David Gemmell - The Swords of Night and Day

‘And they will allow us to stay?’

‘I’m sure they will,’ said Stavut. Even as he spoke a doubt loomed in his mind. Alahir’s people did not like strangers.

Kinyon approached and, with a grunt, sat down by Stavut. ‘The wound is sore,’ he said. ‘Healing, though.’

‘Good,’ said Stavut, still concerned about his promise to Arin.

‘What are your plans for gathering food?’ asked Kinyon.

‘My plans?’

‘Well, you are leading us,’ the big man pointed out.

‘No, no, no,’ said Stavut swiftly. ‘I am merely showing you the way to Siccus. I am not leading anyone.’

Kinyon leaned in close. ‘Listen to me, lad. These people have been terrified. Some are injured, others have lost loved ones. Now they are leaving their homes to travel Outside — to a place of war and fear.

They need to be able to put their trust in something solid. They know you, Stavut. They like you. And, right now, they need a source of some comfort. The only person here who knows the ways of Outside is you. They believe you will lead them somewhere safe.’

‘I don’t know anywhere safe,’ responded Stavut, keeping his voice down as he gazed at the faces of the villagers round the campfires.

‘Even so, they have put their faith in you. I have put my faith in you.’

Stavut thought about it. He had always avoided responsibility for others. As a sailor he had twice turned down promotion, and, as a Watch Officer in Siccus, he had avoided applying for more senior posts. But this was different, he reasoned. This was merely a ten-day journey to the city. Once there he could prevail upon Alahir’s friendship to see the villagers settled. Then he would be free. What could be so hard about accepting a nominal role as leader?

Even as he thought it a tiny worm of doubt entered his mind. If there was one fact that life had taught Stavut it was that Fate had a twisted sense of humour. He saw Kinyon looking at him expectantly. Stavut sighed. ‘Very well, Kinyon. I shall be leader.’

‘Good lad,’ said the wounded man, wincing as he pushed himself to his feet. ‘You won’t regret it.’

The words hovered over Stavut like an invisible rain cloud. ‘I do already,’ he thought to himself.

There were many times in Stavut’s young life when decisions had turned bad, but never before had the consequences been quite as swift. After Kinyon had wandered back to reassure the villagers that Stavut was in charge, the new leader walked across the campsite to tend to his horses. As he approached them he saw they were nervous. Longshanks’s ears were flat against his skull, and he was pawing at the ground, wide-eyed. The grey Brightstar was also jittery. They were still in their traces, the wagon brake locked in place.

‘Hey, hey,’ said Stavut, keeping his voice calm. ‘Do not fret, lads. I have some grain for you.’

At that moment one of the village women screamed. Longshanks tried to rear. The wagon lurched.

Stavut swung round. Three Jiamads entered the campsite from the north. Others advanced from the south. The villagers gathered together. No-one was armed.

In the moonlight Stavut thought he recognized the lead Jiamad, a hulking brute, obviously part bear.

He was the one Skilgannon had spoken to back in the cave. What in the Seven Hells was his name?

The beast lumbered into the campsite and stood towering above the brightest of the campfires.

‘Leader!’ he growled. ‘Where?’

For a moment there was no movement. Then several villagers pointed at Stavut. The young man glanced at the night sky. ‘You really don’t like me, do you?’ he said. Then, with a deep breath, he walked towards the huge Jiamad.

All his life Stavut had enjoyed a gift for mimicry. He had only to hear a voice to be able to duplicate the tone and the rhythms of speech. It had caused much amusement to his shipmates when he mimicked certain officers. Now he decided to emulate Skilgannon, and — despite his growing fear — his voice rang with authority. ‘What are you doing here, Shakul?’ he asked.

‘Food,’ answered the great beast, his golden eyes fixing Stavut with a hard stare.

‘Why do you not hunt? There are many deer in the forest.’

‘Too fast. They run. Eat horses.’

‘Not good,’ said Stavut.

‘Not good?’ echoed the beast, confused. ‘I smell meat. Meat good.’

‘What then? When the horses are eaten? How will you feed?’

‘Hungry NOW!’ roared Shakul, his bestial face pushing close to Stavut’s own.

Stavut did not back away. ‘You will wait,’ he said. ‘I will give you food for tonight. Tomorrow I will show you how to hunt deer. Then there will be food whenever you need it.’

Shakul’s great head began to sway back and forth. His taloned hands clenched and unclenched. He stared at the cowering villagers. Then his head swung back to loom over Stavut. ‘Hunt deer?’

‘Yes. Good meat. Plentiful.’

‘No deer, eat horses?’

‘There will be deer,’ said Stavut, with an assurance he did not feel. ‘Tell your. . troop to move away to the far side of the camp. I will bring food.’ Shakul stood for a moment, then turned away, gesturing to the other six Jiamads. They lumbered off to squat down to the east of the clearing. On trembling legs Stavut walked to the wagon.

Kinyon joined him. ‘What is happening?’

Stavut lifted the canvas cover on the wagon and pulled out several rounds of ham, passing two to Kinyon. There was also a hank of beef. ‘That’s all the meat we have,’ the innkeeper pointed out.

‘No, it isn’t. There’s you, me and the villagers.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Teach them to hunt.’

‘You are a hunter?’

‘Let’s not go into that. My confidence is frail enough as it is.’

Hauling the beef to his shoulder Stavut walked across to where the Jiamads sat, then heaved it to the ground. Kinyon dropped the rounds of ham, and backed swiftly away. Stavut moved back to the horses and petted them. Brightstar, still nervous, tried to bite him. Stavut leapt back. ‘One more trick like that and I’ll let them eat you,’ he told the trembling grey. He glanced back to see the Jiamads tearing at the beef, splintering the bones and gnawing at the flesh.

The meat did not last long. Stavut went to the villagers and advised them to rest. Then, heart pounding, he returned to the Jiamads, calling out to Shakul. The pack leader rose and followed Stavut to a fallen tree. The merchant sat. ‘Why did you not return to your regiment?’ he asked.

‘No officer. Dead officer we die. Kill us. Where Two Swords?’

‘He will be back. Tell me how you tried to hunt the deer.’

Shakul hunkered down. ‘Scent, chase. Too fast. You catch deer?’

‘We will tomorrow,’ said Stavut.

Askari moved through the thick forest, alert and focused. Bards sang of the silence of the woods, but this always made her laugh. There was never silence within the trees. Breezes caused the leaves to whisper, heat or cold made the tree trunks expand or contract, bringing groans and cracks from the bark. Animals scuttled, birds flew, insects buzzed. Askari ran swiftly up an old deer trail. There were tracks here, but they were not new. Ants had crawled across the deer prints, and the once sharp edges had crumbled.

Up ahead a group of sparrows suddenly took flight. Askari hunkered down. Their panic could have been caused by a wild cat, or a snapping branch. On the other hand it could be a sign that men — or beasts -

were close by. The tall huntress crouched down and closed her eyes, listening intently. She caught the sound of dry wood crunching under a boot, and faded back into the cover of the trees. The breeze was in her face, and coming from the direction of the sound. If there were Jiamads present they would not scent her swiftly. Even so, she notched an arrow to the recurve bow. If necessary she would kill one and head off towards the east, drawing them away from Skilgannon and Harad, who were following her trail.