Steven Erikson - Forge of Darkness

‘Then why didn’t you prepare me for that? I could earn nothing here in this keep while the rest of you were out fighting! You have doomed me, damn you!’

Urusander leaned back at his son’s tirade. Then he said, ‘Because, son, for you I wanted something better.’

Osserc did not even recognize the room he found. It was small, crammed full of rolled-up tapestries from the rooms above. The bare stone floor was littered with moth carcasses and the air was rank with the smell of mould. Locking the door he threw himself down on a musty heap piled up along one wall. Shudders took him as he wept. He hated his weakness: even rage unmanned him. He thought back to Renarr, and saw anew the look in her eyes — which had not been tenderness. It had been pity that he saw. Even now, he suspected, she was spinning the tale to her giggling friends.

He wrapped his arms about his folded-up legs and rested his forehead on his knees, still fighting the tears, but now they marked his shame, his helplessness. His father held to glory as a miser clutched the world’s last coin. There was nothing here for Osserc; nothing for a son chained to childhood.

He would seal me in wax. Place me upon the highest shelf in some dusty room. To lie there, like some preserved memory. My father remembers innocent days and yearns for a return to his own childhood. But as that cannot be, he would make me what he once was, and keep me there: Vatha Urusander before the wars.

I am his nostalgia. I am his selfishness made manifest.

I will leave here. Tonight. Tomorrow. Soon. I will leave and not return. Not return until I am ready, until I have made myself anew. Indeed, Father, I am to inherit nothing from you, nothing at all. Especially not your weakness.

I will set out. Seeking truths. Seeking my place, and when I return I shall blaze with triumph, with power. I shall be a man such as… as Anomander himself. You think me not clever, Father? But I am. You think me unwise? You are to blame for what wisdom I lack, but no matter. I shall find my own wisdom.

I shall leave Kurald Galain.

And ride alone into the world.

To such bold claims, he saw in his mind his father’s face, and that look of disappointment as the old man said, ‘ Alone, son? Weren’t you listening? Your fears will run with you, like a pack of wolves howling to bring you down. The only true solitude, to any man, to any woman, to any thinking being, is death.’

‘I know that,’ he whispered in reply, lifting his head and wiping at his cheeks. ‘I know that. Let the wolves close in — I will kill them all, one by one, I will kill them all.’

His head pounded; he was hungry, but all he could manage was to lie down upon the rolls of cloth and close his eyes. Pain had its own teeth, sharp and eager, and they sank deep into him. Bite by bite, they could tear him away — they were welcome to all that was lying here — until nothing was left.

The shell was gone, shattered by an old man who had tried to convince him that a cell was a palace, and imprisonment a gift. Even Hunn Raal had lied to him. Hunn Raal, an object of contempt to the man whose very life he had saved. Was it any wonder the fool drank to excess?

But he’s been very busy, Father. Speaking in your name. That part was easy, since all he had to fill was silence. You do not even know it, but he has your future all mapped out. You’ve surrendered all choice, dear Father.

I am glad you didn’t raise the flag. The Legion is no longer yours, although you do not yet know that, either. It will march in your name, however. That it will do.

Changes are coming, coming to us all.

Over the next two days Osserc avoided his father, taking his meals in his chambers. He gathered together all that he would need, selecting two swords, including a hundred-year-old Iralltan blade — that forge, rival to the Hust, had been destroyed by the Forulkan, the family slaughtered and the keep fired. The mines had been later taken over in yet another example of Henarald’s acquisitive greed. The weapon had been a gift from Hunn Raal, and it was finely made, bearing an elegance of line that no Hust weapon could match. Osserc had never used it when sparring, although his practice weapon was a perfect match in balance, reach and weight. His other sword was from a secondary family forge, under the ownership of the Hust but tasked with making weapons for Urusander’s Legion. It was plain but serviceable, and held its edge well, although twice the bars of the hilt had been replaced after cracking round the grip.

Many veterans claimed that the Hust had deliberately supplied inferior weapons to Urusander’s Legion, but this was the subject of guarded mutterings in the barracks, since Lord Urusander, upon hearing that opinion, had revealed a rare loss of temper, publicly dressing down the officer who had voiced the suspicion.

Osserc believed the soldiers, although apart from the bars, his Legion sword bore no flaws in workmanship. The iron was free of tin pits and the blade was impressively true.

In addition to these weapons, he selected a hunting knife, a dagger and three lances. The armour he chose was not the full dress set: silver filigree invited a thief’s eye and besides, it was too heavy to suit his fighting style. Instead, he selected a thick but supple leather hauberk, studded over the thighs to pull its weight down. Stained black, it was reinforced beneath the leather on the shoulders and the back of the neck with iron strips bound to the quilting of the inner layer. The heavily studded sleeves ended at his elbows where they were joined by thick straps to his vambraces, which were of matching black leather but banded in bared iron. Over all of this he wore a grey cloak, since the leather of his armour did not fare well under the harsh sun.

The helm he chose was a light skullcap of blued iron with a chain camail.

At two bells past midnight on the third night, he carried his gear down to the stables, making use of side passages to avoid the main rooms where the occasional guard wandered. He had done as Hunn Raal had asked of him. He had delivered the news of the Vitr. His responsibilities were at an end, and whatever might now happen in Kurald Galain, he would play no part in it. In fact, he had ceased to care.

He reached the stables undiscovered, and once there he set about saddling his two horses. They had been reshoed since his return and he took a moment to examine the work. Satisfied, he loaded his camp gear on to Neth’s broad back, including two of the lances and the Legion sword. From this moment forward, he would wear the Iralltan blade.

He led both mounts outside and swung on to his warhorse. Both animals were restless as he rode across the courtyard. At the gate two guards emerged.

‘Late to be riding, milord,’ one said.

In the gloom Osserc could not recognize the man, although his voice was vaguely familiar. ‘Just open the gate,’ he said.

The men complied and moments later Osserc rode through and out on to the track. For a change, the route down into the town was unobstructed. Once among the low buildings he eased Kyril into a slow trot. At one point he thought he heard running feet off to his left, crossing an alley, but when he turned he saw little more than a dark shape, quickly vanishing from sight.

He thought nothing of it until, upon reaching the last buildings on the north edge of the settlement, he found a figure standing in the lane before him. Curious, Osserc reined in.

‘You have business with me?’ he asked.

There was some light bleeding out from a house on one side, enough for Osserc to see that it was a man who was blocking his path. Young, heavy-set, breathing hard from his run. It seemed his hands were stained and they hung half curled at his sides.

‘She told me everything,’ the man said. ‘It took a while, but she told me everything.’ He stepped forward. ‘Y’think I couldn’t see? Couldn’t tell that she’d changed? Y’think I’m blind? I been waitin’ for you, sir. Keepin’ an eye on the road. I knew if you lit out, it’d be in the dark.’