David Gemmell - The Swords of Night and Day

‘How do you arrive at that conclusion?’

The man smiled, and pointed to the riders around Alahir. ‘You all have the same saddle designs, stirrup protectors, horns from which to hang your bows. This saddle has no such refinements. Added to which there was blood upon it. My guess is the rider was killed.’

‘Very astute,’ said Alahir, ‘and entirely right. However, the horse is mine by right of conquest, since I killed its rider.’

‘Ah well,’ replied the man, ‘that sets an interesting precedent. Are you intending to conquer me also?’

‘You think we cannot?’

‘I would be a fool to believe I could beat forty armed soldiers. No, there is no doubt that the survivors would claim the horse.’ His voice hardened. ‘You, however, would not be among the survivors. Nor the two riding with you. I am not sure how many others I could take with me on the Swan’s Path. Three or four probably. Even so it might be worth the risk. It is a fine horse.’

Alahir laughed. ‘Then you think we should attack you for it?’

‘Depends how much you want it.’

At that moment two other people came into view, a staggeringly beautiful young woman, dark-haired and slim, carrying a recurve bow, and a huge, black-bearded warrior bearing a massive axe.

‘Stay back,’ the rider told them, ‘and do nothing.’

Alahir stared at the woman, and the bow she carried. ‘Are you Askari?’ he asked.

‘I am. How would you know that?’

‘I chose that bow myself. Stavut wanted a fine present for you.’

‘You are Alahir?’

‘Indeed I am, beautiful lady,’ he replied, bowing low.

She laughed. ‘He said you were ugly and crookbacked and had lost all your teeth.’

Gilden edged alongside him. ‘Have you seen the axe?’ he said. Alahir looked more closely at the weapon carried by the massive young man. He said nothing for a moment.

‘Are there runes upon that blade?’ he asked at last.

‘Aye, in silver.’

‘May I see it?’

‘Step down first,’ said the axeman. ‘I’ll not be passing my weapon to mounted men.’

Alahir dismounted and walked over to the man, who held up the axe so that the runes on the haft could be seen.

‘Does it say what I think it might?’ called out Gilden.

‘It does.’ Walking back to his horse Alahir stepped into the saddle and returned his attention to the man with the sapphire eyes.

‘This is a day of surprises,’ he said. ‘Would you do me a kindness, and show me the weapons you would have used to defend your right to the horse?’

The man’s arms swept up and back, and two gleaming swords flashed in the sunlight. One was gold, the other moonlight silver.

‘The Swords of Night and Day,’ said Alahir. ‘We are to follow where you lead.’

Askari, nursing a thudding headache, sat with Harad as Skilgannon, Alahir and many of the riders gathered round and talked. Much of the conversation was lost on the huntress, dealing as it did with Drenai history, old legends, and new prophecies. Her interest waned still further when Alahir produced a brilliantly burnished helm of bronze and showed it to Skilgannon. Armour was not one of her interests.

Beside her, Harad was becoming irritated by the number of men wishing to see the axe. Many of them reached out reverentially and touched the haft.

One young man squatted down before them and just stared at the weapon. Askari, her patience wearing as thin as Harad’s, said: ‘It is an axe — not a holy relic’

‘It is the axe,’ the boy replied, not taking his eyes from the weapon.

‘Well, you have seen it. Now leave us in peace,’ snapped Harad.

The conversation among the leaders turned to more recent events, and Askari heard Stavut’s name mentioned. A grizzled veteran was talking about the merchant’s now keeping company with a troop of Jiamads. Askari listened in amazement. Stavut, who was terrified of wolves, and noises in the dark, was now leading a pack of monsters? It was ludicrous. There must have been a mistake. He was supposed to be leading her friends to a place of safety. Rising, she walked to where the men were talking and questioned the old soldier. He told her what had transpired, including the story Stavut had outlined, of a battle to avenge the deaths of people he cared about.

‘Which way was he heading?’ she asked.

‘Northeast.’

Askari moved back from the men, swept up her bow and quiver and walked away through the trees.

Harad followed her. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked.

‘To find Stavut.’

‘I’ll come with you.’

‘No disrespect, Harad, but you can’t move as fast as I can.’ With that she set off at a run, cutting through the trees and back towards the north. Once away from the group she felt her tensions ease. The headache she had suffered for the last few hours drifted away. There were perhaps three hours of good daylight left as she loped across the grassland towards a distant wood. If Stavut was with a pack of Jiamads then their tracks should not be hard to find. As she ran, eyes scanning ground, she thought of what she had heard. Stavut covered in blood. Something had obviously happened that had unhinged the young man. Though brave he was not a warrior, as she had seen during the fight in the cave. No, Stavut was a sensitive fellow, with charm, wit and a good heart. So why was he with the beasts? Perhaps they had taken him hostage or were keeping him for. . for food? She shuddered at the thought.

Askari ran on, moving now towards the east, seeking to cut across the trail left by the beasts. The tracks would tell the story better than she could imagine it. The search took far longer than she had anticipated, and there was less than an hour’s daylight remaining when she came upon the trail. She was tired now, having been on the move at speed for around two hours. Carefully she studied the spoor. It was difficult to estimate the numbers of beasts, for the tracks overlapped one another, but it seemed there must be more than thirty of them. Stavut’s boot prints were clear, here and there. One huge Jiamad was walking alongside him. Guarding the prisoner? Now with a clear trail Askari ran again, heading northeast. The ground rose steadily towards a high stand of pine. The wind was blowing from the west, so the Jems would not be able to pick up her scent. Even so she moved more warily. The last thing she needed was to run straight into their camp.

As she neared the tree line she heard a horse whinny. Coming to a stop she notched an arrow to her bow. From the trees ahead she saw Decado ride into sight. He waved and smiled. ‘You are a long way from your friends, beauty,’ he said.

‘And you are a short way from death,’ she said.

‘Pish! We are all a short way from death.’ Lifting his leg over the saddle horn he jumped lightly to the ground. ‘So what brings you here?’ he asked, walking to a jutting rock and sitting down.

‘Does it not concern you that I might kill you?’ she asked.

‘You didn’t kill me that first night, beauty. You just let me go. Why was that?’

‘Obviously a mistake,’ she told him.

‘Probably.’

‘And stop calling me beauty. I am not her.’

‘Confusing, though,’ he said. He winced suddenly and rubbed at his eyes.

‘What is wrong with you?’

‘Nothing of note. I get head pains sometimes. Mostly they are bearable. Sometimes — as when you found me — they are. . not so bearable. This one is — happily — not too debilitating. So, why are you here?’

‘I am looking for a friend.’

‘You are lucky, then, for you have found one.’

‘You are not my friend, Decado. I am speaking of a true friend, a man named Stavut.’