Forge of Darkness (The Kharkanas Trilogy 1)

‘Summoned into the presence of Mother Dark. I am to meet him at the gate, with our horses prepared.’

‘I will join you in that task.’

She saw his eyes narrow slightly on her, but she was in no mood to offer explanation.

The First Son walked in silence, but Emral could hear the soft, muted beat of his sword’s scabbard against his leg with every stride. The weapon’s presence was already well known, not just in the Citadel, but in all Kharkanas, and she had heard tales twisting the truth of the sword’s origins. Many now spoke as if Lord Anomander had forged the weapon with his own hands, and that the failure to give it a name was proof of the First Son’s chronic indecision.

This latter argument was the conjuring of the worst of the court’s inhabitants, although in nature such people were not exclusive to the Citadel. Bearing the wounds of a thousand small bites, she had once voiced this complaint to the historian and he had but nodded, and spoken of not just this time and place, but of countless others. ‘ It is the habit of the petty-minded to derogate the achievements and status of those who, by any measure, are their superiors. High Priestess, they are the wild dogs in the forest, ever ready for a turned back, but quick to yip and flee when the prey shows its fangs.’

She had considered the analogy for a moment, and then had replied, ‘ When enough such dogs have gathered, historian, they may not flee the bearded beast, and instead show fangs of their own. In any case, any opinion on superiority is subject to challenge.’

‘ I mean not such things as titles, or wealth, or even power, when I speak of superiority, High Priestess. I refer to something more ephemeral. To find a truly superior person, follow the dogs. Or, better still, follow the blood trail. No other gauge is necessary but to observe the viciousness of the eager beasts and see for yourself the beleaguered foe.’

Was the man at her side thus hounded? There was little doubt of that. And was there not something in the assertion that the forging of that weapon was not yet complete? Its edge was well honed to be sure, and the blade bore a fine polish. But it was not yet Anomander’s own, no matter how forceful Hust Henarald’s insistence that the weapon was fit for the hand of but one man.

They reached the door and Emral stepped back.

But Anomander shook his head. ‘I request your presence within, High Priestess.’

‘First Son, I believe it was Mother Dark’s wish-’

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‘Summoned into the presence of Mother Dark. I am to meet him at the gate, with our horses prepared.’

‘I will join you in that task.’

She saw his eyes narrow slightly on her, but she was in no mood to offer explanation.

The First Son walked in silence, but Emral could hear the soft, muted beat of his sword’s scabbard against his leg with every stride. The weapon’s presence was already well known, not just in the Citadel, but in all Kharkanas, and she had heard tales twisting the truth of the sword’s origins. Many now spoke as if Lord Anomander had forged the weapon with his own hands, and that the failure to give it a name was proof of the First Son’s chronic indecision.

This latter argument was the conjuring of the worst of the court’s inhabitants, although in nature such people were not exclusive to the Citadel. Bearing the wounds of a thousand small bites, she had once voiced this complaint to the historian and he had but nodded, and spoken of not just this time and place, but of countless others. ‘ It is the habit of the petty-minded to derogate the achievements and status of those who, by any measure, are their superiors. High Priestess, they are the wild dogs in the forest, ever ready for a turned back, but quick to yip and flee when the prey shows its fangs.’

She had considered the analogy for a moment, and then had replied, ‘ When enough such dogs have gathered, historian, they may not flee the bearded beast, and instead show fangs of their own. In any case, any opinion on superiority is subject to challenge.’

‘ I mean not such things as titles, or wealth, or even power, when I speak of superiority, High Priestess. I refer to something more ephemeral. To find a truly superior person, follow the dogs. Or, better still, follow the blood trail. No other gauge is necessary but to observe the viciousness of the eager beasts and see for yourself the beleaguered foe.’

Was the man at her side thus hounded? There was little doubt of that. And was there not something in the assertion that the forging of that weapon was not yet complete? Its edge was well honed to be sure, and the blade bore a fine polish. But it was not yet Anomander’s own, no matter how forceful Hust Henarald’s insistence that the weapon was fit for the hand of but one man.

They reached the door and Emral stepped back.

But Anomander shook his head. ‘I request your presence within, High Priestess.’

‘First Son, I believe it was Mother Dark’s wish-’

‘We will speak of faith, High Priestess. I am informed that High Priestess Syntara is now the centre of a cult that directly opposes that of Mother Dark. With her under the protection of Lord Urusander, the matter is both religious and political.’

She glanced away. ‘I was not aware of this development, First Son.’ A moment later she drew a deep breath and said, ‘But I am not surprised. Not with respect to Syntara’s ambitions. Still, Urusander’s role in this confuses me.’

‘You are not alone in that.’

She opened the door and together they strode into the Chamber of Night.

The darkness hid nothing. Mother Dark was seated on the throne. Facing her from a few paces away but now stepping to one side was the Azathanai, Grizzin Farl, who bowed to both Anomander and Emral, offering them a faint smile.

Lord Anomander wasted no time. ‘Azathanai, I assure you that I have no unreasoning aversion to foreign advisers in this court. Still, I wonder at what of value you can offer us, since we are here to discuss the measures we must take in order to keep our realm from tearing itself apart. The legacy of the Azathanai in this matter is no less dubious than if a Jaghut stood in your place.’

‘With regret, First Son,’ said Grizzin Farl, ‘I agree with you. Although a Jaghut might prove wiser than me and could I find one nearby to stand in these worn moccasins, why, I would give the poor creature good cause to rail at my presumption.’

‘Then what keeps you here?’ Anomander asked.

‘By title I am known as the Protector, but this is no welcome aspect. I appear where I am most needed, yet in hope most distant. My attendance alone is a sour comment on your state of affairs, alas.’

There was a challenge to these words, but Anomander simply tilted his head, as if studying the Azathanai in a new light. ‘We found you tending Kadaspala. Even then, it seems, you could have made shackles of your hands to close on his wrists, and so keep him from his terrible self-mutilation. Instead, you came too late.’

‘This is so, First Son.’

‘Do you stand here before us, then, to announce a threshold already crossed?’

Emral could see how Mother Dark looked between the two men, and there was, at last, alarm in her eyes.