David Gemmell - The Swords of Night and Day

Stavut was a man used to having women fawn over him, and Askari had no desire to boost his ego. Even so it was an effort to merely sit and wait.

The long afternoon wore on. Askari bathed in the stream, ate a meal of hard bread and broth, then gathered wood for the evening’s fire. She kept glancing back down the slope to the settlement. It was an hour before dusk before she saw him walking up the hill. He was carrying a canvas rucksack, and she could see a bow hanging from it. But by now she was irritated. He had tarried in the settlement for too long, making her wait. Before he could see her she moved back into the trees and squatted down behind a screen of bushes.

He strode up to the campsite, looked around, then called out her name. She ignored him. Stavut doffed his pack and sat down on a log. From her hiding place she watched him. She saw a swelling on his right cheekbone, and a touch of blood upon his brow. Had he been in a fight? Askari sat quietly.

Stavut began to whistle a cheerful tune, but as the darkness gathered she could sense his nervousness.

Not a man who enjoyed wilderness nights. Askari hunkered down further, then, cupping her hands over her mouth, let out a low wolf howl. Stavut leapt to his feet, eyes fearfully scanning the trees. She watched him grab the bow from the pack, then scout around for arrows. There were none. Dropping the bow he pulled out a small knife, looked at it, swore, and sheathed it. Then he ran to the pile of wood Askari had gathered for the night’s fire and hefted a large chunk, holding it two-handed like a club. Holding back laughter she crept through the undergrowth then let out another fearsome howl — this time closer.

Stavut backed away from the trees and then stood very still, awaiting an attack.

Askari rose from her hiding place and strolled out into the camp. ‘What do you think you are doing?’

she asked.

‘Wolves,’ he said. ‘You must have heard them.’

‘They do not attack people unless there is no other source of food. You should know that.’

‘I know that,’ he said, coming back to the camp and dropping the club. ‘But do the wolves know that?’

‘What happened to your face?’

Stavut sighed. ‘I was attacked by Jiamads on the northern road.’

‘And all they did was bruise your face?’

‘No,’ he said, an edge of irritation in his voice, ‘they were going to kill me. Happily for me a group of warriors were hunting them. They arrived before I could be eaten.’

‘Legend Riders?’

‘Yes.’

‘Your friend Alahir?’

‘Er. . No, just some other riders. Anyway. . as you can see I have your bow.’

‘Did you try it out on the Jiamads?’

‘No. It was in the wagon, under the cover.’

She laughed then. ‘You will never be a warrior, Stavut. You are always so ill prepared. Let me see it.’

Strolling over to him she took the weapon and hefted it, tracing her fingers along its graceful lines, all the way to the recurved tip. ‘It feels good,’ she said. Extending her arm she smoothly drew back the string until it nestled against her lips. ‘Let’s see what it can do,’ she suggested, drawing an arrow from her quiver. ‘Pick up your club again and walk out onto the slope. I will tell you where to stop.’

Stavut took the club and walked away. After thirty paces she called out for him to halt.

‘Where do you want me to put it?’ he shouted.

‘Hold it up in the air.’

‘Then what?’

‘I shall shoot it.’

‘I think not!’ he said, dropping the club as if it were on fire. He strode back to where she waited.

‘You think my mother raised stupid children?’

‘You don’t trust my skill?’ she asked sweetly, her eyes narrowing.

‘Ah,’ he said, ‘I know this scene. A man thinks he is on solid ground, and suddenly he is tiptoeing through quicksand.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Of course I trust your skill. It is your arrows I don’t trust. You could hit the club, and the arrow could glance off and kill me.’

‘I would wager that Alahir would not be afraid to hold the club.’

He wagged his finger at her. ‘True, but Alahir, wonderful friend that he is, is still an idiot. And you can’t goad me into a display of stupidity by mentioning Alahir.’

‘I always thought you to be a brave man,’ she said, shaking her head, as if in disappointment.

‘No, that won’t work either,’ he said brightly. ‘Now, would you like me to plunge that wood into the ground, so that you can shoot at something?’

‘You do that,’ she said, notching the arrow.

Stavut walked back to the club and lifted it. Just as he turned it to push it into the earth an arrow slammed into the wood. Stavut leapt back, tripping over and hitting the ground hard. ‘It is a good bow,’

she called out. He pushed himself to his feet and marched towards her, his expression furious. Askari knew just how to deal with this. ‘And you lied to me,’ she said. ‘Friends do not lie to one another.’

‘What?’ he asked her, confused now. Askari laughed inwardly. It was so easy. Like shooting a tethered goat. On the surface, however, she kept her face stern.

‘You said Alahir did not rescue you. I could tell you were lying.’ Walking past him she recovered her shaft, replaced it in her quiver and returned to the camp. ‘So tell me about your travels,’ she said.

‘I’m not sure I want to talk to you,’ he said. She smiled at him, and he burst out laughing. ‘Yes, Alahir rescued me. It is what he’s good at. Killing things.’

‘Is he married?’

‘No. He doesn’t like women.’

‘Another lie!’

‘They teach you witchcraft in the mountains?’

‘I know you, Stavut. You think you are a good liar, but you are really not. You give it away with your expression.’

‘There was no expression.’

‘That’s what I mean. When you lie your face goes blank.’

‘Nonsense.’

‘And a little crease appears above the brow of your nose. Shall I prove it to you?’

‘Yes.’

‘How many women have you slept with since last you visited?’

‘None.’

‘Liar.’

He laughed nervously. ‘Very well. Three.’

‘Liar!’

‘Seven.’

Askari’s good humour faded. ‘You’ve only been gone two months! Kinyon was right about you.’

‘Can we start again?’ he said. ‘Let’s go for None!’

‘I don’t want to talk to you any more. Go back down to the settlement. Leave me in peace.’

Stavut sighed then rose to his feet. ‘You are in a strange mood today. You are right, though. I think I’ll go back.’ Moving towards his pack he stopped.

A dark plume of smoke was rising into the air. ‘There’s a fire in the settlement,’ he said.

Throughout the morning Harad walked on, keeping a little distance between himself and the lean swordsman. In truth he did not want to talk for a while. He needed time to think through all that had been said. Harad was never comfortable with instant judgements — except in the case of brawling. When violence was in the air there was little time for reflective thought. Now, however, he needed to absorb all that Skilgannon had told him.

Like all the residents of the land he had heard of Reborns. He had never been interested enough to learn more about them. He was not even sure he wanted to learn more now. It did not concern him that the bully Borak was not his father. In some ways this was a relief. What concerned him was the question of souls. As a child he had attended the small school run by two Source priests. Here he had learned of the journey of souls, and the passage through the Void to the Golden Valley. Harad had always liked the idea of a journey beyond death. However, to make this journey one needed to have a soul. Since this body was not truly his, but created without the soul of Druss the Legend, where did this leave Harad?