David Gemmell - The Last Guardian

'The feeling is mutual,' said Nu. They rode on through a wide valley, leaving the wagons far behind. The sun was obscured by clouds and the threat of rain hung in the air.

Towards noon Shannow spotted a rider approaching them; he reined in and took out his long glass. At first he thought the man was elderly, for his hair was bone-white, but as he focused the glass he saw that he was mistaken. The rider was young and wearing a black and silver tunic with dark leggings and high riding boots. He passed the glass to Nu and the shipbuilder cursed.

'It is one of Pendarric's killers. They are the Hunters. He is searching for me, Shannow — best you ride away.'

'It is only one man, Nu.'

'Maybe so — but such men you would not want to meet. They are reared in War-pens; they fight and kill each other from their earliest days; they are bred for strength, speed and stamina, and there are no fighting men to equal them. Believe me, Shannow, ride away — while there is still time! Please — I do not want to see you come to any harm.'

'We share that wish, my friend,' Shannow agreed, watching as the rider moved ever closer.

Rhodaeul smiled as he saw the men waiting for him. Truly his rewards would be great, for the second rider was the traitor Nu-Khasisatra — a prophet of the One God, and a man opposed to violence. He could not decide whether to kill him here, or take him back to face Pendarric's justice.

He halted some twenty paces from the "pair. 'Jon Shannow, the King of Kings has spoken the words of your death. I am Rhodaeul the Hunter. Do you have anything to say before you die?'

'No,' said Shannow, palming his gun and blasting Rhodaeul from the saddle. The Atlantean hit the ground hard, a hammering pain in his chest; he tried to draw his pistol, but Shannow rode forward and fired a second shot that smashed his skull.

'Sweet Chronos!' exclaimed Nu. 'I cannot believe it.'

'Neither could he,' said Shannow. 'Let us move on.'

'But… what of the body?'

'That's why God made vultures,' answered Shannow, touching heels to his stallion.

Two miles away, Magellas opened his eyes and gave a deep, throaty chuckle. 'Oh joy,' he said.

Lindian returned his Stone to its pouch and shook his head but Magellas laughed again, the sound rich with humour. 'What I would have paid to see that scene! The satrapy of Akkady? That and ten more like it. Did you see the look on RhodaeuPs face as Shannow fired? Was it not wonderful? Shannow, I am in your debt. I will light candles to your soul for a thousand years.

Oh, Belial, how I wish I could see it again.'

'Your grief for your brother is deeply touching,' said Lindian, 'but I still do not understand what happened.'

'That is because your eyes were on Rhodaeul. For myself I cannot — could not — stomach the man.

Therefore I watched Shannow. He drew his gun as he spoke; there was no sharp movement, and the weapon was almost clear before Rhodaeul realised he was in peril.'

'But surely Rhodaeul must have known Shannow would attempt to fight?'

'Of course — but that is where timing is all-important. He asked Shannow a question and was waiting for a response. How many times have we both done exactly that? It has never mattered, because we dealt with sword and knife. But these guns… they are sudden. Rhodaeul expected conversation, fear, nervousness… even pleading or flight. Shannow merely killed him.'

Lindian nodded. 'You guessed, didn't you? You expected this?'

'I did — but the outcome was beyond my greatest hopes. It is the guns, Lindian. We can master their uses with ease, but not the great changes they create in man-to-man battles. It's what I tried to say earlier. With the sword, the lance or the mace, battle becomes ritualised. Opponents must circle one another, seeking openings, risking their lives. It all takes time. But the gun? A fraction of a heartbeat separates man from corpse. Shannow understands this, he has lived all his life with such weapons. There is no need for ritual or concepts of honour. An enemy is there to be shot down and forgotten. He will light no candles for Rhodaeul.'

'Then how do we tackle him? We cannot kill him from ambush; we must face him.'

'He will show us his weakness, Lindian. Tonight we will enter his dreams and they will give us the key.'

Shannow and Nu made their camp in the lee of a hill. The Jerusalem Man said little and moved away to sit alone, staring at the city they would visit in the morning. His mood was dark and sombre. A long time ago he had told Donna Taybard, 'Each death lessens me, Lady.' But was it still true? The execution of Webber had been a first: an unarmed man made to stand, humiliated, in front of his peers and then gunned down. The other man in the crowd had done nothing but speak — for that he too was dead.

''What separates you from the brigand now, Shannon??

There was no answer. He was older, slower, more reliant on skill than speed. And worse, he had cocooned himself within his reputation, allowing the legend to awe lesser men into bending to his will.

'For what?' he whispered. 'Is the world a better place? Is Jerusalem any closer?'

He thought back to the white-haired young man who had accosted them on the trail. Was that a duel; he asked himself? 'No, it was a murder.' The young warrior had no chance. You could have waited and met him on equal terms. Why? Honour? Fair play?

Why not? You used to believe in such virtues. He rubbed at his tired eyes as Nu strode over to him.

'Do you wish to remain alone?'

'I will be alone whether you join me or not. But sit anyway.'

'Talk of it, Shannow. Let the words bring out the bile inside.'

'There is no bile. I was thinking about the Hunter.'

'Yes. He was Rhodaeul, and he had killed many. I was surprised at the ease with which you sent him to the grave.'

'Yes, it was easy. They are all easy.'

'Yet it troubles you?'

'Sometimes, in the dark of the night. I killed a child once, ended his life by mistake. He troubles me, he haunts my dreams. I have killed so many men, and it is all becoming so easy.'

'God did not make Man to be alone, Shannow. Think on it.'

'You think I have not? I tried once to settle down, but I knew before I lost her that it was not for me. I am not a man made for happiness. I carry such guilt over that child, Nu.'

'Not guilt, my friend. Grief. There is a difference. Yours is a skill I would not wish to acquire -

yet it is necessary. In my own time there were wild tribes bordering our lands; they would raid and kill. Pendarric destroyed them, and we all slept easier in our beds. As long as Man remains the hunter-killer, there will be a need for warriors like you. I can wear my white robes and pray in peace. The evil can dress in black. But there must always be the grey riders to patrol the border between good and evil.'

'We are playing with words, Nu. Grey is only a lighter shade of black.'

'Or a darker shade of white? You are not evil, Shannow; you are plagued by self-doubt. That is what saves you. That is where the Parson is in peril. He has no doubts — and therefore is capable of enormous evil. It was the downfall of Pendarric. No, you are safe, Grey Rider.'

'Safe?' repeated Shannow. 'Who is safe?'

'He who walks with God. How long since you sought His word in your Bible?'

'Too long.'

Nu stretched out his hand, holding Shannow's leather-covered Bible. 'No man of God should be lonely.'

Shannow took the book. 'Maybe I should have devoted myself to a life of prayer.'

'You have followed the path set for you. God uses both warrior and priest and it is not for us to judge His purposes. Read a little, then sleep. I will pray for you, Shannow.'

'Pray for the dead, my friend.'

As the horse reared and died, Shannon? leapt from the saddle. He hit the ground hard, rolled and came to his knees with guns in hand. The roaring of the pistols and the screams of his attackers faded. A sound from behind! Shannon? swivelled and fired. The boy was hurled from his feet. A small dog began yapping; it ran to the boy, licking his dead face.