Steven Erikson - Forge of Darkness

Travelling across this world felt much the same, as if by movement alone all could be taken hold of, taken in grasp, and thereby claimed as one’s own.

Musing on this, as he watched Feren building the fire for the night’s meal, Arathan thought he found an understanding of the nature of war; one that might impress even Sagander. When more than one hand reached out; when there was challenge over what was claimed: then would blood spill. There was nothing rational in it. The sand slipped through the fingers, sifted down and away from the hands that would hold it, and it remained long after the claimant had left. Nothing rational. Just desire, raw as a body’s release in the night.

‘Arathan.’

He looked up. ‘Sergeant Raskan.’

‘The light fast fades. Come with me.’

Arathan straightened. ‘Where are we going?’

‘Back up the trail.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it is my wish.’

Bemused, Arathan followed the man. Raskan walked as if in a hurry to leave the camp. He had removed his worn-out boots and now wore the moccasins Draconus had given him — but so precious were they in Raskan’s eyes that he had taken to wearing them only at day’s end. Arathan could not be certain that this was the reason, but he suspected that it was. A gift from his lord. There was value in that. It made Raskan seem younger than he was, but nowhere near so young as Arathan felt when in the sergeant’s company.

The track bore signs of their horses’ passage. Torn grasses, hoofprints stamped deep, a ragged line that did not seem to belong on this open, rolling landscape.

‘Did you drop something on the trail, sergeant? What are we looking for?’

Raskan halted, glanced back at the camp, but all that was visible was the red and orange glow from the fire. The smell of its smoke reached them, thin and devoid of any heat. ‘Your father wanted you to learn the ways of the flesh. To lie with a woman. He judged the Bordersword useful in that, without having to worry about anything… political.’

Arathan looked down at the ground, unable to meet Raskan’s dark eyes. He brought a finger to his mouth to chew on the nail, and tasted the past night’s lovemaking. He quickly pulled it away.

‘But the feelings that can build, between a man and a woman… well, these things can’t be predicted.’ The sergeant shifted about, muttered a moment under his breath, and then continued, ‘You’ll not marry her. You’ll not spend the rest of your life with her. She’s twice your age, with twice your needs.’

Arathan looked off into the darkness, wanting to run there, lose himself. Let Raskan utter his cruel words to empty shadows.

‘Are you understanding me?’

‘There should have been more women with us,’ Arathan said. ‘So you could’ve had one, too.’

‘Like a hole in the ground? There’s more to it than that. There’s more to them than that. It’s what I’m getting at. She ain’t a whore so she don’t think like a whore. What do you think coin pays, when it goes between a man and a woman? It pays for no hard feelings, that’s what it pays for. Your father thought it would serve you. A few nights. Enough to make you familiar with the whole thing. He didn’t want you to take on a woman, half lover, half mother.’

Arathan trembled, wanting to strike the man, wanting to draw his sword and cut him to pieces. ‘You don’t know what he wanted,’ he said.

‘I do. He sent me to you — he knows what we’re talking about right now. And there’s more than that — he’s taken Feren off, too. He’s telling it to her as plain as I am to you. It’s gotten too much, too important-’

‘What’s wrong with that?’

‘She’s taking your seed-’

‘I know.’

‘And when she’s got it, she’ll toss you aside.’

‘She won’t.’

‘She has to. To keep you from claiming that child years from now. To keep you from stealing it once it comes of age, or once you decide it’s time.’

‘I wouldn’t do that. I’ll live with her-’

‘Your father can’t allow that.’

‘Why not? What does it matter to him? I’m a bastard son and he’s throwing me away!’

‘Stop shouting, Arathan. I tried making you see. I tried using words of reason, but you’re not ready for that, not yet old enough for it. Fine. See if you understand this: if you two keep it up, your father will kill her.’

‘Then I will kill him.’

‘Right, you’ll want to, and he doesn’t want that between you. So that’s why it’s got to end here and now. You’re not to be given to a Bordersword woman just because you want it, and that’s not because she ain’t good enough for you or anything. It’s because she only wants one thing from you and once she gets it, she’ll hurt you bad.’

‘Why do you keep saying that? You don’t know anything about her!’

‘I know more than you, Arathan. She’s had a child and lost it — that’s what I know. It ain’t just a guess, either; there’s something about her. And now, how she’s taken you in. It’s not right, none of it.’

‘Is my father killing her right now?’ Arathan stepped past the sergeant.

Raskan grasped him by the arm and pulled him round. ‘No, he isn’t. It’s not what he wants, and I guarantee you, Feren’s not acting as hot-blooded as you are at this moment. She’s listening; she’s hearing what he’s saying. Your nights with her are done with and that will be the proof to my words.’

Arathan pulled free and set off back to the camp.

After a moment, Raskan followed. ‘It’s all right,’ he said to the boy striding ahead, ‘I knew it wouldn’t be easy.’

The moment she saw the sergeant lead Arathan away, Feren knew what was coming. When Draconus gestured, she straightened. To her brother she said, ‘Don’t burn the stew — it’s already sticking.’

He grunted his understanding — of everything.

The Lord led her past the ruins, round to the base of the mound on which the houses had been built.

Feren was not interested in getting an earful. ‘I have done as you asked of me, Lord.’

‘Shed your iron.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Your dagger. Your sword, and the belt.’

She made no move. ‘You would disarm me, Lord Draconus? I would know: to what end?’

An instant later and she was lying on the ground, her bones aching from the impact. She was not sure what had happened — had he struck her? She felt no imprint from a fist or hand. Stunned, too weak to move, she felt him fumbling at her waist, then heard the rasp as he stripped the belt from her. Metal clanged some distance away. The dagger followed.

She fumbled at his hands, trying to push them away, and sought to draw her legs up to protect herself.

He gave an irritated grunt, and then she felt him grasp her left ankle. She was twisted on to her stomach, and then he was dragging her through the grasses. She wanted to cry out — to summon her brother — but then more blood would flow. Crimes would tear through them all — too many to countenance.

If Draconus was intent on raping her, she would permit it. Vengeance could lie in wait a long time.

He dragged her down into a channel lined with boulders, and in the grainy gloom she saw the stacked stones of a squat, wide doorway pass to either side, and all at once the night sky vanished into deeper darkness.

She was still weak, still helpless in his grasp. Was this sorcery? Was this the power from his lover, Mother Dark? To reach so far, to be so easily abused by this man, this Consort — no, it did not make sense.

In the low confines of the barrow, as the floor sloped sharply downward, Feren smelled death. Old, withered, dried out.

He dragged her alongside a stone sarcophagus.