Forge of Darkness (The Kharkanas Trilogy 1)
‘Is there not room for all of us in Kurald Galain?’
‘We could encompass the world, commander, and still we would fight one another.’
Toras Redone looked away, seeming to study one wall of her tent, where the silhouettes of insects made a silent audience to this exchange. ‘Perhaps,’ she said in a low voice, ‘this is what Mother Dark is telling us. She embodies a hollowness at the core of all of our beliefs. Some would bask in what they imagine to be fulfilment, when it is in truth absence.’ Her eyes slid back to Hunn Raal. ‘We crowd the rim of an empty bowl, captain, and jostle for footing, blessing those who slide in while voicing our delight at those who fall off and are for ever lost. When that pleasure proves insufficient, why, we begin pushing others off, flinging them away while telling ourselves that these victims lived lives of less worth
…’ Her words trailed away, and she drank again, returning her gaze to the tent wall.
‘Commander, all I seek is peace.’
She sighed and then said, ‘The truth of darkness is that it hides everything and reflects nothing. We stumble in blind ignorance and swing at everyone who draws near. Do you appreciate the irony in all this, captain? In our language we voice the Abyss as a curse, but I tell you, I have knelt before Mother Dark in the Chamber of Night, and I have felt the Abyss — when she touched my brow.’
Shaken, Hunn Raal said nothing.
Toras Redone offered him a loose shrug. ‘Yet she sits upon the Throne of Night, and we acknowledge her rule, such as it is. Of course,’ she added, ‘that throne was a gift from Lord Draconus. You would have thought — given his purported ambitions — that he would have offered up two thrones.’
‘Commander, I have no complaint against the Consort. It is the highborn who obsess over that man’s ambitions. You raise an interesting question — have you voiced it among your fellow nobles?’
Toras Redone blinked, and then shook her head. ‘He swims in the bowl and so we hate him. There is nothing complicated in that enmity.’
‘Do you know where he has gone, commander?’
‘No.’ She waved the hand that held the tankard, spilling some wine in the process. ‘West.’
‘Soldiers should not be the objects of resentment in times of peace,’ said Hunn Raal. ‘When that peace was won by our blood and sweat, well, are you not stung by this?’
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‘Is there not room for all of us in Kurald Galain?’
‘We could encompass the world, commander, and still we would fight one another.’
Toras Redone looked away, seeming to study one wall of her tent, where the silhouettes of insects made a silent audience to this exchange. ‘Perhaps,’ she said in a low voice, ‘this is what Mother Dark is telling us. She embodies a hollowness at the core of all of our beliefs. Some would bask in what they imagine to be fulfilment, when it is in truth absence.’ Her eyes slid back to Hunn Raal. ‘We crowd the rim of an empty bowl, captain, and jostle for footing, blessing those who slide in while voicing our delight at those who fall off and are for ever lost. When that pleasure proves insufficient, why, we begin pushing others off, flinging them away while telling ourselves that these victims lived lives of less worth
…’ Her words trailed away, and she drank again, returning her gaze to the tent wall.
‘Commander, all I seek is peace.’
She sighed and then said, ‘The truth of darkness is that it hides everything and reflects nothing. We stumble in blind ignorance and swing at everyone who draws near. Do you appreciate the irony in all this, captain? In our language we voice the Abyss as a curse, but I tell you, I have knelt before Mother Dark in the Chamber of Night, and I have felt the Abyss — when she touched my brow.’
Shaken, Hunn Raal said nothing.
Toras Redone offered him a loose shrug. ‘Yet she sits upon the Throne of Night, and we acknowledge her rule, such as it is. Of course,’ she added, ‘that throne was a gift from Lord Draconus. You would have thought — given his purported ambitions — that he would have offered up two thrones.’
‘Commander, I have no complaint against the Consort. It is the highborn who obsess over that man’s ambitions. You raise an interesting question — have you voiced it among your fellow nobles?’
Toras Redone blinked, and then shook her head. ‘He swims in the bowl and so we hate him. There is nothing complicated in that enmity.’
‘Do you know where he has gone, commander?’
‘No.’ She waved the hand that held the tankard, spilling some wine in the process. ‘West.’
‘Soldiers should not be the objects of resentment in times of peace,’ said Hunn Raal. ‘When that peace was won by our blood and sweat, well, are you not stung by this?’
‘It is not resentment, captain, it is indifference. And I welcome it.’
‘How can you say that? We deserve to be rewarded for the sacrifices we have made!’
‘What sacrifices, captain? You are still alive. So am I. Neither of us lost limbs.’
‘I speak not just for myself! I have friends who have been left crippled, blinded, or who cannot sleep through the night-’
‘While others drink or smoke themselves into oblivion. Because the truths of war broke us inside, and broken we remain. Reparation, then? For the dead, why, let us raise high bold mausoleums. For the maimed, let us entrench our pity and suckle guilt’s bloated tit until we grow fat on remorse. And for the drunks like you and me, captain, why, a bounty of riches to keep our cellars well stocked, and a high seat in every tavern from which we can weave our tales of past glory. Or is it a title you wish? Very well, I proclaim you the Lord of War, and will seek for you a proper estate. In addition, I give you fields of horror to harvest nightly, and granaries filled with wretched memories, which you can daily grind to dust on this millstone you call your life.’
Hunn Raal stared at her for a long time, and then he reached into the sack he had brought into the tent with him, and drew out a jug. ‘My gift to you, commander. A fine vintage I am sure you will enjoy.’
‘I have my own, captain, but thank you anyway.’
‘You refuse my offering?’
‘Not at all.’
‘Shall I refill your tankard, then?’
She shook her head. ‘I am done drinking this night, captain. I must walk the pickets, lest your friends tempted the Nightwatch in their eager, if somewhat forced, generosity.’
‘If they did, commander, it was well meaning.’
‘Your gesture is appreciated and you have given me much to think about, captain, but my rules of conduct are explicit, and if I find even one guard with alcohol riding the breath, there will be the public lash. Discipline is a necessity, even in times of peace.’
‘Indeed it is,’ Hunn Raal said. ‘I am impressed.’
‘Are you? Good. Perhaps it will give you something to think about.’