David Gemmell - The Swords of Night and Day

Alahir struggled to regain his feet. Someone reached down and hauled him up. It was Stavut. The merchant was not wearing armour, but had a sabre in his hand. There was no time to speak. Alahir pushed forward, hacking and stabbing.

Instinctively he knew it was to no avail. They had but moments left before the line broke and the beasts swept through.

Then he saw the giant form of Shakul appear behind the Jiamad lines. An enemy beast was hurled from its feet, a second lifted high and pitched from the precipice. Others of Stavut’s pack appeared.

They tore into the enemy ranks, forcing back the Jiamads.

‘Now!’ yelled Druss. ‘Attack!’

It was a pivotal moment. Alahir knew it, and Druss had voiced it. Raising the golden sword Alahir bellowed: ‘On, Drenai! Victory!’ The surviving defenders surged out of the entrance. Ahead Alahir saw the mighty Shakul, his body pierced by two huge spears, still fighting. A sword smashed into his side, bringing a roar of pain. Druss, coming alongside, killed the wielder. Stavut ran past Alahir, heading for the stricken Shakul. Alahir tried to call him back, but the merchant was not listening.

‘Shak!’ he cried out. ‘Shak! I am with you!’

As he tried to reach the beast a Jiamad thrust a spear into his back. Stavut staggered, and fell. Shakul leapt upon the spear wielder, flinging him aside. Another spear plunged into him. This time even Shakul’s mighty strength gave out. Falling first to his knees he pitched sideways to the ground. Alahir and several Legend Riders charged into the beasts around him.

And the remaining Jiamads broke and ran.

Members of Stavut’s pack gave chase. Alahir swung round to see Stavut crawling to Shakul’s side, leaving a trail of blood as he moved. Alahir ran to him. Stavut reached Shakul and struggled to his knees.

The great beast rolled onto his back, two spears embedded in his chest.

‘Oh, Shakul,’ said Stavut, ‘why did you come back? I wanted you to run free.’

Blood was flowing fast from the death wound in Stavut’s back and the exit wound in his belly. As his strength failed, he sagged across Shakul’s chest. Alahir was joined by Gilden and some of the other riders, and they stood staring down at the dead man and the dying Jiamad. Shakul’s arm came up around Stavut. ‘Run free. . now,’ he said.

Alahir knelt beside Shakul. ‘I thank you, my friend,’ he said. ‘We all thank you.’

Gilden came alongside. Reaching out he touched his finger to one of the wounds in Shakul’s chest.

Then he lifted it to his mouth. ‘Carry with us,’ said Gilden. Shakul’s golden eyes stared at the man. Then they closed. Others of Stavut’s pack gathered round. One by one they each took blood from the wound.

Alahir rose.

‘Goodbye, tinker,’ he said. ‘I shall miss you.’ A stoop-shouldered Jiamad approached Alahir. It spoke, and Alahir struggled to understand it. Slowly the beast repeated the words.

‘Go now. Hunt deer.’

With that he led the fifteen surviving members of the pack away. As they left Alahir saw Druss waving to him from the narrow point in the road. Alahir walked down to him. The axeman pointed down to the Guards’ camp. Their Jiamads had fled, and there was no indication of another attack.

‘I think we won, laddie,’ said Druss.

‘Aye, we did, but what a cost. I feel a great sense of shame, Druss. All our lives we have been taught Drenai legends. Nobility, bravery, truth. Part of that truth was that Jiamads were soulless beasts, devils in flesh. Yet they came back and died for us.’ He looked at Druss and asked: ‘Were there animals in the Void?’

‘No. Just human souls.’

‘Then they have nowhere to go when they die.’

‘I didn’t say that,’ Druss told him. ‘I don’t know the answer, but my heart tells me that there is a place for them. A place for all living things. Nothing truly dies, Alahir.’

Gilden called out from above them, and pointed down into the valley below.

Alahir and Druss walked to the edge.

Where the crater had been now stood a mountain. Shining bright upon its peak was a dazzling shield of gold.

Jianna walked out of the room, leaving Skilgannon dying on the floor. The stabbing of him had been instinctive rather than planned, and as she walked on the full horror of it seeped through the centuries of emotional barriers she had constructed in her mind.

She felt a tightness in her stomach, and a lump in her throat. Tears welled. In truth Jianna had known she would have to kill him. Olek would never have compromised. This realization clashed with her promise to bring him back. Another twenty years in the Void, while a new Reborn was cast from his bones, would do nothing to change who he was, what he believed in.

You just killed the man you loved.

The thought was sickening. One by one the barriers crumbled. The first to fall was Justification. She had always told herself that she never set out to become the Eternal. Her first actions had been to save the temple. Everything after that had become self-perpetuating. She saw now that that was untrue. She had gloried in her new life, building armies and conquering cities. She had adored the near worship she inspired in her followers. In the beginning she had convinced herself she would build a new world, perfect and peaceful, and she would one day bring Skilgannon back to rule by her side. They would be happy.

They would have the life she always believed she had dreamt of.

Another lie.

Jianna stood, head bowed, at the foot of a high circular stairwell.

Back in Naashan, in those early days, when she first met Olek, she had also been full of dreams. She remembered talking to him in the gardens of his house, about the need for hospitals and schools, the provision of clean water to the centre of the city, where disease was rife. About building a better Naashan, where the people would be happy and content, secure in the knowledge that their leader cared for them. The naive dreams of the young, she had told herself later. Dreams that were crushed by the harsh reality of betrayal, and the unbridled ambition of those who sought to usurp her. A ruler needed to be cool and detached, ever alert to treachery. The people needed to respect that ruler, and respect was bought by fear.

Now, in the aftermath of the killing, she knew that this was also largely a lie.

Alahir and his men had ridden into peril for Skilgannon, not because they feared him, but because they were inspired by him. The beasts had followed Stavut not because he would kill them if they didn’t, but because he loved them.

Jianna let out a long breath and wiped away the tears. The crowning achievement of her five hundred years of power was the murder of the one man she had truly loved.

Her thoughts sombre, she climbed the stairwell, the rusting metal steps groaning under her tread. At the top she came to another doorway. This was unlocked, and she stepped into the Crystal Shrine.

The room was vast and circular, the walls decorated with bright metal, full of flickering lights, displaying arcane symbols in reds and greens. At the centre, on a raised dais circled with a silver railing, was a golden column, rising up through the vaulted ceiling. As she walked in Jianna became aware of a tingling in her skin, and a faint vibration from the floor beneath her. Drawn to the dais, she climbed the ten steps that led to it and gazed at the base of the golden column. Brightly coloured swirls of smoke writhed within a three foot high transparent tube. At the centre of the tube a massive white crystal was slowly spinning, light reflecting from its facets and casting rainbow colours across the high, vaulted ceiling.

The Eagle’s Egg! The source of all magic. It was beautiful, and as she came close to it Jianna felt all weariness leave her body.