David Gemmell - The Swords of Night and Day

‘What do we do now?’ asked the young logger.

‘Either we leave and forget about the beasts, or we follow them and kill as many as we can.’

‘I say follow them.’

‘I thought you would. This time I agree with you.’

‘You do?’ said Harad, surprised. ‘Why the change of heart?’

‘They came to capture a woman dear to Landis Kan. I want to know why she is important enough to send a raiding party.’

Stavut lay in his blanket, unable to sleep. Images of Jiamads with slavering jaws filled his mind. He had fought hard to retain his composure while with Askari. No man liked to look feeble in front of a woman he desired. Alahir called it the ‘swan impersonation’ — serene on the surface, little legs paddling furiously below. But the horror of the night’s events was telling on Stavut now. His hands were trembling, and his fertile imagination produced more images of dismemberment and death.

‘Imagination is a curse to a warrior,’ Alahir had said once. He was mildly drunk, and working hard to reach a comatose state. ‘I once saw a friend have his spine snapped. We were out riding — racing in fact -

and his horse stumbled and threw him. When I got to him I thought he was just stunned. But he was awake and couldn’t move. Took him a month to die.’ Alahir had shivered. ‘That haunted me for a while.’

‘How did you overcome it?’ Stavut had asked.

‘You know the Dragon’s Horns?’

Stavut nodded: a tower of rock close to Alahir’s home city of Siccus. Around two hundred feet high, the top was split, creating the impression of horns. ‘Well, I saw a holy man, and told him that I couldn’t get the thought of Egar’s accident out of my mind. He told me to leap the Dragon’s Horns, then mention my fears to the Source.’

Stavut was horrified. ‘You didn’t do it?’

‘Of course I did. Holy men know what they’re talking about.’

‘You jumped across a chasm.’

‘It wasn’t a chasm, idiot. No more than ten feet wide at the narrowest point. Then I sat down and talked to the Source. After that all my fear went away.’

‘Did the Source answer you?’

‘Of course He did. Didn’t I just say my fears went away?’

‘No, I mean did you hear His voice?’

‘I don’t hear voices any more,’ replied Alahir, his expression hardening. ‘I wish I’d never mentioned them to you. Anyway, that’s not the ^>oint of the story.’

‘What is?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Alahir, returning to his ninth jug of ale and draining it. ‘Can’t remember why I even mentioned it. Oh yes!’ he added brightly. ‘Fears and such like.’

‘The Source had nothing to do with it,’ insisted Stavut. ‘You became aware of mortality when your friend died, and then did something mindless, stupid and dangerous in order to convince yourself that you are really immortal and nothing can hurt you.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ said Alahir amicably, his voice slurring. ‘I don’t much care which it was. The fear went away. Maybe you should try it.’

‘I will. I’ll put it high on my list of things to do. Just behind slapping the balls of a hungry lion.’

Alahir smiled. ‘You are a strange man, tinker. You talk yourself down all the time. But I know you -

better than you know yourself. You are stronger than you think. And that’s your problem, you know.

You think too much.’ Then he belched loudly. ‘You think this ale is a little weak?’ he asked. ‘It doesn’t seem to be hitting the spot.’

Stavut was about to answer, but Alahir rose to call for another jug. His legs gave way and he sank slowly to the floor.

‘What do you think you are doing?’ asked Stavut.

‘I think I’ll camp here for the night,’ said Alahir, lying down.

Thoughts of his friend helped ease Stavut’s fears as he lay wedged on the narrow rock shelf.

A noise from below jerked him back to the present. Fear blossomed. Easing himself up he glanced over the shelf. Moonlight was shining through the high opening in the roof of the cave. By its light he saw Askari had returned. There was blood on her face. Then the moonlight was cut off. Stavut swung his head. A huge Jiamad was clambering through the window opening. Askari swept up her bow and loosed a shaft. It slammed against a wide bronze rivet on the creature’s leather breastplate and ricocheted away.

With a blood-curdling roar the beast leapt into the cave.

Grabbing the spear Stavut levered himself to his feet and jumped, screaming at the top of his voice.

The Jiamad spun and looked up. Stavut slammed into the beast, the spear hammering into its neck, then plunging down through its chest. Stavut hit the ground hard, and rolled to his knees. Askari was shooting again. A second beast fell to the cave floor, an arrow through its eye. It was thrashing around in its death throes. Stavut glanced round at the Jiamad he had leapt upon. It was dead. The spear had hit it at the base of the neck and been driven downwards, impaling the heart.

‘We are in trouble,’ said Askari. ‘There is no way out.’

Harad sat in the entrance of a shallow cave, overlooking a sheer cliff face. Moonlight bathed the rocks only intermittently, as gathering rain clouds filled the sky. They had followed the tracks to this spot, but lack of light led Skilgannon to call off the hunt until dawn. The swordsman was sleeping lightly at the rear of the cave, his two swords lying beside him unsheathed.

Harad felt at peace. He knew this was strange. All his life he had struggled with a volatile temper, and an underlying anger that troubled him. Now, however, in the midst of a hostile forest, in pursuit of terrifying beasts, he felt calm and untroubled. Hefting the axe, he stared at the silver runes engraved on the black haft. The weapon was beautiful. There was not a single nick in the axe blades, not a speck of rust. With Snaga in his hands Harad felt almost immortal.

‘You should get some rest,’ said Skilgannon, moving silently alongside him. Harad jerked.

‘By Heaven, must you always creep up on a man?’

Skilgannon smiled. ‘My apologies, axeman.’

Harad shivered. ‘Don’t call me that. It feels. . wrong somehow. I can’t explain it.’

‘You don’t have to.’ The moon appeared again, shining down on the Jiamad body at the base of the cliff face, some thirty feet below them. ‘They climbed that cliff,’ said Skilgannon. ‘The Jiamads did not follow. They skirted it to the west. Either the girl and the merchant found a way over, or a way in. Let us hope it was the latter.’

‘A way in to what?’ asked Harad.

Skilgannon pointed to the cliff wall. It was pitted with cave entrances. ‘I’d say there were tunnels and crevices within the cliff. I think she knew where she was going. On the other hand she may have tried to outrun them. That would not have been wise. Joinings have immense stamina.’

‘How long do we wait?’

‘Until dawn. We don’t want to be stumbling around in the dark.’

‘They could kill her by then.’

‘Yes, they could. But once inside, in the dark, we could face two sets of perils. She is a huntress. As far as she knows there are only enemies close by. I would rather not be shot by someone I am trying to help.’

‘Good point,’ agreed Harad. They sat in comfortable silence for a while. Then Harad spoke again.

‘How skilled was that officer you killed?’

‘He had talent and speed of hand.’

‘You beat him easily.’

‘He lacked heart, Harad.’

‘Courage, you mean?’

‘Not exactly. A warrior with heart can reach inside himself and find the impossible. Druss was like that. He was an older man when I met him — around fifty. He was ill. Yet when we were attacked he found strength somewhere, and tore into the Nadir warriors facing us. You can’t teach that. You can improve skill and speed and strength. But heart is something a man is born with. Or not — as with that officer. You have it, Harad. He did not.’