Steven Erikson - Forge of Darkness

After one more long searching study of the trail mouth in which the troop had vanished some time earlier, Cryl turned and strode down from the road to draw closer to the river. The black water held hidden every promise, and even to reach down into it was to find nothing to grasp. He thought of its chill touch, and the numbness waiting in its depths. River god. Your water does not run clear, and so you remain blind to the shore and the lands beyond. But I wonder… do you hunger? For all that you cannot have? All that you cannot defeat? The traditions of current, the habits of flooding, and the mysteries you guard: these are the things the Deniers would worship. And I see no crime in that.

This wedding would be his last responsibility to the Enes family. His days of being a hostage were coming to an end. He felt like a crow lost in a flock of songbirds, beleaguered by gentle songs and shamed by his own croaking call. The Duravs had given themselves to the sword, had made their lives traditions of violence and habits of killing, and though Cryl had yet to end someone else’s life, he knew that should the necessity arise he would not hesitate.

He thought back to Captain Scara Bandaris and his troop, and the miserable, snarling pack of Jheleck children they had been escorting. He had felt comfortable in their presence. Understanding the mind of a soldier was a simple task; even meeting the feral eyes of those savage pups had proved an exercise in recognition, despite the shiver that ran up the back of his neck.

The Enes family now felt alien to him, and his ties to it were stretching, pulling apart, fraying like rotted tendons. He was ready to draw a blade and slash through the last of them. I am done with flighty young women and sad old men. I am done with foul-tempered artists who see too much. Done with giggling maids who flash bared flesh my way at every opportunity, as if I am but a slave to temptation. I leave Osserc to such legendary prowess — if Scara’s tales are of any worth on that account.

Spinnock, where are you now? I would ride at your side, and feel at home.

He might even join Scara’s troop. The Greater House of Durav was dying. It might already be dead, slipping into the shadow of their cousins, the Hend, who were surely on the rise. Cryl had been isolating himself and besides, he had no loyal retainer to bring rumours to him — rumours and opinions none would dare utter to Cryl himself. But he suspected that his station was low, his prospects few. In any case, even the thought of prowling the Citadel, like a cur hunting noble blood, disgusted him.

The river slid past before his eyes. If he surrendered, here and now, and offered up a prayer to the river god, his plea would be modest. Swallow up the turmoil in my skull. Pull it all away and send it down to the dark mud, the furred snags and slimy boulders. Take this all away, I beg you.

A single slash of the sword and love dies.

He heard horses behind him. Riding at a heavy canter. Turning away from the river, his prayer unspoken and no surrender yielded to the bank — his knees free of stains — he made his way back on to the road.

Jaen’s visage was dark, and Cryl immediately saw a pall over the Houseblades behind the Lord. Faces were closed in beneath the rims of helms. Swords rattled loose in their scabbards as the troop reined in. His eyes fixing once more upon Jaen, Cryl was shocked to see a man transformed. The songbird opens wings of black, and in his wake wheel a dozen crows.

I am such a fool. He is a man from the wars — how could I have forgotten this?

Lord Jaen dismounted. Ephalla had bent to set an ear to the tube mouth and was now attempting to snare Jaen’s attention, but the Lord ignored her as he made his way over to Cryl. A gesture invited the young Durav to return once again to the river’s bank.

Upon the muddy fringe, Jaen halted alongside him and stood silent for a time, eyes on the current’s taut twisting, the bulges rising to the surface. Then he drew off his gauntlets. ‘This was a fell intrusion, Cryl Durav.’

‘There has been violence,’ said Cryl.

‘A Denier — well, I was about to say “village”, but I dare say a half-dozen huts scarcely warrant such a name.’ He fell silent again.

‘Lord, the wedding waits. If there are raiders-’

‘This is my land, hostage.’

‘Deniers-’

‘Cryl,’ Jaen’s voice was harsh, grating like a notched blade on rough stone, ‘they could worship a toadstool for all I care. All who dwell on my land are under my protection. This was an attack on House Enes. Raiders? Bandits? I think not.’

‘Sir, I do not understand — who else might have reason to slay Deniers?’

Jaen shot him a gauging look. ‘This is what happens when you hide down a hole dug by your own hands. Surely you’ve kneaded the life out of that broken heart by now? Bury it in that hole, Cryl Durav. The world shakes awake and you sleep on at your peril.’

Cryl was shocked into silence. Never before had Jaen been so abrupt, so cruel. He looked out over the water, his face burning, though with shame or anger he knew not. The Lord’s next words snapped his attention round.

‘The wedding.’ Jaen’s face twisted. ‘A gathering of the highborn. All in one place, all away from their lands. Abyss take me, we’re blind fools.’

‘Sir, you hint of an enemy in our midst. Is it Draconus?’

Jaen blinked. ‘Draconus?’ He shook his head. ‘Cryl, I advance you to the rank of lieutenant in my Houseblades — no, you will have to swallow down your impatience to leave us for a time longer. Take my twelve and ride back to the estate. Muster the entire company under full arms and prepare for an attack.’

‘Sir?’

‘The civil war is upon us — must I strike you about the head to stir your brain to life? You make me doubt your training, not to mention my bold elevation of your rank. Is this all too much for you, Cryl Durav? Be truthful.’

‘No sir. But I am not convinced. Urusander’s Legion would not slaughter innocents — not even lowly Deniers.’

‘There were fears that the Deniers were… enlivened. The river god lives again — that much is certain. Do you truly imagine the Legion cannot justify this war? They do so in the name of the cult of Mother Dark. They raise high banners of faith.’

‘But House Enes has nothing to do with-’

‘I harbour the heretics on my land, Cryl. And I am hardly alone in that — most of the Houses and all the Holds tolerate the Deniers, if only out of pity. But every face has changed. The old masks are discarded.’

‘Sir, we entertained Captain Scara Bandaris and his officers in your very dining hall — and now you would condemn them as murderers. This is beyond countenance.’

‘Bandaris? He’s a man with his own mind, and not one to heel to Hunn Raal. I cannot say for Scara Bandaris, but then, what other troop of armed soldiers has passed down this road of late?’

‘Sir, that enemy could have come from anywhere, even from deeper in the forest. I will accept that there may now be renegade units of the Legion. But Lord Urusander is an honourable man.’

‘He is, if we accept woeful ignorance on his part, Cryl. But if he is not, if he shutters his own eyes to what his lapdog is up to in his name, I will know the truth of him the moment I stand before him and can look him in the eye. For now, renegade units or not, there is malice at loose in the realm.’

Cryl shook his head. ‘Yet you pronounce a conspiracy. Lord, if you are right and the timing of all of this is deliberate, then would not the true target be the wedding itself?’

‘They dare not,’ Jaen said. ‘Not yet — not while they still kill in Mother Dark’s name. The marriage of Andarist? Not even Hunn Raal would risk the personal ire of Anomander and Silchas.’