David Gemmell - The Swords of Night and Day

‘What is it you want from me?’ asked Skilgannon.

‘Landis should never have brought you back. It was a mistake. I am here to rectify it. However, your passing will be without pain.’

‘How do you intend to kill me?’

‘Ah, did Gamal not indicate to you the dangers of these kinds of journeys? How remiss of him. Let me explain. The essence of your life force is now here. For short periods such departures from the flesh can be tolerated. After a few hours, though, the body begins to die. Time here does not flow in the same way as beyond. I would say that your new form is already fighting for life. So, what would you like to talk about, in the brief time that we have?’

Skilgannon closed his eyes. He pictured the shallow depression in the rocks where his body lay, and tried to will his spirit to return. When he opened his eyes the dark-haired Shadowlord was staring at him.

‘You are not as godlike as the Eternal described you,’ said Memnon. ‘True, you have beautiful eyes, but you are merely a man. I suppose that is what legends do. They exaggerate and amplify. However, she loved you, and I suppose that does colour the memories. Even so you do not seem like a man who would butcher the inhabitants of an entire city.’

‘Looks can be deceiving,’ said Skilgannon.

‘Quite so. Excuse me for a moment.’ Memnon faded from view. Alone now, Skilgannon sought again to return to his body, but to no avail. He walked to the water’s edge, and found a sharp stone, which he tried to cut into his palm, thinking that pain might restore him. There was no pain. The skin cut and bled, then resealed instantly.

Memnon reappeared. ‘I apologize for leaving you. I wanted to see how close the pursuers were to your little group. Their deaths will not be long after yours — and considerably more painful, I would say.’

Harad was standing on the shelf of rock, staring out over the land, Charis beside him. Askari had left some time before, to scout for any sign of their enemies returning. The sun was setting, the sky red as blood. Brilliantly lit clouds hovered above the western mountains, themselves dramatically colourful with their crimson bases, their flanks a mixture of coral and black, and their rounded peaks white as snow.

‘It is so beautiful,’ said Charis, taking Harad’s arm, and resting her head on his shoulder. ‘Look at those clouds.’

‘I am looking at the clouds. I think it will rain tomorrow.’

‘Oh, Harad,’ she said. He heard the disappointment in her voice, and felt a sense of loss as she withdrew her arm and moved away from him.

‘They are beautiful,’ he said swiftly.

‘You don’t see it though, do you?’ she said, turning towards him. ‘You look at clouds and you think of rain. A deer is just meat on four legs. A tree is something to chop down to make a table, or a chair.’

‘Aye, well, that’s all true, isn’t it?’

‘Of course it’s true, you clod! There is so much more, though. I wish you could see it.’

‘Why? What difference does it make what I see?’

Chads did not answer. She rubbed at her stinging eyes, and then ran her hand through her golden hair, pushing it back from her face. ‘I am really tired,’ she said. ‘I think I’ll go and rest.’

‘I understand beauty,’ he said softly. ‘When you just brushed your fingers through your hair. That was beautiful. Sometimes, on a cold autumn day, after the rain, when the sun shines through the broken clouds, that is beautiful too. When you live alone in the mountains you tend to deal in realities, like food and shelter and comforts. Clouds bring rain, deer is meat.’

‘Well,’ she said, with a smile. ‘You used up a whole winter of words there.’

‘I didn’t want you to go away,’ he told her, his face reddening.

‘Why did you come after me, Harad?’ she asked, stepping in close.

‘Thought you might need me.’

‘And I did. Not just because I was in danger. I needed you before that. Did you never wonder why I always brought your food?’

‘I thought it was because you enjoyed irritating me.’

Her face darkened. ‘Did it not occur to you that I might have been attracted to you?’

‘To me?’ he said, shocked.

‘Yes, to you, you dimwit! Did I not ask you to the Feast? Did I not promise to teach you to dance?’

Harad struggled in vain to bring his thoughts into focus. It was as if the sea was roaring between his ears. ‘I’m not a handsome man,’ he said at last. ‘It never entered my mind that you. . I don’t. . I don’t know what to say.’

‘Tell me you love me. Or not,’ she added swiftly.

Harad drew in a deep breath. Then he relaxed, and gave a broad smile. ‘Of course I love you. When I thought you might have been. . hurt,’ he said, unwilling to voice the real fear, ‘I thought I would go out of my mind.’

‘Then perhaps you should kiss me,’ she said, moving closer.

At that moment there came a strangled cry of pure agony from behind them. Harad swung round. The old man, Gamal, was writhing on the ground. His body spasmed, and there was blood upon his lips.

Charis ran to him, kneeling by his side. Gamal’s face was a mask of agony. ‘The swords!’ he groaned.

‘Skilgannon!’ Then he screamed in pain. His body convulsed, and more blood sprayed from his mouth as he cried out.

‘Help me, Harad!’ pleaded Charis.

The axeman knelt down beside Gamal. The old man sagged unconscious into Harad’s arms, and was lowered gently to the floor.

Charis held her fingers to Gamal’s throat. The pulse flickered briefly for a few moments, then stopped.

Charis sighed, and a tear fell to her cheek. ‘I liked him,’ she said.

She began to weep and Harad sat close to her, his huge arm round her shoulder. He knew a touch of guilt, for, despite her distress, Harad himself felt content. In fact more content than at any time he could remember. The woman he loved was nestled close to him. He could feel her warmth, and smell the scent of her hair. The moment was blissful. For the first time in days the glittering axe was forgotten. All that mattered was that he comforted the woman in his arms.

Charis relaxed, her head against his chest. ‘He was a kindly old man,’ she said. ‘It was so cruel to hunt him in this way.’

Harad said nothing. The old man had been one of the lords, one of the creators of beasts. Harad had little sympathy for his passing.

‘I am so glad you are here, Harad.’

‘Where else would I be?’

Charis sighed and moved back a little from him. She leaned in and closed the dead man’s eyes. ‘Your friend is still asleep. Should we wake him?’

‘He said not to.’ A sense of emptiness touched Harad as Charis drew away from him. A flicker of anger replaced it. Then she smiled at him, and the anger melted away.

‘Where did you find that big axe?’

‘It was a gift,’ he told her.

‘It is a horrible weapon.’ She shuddered. ‘Why do we need such things?’

‘What sort of question is that?’ he responded. ‘Without the axe I would have been killed. Then I couldn’t have been here to help you.’

‘I meant why do people want to make such weapons. Why do we fight each other?’

‘I don’t know. I never know the answers to the questions you ask. Everything is so complicated when you are around. It makes my head swim.’ Yet there was no irritation now. Harad wondered if there ever would be again. He gazed at her face. She had never been more beautiful.

‘I’m really frightened, Harad,’ she said suddenly. ‘All I’ve wanted for the last two years is for us to be together. Now we are. And people are trying to kill us.’

His pale eyes glittered. ‘No-one is going to kill you, Charis. They’d have to get past me. I may not be handsome, and I’m not a great thinker, but I am a fighter. Ten days ago that was not a virtue. Now it is.