shake serve Kurald Galain. Note how Hunn Raal shied from our regard. He sought out Calat Hustain to the cause of Urusander, but not us. And, upon the other flank, when last did a nobleborn make formal — or even informal, Abyss fend — visit to our Mother or Father?’

‘All anticipate our neutrality — why would you take offence from their expectation, Caplo, when it shall clearly prove accurate?’

‘Offence lies in the assumption. The nest is sure, but how firm the perch upon the branch? How solid the roots of the tree?’

‘I am of two minds,’ Resh said, sighing as he leaned back on his hands. ‘Eager to pluck unknown fruit. Yet chary of its taste. Does this define temptation?’

‘No answer tempts my tongue. Thus, I leave you unassuaged.’

‘Magic is awakening. I feel its heat. I tremble to its beating heart. I grow still as death upon hearing the slither of vipers. Twigs raise scant obstacle. Our lofty height proves no barrier. Someone is bleeding, somewhere.’

‘Mother Dark?’

Resh snorted. ‘Her power is too cold for fire, too black for warmth. Hers is a heart yet to drum awake. In her company, even the vipers are blind.’