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‘Lord, where is to be found the Hust Legion?’
Henarald blinked, as if caught off guard by Anomander’s question. ‘Afield to the south, First Son.’
‘When last did you have word of them?’
‘The commander departed from Hust Forge some days back.’ He turned to Galar Baras. ‘Were you not present at her leaving, Galar?’
The young man looked suddenly uncomfortable, but he nodded. ‘I was, Lord. Toras Redone rides to the legion, but not in haste. At that time, there was nothing untoward upon the horizon.’
Anomander’s gaze settled on Galar Baras for a moment, and then he swung round and resumed walking.
Kellaras moved to catch up, hearing, behind them, Henarald address Galar Baras. ‘When we are done here, lieutenant, you will ride in haste to the Hust Legion.’
‘Yes sir. And what news shall I bring them?’
‘News? Has life in the city dulled you so, sir? Heed well my words if you choose to heed not the First Son’s. Civil war is upon us, lieutenant. Mother Dark calls upon the Hust Legion. Tell this to Commander Toras Redone: the scales are awry and Urusander steps blind, but each step remains one on the march. The weight of the Hust should give him pause, and perchance a moment of reflection and reconsideration.’
‘None of this is Urusander,’ pronounced Anomander without turning.
Henarald snorted. ‘Forgive me, First Son, but only the man who knows well his warhorse gives it freedom of rein.’
‘If Hunn Raal is a warhorse, Lord Hust,’ said Anomander, ‘then pray Urusander’s boots are firm on the stirrups, for indeed does he ride blind.’
They reached the doors and once more Anomander paused. ‘Lord Hust, it is as my brother Silchas said. Such is her power that you shall not leave the chamber the man who entered it.’
Henarald’s shrug did little to convey calm. ‘My hide is too long whetted on iron and age, sir, to have me regret new stains.’
lsquo;Lord, where is to be found the Hust Legion?’
Henarald blinked, as if caught off guard by Anomander’s question. ‘Afield to the south, First Son.’
‘When last did you have word of them?’
‘The commander departed from Hust Forge some days back.’ He turned to Galar Baras. ‘Were you not present at her leaving, Galar?’
The young man looked suddenly uncomfortable, but he nodded. ‘I was, Lord. Toras Redone rides to the legion, but not in haste. At that time, there was nothing untoward upon the horizon.’
Anomander’s gaze settled on Galar Baras for a moment, and then he swung round and resumed walking.
Kellaras moved to catch up, hearing, behind them, Henarald address Galar Baras. ‘When we are done here, lieutenant, you will ride in haste to the Hust Legion.’
‘Yes sir. And what news shall I bring them?’
‘News? Has life in the city dulled you so, sir? Heed well my words if you choose to heed not the First Son’s. Civil war is upon us, lieutenant. Mother Dark calls upon the Hust Legion. Tell this to Commander Toras Redone: the scales are awry and Urusander steps blind, but each step remains one on the march. The weight of the Hust should give him pause, and perchance a moment of reflection and reconsideration.’
‘None of this is Urusander,’ pronounced Anomander without turning.
Henarald snorted. ‘Forgive me, First Son, but only the man who knows well his warhorse gives it freedom of rein.’
‘If Hunn Raal is a warhorse, Lord Hust,’ said Anomander, ‘then pray Urusander’s boots are firm on the stirrups, for indeed does he ride blind.’
They reached the doors and once more Anomander paused. ‘Lord Hust, it is as my brother Silchas said. Such is her power that you shall not leave the chamber the man who entered it.’
Henarald’s shrug did little to convey calm. ‘My hide is too long whetted on iron and age, sir, to have me regret new stains.’
‘I spoke nothing of stains, sir.’
The old man lifted his head sharply, as if affronted. ‘Shall I fear faith upon her threshold, First Son?’
‘This place above any other place, Lord Hust.’
‘Would I had never accepted,’ Henarald said in a frustrated rasp, his eyes glaring as they fell to the sword in his arms. ‘See how I hold this as if it were a child? Even unthinking, I betray a father’s terror, and you dare question my faith? I am unmanned too late to challenge this birth, and so must take every next step like a soul condemned. Galar Baras, will you bear the weight of an old man on this threshold?’
‘No sir, but I will bear the strength of my lord’s will and not easily yield.’
Henarald sighed. ‘As the future carries the past, so the son carries the father. Will it take a sword such as this one to sever that burden, I wonder?’
Anomander seemed shaken by these words, but he said nothing and turned, reaching for the latch.
When Silchas Ruin, coming upon the captain from behind, set a hand upon Scara Bandaris’s back, the man flinched and stepped quickly to one side. Seeing who stood behind him, he relaxed and smiled. ‘Ah, friend, forgive me. These pups have been snarling and squabbling all morning, and my nerves are fraught. Even worse, I must teach myself anew the cadence of the court, for I have been among soldiers for too long and have the bluntness of their manner upon me, like the dust of travel. Thus, you find me out of sorts.’
Silchas looked down into the courtyard. ‘I see well the cause of your skittishness, Scara, and now fear that fleas ride you and so regret I ever came close.’
Scara laughed. ‘Not as yet, Silchas, not as yet. But you see why I long to be quit of these rank charges. To make matters worse, none here in the Citadel will take the leashes.’
‘And so you importune my attendance on the matter. I understand your desperation.’
‘By any gauge, Silchas, my desperation cannot be measured in full. Tell me, did we ever expect the Jheleck to accede to our demand with these hostages?’
‘Some smug negotiator thought it a sharp retort, no doubt,’ Silchas mused, eyeing the score of filthy, snarling youths in the yard. ‘I would wager he rides an overburdened wagon into the hills even as we speak.’
Scara grunted, and then said, ‘Such betrayal warrants tracking hounds, I say, and let him beg on his knees the presumption of his suggestions, as if I will show mercy.’
‘The scribes will see the end to us sooner or later, Scara, with numbers in column and fates aligned in ordered lists, and on that day it shall be you and I on the run, with howls on our heels and nowhere civil in which to hide our sorry selves.’
