David Gemmell - The Swords of Night and Day

Shakul loomed alongside him. ‘I loved those horses,’ Stavut told him. The great beast looked nonplussed. Stavut sighed. Two Jiamads approached the dead beasts. Shakul snarled at them, ordering them back.

‘Time to move on,’ said Stavut.

This time he felt no sickness. His heart was heavy, and all he wanted was to find the villagers safe.

Then he would turn the pack over to Shakul, seek out new horses and head north.

He realized Shakul was speaking to him, and leaned forward to catch what he was saying.

‘Blood in air,’ said Shakul. ‘Skin blood.’

The trio rested up for most of that day, and the one following. Harad said little. He sat by Charis’s grave, his expression bleak, his eyes distant. Skilgannon did not intrude on his grief, and Askari left the two men, and set off to hunt for food. She returned at dusk on the second day with three hares, which she skinned.

‘The meat is better when left to hang for a while,’ she said, as they ate.

Skilgannon thanked her for the meal, then walked out into the moonlight. His mind flowed back to the dream meeting with Memnon. Now there was a dangerous man. No anger, no hatred; a cold mind and eyes which glittered with intelligence. He was an enemy to fear.

He suddenly laughed aloud. All across this war-torn land there were enemies to fear: armies of Joinings, cavalry, foot soldiers, archers. Memnon was merely one more to add to the list, along with Jianna and Decado — and who knew who else.

He glanced back to where Harad sat by the fire and sighed. The young man had lost the woman he loved, and his world was in ruins. Skilgannon felt for him, recalling the cold day he had heard of Jianna’s death. Would Harad ever be the man he once was, Skilgannon wondered? He had not touched the axe all day. It lay against the cliff wall, forgotten.

Askari strolled out. ‘You want to be alone?’ she asked.

‘No. We must set out tomorrow, and find Kinyon. Or if not Kinyon, then someone who can offer directions to the Rostrias. I am sure that if I find the river, I can locate the temple.’

They heard a horse whinny in the darkness. Askari reached for her bow, and notched a shaft. A figure rode into sight. It was Decado.

His clothing was travel-stained, a layer of dust dulling the black jerkin he wore. He seemed surprised to see them, and drew rein.

Askari drew back on the string, but Skilgannon reached out and touched her arm. ‘Do not kill him yet,’ he said.

‘Nice of you,’ said Decado, lifting his leg over the saddle pommel and jumping lightly to the ground.

His dark eyes stared hard at Skilgannon. ‘So, you are my ancestor. To be honest I see no resemblance.’

‘I do,’ Skilgannon told him. ‘It is in the haunted look, and the fear of the blades.’

‘I fear nothing,’ said Decado. ‘Not you, not the beauty with the bow, not the Shadows. Nothing.’

‘A poor lie,’ Skilgannon replied. ‘You fear losing those blades. You do not like them out of your sight.

When you sit in the evenings you make sure they are beside you. You reach out and touch them endlessly. In the mornings the first action you take is to caress the hilts.’

Decado gave a cold smile. ‘True,’ he said, reaching up and pressing an emerald stud on the ivory hilt jutting over his shoulder. With one smooth pull the Sword of Fire slid from its scabbard. Skilgannon stepped back and drew his own blades.

‘You have come a long way just to die here, boy,’ said Skilgannon.

Decado’s second blade appeared in his hand. ‘A man has to die somewhere. Keep the bow notched,’

he said to Askari, ‘and move back away from us. Stand as close to the cliff wall as you can.’

Skilgannon’s eyes narrowed. It was an odd thing to say. He watched Decado loosen the muscles of his arms, sweeping the swords back and forth. ‘You see the clouds gathering?’ said Decado.

Skilgannon glanced at the sky. Harad, axe in hand, had moved out into the open.

‘Be ready when they cover the moon,’ said Decado. ‘I don’t know how good you are, kinsman, but death is very close if you are less than superb.’

‘You think you are that good?’

Decado smiled. ‘Oh, I know how good I am, but it is not me you need to concern yourself with at this moment. The Shadows are here.’

Darkness came swiftly. Skilgannon closed his eyes, slipping into the Illusion of Elsewhere. There came a sudden hissing sound, like a breeze blowing through a window crack. Skilgannon spun, the Sword of Night slicing through the air. The blade struck something metallic, which then fell against his shoulder. He heard Askari cry out. Then came a high-pitched screech of pain. The darkness was total. Skilgannon leapt to his right, then spun again, blades extended. He heard the slightest whisper of movement. Instantly he dropped to one knee and slashed out with the Sword of Day. The blade struck something soft, then cut through. The clouds began to clear the moon. Sight returned. Skilgannon blinked. For a fraction of a heartbeat he saw a pale form some twenty feet away. Then it was gone — only to appear alongside him. A dark dagger plunged towards his chest. The Sword of Night swept up. The creature ducked and moved with incredible speed. The Sword of Day snaked out, the very tip of the blade slicing across the creature’s throat. It sped away, staggered, then fell.

Moonlight shone down, illuminating the open ground. Harad was down, as was Askari. Decado looked at Skilgannon and smiled. ‘Quick, aren’t they?’

There were three skeletal bodies lying on the earth. Snaga was embedded in one, a second lay close to Decado, and the third was the one slain by Skilgannon. ‘And now do we fight?’ he asked Decado.

‘If you really want to,’ replied the swordsman. ‘For myself I would like to sit beside a fire and relax.

Perhaps stroke my sword hilts for a while.’

‘How many more of these creatures are there?’

‘None close, I think. They travel in threes. More will come, though.’

Skilgannon moved alongside Askari and knelt down. Her face was unnaturally pale, her eyes open.

Reaching out he touched her throat. There was a faint pulse. ‘She is not dead,’ said Decado. ‘The venom in their darts and daggers merely paralyses. Close her eyes for her, and let her sleep. She will awake in an hour or so, with a ghastly headache.’

He stepped to where Harad lay. ‘Now that is a strange sight,’ he said. ‘I would have wagered all I have that a huge clod with an axe would not have been able to kill a Shadow.’ Placing a booted foot under Harad he flipped the axeman to his back. Sheathing his swords, he dropped to one knee and closed Harad’s eyes. Then, ignoring the fallen man, he walked over to the dying fire and added a few sticks. Skilgannon joined him.

‘Why did you aid us?’ he asked.

‘Actually, kinsman, it was the other way round. The Shadows were hunting me. So, how does it feel to be alive again, after all these centuries?’

‘Why were they hunting you?’

‘I fell out of favour with the Eternal. She ordered my death. Strange, really. She only had to ask me and I would have killed myself for her.’ Decado sighed. ‘According to legend you loved her too, so you’ll know what I mean.’

‘What do you intend to do now?’ said Skilgannon, ignoring the comment.

‘Well,’ said Decado, ‘I could follow your historic example and join a monastery. I don’t think so, though. My namesake did that too, you know. He was after your time. He became a warrior of the Thirty, in the days of Tenaka Khan. He was known as the Ice Killer — the greatest swordsman of his age.

Of any age. I suppose he would have been your. . what. . great-great-grandson. Something like that.