Richard K. Morgan - The Steel Remains

I know, I know. Soothing now. You have always beencontent to tend your herds and your family, Ergund. And be driven andharried by that nagging, malcontent bitch of a wife. To raise your voicein council only where necessary and otherwise stay out of such matters. You area man who understands his strengths, the paths the powers have laid out forhim. But dont you see, that is what makes you the perfect intermediary forthose powers.

A hard stare. No, I dont see that at all.

Look. Poltar tried to quell a rising sense of moment,of destiny that must be handled with painstaking care. Suppose one of yourbrothers had come to me with this, Alrag, say, or Gant. Then, I would have toquestion whether this dream were true or

My brothers dont lie!

Right, of course. You misunderstand me. I say true inthe sense of meaningful. Truly sent by the Dwellers. Alrag is anhonorable man, of course. But its no secret hes always wanted the clanmastery for himself. And Gant, like you, questions Egars suitability to lead,but he is not circumspect like you. He speaks openly of these things. The wordin camp is that he is simply jealous.

Ungoverned womens tongues, said Ergund bitterly.

Perhaps. But the fact remains that both Gant and Alragmight well dream such a dream because it speaks to their own personal desires.With you, I know thats not true. You want no more than what is best for theSkaranak. Through such vessels, the Dwellers speak best.

Ergund sat, head down. Perhaps he was dealing with theweight of Poltars words, perhaps simply with the unwelcome idea that a steppewolf really had gotten up on its hind legs and walked out of the darkness tofind him. When he finally spoke, his voice shook slightly.

So what do we do?

For the moment, nothing. Poltar kept his tonecarefully neutral. If this is the Dwellers will, as it seems it is, thenthere will be other signs. There are rites I can perform for guidance, but theytake time to prepare. Have you spoken to anyone else about this?

Only Grela.

Good. It wasntyou could trust Grela about as far asyou could herd campfire smoke. But Poltar knew she had little enough love forEgar. Then lets keep it that way. Well talk again, after the ceremonies. Butfor now, let all three of us be servants of the Sky Home with our silence.

LATER, WHEN THE CHILDREN HADFACED DOWN YNPRPRAL WITH THEIR grinning, freshly greased firelitfaces and their pummeling barrages of half-delighted, half-terrified shoutingand their running about at their parents urging, when theyd chased the icedemon from his flapping, haunting circuits of the great bonfire and back outinto the cold dark he belonged to, when all that was done and the Skaranak hadsettled to their customary drinking and singing and tale telling and staringowlishly into the spit-crackle warmth of the flames...

... then Poltar crouched out in the windswept chillof the steppe, staying later away from the camp than he could remember himselfdoing for a dozen or more years, biting back his shivers and hugging himselfbeneath his fathers wolf-skin cloak, muttering under his steaming breath andwaiting...

Out of the darkness and bending grasses and the windand the cold, she came walking. Bandlight broke through cloud and touched her.

Grinning, tongue lolling, all sharp white puncturingfangs and eyes, balancing back on legs never made for walking upright, wrappedhead-to-foot in wolf the way she had in Ishlin-ichan wrapped herself in whore.

She did not speak. The wind howled on her behalf.

He rose, the chill in his bones and on his faceforgotten, and he went to her like a man to the marriage bed.

CHAPTER15

G ingrenwas installed in the western lounge when Ringil got in, pacing noisily up anddown and barking at someone whose responses were much softer. Theyd left thedoor ajar, which seemed invitation enough to eavesdrop. Ringil hovered for amoment in the corridor outside, listening to his fathers gruff tones and alow, diffident voice that he made as that of his oldest brother, GingrenJunior. A cold memory gusted through him at the sound.

A long corridor...

He was about to slip away when Gingren, showing a quiteremarkable sixth sense, looked up and caught him there.

Ringil! he bellowed. Just the man. Get in here, willyou!

Ringil sighed. He took a couple of steps inside theroom and stood there, barely over the threshold.

Yes, Father.

Gingren and Gingren Junior exchanged a glance. Ringilsbrother was sprawled on a couch by the window, rigged for the street in bootsand court sword, clearly on a visit from his own family home over in Linardin.It was the first time Ringil had seen him in nearly seven years, and changeswerent flattering. Hed put on weight and grown a beard that didnt reallysuit him.

We were just talking about you.

Thats nice.

His father cleared his throat. Yes, well, Gings beensaying, we can probably nip this idiocy in the bud. Kaad doesnt want it anymore than we do, looks like Iscon just went overboard on his own account. Itsnot the right time for the notable families of Trelayne to be squabbling overtrivia like this.

The Kaads are a notable family now, are they?

Gingren Junior chortled, then shut up abruptly as hisfather glared at him.

You know what I mean.

Not really, no. Ringil looked at his elder brother,and Gingren Junior looked away. You come to offer yourself as a second, Ging?

An awkward silence.

I didnt think so.

His brother flushed. Gil, its not like that.

No?

What your brother is trying to say is that there is noneed for seconds, or any other element of this ridiculous charade. Iscon Kaadwill not fight, and neither will you. We will resolve this with intelligence.

Yeah? What if I dont want to?

Gingren made a noise in his throat. Im getting tiredof this attitude, Ringil. Why would you want to fight?

Ringil shrugged. I dont know. Its your family namehe insulted coming here the way he did. Threatening steel on the premises.

Gingren Junior bristled forward in his seat. Its yourfamily, too.

Good. Were agreed then.

No, we are not fucking agreed! Gingren yelled.You cannot just fucking cut your way through everything with thatcursed sword of yours, Ringil. Thats not how we do things here in the city.Not anymore.

Ringil examined his nails. Well, Ive been away.

Yeah. His father clenched a fist at his hip. Maybeyou should have fucking stayed away.

Heyblame your gracious lady wife.

Ging came to his feet. Dont you dare talk aboutMother like that!

Oh, shut up. Ringil closed his eyes briefly inexasperation. Look, Im fucking sick of this. Are you in on this Etterkalthing as well, Ging? You keen to stop me looking for our cousin Sherin, too, incase it puts too many lucrative backstreet deals in the lamplight? Upsets toomany of our scummy new harbor-end friends?

Sherin always was a stupid little tart, said Gingbluntly. We all told her not to marry Bilgrest.

Stupid little tart or not, your honored mother wantsher back.

I told you

Ringil grinned wolfishly. Shame she had to work herway down all three brothers before she found one with the balls to do what sheasked.

Gingren Junior surged forward. Ringil went to meet him.He was still shaken up from the events at the gate, would welcome the chance tohit something.

Ging! Ringil!

At the sound of their fathers voice, both brothersstopped, arms reach apart in the center of the lounge, gazes locked. Ringilwatched his brothers furious face, distantly aware that there was nothing inhis own expression to match, nothing there at all but a faint smile and theblank promise of violence.

Well? he asked gently.

Ging looked away. She never asked me.

I wonder why.

Heyfuck