David Gemmell - The Swords of Night and Day

Unwallis read on, skimming through several sheets.

We are both filled with excitement today. Through the swords Gamal has reached Skilgannon.

He has been trapped in the Void for all this time. At first Gamal did not recognize him, for in the Void his skin is scaled like a lizard. He fights constantly, for he is hunted by other demonic forms.

Gamal says a shining figure was with him, but disappeared when Gamal approached. I think Gamal recognized the figure, but would tell me nothing. What is, however, of greater importance is that Gamal has convinced Skilgannon to return to the world. It is not possible to convey the joy this has brought me.

Dropping the paper Unwallis scrambled from the bath, threw a towel round his waist and strode from the room. As he emerged into the corridor he saw two more soldiers carrying buckets of hot water.

‘Are you all right, sir?’

‘Where is the Lord Decado?’

‘He rode out, sir, with a hunting party. Looking for some blind man, I think. You should sit down.

Your face is grey.’

Longbear was confused. Hunger gnawed at him, the scent of blood in the air making his stomach churn.

The desire to kill and eat was growing, making his mouth salivate and his taloned fingers twitch. The woman was bleeding from several small puncture wounds to her side, caused when Longbear carried her, and the old blind Skin, from the fight. As he had run up through the wooded hills his talons had pierced her clothing, pricking the flesh beneath. She was sitting now alongside Gamal, staring back down the track, her eyes fearful. Longbear could scent the salt in the blood, and knew the flesh would be savoury and filling. His empty belly rumbled.

Gamal swung his head, his blind eyes flickering towards Longbear. ‘How are you faring, my friend?’

he asked. ‘Do you carry wounds?’

Longbear grunted. The voice continued to strike a chord somewhere deep in his mind. He could not place it. ‘No wounds,’ he said. ‘Female bleeds.’

‘You are hurt, Charis?’

‘I am fine, sir. Why are they doing this?’

Longbear heard the terror in her voice. His golden eyes looked past her, seeing the distant smoke rise from the houses in which the Skins dwelt. The enemy had come in fast, scores of Jiamads, some on all fours, others carrying clubs or sharp blades. Longbear’s troop of twenty had charged them, ripping and killing, and dying. Longbear himself slew three of the enemy.

He and the surviving six of his troop had been beaten back, fleeing through the alleyways of the town and out into the countryside. On the hillside Longbear had seen the old blind man, Gamal, and the young, golden-haired woman with him. She was leading him by the hand. In the transient safety of the trees Longbear and his survivors gathered round the pair. The woman was terrified. Not so the blind man.

‘Who leads?’ he had asked, his voice firm, and strangely familiar. For a moment only, Longbear experienced an old memory. Strange, for he was lying on a raised platform, blankets upon his body, and the old blind man was sitting beside him. Longbear had never been inside a house, let alone covered in blankets. The image faded.

‘I am Longbear.’

‘That is good. Lead us away from here, Longbear.’

‘Where?’

‘High into the hills. North.’

‘North?’

‘Where the bears live,’ said the old man.

Another bizarre image flickered briefly to life. Longbear remembered walking the high hills. He was carrying a young Skin upon his shoulders. The child was laughing. A feeling came with the memory, of great contentment and joy. Longbear shivered. Such feelings usually came when the bright stone in his temple grew warm.

So they had set off towards the land of the bears. The female Skin held to the old man’s hand, and the pace was terribly slow. Happily they were not followed immediately, and, as the sun fell on the first day, they had made it into the high country.

Here came the first quarrel. Usually at sunset the stone in Longbear’s temple would begin to vibrate.

He would fall into a deep, refreshing sleep. It was close to dusk, and there was no warmth from the stone. The other six of his comrades also grew uneasy. They gathered together, away from the Skins.

‘Dark soon. Who brings food?’ asked Balla, whose appetite was always prodigious.

‘Skin place burns,’ said another, pointing back to a red glow in the southern sky.

A growing sense of unease followed. Longbear squatted down on his haunches. He had no answers.

The whole world seemed to have changed. No food was coming. The stones were cold. And the sound of the old man’s voice was stirring fragmented memories that left him uncomfortable.

The breeze shifted. All the Jiamads tensed. The scent of the enemy came to them. Balla, who had the keenest eyes, ran to the edge of the trees.

‘Only three,’ he said. ‘We kill! Now!’

The Jiamads rose and rushed out onto the hillside.

‘No!’ shouted the old man, his voice cutting through the blood mist that had begun to descend on Longbear. ‘Longbear! To me!’

The others were charging down the slope. Longbear hesitated. The old man shouted again. There were only three enemy. His strength would not be needed. Padding back through the trees he waited by the blind man. ‘What is happening?’ asked Gamal. Longbear glanced back. His troop was tearing into the Jiamads. Two enemy were down, the third fleeing. Then a volley of arrows soared out from the trees close by. Three of his troop went down. A rider galloped from the trees and leapt from the saddle, a slim, dark-haired Skin, dressed all in black and wielding two bright swords. The remaining three of Longbear’s Jiamads rushed the small man. Balla was the first to reach him. The swordsman ducked under Balla’s flailing arms and sent a disembowelling cut across Balla’s belly. Then, even before the Jiamad had fallen, he leapt towards the others. Longbear saw the dazzling swords flicker and rise and fall. Then the swordsman was standing alone. One Skin had killed three of his brethren in a matter of heartbeats.

‘Speak to me!’ whispered Gamal.

At first Longbear could find no words. The shock was immense. ‘A Skin. Two swords. All dead,’ he said.

‘Decado! We must get away from here. Fast! Can you carry us?’

Longbear dropped his quarterstaff and swept the old man up under one arm. Then he grabbed the girl and started to run. His legs were powerful, his stamina prodigious. Up through the wooded hills he ran, cutting left and right through the trees. On open ground for a while he sprinted on, over rocky outcrops, until at last even his great strength began to fade.

Releasing the old man and the girl he looked back for the first time. Darkness had fallen and he could see little. Closing his eyes he sniffed the wind. His nostrils quivered, separating the many scents of the forest. Some deer a little way to the west, a bighorn sheep, out of sight in a stand of rock. But he could scent no other humans, nor Jiamads.

Turning back to the human pair he smelt the blood on the woman. Hunger surged in him. His long tongue lolled from his mouth as he began to salivate. The woman had removed a small pack from her shoulder. From it she took a loaf of bread. As her hands delved deeper the scent of dry-cured meat came to him. Longbear watched as she produced a half-round of pink meat from the pack. ‘I have some ham and bread, lord,’ she said to Gamal.

‘Give the meat to Longbear,’ he said softly. ‘And tell him your name.’

Longbear stood silently. The golden-haired woman turned to stare at him. He could scent her fear in the sweet smell of sweat breaking out on her face and arms. ‘Would you like some ham?’ she said, moving nervously towards him, and extending her arm. ‘My name is Charis.’