David Gemmell - The Swords of Night and Day

He sat very still, the cold of winter settling on his soul. What was it Gamal had said?

‘ She is, like you and me, Skilgannon, a Reborn. I would imagine she has lost count of the number of bodies she has worn and discarded. . Landis and I went on to refine and improve the power of the artefacts, giving her immortality. We created the Eternal.’

And then he knew. Landis Kan had discovered the bones of Jianna, the Witch Queen, and had brought her back. She too had been wandering the Void. Jianna, the love of his life, was the dread Eternal. The shock to his system was immense. He started to shiver, then felt the rise of nausea in the pit of his stomach.

‘ I would imagine she has lost count of the number of bodies she has worn and discarded.’

Somehow her immortality was maintained by taking control of new versions of herself, just as Druss had briefly taken over Harad that night in the ruins of Dros Delnoch. Druss, being the man he was, would not steal Harad’s life. The Witch Queen would not hesitate for a heartbeat. And that was why they were hunting Askari. A new, young body for the Eternal.

Skilgannon felt torn, his emotions shredded. Jianna was alive! He could find her, be with her, change the fate that had driven them apart.

‘Are you insane?’ he said aloud. The woman he had loved was fierce and courageous, and filled with idealism. The Eternal was a vampire who had plunged the world into chaos and horror.

He glanced at the night sky. ‘Why do you torment me still?’ he raged. ‘Cethelin said you were a god of forgiveness and love. But you delight in malice and revenge.’

Anger coursed through him, blind and unreasoning. Had he not tried to atone for his sins? Had he not joined a monastery, and sought to learn the way of the Source? So who had sent those killers to bay at the gates and threaten death to the gentle souls inside? None other but the Source. ‘AH my life you have haunted me, sending violence and death to those I loved.’ The gentle actor Greavas, the gardener Sperian and his loving wife Molaire, had been tortured to death by Boranius. Killers had come after Jianna. His entire past life had been plagued by violence and war. Now he had been dragged back into another conflict, where innocents would suffer.

His first life had seen him battling to save a princess from a dark power that sought to destroy her.

Now that same princess was the dark power, and the victim was the physical embodiment of the princess he had loved.

The savage irony of the situation was sickening. Staring malevolently up at the stars he shouted: ‘I curse you with every fibre of my being!’ Then the anger passed. He felt drained and terribly weary.

He was about to make his way back to where Harad was sleeping when he heard a sound from within the woods to his right. Instantly the Swords of Night and Day were in his hands. The undergrowth parted and the huntress Askari stepped from the shadows. She was carrying her recurve bow and wearing leggings of soft leather, with a hooded green shirt under a fringed doeskin jerkin. Her dark hair was held back from her face by a thin silver headband.

‘Are you calmer now,’ she asked him, ‘or do you intend to behead me?’

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Going with you to seek Landis Kan. Or going without you. I don’t much care which.’

‘Is Stavut with you?’

‘No. He is taking his wagon back to the north. The villagers are going with him. I hope it will prove safer for them there.’

‘Nowhere is safe,’ he said.

‘Kinyon often says, “The journey of life has only one destination,” ’ she replied, with a shrug.

‘Everything dies.’

‘Not everything,’ he said sadly.

Stavut had offered to travel with Askari, and had been both disappointed and delighted when she had refused him. It was an odd feeling. A part of him felt a sense of loss, but he consoled himself with the thought that his own chances of survival had been increased dramatically. Oh, Stavut, he told himself, you are a shallow man!

The sun was shining as he and some twenty-two villagers set off over the mountain pass. Stavut had been amazed and relieved to discover that the Jiamads had not killed his horses, nor ripped apart the contents of his wagon. Longshanks and Brightstar had been in a paddock behind Kinyon’s kitchen.

Stavut had climbed the fence and called them to him. Longshanks came trotting over. The grey had pretended not to notice him, until he began to stroke Longshanks’s neck and rub his knuckles across the chestnut’s long nose. Then Brightstar had moved across, dropping his head and nudging Stavut in the chest. ‘Yes, yes, I am pleased to see both of you,’ he said. ‘But let’s not make a fuss. It is unseemly.’

As he sat upon his wagon in the morning sunlight it seemed that all was better with the world. The goods he carried for trade in Petar would be worth less in Siccus, the city in which he had purchased them, but he could — just — afford the drop in profits. The most important fact was that he had escaped death and dismemberment and was still able to breathe the fresh mountain air. He felt like singing, and would have, had there not been a column of villagers strolling behind his wagon. The only audience ever to appreciate Stavut’s voice was Longshanks and Brightstar — although appreciation might be too strong a word. Brightstar had a habit of breaking wind loudly whenever Stavut sang, but that might have been an attempt to harmonize. Stavut chuckled at the thought.

‘You are in a good mood,’ said Kinyon, from his seat in the back of the wagon. The big man was recovering well, but was still too weak to walk the gruelling high road.

‘Indeed I am. Try not to move around too much. There are some breakables back there.’

The party stopped several times on the road to rest. Many of the villagers were carrying their most prized possessions in sacks upon their shoulders. Others were hauling hand carts. The horses were also weary. The wagon had been over laden with food supplies for the ten-day journey. At one point Kinyon had been forced to climb down, and Stavut had unloaded some of the heavier crates, sacks and barrels.

Even then Longshanks and Brightstar had struggled to make the last rise. Stavut and the villagers reloaded the wagon, and, after another halt to rest, continued on their way.

By dusk on the first day they had reached the highest point of the mountain road, and begun the descent into a wooded valley. Stavut had camped here several times in the past. There was water and good grass, and a rocky hollow in which a campfire could be lit, without being seen from any distance.

Three cook fires were set and the villagers gratefully settled down to rest for the night. As the moon rose the air was rich with the smell of frying bacon, and cook pans sizzled with eggs and toasting bread.

Young Arin approached Stavut. He was a tall, handsome young man, sporting a swollen black eye and a cut to his lip. Crouching down where Stavut sat he asked: ‘How much longer do we travel?’

‘I’d say another ten days, perhaps a little more. There are many high mountain roads. It will be tiring.’

‘Will it be safe?’

Stavut shrugged. ‘Safer than it was back in the settlement. But there are said to be roving bands of runaway Jiamads. I met a few on the way in. However, once we drop down onto the coast road we should come across Legend Riders. With luck they will escort us into Siccus.’

‘We have never been Outside,’ said Arin, a worried look on his face.

‘It is not so different. People still grow crops, and trade. Siccus is the city of the Legend people, so there are no Jiamads there, and no war, thank the Source.’