‘Sir, about your son-’
‘He is gone. We argued…’ Urusander shook his head. ‘He is gone.’
‘It may be, sir, that you have underestimated him.’
‘I have made mistakes.’
‘I have a tale to tell you, then, about Osserc. About your son.’
He waved a dismissive hand. ‘Not now. You tell me there is a way through this.’ He faced her. ‘The highborn are not my enemy. I will not be the deliverer of civil war to Kurald Galain.’
‘We can win over the loyal highborn, sir.’
Urusander’s sneer was ugly. ‘By turning on Draconus.’
‘He is no friend of yours.’
‘He is the man Mother Dark loves.’
‘I doubt that, else she would marry him.’
‘If she did the highborn would surely rise and where would that put us? The Legion will defend Mother Dark. If this means defending Draconus too, then so be it. Thus: civil war.’
‘This must be the reason, then,’ said Serap, ‘why she does not marry him.’
‘Probably,’ Urusander growled. He bent down and picked up the back of the shattered chair. Fragments of the arms hung from it. ‘Wedding gift,’ he muttered, ‘these.’
‘They will accept a husband for Mother Dark, sir, but not from among their own. Someone from the outside, who curries no favours, who owes not one among them and would remain immune to their advances.’
‘Ridiculous.’
‘Mother Dark is not blind to expedience, sir. And if I may be so bold, neither are you. We stand in service to Mother Dark. We did so once, and now we shall do so again.’
He let the chair-back fragment fall to the floor, and then eyed her. ‘You say we are not unprepared.’
‘No sir, we are not.’
‘I must speak with Mother Dark, before I do anything else.’
‘Sir, forgive me, but there may not be time. That said, sir, I am at your disposal.’
‘I was going to send you after my son.’
‘I think it best we let him alone. For a time.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The tale I spoke of earlier, sir. Will you hear it now?’
He strode to the doorway. ‘Walk with me, Serap. The air is too close in here and I need the feel of light upon my face.’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘Speak to me, then, of my son.’
The sound of many horses reached Gurren as he was shovelling coal, and upon hearing the mounts drawing up on the street in front of his house, he dropped the shovel, dusted his blackened hands, and made his way towards the side passage.
He was halfway along when he saw the soldiers, at least a dozen, and among them two Legion healers. Coming to the corner he saw that Witch Hale had emerged from the house and stood blocking the front door. Gurren pushed between a pair of soldiers. One of the healers moved close to Hale and the two began talking.
An officer spoke to Gurren. ‘Old Smith, forgive us this intrusion-’
‘I might,’ he said, ‘or I might not.’
‘Lord Urusander sent us, sir-’
‘Don’t “sir” me.’
‘My apologies. I did not mean to imply rank, only respect.’ Gurren’s eyes narrowed. The officer went on. ‘Your daughter has suffered injuries.’
‘Witch Hale’s seen to them.’
‘Lord Urusander holds the utmost regard for Witch Hale,’ the officer replied. ‘But our Legion healers are trained in the mending of bones and the purging of infection. Cutter Aras, who speaks with the witch, apprenticed under Ilgast Rend. They have discovered sorceries-’
‘As you say,’ Gurren interrupted, and then he moved past the officer, walking over to where stood Hale and Aras. Ignoring the Legion cutter, Gurren edged close to Hale. ‘You can tell ’em to all go away, witch.’
The woman shook her head. ‘You stubborn whorespawn, Gurren. You ain’t been listening. This is Denul he’s talking about here. If Ilgast Rend had made it to your wife before her last blessed breath, she’d still be alive. The cutter says he can mend the broken bones and even save her eye. The cutter can give her back her future, Gurren, so wipe that miserable scowl off your face and let ’em inside.’
Gurren stepped back. Numb, he nodded at Aras. The man quickly slipped past, followed by the second Legion healer.
Witch Hale said, ‘And listen to me. Your rotted lungs — might be Aras can-’
‘No. I’m going to my wife.’