David Gemmell - The Swords of Night and Day

‘Let’s all stay calm,’ Stavut heard himself say. ‘It is a beautiful day and the sun is shining.’ Slowly he walked towards the two groups. The Jiamad at the head of the newcomers was taller than the others, towering over seven feet. The fur of his face and head was black, but paled to a mottled grey on his shoulders, chest and arms. His mouth was severely elongated, with two long incisors jutting over his lower lip. ‘Who are you?’ asked Stavut. The creature stared hard at the small man. Its green eyes glinted with hatred.

‘I kill Skins,’ it said, raising its club.

‘We kill deer,’ said Stavut swiftly. ‘We hunt. We feast. How long since you tasted deer meat?’ He glanced at the other Jiamads. They looked scrawny, and their tongues were lolling, their nostrils quivering at the scent of fresh meat.

‘We take your meat!’ snarled the leader.

‘And then what?’ said Stavut. ‘Then you starve again. I can show you how to hunt.’

‘You die!’ The club flashed out. Stavut hurled himself backwards. In that moment Shakul leapt upon the leader and the two fell to the ground, jaws snapping, taloned claws ripping through fur and flesh. The leader lost his grip on his club and they fought with tooth and claw, snarling and growling. The fight was brief, bloody and vicious. It ended when Shakul’s massive jaws closed on the leader’s throat. Shakul’s head surged up. Fur and flesh parted, and the leader’s jugular sprayed blood into the air. Shakul reared up above the dying beast and hammered his taloned hands into its chest, smashing ribs and ripping open a huge wound. He tore out the heart and held it high over his head. Then, dashing it to the ground, Shakul tensed and made ready to charge into the rest.

‘Wait, Shakul!’ shouted Stavut. ‘Everyone wait!’ Shakul relaxed, his great head turning towards Stavut. ‘With a bigger pack you could hunt better. Sixteen. . er, fifteen. .’ he corrected himself, as he saw the blood dripping from Shakul’s jaws, ‘fifteen is a good number for a pack. Let them join you.

There is enough meat here for all. You can teach them to hunt with you.’

‘Bloodshirt wants these things to live? They are enemy.’

‘No, Shakul. They were enemy. The truth is that they are runaway Jiamads like you. They will be hunted — just like you. You need each other. You will hunt better with fifteen than with seven. Let them live. Let them feed. Think on what I have said.’

Shakul’s great bear head tilted and he made several small, growling sounds. Then he walked to the first of the newly arrived Jiamads. ‘You fight?’ he growled. The beast dropped to all fours and turned its back on Shakul. One by one the others repeated the same manoeuvre. Shakul strode among them, growling. Then he walked back to Stavut. ‘It is done,’ he said. ‘They can feed. Tell them.’

‘Go and eat,’ said Stavut. The eight half starved Jiamads rose to their feet and ran to the deer carcasses.

‘Our pack now is bigger,’ said Shakul.

‘ Your pack,’ Stavut corrected, uneasily.

‘Bloodshirt’s pack,’ said Shakul.

A thousand soldiers, marching in lines of three, entered Petar at midday, followed by a regiment of four thousand five hundred Jiamads. They were followed by fifty supply wagons, with a hundred more on the road some way behind. Three hundred cavalrymen, in white-plumed helms and armour of polished iron, escorted the Eternal up the slope towards the palace of Landis Kan. Jianna, the former Witch Queen of Naashan, rode a strange horse, pure white and eighteen hands tall, its head adorned with two horns, which curled back over its ears like those of a mountain goat. The Eternal’s helm, shaped from gleaming silver, sported identical horns, and sunlight glinted from the delicate chain mail shoulder guard she wore over a sleeveless shirt of thin black leather. The slim and beautiful woman on the horned horse drew rein and stared out over the settlement, her dark eyes angry as she took in the burnt out buildings and the remains of funeral pyres. There were some people moving around, but little sign of the thriving town Petar had been only a few days before.

Touching her heels to the flanks of her mount, she rode on towards the palace.

Unwallis was waiting for her at the entrance. He bowed deeply. In the sunlight he looked old, the lines on his face deeply chiselled, his eyes weary. For a brief moment Jianna remembered the young man she had taken to her bed a half century before. He had been witty and good company, though she could recall nothing of his skills as a lover. Unwallis had merely been one of hundreds of fleeting affairs to lift the boredom. Most had been disappointing, some had offered ephemeral joys, a few had made a mark on her memories. Landis Kan’s devotion had been appealing at first, but had soon become cloying.

The hooves of the horned horse clattered on the stone paving slabs before the entrance. The Eternal drew up before Unwallis, who bowed once more. He was dressed in an ankle-length tunic of grey, embroidered at the shoulder with the head of a silver eagle. The Eternal felt a moment of regret. She had last seen this clothing worn by Landis Kan ten years ago at the palace in Diranan.

I should have killed him then, she thought.

Jianna stepped down from the saddle. A cavalryman rode alongside, taking the reins of the horned horse and leading him away.

‘You look like death,’ she told Unwallis.

‘As ever, my queen, you look radiant,’ he responded.

Jianna did not feel radiant. This current body was approaching forty years of age, and though there were few visible signs of age she could feel them. The long ride had been tiring and her lower back was aching. She looked into Unwallis’s eyes. The man was more nervous than she had expected.

‘Where is Decado?’

‘In the wilderness somewhere, Highness. Still seeking Gamal.’

‘What happened here?’

‘I was not here for the. . the problems, Highness. Decado says the townspeople sought to hide Gamal. He found it necessary to kill a few. The rest panicked and fled. Jiamads ran riot. Houses burned.

It is as you see. Some have been encouraged to return. More will do so — assuming there is not more violence. I have had rooms prepared for you, Highness. There are still no servants, but some semblance of normality is returning.’

Despite his attempt at forced neutrality Jianna caught the implied criticism. Decado had bungled this simple task, producing exactly the result she had warned him against. It was almost time to put him aside.

Even as she thought it she realized that Decado would not be like her other lovers. He would not tolerate being dismissed. Ah well, she thought, it would have to be death then. When Memnon arrived she would discuss it with him.

‘You have a bath prepared?’ she asked Unwallis.

‘Yes, Highness, the water is being heated as we speak. However. .’ And there was that look of nervousness again.

‘What is it?’

‘Something you should see. A matter of some urgency, I believe.’

‘Show me,’ she ordered him. Unwallis bowed once more, then led Jianna into the palace and down to the long library. Moving through it, he brought her to the small study Landis Kan had used.

A lantern was burning in the windowless room, and the heat was oppressive. Upon the desk lay a picture frame. For the first time in centuries Jianna felt a shock so great that it caused her legs to tremble.

Reaching out, she supported herself on the desk, and stood staring down at the tattooed skin stretched out in the frame.

‘He found Skilgannon, Highness. I believe he brought him back.’

She laid her hand tenderly on the tattooed eagle. ‘A Reborn?’