Forge of Darkness (Kharkanas Trilogy 1) Read Online Free PDF

neutrality that made them so reliable.
    Still, the tensions within the realm had never been as high as they were now, and it seemed that his lord was at the very centre of it, whether Draconus wished it or not.
    Thoughtful, eyes averted, Raskan pulled the boot back on, and then stood. ‘I have horses to select,’ he said.
    ‘We will camp outside the grounds,’ Rint said, straightening from the wall he had been leaning against. He glanced across at his sister, who gave a slight nod, as if replying to an unspoken question.
    ‘Not on the training yard,’ Raskan said. ‘I need to get the boy on a warhorse this afternoon.’
    ‘We’ll take the far side?’ Rint suggested, thick brows lifting.
    ‘Very well, though Arathan’s not at his best with too many eyes on him.’
    Feren looked up sharply. ‘Do you think we would mock the Lord’s son, sergeant?’
    ‘Bastard—’
    ‘If the boy does not stand in his father’s eyes,’ she retorted, ‘that is entirely the Lord’s business.’
    Raskan frowned, thinking through the meaning of the woman’s statement, and then he scowled. ‘Arathan is to be seen as no more than a recruit, as he has always been. If he deserves mockery, why spare him? No, my concern was that nervousness on his part could see him injured, and given that we depart on the morrow, I would prefer not to report to the Lord that the boy is incapable of travelling.’
    Feren’s uncanny eyes held on him for a moment longer, and then she turned away.
    Raskan’s tone hardened as he said, ‘From now on, let it be understood by all of you that I am not obliged to explain myself to you. The boy is my charge, and how I manage that is not open for discussion. Am I understood?’
    Rint smiled. ‘Perfectly, sergeant.’
    ‘My apologies, sergeant,’ added his sister.
    Raskan set off for the stables, his heels scuffing on the cobblestones.
     
    * * *
     
    It was late in the afternoon when the gate sergeant had the boy lead the warhorse by the reins out through the main gate and towards the training ground. The turf was chewed up beyond repair since the troop of lancers had taken to practising wheels-in-formation on a new season of chargers. The field was spring fed and beneath the turf there was clay, making footing treacherous – as it would be in battle. Every year they’d lose two or three beasts and as many soldiers, but many of the Greater Houses and Holds were, according to their lord, undertrained and ill-equipped when it came to mounted combat, and Draconus intended to be in a position to exploit that weakness if it came to civil war.
    Civil war
. The two words no one dared speak out loud, yet all prepared for. It was madness. There was nothing in the whole mess, in Raskan’s eyes, that seemed insurmountable. What was this power that so many seemed determined to grasp? Unless it held a life in its hand, or the threat thereof, it was meaningless. And if it all reduced to that simple, raw truth, then what lust was being fed by all those who so hungered for it? Who, among all these fools buzzing round the courts of the realm, would be so bold and so honest as to say
yes, this is what I want. The power of life and death over as many of you as possible. Do I not deserve it? Have I not earned it? Will I not take it?
    But Raskan was a gate sergeant. He had not the subtle mind of Sagander, or of the lords, ladies and high servants of Kurald Galain. Clearly, he was missing something, and thinking only the thoughts of a fool. There was more to power than he comprehended. All he knew was that his life was indeed in someone else’s hands, and perhaps there was some chance of choice in that, but if so, he had not the wisdom or cleverness to see it.
    The boy was silent, as usual, as he guided the seemingly placid beast on to the soft, churned-up ground.
    ‘Note the high saddle back, Arathan,’ Raskan now said. ‘Higher than you’re used to seeing, but not so high as to snap your lower spine like a twig the