David Gemmell - The Swords of Night and Day

They did not have long to wait.

Three people emerged from the trees to the left. Charis saw Harad was one of them, and her heart lifted. The second was Callan, the tattooed man from the palace. He looked different now, harder, his eyes cold. In his hands were two glittering swords. Beyond them was a dark-haired woman, dressed in a fringed buckskin shirt and dark leggings. She held a curved bow in her hands, an arrow notched to the string.

Harad moved towards the soldiers, carrying a huge axe, but the tattooed man called him back. Then Callan stepped forward.

‘There is no need for any more to die,’ he told the swordsmen. ‘Gather your horses and be on your way.’

‘We have orders,’ said the young man who had first spoken to Charis. ‘The blind man is a condemned traitor. He has been sentenced to death.’

‘Your orders are now meaningless. You cannot fulfil them.’

‘Large talk. Let’s see you back it with action.’ The man ran at Callan. The tattooed man did not seek to avoid him. Instead he merely blocked the thrusting sword, and rolled his wrist. The soldier’s weapon flew from his hand. Before he could move Callan’s own blade was resting lightly on his throat. The second soldier rushed in. Still keeping his left-hand sword against the first soldier’s jugular, he parried the first clumsy thrust, and once more rolled his own weapon round the enemy’s blade. The soldier cried out as Callan’s sword sliced across his knuckles. The cry was cut off as the shining blade swept up and touched his throat.

It was all so fast Charis could not quite take in what had happened. Callan’s swords had moved with lightning speed. Then he spoke again.

‘Are we done?’ he asked coldly. ‘Can we end this farce now?’

‘I cannot disobey my orders,’ said the first man.

‘I understand,’ said Callan. His sword flickered. Blood gushed from the severed artery in the man’s throat. A look of stunned surprise hit his features. He stumbled back, half turned, then pitched to the ground.

For Charis the moment was more shocking than the bloodthirsty attack by Longbear. This was cold and horrible. Murder without emotion. No-one moved, and Callan spoke again.

‘Can you disobey your orders?’ he asked the second man.

‘Oh yes. Absolutely.’

‘Very wise. What about you?’ he asked the other. The man nodded. ‘Then gather your horses.’

They did so with some speed. Callan watched as they rode away. Harad moved to Charis’s side, laying his axe upon the grass. ‘Are you hurt?’ he asked.

‘No. It is so good to see you.’ She looked into his pale eyes, her gaze drinking in the familiar features.

She relaxed then and smiled. ‘You came after me.’

‘Of course I did. I’m here, aren’t I?’

‘Why did you do that?’

‘I have a feeling you’re going to make me wish I hadn’t,’ he muttered.

Callan came alongside and knelt by Gamal. The old man was unconscious. Callan laid his fingers on Gamal’s throat, feeling for a pulse. ‘He’s not dead, is he?’ asked Charis fearfully.

‘No.’ Callan squeezed the man’s hand. ‘Gamal, can you hear me. It is Skilgannon.’

At first there was no movement, then a juddering sigh came from Gamal’s lips. ‘Skilgannon?’ he whispered, his blind opal eyes flickering open.

‘Yes.’

‘The soldiers?’

‘They have gone.’

‘Help me to sit. There is much to tell, and not a great deal of time left to me.’

‘It is not safe here,’ said Skilgannon. He turned to Harad. ‘Will you carry him? We must find a more defensible position. Those riders will seek out comrades and then return.’

Harad passed the axe to Skilgannon and lifted the old man into his arms. Then the group set off towards the higher country. Askari found a campsite on a high shelf of rocky ground, under an overhanging cliff. There was a depression in the cliff face, out of the wind, and there Harad laid Gamal down. The old man’s face was greyer than before, and the blue tinge to his lips had intensified.

Skilgannon knelt beside him. ‘You need to rest,’ he said.

Gamal shook his head. ‘It would do me no good. This body will not survive the night.’ A spasm of pain showed in his face, and he groaned. ‘I shall not be here for the end,’ he said. ‘And I cannot speak to you in this form. The pain is too great. It cuts across the thought processes. Will you journey with me, Skilgannon?’

‘He is delirious,’ said Askari. ‘He makes no sense.’

‘Yes, he does,’ said Skilgannon softly. ‘I once did this journey with another.’ Returning his attention to the dying man he asked: ‘What would you have me do?’

‘Lay your body down and take my hand.’

Skilgannon stretched out, then rose on one elbow. ‘Let no-one touch me or disturb me,’ he commanded the others. ‘Leave me to wake in my own time.’ Then he lay back, reached out, and took Gamal’s hand.

His vision swam, bright colours flashing before his mind’s eye. There was a sense of falling, spinning, and a great roaring sound washed across his conscious. Then there was darkness. A light grew.

Skilgannon blinked and sat up. The roaring was still there, and he turned to see a waterfall. It was a magnificent sight, the water gushing over black basaltic rock, and falling several hundred feet into a wide lake. There was a black stone bridge above the waterfall, high and curving. Sunlight on the water spray around it created a rainbow over the bridge.

‘It is so beautiful,’ said a voice. Skilgannon glanced to his right. A handsome young man sat there, his hair long and blond, his eyes blue.

‘Gamal?’

‘Indeed so. I long ago decided that — if it was in my power — I would be here at the point of my death.

There is something about this place that feeds my soul.’

‘It is not a dream place then?’

Gamal smiled. ‘Well, yes, it is at the moment. But it exists in the real world.’

‘How did they build a bridge across it?’ asked Skilgannon.

‘No-one built it. Ten thousand years ago — perhaps more — a great volcano erupted. A huge river of molten lava swept across the land. It burnt a tunnel through the rock face, then swept on down through the valley. The bridge is just the upper section of a cliff that was once here. A long time ago, before one of the many falls and rebirths of the world, there was a race who believed that the rainbow bridge was a connection between their world and the place of the gods. It is easy to see why.’

‘At most other times I would be fascinated to know more,’ said Skilgannon. ‘However — as you yourself said — we have little time.’

The young man nodded. ‘This is true. First let me tell you about the Eternal. .’

‘She is Jianna, a woman I loved more than life. I know. Now I must destroy her.’

‘No!’ said Gamal. ‘That you must not do! She would return instantly.’

‘How is that possible?’

‘Once more Landis is at fault here,’ said Gamal sadly. ‘The Eternal’s Reborns are linked to her.

Landis believed the process of the Eternal’s rebirth would be more efficient if there was some way to make the process of soul transference immediate upon the Eternal’s death. As it was we had to locate the Reborn and bring her to Diranan, and the palace, and then perform the exchange. This was obviously fraught with difficulty. What if the Reborn, sensing her fate, chose to run away? What if the Eternal died and was destroyed in the Void by some demon? Landis spent many years attempting to refine the process. In the end, though, it was Memnon who supplied the answer.’

‘Memnon?’

‘I will come to him, Skilgannon. He has a brilliant mind, and is also possessed of great psychic power.