David Gemmell - The Swords of Night and Day

‘To study our defences, I should imagine. He is a skilled strategist.’

‘And Unwallis? What does he require?’

‘He will seek to persuade me to renew my oath of allegiance to the Eternal. This will be a difficult request to deal with. To the north of us is one of two rebel armies, to the south the forces of the Eternal.

If I swear allegiance to her, then the rebels will seek to kill me or conquer my lands. If I refuse, then the Eternal will send an army to reoccupy Petar.’

‘The choice you face is not enviable,’ said Skilgannon. ‘What will you do?’

‘I shall play it like a maiden being wooed. I will hedge and I will prevaricate, and do my best to keep both suitors at arm’s length. And now it is time to prepare for dinner. Do you wish to sit beside the politician or the madman?’

‘The madman. I do not like politicians.’

The rooms assigned to Unwallis were in the southern wing of the palace, but there was a balcony terrace which overlooked the western mountains. An hour before the meal he stood upon it, watching the sun set behind the snowcapped peaks. It was his favourite time of the day, and he liked to spend it alone.

He found himself missing his garden back in Diranan. During the last few years Unwallis had discovered great joy in tending his flower beds. The cycle of life, death and rebirth in his garden fascinated him. Below, upon the western wall of the palace gardens he saw a climbing plant, with huge blooms of lilac and gold, clinging to a trellis. It was called Ustarte’s Star, and Unwallis had never had any success with it in his own garden. He would plant it in good earth. It would grow voraciously for half a season, then inexplicably die back. The topmost leaves would turn black, and then nothing would save it.

Unwallis found it most galling, and decided he would ask Landis Kan for advice over dinner.

Unwallis sighed. What a strange world we live in, he thought. I am to dine with a man I shall — in all likelihood — order to be murdered. Before that, however, I will ask his help with a gardening problem.

The thought weighed heavily upon him. He had always — despite his best efforts — liked Landis Kan.

The man was a legend in Diranan when Unwallis was a student, an enduring part of modern history. He had served the Eternal for centuries. Indeed, no-one knew how old he was, nor how many lives the Eternal had granted him. His powers were enormous, and yet, despite them, he was easy-going and cordial with the young men who came to serve with him. He had been most helpful to Unwallis in those early years. Seeing him with grey hair and the lines of age upon his face had seemed almost unnatural.

Unwallis sighed and found himself hoping that Landis would agree to the Eternal’s demands.

Will it matter if he does?

The thought was immediately chilling and Unwallis tried to push it from his mind. The Eternal had told him to convey her wishes to Landis, but had then told him he would be accompanied by Decado. This had surprised him. Why send a deranged killer on a mission of diplomacy?

The sun was going down. Unwallis heard the door of the apartment open and turned to see a young woman bearing a lantern and a taper. She curtseyed to him, and moved round the apartment lighting lanterns.

Unwallis poured himself a goblet of wine, adding water to it. He did not want his senses impaired during the coming meal. There would only be four people present, he and Decado, plus Landis Kan and his nephew Callan. Unwallis wondered why Gamal would not be joining them. His understanding was that the old man was now living with Landis.

The girl curtseyed again and left the room.

It would be an uncomfortable meal. Decado, when in pain, was not an easy man to spend time with.

His manner became harsh and confrontational, his conversation limited to weapons and warfare. Unwallis found himself wondering what the Eternal saw in him as a lover. He recalled his time with her, and found once more the ache of regret filling him. It was not merely the joining of bodies, the passion and the extremes of pleasure, that haunted him. More it was the quiet times afterwards, as they lay upon the satin sheets and talked. Those moments lay in his memory like hidden treasures. He had been in love.

Massively, completely, irrevocably in love. Then she had discarded him. He had felt like a man deprived of food and water, his soul starved. She had sent him across the sea, to serve her in the eastern empire.

He had laboured long and diligently there, hoping that one day she would call him back again to that satin-covered bed. She never had.

Unwallis imagined the Eternal lying in the moonlight and talking and laughing with Decado. Free of pain he was a witty man, and he was young and handsome. The Eternal’s lovers were always young and handsome. It always surprised Unwallis when he thought of her laughing. The sound was rich and musical. It was a sound of joy, which lifted the spirits of all who heard it. He found it hard to equate this wondrous woman with the ruthless queen who could casually order the deaths of thousands. Unwallis was forced to admit that he did not understand the Eternal at all. She could be harsh beyond reason, and cruel beyond measure. She could also display great affection and loyalty.

A sense of melancholy settled on him, so great that his spirits were raised when Decado appeared in the doorway. The young swordsman’s long dark hair was pulled back from his head into a pony tail, and he was wearing a tight-fitting black shirt and leggings, with calf-length riding boots of black leather. The only adornment he sported was a wide belt, edged with silver.

‘Let’s get this over with,’ said Decado.

‘How is your headache?’

‘Bearable.’

Unwallis looked into his eyes. The pupils were distended, and the statesman knew Decado had imbibed more of Memnon’s narcotic to relieve his pain. Donning a cloak of cream-coloured wool, edged with silver, Unwallis walked out of the room.

A servant was waiting at the far end of the corridor. She led them up a flight of stairs and into a long room, lit by glowing lanterns. A table had been set near a huge window overlooking the mountains.

Landis Kan was standing by the window, talking to a tall young man. Both men turned as the guests arrived.

‘Welcome once again, dear Unwallis. And to you also, Decado. It is good to have guests from Outside. I fear we are so cut off here that I long for news from the city.’ Unwallis looked at the young man with Landis. His eyes were an astonishing blue. ‘My nephew, Callan,’ said Landis. ‘He is visiting from Usa.’

‘A troubled land,’ said Unwallis, shaking the man’s hand. ‘You are a soldier?’

‘A farmer,’ said Landis swiftly.

‘You have the look of a soldier,’ said Unwallis.

‘Looks can be deceiving,’ put in Decado. ‘He looks to me like a farmer.’

Callan laughed aloud, the sound full of genuine good humour, which was a relief to Unwallis, but seemed to irritate Decado further. ‘What is so amusing?’ asked the young swordsman.

‘The choice of words. If looks can be deceiving, and yet I look like a farmer, does this suggest I am or am not a farmer?’ Before Decado could consider a response the young man pointed to the black scabbard hanging from Decado’s back. ‘Is it the custom here to come armed for dinner?’ he asked.

‘They are always with me,’ said Decado, staring hard at the man.

‘Well, put your fears to rest. There are no enemies here.’

‘Fears? I have no fears.’

‘Might I see one of the swords?’ Callan enquired. Unwallis saw Decado hesitate. There was sweat on his face, and the statesman guessed the exchange was increasing the intensity of his head pain. Unwallis thought he would refuse the request. Instead he pressed a jewelled stud on the hilt of the lower sword and drew it, passing it to Callan. Landis Kan’s nephew hefted the blade, then stepped back and swung it expertly several times. Then he flicked his wrist, and released his grip on the hilt. As the weapon rose from his hand he slapped the hilt. The sword spun viciously, the razor sharp blade slicing through the air.