Forge of Darkness (The Kharkanas Trilogy 1)

Ivis returned his attention to the unknown forces arraying against them. More than half a thousand to be sure. But he saw nothing of heraldic banners among the ranks, nor any sign of company standards. The single thin flag waving was still too distant to make out, and then it was suddenly lowered, vanishing from sight.

As he watched, hearing the first barked shouts from the keep’s compound at his back, he saw a troop of a dozen or so riders emerge from the ranks and canter down the hill’s slope. Reaching its base, they set out, their mounts taking a low stone wall in smooth leaps, crossing through the dusty stubble of a harvested field, taking another wall and out across another field, drawing ever closer.

There was a broad ring of level, unbroken land surrounding the keep’s hill, enough room for charging cavalry, and when the strangers reached the outer edge of this one rode forward and lifted the banner once more. The figure then reined in and drove the pole into the earth.

The troop wheeled round and set off back to the main force.

Ivis stared at the banner they had left behind.

Abyss take me. They’re Borderswords.

Returning from the killing field, Feren’s horse stumbled after clearing the last wall and coming up against the slope. She fought to right the animal and a moment later regained control. She glared across at her brother. ‘Rint! We need to rest!’

He made no reply, pushing to force his mount back up the hillside.

Looking up, she studied the foremost row of Borderswords lining the crest above her. Their beasts were lathered, heads drooping, and the men and women sitting silent in their saddles were in no better shape. Anger and horror could speak in one tongue, but it was a language ignorant of reason. She had listened to its ceaseless clamouring in her skull for days and nights now, and for most of that time, there had been something of a blessing in that senseless cacophony.

The enemy had a face, and in every line, in every crease and wrinkle, it could encompass all that was wrong with the world; all that was unjust; all that was evil. Nothing could be simpler than this moment of recognition, or the relief one felt when it arrived, bright as revelation, to burn away uncertainty and doubt, to scour from the mind the sins of subtlety.

She had felt its sharp talons drag down through her mind, making wreckage of time and need, of cautious planning and preparation. This was not war, unless an entire war could be reduced to a single battle. On this day they would strike down the enemy: they would rake their own claws down that bitter visage, slicing through the bones underneath, and spilling out for all to see the mundane truth of evil. Blood the same as our blood. Flesh the same as our flesh. The pulped ruin of brains no different from what we might splash out to a mace’s blow. All disassembled and beyond repair.

br />

Ivis returned his attention to the unknown forces arraying against them. More than half a thousand to be sure. But he saw nothing of heraldic banners among the ranks, nor any sign of company standards. The single thin flag waving was still too distant to make out, and then it was suddenly lowered, vanishing from sight.

As he watched, hearing the first barked shouts from the keep’s compound at his back, he saw a troop of a dozen or so riders emerge from the ranks and canter down the hill’s slope. Reaching its base, they set out, their mounts taking a low stone wall in smooth leaps, crossing through the dusty stubble of a harvested field, taking another wall and out across another field, drawing ever closer.

There was a broad ring of level, unbroken land surrounding the keep’s hill, enough room for charging cavalry, and when the strangers reached the outer edge of this one rode forward and lifted the banner once more. The figure then reined in and drove the pole into the earth.

The troop wheeled round and set off back to the main force.

Ivis stared at the banner they had left behind.

Abyss take me. They’re Borderswords.

Returning from the killing field, Feren’s horse stumbled after clearing the last wall and coming up against the slope. She fought to right the animal and a moment later regained control. She glared across at her brother. ‘Rint! We need to rest!’

He made no reply, pushing to force his mount back up the hillside.

Looking up, she studied the foremost row of Borderswords lining the crest above her. Their beasts were lathered, heads drooping, and the men and women sitting silent in their saddles were in no better shape. Anger and horror could speak in one tongue, but it was a language ignorant of reason. She had listened to its ceaseless clamouring in her skull for days and nights now, and for most of that time, there had been something of a blessing in that senseless cacophony.

The enemy had a face, and in every line, in every crease and wrinkle, it could encompass all that was wrong with the world; all that was unjust; all that was evil. Nothing could be simpler than this moment of recognition, or the relief one felt when it arrived, bright as revelation, to burn away uncertainty and doubt, to scour from the mind the sins of subtlety.

She had felt its sharp talons drag down through her mind, making wreckage of time and need, of cautious planning and preparation. This was not war, unless an entire war could be reduced to a single battle. On this day they would strike down the enemy: they would rake their own claws down that bitter visage, slicing through the bones underneath, and spilling out for all to see the mundane truth of evil. Blood the same as our blood. Flesh the same as our flesh. The pulped ruin of brains no different from what we might splash out to a mace’s blow. All disassembled and beyond repair.

Then we’ll look on in silence, and wonder at the howling emptiness inside us. It will not last long. The horror will return, standing over spent rage.

Nothing goes away. It just piles up inside.

Staggering, her horse reached the crest and she reined in the poor beast. Within her exhaustion, something cold and hard had pushed through. She could see clearly into a future too bleak to comprehend. She faced Rint again. ‘At the very least wait a day! Abyss take us, the enemy is rested!’ Her desperate gaze shifted to the others surrounding Rint. ‘Traj! We are done in!’

‘You’ll not fight,’ Rint told her. ‘Lahanis will remain with you-’

At that, Lahanis hissed. ‘I will not! See the blood still on my hands? This day I will add to it!’

‘I ride at your side,’ Feren told her brother. ‘But we need to pause. Here and now. We need to recover our strength-’

‘I am ready for this,’ Traj said.

‘Listen to me — Rint, Ville and Galak — we have seen those Houseblades! We have watched their drills!’

‘And remember how few they were!’ Rint retorted, almost shouting. ‘Too heavily armoured besides — we will dance circles round them! Feren — there must be eight hundred of us here! Against what? Two hundred mounted Houseblades at best?’

‘Do you think we will meet their charge?’ Traj demanded. ‘No, we will part before it. We will sweep in from the sides, joined by the skirmishers. We will drag them down from their mounts and gut them all!’

‘All very well — but let us rest first!’

‘Sister,’ said Rint, ‘it will be noon before they ride out to meet us, assuming they have the courage to face the challenge of our banner. They know why we are here! We will await them, this I swear!’

She subsided, looking away from her brother, away from all of them. Do I so fear righteous vengeance? No. My brother grieves. All those here grieve.