Fall of Light (The Kharkanas Trilogy 2)

Nodding, Wareth sighed. ‘And yet.’

There was no joy in the song of the Hust iron. Wareth shook his head. ‘Listen to that,’ he said. ‘What do you make of it?’

Listar rubbed at his face. He mumbled something Wareth could not hear.

‘What?’

‘The iron, Wareth, is filled with dread. The swords do not grieve for those they would slay, but for those wielding them.’ He paused, and then glanced at Wareth. ‘She defied your wish, and Galar Baras’s too. Here you are, ordered to lead us into battle. It seems she is indifferent to your fate, and by extension, to all of us under your command.’

Wareth could not argue against any of that. ‘Do not look to me, Listar.’

‘We won’t. We’ll follow Rebble. Just be certain of one thing, Wareth. Voice no orders. Issue no commands. If you bolt, we’ll not follow you.’

Wareth thought back to a few moments ago, when terror emptied his gut. ‘I am unmade,’ he said. ‘If they look my way at all, they see right through me.’

‘We’ll not burden you with our hope, if that is what you mean.’

The words should have stung. Instead, he felt relieved.

The column was re-forming, and they watched as Toras Redone and her retinue cantered from the city’s gate to take position as the Legion’s vanguard once more.

Horse hoofs thumped in the snow-laden grasses as Galar Baras rode up, reining in beside Wareth. The captain’s face was flushed with the cold. ‘Wareth!’

‘Sir.’

‘Your company is under my command, along with the seventh, the ninth and the third. We are to present the right flank.’

Wareth nodded.

‘Rebble will lead them down into the valley.’

‘We are to fight on this day?’

‘If Urusander seeks it.’

‘Dusk chases him,’ said Listar.

‘It chases us all, Listar,’ Galar replied, gathering up the reins once more.

* * *

Commander Toras Redone rolled unsteadily in her saddle, righted herself with an effort. Her face was slack, her eyes muddy red. A moment later, as

Faror Hend drew up alongside her, the commander smiled. ‘Had I known today would be the day …’

‘You would have done what?’

Toras Redone’s smile broadened. ‘Level your tone, darling. And punctuate your query with a “sir”, if you please. Why, I would have rationed the wine, of course. It begins to sour in my belly, as voluminous as I have made it. Plenty of room left, it seems, for anxious thoughts.’

Faror Hend rose in her stirrups, twisted round and checked back on the column. Then she settled once more. ‘Your anxiety not sufficiently dulled? Sir? Not yet drowned? Thrashing still in that dark nectar?’

‘You are too sober a conscience, Faror Hend.’

‘You need not concern yourself with that much longer, sir, as my words are running down. Soon, my silence will give you its final cry.’

‘You surrender too easily,’ Toras Redone replied. ‘Will you yield your life as cheaply in the battle to come? Are you not betrothed to a war hero? Why are you not at his side? Perchance, he awaits us at the Valley of Tarns, or is that consideration the cause for your despondency?’

Faror Hend bit back a cruel retort, and said, ‘Kagamandra Tulas may well be there, the hero in search of yet another war.’