Steven Erikson - Forge of Darkness

‘Two for sure and that pained me.’

‘Why?’

‘Wounded is better. I wounded two more and that was good. Haral tried for the same. Remember him, Orfantal. He saw you riding away. He knew he had to buy you time, and the more wounded the enemy had to deal with the better your chances. He took cuts to deliver cuts. Haral was a good man.’

Orfantal nodded. A good man. A hero. ‘Did you see him die, Gripp?’

‘No. I lost consciousness for a time — the crack I rolled into was deeper than I’d thought it would be. By the time I made my way back out the killers were gone.’

‘They set fire to the skins.’

‘Idiots, like I said. But I found Haral. They took it out on his body, if you catch my meaning.’

‘That’s a cowardly thing to do!’

‘No, just undisciplined. But I got their faces burned into my brain. I got them in here, Orfantal, and if I live, they’ll all regret what they did. Now, it’s time to sleep.’

Orfantal settled down, warm inside the blanket. But notions of sleep seemed far away now. Gripp’s story rocked and bounced through his thoughts. Warriors battling to the death, the air filled with desperation. And in the midst of it all, he saw this old man now sleeping beside him, and it seemed impossible to think of him as a warrior. He closed his eyes, and sudden as a flash, sleep took him.

Ribs was an old herding dog, at least twelve years old, with a grey muzzle, oversized ears that flicked and cocked with every quick turn of the narrow, fox-like head. The long fur was a dishevelled blend of grey and black, snarled with burrs and filthy. The beast’s eyes were vaguely crossed.

Sukul stared down at it while Castellan Rancept checked the muting straps of his weapons one more time. Torchlight flickered across the courtyard. The gate guards stood waiting at a small postern door to the left of the gate tower. The air was cold and sharp.

Rancept lumbered up to her and nodded. ‘Ready?’

‘This thing’s all bones.’

‘Tapeworm, milady.’

‘Aren’t there treatments for that?’

‘A few. But skinny dogs live longer.’ With that he turned and made his way towards the gate, Ribs trotting along happily at his side.

Rancept had confiscated the sword she’d selected, along with the spear, leaving her a dagger. None of this was going as planned. The castellan was stubborn and too quick to take charge of things, when she’d wanted to be the one in command. Of course, it was something of a victory that they were going at all. He could have forbidden her outright. She followed him to the postern door and watched as the heavy bars were pulled. As soon as the door was drawn open, Ribs slipped out.

‘Where’s he going?’ Sukul demanded.

‘Scouting the trail ahead, milady.’

She grunted. ‘He’ll probably take us to the nearest squirrel hole.’

‘Ribs knows what we’re about.’

‘How?’

They were outside now and the door was pushed shut behind them. She heard the thump of the bars falling back into place.

At her question, Rancept shrugged. ‘I wander on occasion.’

‘The hills?’

‘If we need to talk to the Deniers. It’s important to Lady Hish that there’s no misunderstandings.’

‘Deniers? Bandits, you mean.’

‘It’s a hard scrape living in these hills, milady. There’s road taxes, if you like.’

‘Extortion.’

‘And Lady Hish’s tithe on travellers? Extortion’s a big word. It’s only extortion when someone else is doing it.’

They were making their way down the rough-hewn steps. The heavy clouds that had come in with dusk were now breaking up, stars showing through here and there. The temperature was fast dropping.

‘Tulla Hold was granted this land by royal charter,’ said Sukul. ‘A tithe is legal and necessary. Robbing people at the roadside isn’t. But now you’re hinting that Lady Hish had an arrangement with those thieves.’

Ribs was waiting at the middle landing, another half-dozen steps down. When Rancept and Sukul reached the dog, the animal suddenly left the descent, instead cutting across the boulders of the scree to the left of the stairs.

‘As I said,’ Sukul noted. ‘Some rock rat’s got Ribs hungry for more worms.’

But Rancept had halted. ‘We’re not taking the road, milady. There’s a track running above it on this side. It’s well hidden and don’t start up for a ways. Follow me.’

‘What kind of arrangement?’ Sukul asked as they clambered over the boulders.

‘Before they started working the mines,’ Rancept said, once more wheezing, ‘they made cheese from the goats they kept. And fine, soft leather, too. But more important, they kept an eye on the traffic. There’s a track some travellers take that avoids Tulla Hold.’

‘Cheating the tithe? That’s pathetic.’

‘Sometimes it’s that. Sometimes it’s just people who don’t want to be seen.’

‘What kind of people?’

Beyond the boulders, Ribs vanished between two sheer outcrops.

‘We’re at the trail now,’ Rancept said. ‘Time for the talking to end. Night carries voices, and the hills can channel sounds a long way. If you need my attention, just tap my shoulder. Otherwise, we move quietly now.’

‘This is ridiculous — I can still see the keep’s light from here.’

‘If we’re going to argue, milady, we can turn round right now. But I’ll tell you this. Look at Ribs.’

The animal had reappeared and was seated just ahead. ‘What about him?’ Sukul asked.

‘Strangers in the hills, milady. That’s what Ribs is telling us.’

To her eyes the animal looked no different from any other time she’d seen it. There was no way to tell where it was looking with those crossed eyes. But as Rancept moved forward, the dog wheeled and raced up the trail again. Tugging tight her slightly oversized gloves, she followed.

For all his size, the castellan moved quietly, not once glancing back to see if she kept pace. This latter detail irritated her and she wanted to hiss at him, since she was getting tired and the trail seemed to go on for ever. Her boots pinched her feet; her nose was running and she’d begun using the back of one hand to wipe at it, and that was staining the fine leather of the glove. Even more annoying, there was nothing bold in this venture. She’d wanted a dozen well-armoured and grim-faced riders at her back, each one ready to give up his or her life at her word. She’d wanted the thunder of horse hoofs and the clatter of iron and wooden scabbards.

Beneath all of this was the conviction that an innocent little boy was lying dead somewhere ahead of them, killed for no good reason but the silence his death would ensure. She’d taken enough hints from Hish Tulla that there was trouble in the realm. The whole thing seemed ridiculous. Peace had been won, but she knew that the hunger for fighting was not yet done with. It was never done with, and there were people in the world who wanted nothing else, since lawlessness was their nature.

Sukul did not have to look far to see such people; she counted her sisters among them. They delighted in all manner of lusts, and the wilder their environs the more base their desires. If she was honest with herself, there was something of that in her as well. But the reality — including this cold, night-shrouded ordeal — was proving more crass than what the imagination offered in all those idle moments when boredom was a shout inside the skull.

She’d made promises to that boy, to that lost bastard of the Korlas line. They seemed both empty and wasted, and the rush of secrecy she’d felt, looking upon his wide, innocent eyes, was now a source of guilt. She’d played at being grown-up, but it had been a childish game none the less. What if they’d tortured Orfantal? Was Hish Tulla now in danger?