Forge of Darkness (The Kharkanas Trilogy 1)

‘Fine, only how do we do that?’

The sergeant sighed. ‘You really have no brain, do you, Telra? Bodies into the house and burn the fucker down to the ground. We saw the smoke, didn’t get here in time to save anyone. Tragic mess. Farab, did you kill the girl?’

The woman with the blood-smeared hand and forearm shrugged. ‘Probably. In any case, she won’t be coming round any time soon.’

‘Into the house, then.’ The sergeant looked down at Wreneck. He tried meeting her stare but she wouldn’t let him. She drew her sword, pointed it at him. Wreneck tried to curl tight. She pushed the blade into him anyway.

It sliced through his left shoulder, cutting the muscle down to score along the bone, and from there the sharp but rounded tip slid into his chest. It bumped along his ribs, then down into his lower belly, driving up against his hip. When she yanked the weapon free, the pain exploded in Wreneck.

He woke up coughing. Each cough was agony. There was blood everywhere. His left arm was senseless, pinned to the floor under him by his own weight. When he pulled back, more blood spurted, then slowed to a dribble through black smears of dried blood. Smoke filled the room. He was in the house. Looking around, eyes burning, he saw flames everywhere. Jinia was lying beside him, motionless, terribly pale. He reached for her. Her skin was cool, but there was life in it.

He was clumsy, but he wasn’t weak. Long ago he used to lift Orfantal with one arm, to make the boy squirm and squeal. Jinia was heavier, though, and there was a new weakness in him that he didn’t quite understand, but he managed to angle her limp form over his uninjured shoulder. When he stood, gasping under her added weight, he was blinded by the smoke. But he thought he had seen a way through, down the main corridor. He staggered in that direction.

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‘Fine, only how do we do that?’

The sergeant sighed. ‘You really have no brain, do you, Telra? Bodies into the house and burn the fucker down to the ground. We saw the smoke, didn’t get here in time to save anyone. Tragic mess. Farab, did you kill the girl?’

The woman with the blood-smeared hand and forearm shrugged. ‘Probably. In any case, she won’t be coming round any time soon.’

‘Into the house, then.’ The sergeant looked down at Wreneck. He tried meeting her stare but she wouldn’t let him. She drew her sword, pointed it at him. Wreneck tried to curl tight. She pushed the blade into him anyway.

It sliced through his left shoulder, cutting the muscle down to score along the bone, and from there the sharp but rounded tip slid into his chest. It bumped along his ribs, then down into his lower belly, driving up against his hip. When she yanked the weapon free, the pain exploded in Wreneck.

He woke up coughing. Each cough was agony. There was blood everywhere. His left arm was senseless, pinned to the floor under him by his own weight. When he pulled back, more blood spurted, then slowed to a dribble through black smears of dried blood. Smoke filled the room. He was in the house. Looking around, eyes burning, he saw flames everywhere. Jinia was lying beside him, motionless, terribly pale. He reached for her. Her skin was cool, but there was life in it.

He was clumsy, but he wasn’t weak. Long ago he used to lift Orfantal with one arm, to make the boy squirm and squeal. Jinia was heavier, though, and there was a new weakness in him that he didn’t quite understand, but he managed to angle her limp form over his uninjured shoulder. When he stood, gasping under her added weight, he was blinded by the smoke. But he thought he had seen a way through, down the main corridor. He staggered in that direction.

The heat tore at him from both sides but he wouldn’t let himself flinch, since she might fall if he did. So he bore the burns, the lashing tongues that flared in his hair and made him scream.

To the right, at the far end: smoke but no flames. He went that way.

A door hanging open. He stumbled through into a room — Sandalath’s room — he could tell by the window’s shutters. There were no furnishings left, not even wall hangings. The bed had been broken up for firewood. There was nothing to burn. Wreneck made his way to the window.

He was putting it all together. They’d left them on the upper floor. Set fire to everything they could on the ground level. He hadn’t seen the Lady’s body, but he knew it was in here somewhere. He knew also that he had no hope of finding it. He couldn’t be a hero this day. All he could do was save himself and Jinia, the maid he loved.

He set her down beneath the window, and lifted the latches and pushed the shutters back. He looked out and down. Orfantal had once jumped from this floor, from a storeroom above the kitchen, landing catlike on the kitchen wastes. He had stained his clothes and Wreneck had been whipped for letting him do it.

Now, with the floor under him burning the soles of his feet — right through the thin leather of the worn work shoes — he leaned out and looked down. Curing dung was stacked there, because this was the window that wasn’t opened any more, and the wall was sunward and that kept everything dry. He turned and, one-armed, picked Jinia up, pushing her limp form over the sill, feet first. He lost his grip on her and she fell before he was ready. He looked down to see that she had landed in the dung. He couldn’t tell if the fall had broken anything — not with all the blood covering her legs.

Wreneck clambered out and leapt. He went a bit too far and landed on the edge of the heap, and the impact was hard enough to throw him forward, and the stabbed side of his hip gave way under him. He landed on his good shoulder, and that hurt as much as the burns and cuts.

Standing, he limped back to Jinia and pulled her clear of the dung. He saw her eyelids flutter and then grow still again, but she was breathing and that was good — that meant that everything was all right.

Lifting her again was harder this time, since now both shoulders were full of pain, but he managed it. Staggering, he made his way towards the ruins of the burnt-down stables. Heat gusted at his back for most of the way across the cobbles. He slipped in through a gap in the stone foundation wall and here the air was cooler and free of smoke. Laying Jinia down, he sat beside her, leaning his back against the wall.

He stared at her pretty face. She had a wandering eye when she got tired but with her eyes closed he couldn’t see it. Even when he did, he thought it was cute, and this made her even prettier. The trouble now was thinking of what to do next. The people in the village would see the smoke and know that the keep was burning down. But they wouldn’t do anything about it. There wasn’t enough of them. The only people that might care was his ma, and Jinia’s lame uncle.