Fall of Light (The Kharkanas Trilogy 2)

no hint of relief, as three thousand pairs of eyes will be fixed upon us, give or take.’

‘A one-eyed man among the ranks.’

‘A women whose left wanders.’

‘While the right impugns.’

‘Jaded eye.’

‘Jaundiced eye, lowered eye, squinting eye, ego’s eye, an I in the eye other than thine own, that we should meet, to gauge the distance between us, these gulfs too treacherous to cross, the self an island among islets, the chain relegated to maps.’ Prazek paused, and then sighed. ‘An eye to draw the straightest line, or rounded in wondrous regard, unto itself.’

‘They shall stare at us,’ Dathenar said, nodding.

‘The weight of such knowing offends me,’ Prazek replied. He paused at the tent’s doorway. ‘Presumably, Galar Baras has prepared her. Still, these new soldiers know her by name alone, an utterance swaddled in reluctance. A broken woman, no less. How fragile her approach, how timorous her comportment.’

‘As you say,’ Dathenar agreed. ‘Then gird yourself once more, friend, as we place ourselves between the archer and the arrow butt. Paint the placid façade, targeted upon your face—’

‘Attain the aplomb, the swaggering ease of confidence.’

‘Unruffled the surface of our equanimity.’

‘Pellucid the shallows.’

‘Impenetrable the depths.’

‘We must be moon-drawn, the steady advance of an ocean’s familiar broach.’

Dathenar nodded and approached the tent flap. ‘Time, then, to lap her boots.’

They exited the tent, looked out upon the companies already forming up in a rising moan of armour and the chittering of scabbarded swords. The sun was nearing zenith, lending a hint of warmth, and where snow lingered on the plain, amidst tangled stretches of yellow grass, it made deflated dunes.

As the ranks assembled to either side of the camp’s central parade ground, two riders appeared at the far end.

Side by side, Prazek and Dathenar set out to meet them.

The time for conversation had passed, barring the swords and their almost nervous muttering, and so neither captain spoke as they crossed the ground.

Near the far end, Galar Baras and Toras Redone reined in, and then slowly dismounted in time to greet Prazek and Dathenar, who arrived and saluted the commander.

She was not quite sober as she regarded the two captains, her glassy eyes amused, her expression ironic. ‘Anomander’s lieutenants. Or, rather, captains now, of the Hust Legion. Silchas Ruin empties his brother’s martial treasury.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘Report, then, on the readiness of these soldiers.’

Dathenar cleared his throat. ‘Commander, most welcome. We invite you to inspect the new recruits.’

‘Recruits.’ She seemed to chew on the word for a moment, and then glanced at Galar Baras. ‘Captain, I understand that none of these … recruits are in fact volunteers.’

‘You could say that,’ Galar replied. ‘The pits were closed—’

‘But their punishment has not ended, with forgiveness bargained and a deal struck. Rather, it’s been extended, and in place of hammers and picks, they now wield swords.’

Galar Baras nodded.

She faced Dathenar again. ‘Which are you?’

‘The other is Prazek, sir. We are less interchangeable than it might at first seem.’

‘Spoken true,’ Prazek added. ‘I am less inclined to the disingenuous.’

‘Yet more to pontification,’ Dathenar added.