David Gemmell - The Swords of Night and Day

Unwallis felt his heart sink. ‘Do you not know her at all, Landis? Have you not seen how many men she has killed? Many of those loved her in their own way. I am telling you that your life is in danger.’

‘A little more time, Unwallis. Just ask that from me. You will see. She will grant it. Now would you like to see those Skandian coins? They are remarkable.’

It was late but Skilgannon was not sleeping. Standing on the balcony he breathed in the sweet night air and gazed at the distant mountains, bathed in moonlight. Garianne had been pregnant, and he had never known. This was hard to bear. He had never loved the tormented warrior woman, but he had come to care for her. Why had she not told him? Why had Ustarte not told him? Did a man not have the right to know that he had a son?

Your son died a thousand years ago.

The thought was painful.

Decado’s face flickered into his mind. Did my son look like you, he wondered? He had hoped to like Decado, to find something in the man that reminded him of himself. There was nothing, and within moments he had found himself detesting the arrogant young swordsman. In turn the man had obviously detested him. Ah well, he thought with a smile, perhaps we are not so different then.

He heard the apartment door open and turned. The elderly head servant, Ensinar, entered the room.

Seeing Skilgannon he bowed, the swept-over hair on his bald head flapping as he did so. ‘The lord asked me to see if you were awake, sir,’ said Ensinar. ‘He hopes you will join him in the library.’

Skilgannon nodded and followed the man through the night-deserted palace, and down to Landis Kan’s study. In the lantern light Landis seemed drawn and pale. As Ensinar departed he bade Skilgannon sit down. ‘It did not go well,’ he said, with a sigh.

‘I am sorry that I baited your guest,’ said Skilgannon. ‘It was discourteous.’

Landis Kan waved his hand. ‘That is not what I meant. I have been very foolish. Unwallis is a sharp and intelligent man. In my arrogance I thought to deceive him, and the Eternal. I have not succeeded. I think there is still time. Yes, I am sure there is.’

‘You wanted to see me.’

‘Yes. Forgive me. Too many thoughts buzzing in my brain like hungry bees.’ Landis rose and moved to the far wall, easing back a panel on the wall. From within it he hauled out a black-handled, double-headed axe. It was heavy and he struggled to lift it. ‘You know this weapon?’

‘Yes,’ said Skilgannon, rising and taking it from Landis’s hands. ‘It is Snaga, the axe of Druss the Legend.’

‘ The blades of no return ,’ said Landis. ‘That is what the runes say, that are engraved upon the handle. It would take a mighty man to wield this in battle.’

‘He was a mighty man. I take it this was in my tomb.’

‘Yes. How did you come by it?’

‘It was a gift from a great warlord. His men had slain Druss at the battle of Dros Delnoch. I went to him and asked for the axe.’

‘And some bones, which you placed in the locket round your neck.’

‘Indeed so. Does Harad know he is a Reborn?’

‘No. But now that we know who he was I could ask Gamal to seek his soul in the Void.’

‘And I have already told you he would not find him,’ said Skilgannon. ‘Druss was a fine man. A hero.

He would not be wandering that accursed place. He would have passed beyond it. You have meddled enough, Landis. Let it be.’

Landis slumped back to his chair. ‘There is more truth in that than you know. When you go to Harad tomorrow, will you take him the axe as a gift from me?’

Skilgannon smiled. ‘Since it was in my tomb I would say it should be a gift from me. But, yes, I will give it to Harad. I think Druss would like that. I will walk the mountains with Harad, Landis. Then I will leave this land. I have no interest in your struggles with the Eternal.’

‘I understand. Truly, I do. For all my age and wisdom I have been such a fool, Skilgannon. Ustarte was not a goddess, nor even blessed by the Source. She was a talented Jiamad, created by someone probably just like me.’ He gave a grim laugh and shook his head. ‘I thought bringing you back would balance the scales in my favour. I thought that if I fulfilled Ustarte’s prophecy the Source would forgive me. ‘

‘What is there to forgive?’ asked Skilgannon.

‘The world’s torment, my boy.’ Landis Kan sighed. ‘I brought the Eternal to life. I discovered how to manipulate the machines which create the Jiamads. All the unnatural horror on the face of this blessed earth is down to me.’

‘There were Joinings on this world before you were born, Landis. Nadir shamans could create them.

You take too much upon yourself.’

‘A few, perhaps. Enough to give rise to legends of monsters. Not armies of them, Skilgannon. Gamal told me of Perapolis, and the few thousand whose souls weigh heavily upon your own. I have hundreds of thousands upon mine. For your sins you walked the Void for a millennium. What of me? I will never pass the gateway you spoke of. And I will not be able to fight the demons there.’

‘Probably not,’ agreed the warrior. ‘What will you do now?’

Landis sighed once more. ‘I shall run. I shall seek a place to live out my days. Will you grant me one last request?’

‘I don’t know. Ask and you will find out.’

‘Take the Swords of Night and Day with you. Bury them if you like. Cast them into the sea. I care not.

I would not want them to fall into the wrong hands if. . if matters go awry. Will you do this one deed for me?’

Skilgannon sat silently for a moment. ‘Wrap them in cloth, and have them brought to my rooms tomorrow before I leave.’

They had walked for more than four hours. There was little conversation, which pleased Harad. The man, Callan, was strong and uncomplaining. By mid-afternoon it had begun to rain. At first Harad ignored it, but it grew steadily worse, the ground underfoot becoming slick and treacherous. He glanced up. Thunder clouds were gathering, and a bolt of lightning flared to the west. Harad angled their path towards a cliff face close by. It was pitted with shallow caves and the powerful logger chose one and moved inside, dumping his pack to the ground. Callan also shrugged off his pack and removed his ankle-length, dark leather topcoat. He stood for a moment, lifting his arms and easing the muscles of his shoulders. Below it he wore a sleeveless doeskin jerkin. Though he was slim his arms and shoulders were powerful. Harad saw the dark tattoo of a spider upon one forearm. He glanced at the man’s pack.

Strapped to it were two items wrapped in dark cloth. One was around five feet long and slightly curved.

The other piqued his interest more. Wide at one end and narrow at the other, its shape reminded Harad of the stringed instruments musicians played on feast days. Yet it was too flat.

They sat in silence for a while, then Callan donned his topcoat and walked out once more into the rain, returning with a bundle of dead wood. He repeated this manoeuvre several times until there was at least enough fuel to last the night. Then, removing his coat and draping it over a rock, he quietly prepared a fire. The wood was damp and it took some time to get a blaze going, but Callan showed no irritation.

Finally with the flames catching he leaned back against the cave wall. Harad opened his own pack and produced some dried meat, which he offered to Callan. Still nothing was said.

Lightning flashed, immediately followed by a rolling burst of thunder. The rain outside became torrential, lashing down against the cliff face. Harad, who had been hoping the man was not a chatterer, now found himself uncomfortable with the continued silence. ‘Might as well wait out the storm,’ he said.