‘Which is?’
‘Future’s face, sir, is no different from the past’s face. Savagery is fangs upon its own tail, and no escape is possible. We are encircled, with no way out.’
‘Surely,’ Gripp replied, ‘civilization can offer us something more.’
She shook her head. ‘Peace is a drawn breath; war the roar of its release.’
‘I have had a thought,’ said Gripp Galas after a time of crunching footsteps through brittle snow. ‘It may be that even Andarist will not tarry in his isolation.’
She seemed to chew on this, before saying, ‘We seek his brother, sir, and will urge him to join us in returning to the estate. Now you suspect that Andarist will not be there?’
‘Just so … a feeling.’
Pelk was silent again for a dozen or so strides, and then she said, ‘Where, then, are we to guide Lord Anomander?’
‘Into the current, perhaps.’
‘And where will this flood take us?’
Gripp Galas sighed. ‘Kharkanas. And a field of battle.’
It was well past dusk when they neared the road, only to see firelight ahead. Raising a hand, Gripp Galas studied the distant camp.
Pelk grunted softly. ‘Carriage and wagons. Many soldiers.’
‘Houseblades, I think,’ Gripp replied.
They approached. Another dozen strides, and from nearby cover two figures rose before them, levelling spears. Gripp spoke. ‘Just the two of us. Your livery is Dracons – is Captain Ivis with you?’
The Houseblades were both women. They moved further apart. One spoke. ‘You’ve not the look of Deniers. Advance and identify yourselves.’
‘Gripp Galas, and with me is the gate sergeant of House Tulla, Pelk. I am known to your captain—’
‘You are known to me,’ the other woman said, lowering her spear and stepping closer. ‘I fought at Fant Reach.’
Gripp nodded. With Pelk at his side, he moved forward.
Escorted by the Houseblade who had fought at Fant Reach, they continued on into the camp straddling the road. It was clear to Gripp that the entire company of Dracons Houseblades was here, meaning the keep was abandoned, and the supplies in the wagons, along with the carriage, indicated that the household accompanied the troops. The implications left him uneasy.
‘Sir,’ said Pelk, pointing to figures standing near one fire. ‘Our search is at an end.’
Now Gripp Galas saw his old master, in the company of Captai
n Ivis and a huge, broad figure cloaked in furs. The firelight played upon all three in a game of glinting metal and burnished leather. From somewhere near the carriage, a baby was crying.
Lord Anomander’s gaze fixed upon Gripp as he approached.
‘Gripp? Why have you come among us?’
‘Milord, I have come in search of you.’
Frowning, Anomander glanced across at either Ivis or the other man – Gripp could not be sure which – and then the First Son of Darkness stepped out of the firelight. ‘Walk with me, old friend.’ They moved away from the fire, and Pelk stepped forward to greet Captain Ivis.
Anomander continued, ‘I feel the heat upon me already fade. South, then, upon the road. Beyond this civil shell, perhaps we’ll find the familiar stars above us. Sufficient to recall nights long past.’
‘Milord, forgive me—’
‘Yes,’ Anomander cut in, an edge to his tone, ‘forgiveness jostles to the fore, demanding dispensation, as it ever does. You are not with your wife. You are not withdrawn to that sanctuary of love, so high-walled as to be secure from all travails.’