David Gemmell - The Swords of Night and Day

‘Yes, you keep telling yourself that’s why they hide,’ said Stavut. ‘Why am I taking seduction advice from a man whose idea of foreplay is to slam coins on a table and shout: “Who wants to ride the big horse?” ’

Alahir leaned in and chuckled. ‘Because he knows best, tinker.’

Annoyingly enough he had known best. When Stavut took the fletching thread to Askari she had looked at it, then at him, and said: ‘All right, I will accept your gift.’

‘Gift? You misunderstand, huntress. I am a merchant. I am offering this for sale.’

It was the first and only time he had seen her discomfited. She had reddened. ‘Of course,’ she told him. ‘How much?’

‘A hundred gold raq,’ he said, with a smile, ‘or one kiss to my cheek.’

She had laughed then. ‘I have no kisses to spare at present.’

‘Then I will give you credit. I will claim the kiss on my next visit.’

Askari had relaxed, and he had walked with her to the high hills. Here she had a camp and a roughly built lean-to, covered with branches. Stretched deerskins had been tied to poles for cleaning and drying, and there was a bag of food hanging from a high branch.

‘How did you learn to use a bow?’ he asked her, as they sat in the sunshine, eating raisin bread.

‘How does anyone learn to use a bow?’ she countered.

‘No, I meant you were raised by the baker. Is he an archer?’

‘No. There used to be an old hunter who travelled these mountains. He taught me. He made me my first bow. I liked him greatly.’

‘I take it he died.’

‘No, he married a nomad woman and now lives out on the steppes. Are you really letting me have the thread for one kiss?’

‘Yes.’

‘No wonder you are not a rich merchant.’

‘A kiss from you and I would be richer than the Eternal.’

She looked at him closely. ‘Kinyon says you would make me happy in bed and unhappy in life.’

Stavut sighed. ‘Kinyon is a very wise man. My friend, who gave me the fletching thread, said that the longbow is not as accurate as the recurve bows he and his men carry. He claims that though the recurve is shorter it has greater power.’

‘I have heard that. Is your friend with the Legend Riders?’

Stavut smiled. ‘Yes. Strange folk — but noble in their way. They call themselves the Last of the Drenai.

No magic in their lands, no Jiamads. They hold to the old ways — or they did. Now they have to give tribute to Agrias, and fight alongside his forces. It is the price they pay to keep the Jiamads from their lands.’

‘Who is your friend?’

‘His name is Alahir. He is a fine man, and ridiculously brave.’

‘I would like to meet him.’

‘. . and very ugly,’ added Stavut. ‘No manners at all. And he hears voices in his head. Did I mention that?’

‘Voices?’

‘He told me once — when drunk — that he hears voices whispering in his mind.’

‘Ghosts, you mean?’

‘I don’t know,’ Stavut told her. ‘Can we stop talking about Alahir? He really is very boring, you know.’

‘But he knows archery,’ she said.

‘I may have overstated his skills.’

‘You are a funny man, Stavut. I like you.’

And so had begun the friendship. Stavut had never claimed his kiss. Kinyon was right. Askari deserved a better man than he, though it would break his heart when she found him.

The huntress, Askari, had never felt comfortable for long around people. She preferred the solitude of the high country and the lonely mountains. It was not that she wished to avoid any single individual in the settlement, nor indeed that she did not enjoy the occasional evening in Kinyon’s kitchen, talking to villagers about the events of the day, or the vagaries of the seasons. Sometimes, after several weeks in the wilderness, she found herself longing for the laughter and camaraderie of the little town. But these needs were short-lived. Mostly she found peace and harmony in her own company, walking the forest paths, or climbing to a high vantage point and sitting staring out towards the northern steppes, under a magnificent sky.

Sometimes she would run over the hills, not for any purpose other than to feel the cool mountain air filling her lungs, and joy in the strength and stamina of her youth. Even in childhood she had been solitary

— she had awaited eagerly the visits of the lord Landis Kan. He would bring her small gifts, and sit and talk with her. He was like a favourite uncle, whose arrival made the child clap her hands with glee. But since she had become a young woman the tone of the conversations with Landis had changed. She had seen him looking at her with an interest which disquieted her. One day recently he had reached out and stroked her long dark hair. Askari did not like to be touched and had drawn back.

‘I meant no offence,’ said Landis softly, a look of hurt on his face. He had run his hands over his close-cropped, iron grey hair. ‘Once my own hair was the colour of yours,’ he said, seeking to lighten the mood. Askari had forced a smile, and tried to relax. ‘Are you content here?’ he asked her.

‘Yes.’

‘But would you not like to travel? To see a little more of the world? I am thinking of journeying across the ocean. There are beautiful places there.’

‘It is beautiful here,’ she told him.

‘Yet dangerous. The war will come here one day. It would please me greatly if you were to accompany me.’

And there was that look again, his gaze straying to her slim body. Askari suppressed a shudder. Even if he were young and handsome she would not want this man too close to her. It was not that she disliked him. He had, after all, always been kind to her, and she felt great affection for him. But the thought of him lying beside her naked was repulsive. Askari was young and inexperienced, yet she knew instinctively that he desired her.

He had come once more only ten days ago, but Askari had seen him from a distance, and melted back into the forest, travelling up to one of her high camps.

Thoughts of Landis faded from her mind when she saw Stavut’s wagon on the ridge road. She smiled, and stood quietly, her longbow in her hand. Stavut had got down from the wagon and was inching towards the edge of the drop, then peering over. He always did that. She wondered what he was looking at. Thoughts of the red-garbed merchant lifted her spirits. He was a good companion, witty and sharp, and she loved his gift for storytelling. When he regaled her with tales of his travels, he would act out conversations, his voice mimicking the people he spoke about. His friend Alahir’s voice was deep, with a slow drawl. Of course he spoke about Alahir less often now. Askari smiled. ‘He sounds wonderful,’ she had said once. She had watched Stavut’s expression darken as jealousy flared. Askari knew he desired her. Unlike Landis’s that desire was open and honest. There was nothing sly about Stavut. And he had a beautiful smile, which was impish and infectious.

He had promised her a new bow, though she did not desire one. Her own longbow was powerful and accurate and had served her well. She was, however, anxious to see the recurve weapon he had spoken of. Koras the Hunter had told her of such weapons, maintaining they were perfect for mounted warfare.

The Legend people could notch an arrow at full gallop and send it unerringly into any target.

For a while longer she watched Stavut negotiating his wagon down the steep slope, then returned to her main camp, just inside the tree line. Stavut would stop first at Kinyon’s house and eat. Then he would tend to his horses. It would be late afternoon before he strolled up to her camp. She thought of going down to the settlement to greet him, but decided against. She did not want to seem anxious to see him.