Forge of Darkness (The Kharkanas Trilogy #1)

by Steven Erikson

‘Then you are not a hunter, Sparo? Is that not unusual among the Tiste?’ Shrugging, Sparo said, ‘Less so of late, as most of the beasts are slain and shall never return to our lands. It seems that our days of glorious hunting will soon be at an end.’ ‘Then let us hope,’ rumbled the mason, ‘that the Tiste do not turn to the final prey left them.’ Sparo frowned. ‘And what manner of creature might that be?’ ‘Why, each other, of course.’

Words were no gift, said Haut. They were tangled nets snaring all who ventured into their midst, until an entire people could hang helpless, choking on their own arguments, even as dissolution closed in on all sides.

There is for us but one world, and we have scarred it beyond recognition.

‘Like any dog that’s been whipped, it is never humble for long. Stupidity returns triumphant.’

‘It seems that the ability to fight is important in this world, Faror Hend.’ ‘It has been and always will be, T’riss. We are savages in disguise, and let no pomp or indolence deceive you. At any moment we can bare our teeth.’

‘Time? In abundance it is no more than preparation. In short supply it is every necessary deed. We are hoarders of time’s wealth, yet worshippers of its waste.’

This gives great offence and I am of a mind to draw weapons and have at you.’ ‘Then you are even drunker than I had thought.’ ‘I am, and am also most hateful of truths that rear up ugly of countenance. ’ ‘Most truths have that face, friend.

‘There is no value in not knowing. Roll that thick hide of yours, Resh, and shake free of this nonsense. The value of not knowing? What value?’ ‘You have no answer and so you conclude that none exists. And there in your reaction, O pallid wretch, lies the lesson.’ ‘Riddles now? You know how much I dislike riddles. Out with it, then. Tell me what I lack. What is gained by not knowing?’ ‘Humility, you fool.’

In giving her one thing, he had thought it only right to give her everything, all of him. The foolish were ever too generous – he had heard Sagander say that often enough when stuffing scrolls and manuscripts into a chest that he then locked.

What is given away for free comes back wounded. Value is not always shared and some hands are rougher than others.

‘When one loves all things of the world, when one has that gift of joy, it is not the armour against grief that you might think it to be. Such a person stands balanced on the edge of sadness – there is no other way for it, because to love as he does is to see clearly. Clearly. Andarist smiles in the understanding that sadness stalks him, step by step, moment by moment. If you wound him – a thousand small wounds of disregard or indifference – until he stumbles and weakens, sorrow will find him and cut through to his heart.’

Scara nodded agreement. ‘And under dark skies we shall fall, side by side.’ ‘In companionship alone, I welcome such an end.’ ‘And I, friend. But name yourself my salvation here, if you can, and I’ll know eternal gratitude.’ ‘Careful, Scara. Eternity has teeth.’

A soul made weary longed for sordid ends. But a soul at its end longed for all that was past, and so remained trapped in a present filled with regrets.

Rise said, ‘If the wolves are indeed loose among us, priest, then we surrendered some time ago. Yet you berate my mockery of lessons unheeded. Vigilance is an exhausting necessity, if one would protect what one values. We lose by yielding in increments, here and there, a slip, a nudge. The enemy never tires in this assault and measures true those increments. They win in a thousand small victories, and know long before we do when they stand over our corpses.’

The self-righteous could argue unto their last breath, so certain were they of their stance, and yet with outrage would they view any accusation of being self-serving.

‘Regret, brother, is gristle you can chew for ever. Spit it out.’

There are many fools in the world and I must count myself among them.