David Gemmell - The Swords of Night and Day

‘The one walking with the Jiamads?’

‘You have seen them?’

‘Indeed I have. I came upon them earlier. Thought I would have to fight my way clear. Happily he has them well disciplined, so there was no trouble.’

‘He is not a prisoner, then?’

‘It would be an unusual definition of the word prisoner. He commands them, and they obey. We had some conversation. Strange man. A little deranged, I think.’

Askari laughed then. Decado smiled. ‘I have amused you?’

‘That you, of all people, should accuse another of being deranged.’

‘Yes, ironic, isn’t it? Of course I could argue that it gives me a better insight.’ He looked at her quizzically. ‘No offence, but I don’t suppose you’d consider getting naked with me. It would help relieve my headache.’

‘I don’t believe you! I loathe you, Decado. What on earth would make you think I’d want to sleep with you?’

‘I wasn’t talking about sleep. Just sex. However, a simple no would have been sufficient.’ He glanced up at the sky. ‘Are you still thinking of finding your friend?’

‘Of course.’

‘You won’t do it before dark on foot. Climb up behind me and I’ll take you to them.’ Rising from the rock he walked to his horse, stepped into the saddle, then held out his hand to her.

‘Why should I trust you?’

‘I can’t think of a single good reason.’

‘Nor I,’ she said, with a smile.

Returning the arrow to its quiver she took his hand. Decado slipped his foot from the stirrup and Askari levered herself up to sit behind him.

The meeting with Gilden had depressed Stavut considerably. He liked the man and, more, respected him.

Gilden was brave, honourable, and good-hearted. Yet the hatred in his face when he talked of vermin had shocked Stavut. As he walked on, the ground rising higher and higher towards the northeast, he kept thinking of Gilden’s savage reaction. It wouldn’t have surprised him a few weeks ago, he realized. In fact, he too had felt the same about Jiamads. But then he had never known any. Now he knew there was no evil in them. They were savage in the same way as the wolf or the lion. They killed to eat. There was no hatred in them, no malice.

Last night he had witnessed a fight between Shakul and another huge beast. It had begun so swiftly Stavut had had no chance to intervene. The two beasts had rushed at one another, snarling and biting. At first Shakul had been pushed back, but then he struck his opponent with a ferocious right hand. The beast staggered. Shakul leapt upon him, bearing him to the ground. He hit him twice more, open-handed, the sound sickening. The beast slumped. Then Shakul rose above him, standing very still. The dazed Jiamad slowly moved to all fours, then nuzzled the ground at Shakul’s feet. The other members of the pack gathered round. Then each began to stamp his feet on the ground.

Shakul walked back to where Stavut stood, mesmerized by the scene. ‘What was that about?’ the merchant had asked.

‘Place,’ said Shakul. ‘Place in pack.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Shakul’s place.’

‘He wanted to take your place as. . what?’

Shakul’s huge hand touched Stavut’s shoulder. ‘Bloodshirt,’ he said. Then he tapped his own chest.

‘Shakul.’ He pointed to the beast he had fought. ‘Broga.’ Then at Grava, who was sitting close by.

Stavut understood then. The pack order was decided by battle. The realization left him suddenly uneasy. ‘Does this mean you and I will fight one day?’

Shakul’s shoulders heaved as he gave the staccato growl Stavut understood to be laughter. Then he walked away.

Throughout the morning the pack pushed on. Stavut had no idea how fast the army of the Eternal marched, nor indeed whether they had anything to fear from them. It was likely they would merely pass through the land. However, Stavut had no wish to depend on luck. His view was to put as much distance between the army and the pack as possible. Unfortunately this meant climbing higher into the mountains.

The Jiamads were taking turns now hauling his wagon, but the trail was becoming more and more difficult. It was also narrowing. To Stavut’s right there was a fearsome drop. As he walked he stayed close to the cliff wall on his left. Shakul came alongside him, staring at him.

‘Bloodshirt sick?’

‘No. Frightened. I hate heights,’ he said, pointing to the edge.

Shakul walked to the lip of the precipice and stared over and down. ‘Long way,’ he said.

Then he marched on, scouting the path ahead. Grava came alongside, his long tongue lolling from his mouth. He said something utterly unintelligible. Stavut nodded. ‘Good point,’ he replied. Grava nodded and spoke again. Happily he wandered off before Stavut was forced to admit he hadn’t understood a word.

The pack moved on. Up ahead came the sound of falling rocks. Stavut raised his arm and halted the beasts. Grava ran forward to check for danger. When he returned Stavut could see he was agitated. He ran to Stavut and began to speak. ‘Slow down,’ said Stavut. ‘I can’t understand you.’

Grava obliged, but Stavut could only make out one word. Shakul.

He followed Grava back to where a rockslide had struck the trail. A section of the ledge had fallen away. Grava moved to the edge and pointed down. Stavut inched his way forward, then dropped to his hands and knees. Stomach churning, he peered over. Some thirty feet down Shakul was clinging to an overhang, unable to lever himself up. Stavut swore — then remembered there was rope in the wagon.

Easing back from the ledge he ran to where three Jiamads were heroically pulling the wagon up the slope.

Climbing to the driver’s seat he applied the brake, then clambered over to the back, searching through the packages, pushing aside small barrels and bales of cloth. At last he came up with the rope. Looping it over his arm he ran back to where Grava and some others were gathered. Calling one of the most powerful of the Jiamads to him, he passed one end of the rope over the beast’s shoulder and pressed it into his hand. ‘I am going to throw the rope to Shakul,’ he said. ‘When he grabs it you pull him up.

Understand?’

‘Pull up,’ answered the beast.

Uncoiling the rope as he went, Stavut walked to the edge. ‘I am throwing a rope down,’ he shouted to Shakul.

Grava came alongside, shaking his head.

‘What?’ asked Stavut. Grava lifted his hands in a clawing motion and spoke very slowly. He had to repeat his words several times before Stavut could make them out. Shakul could not let go. Stavut moved to the cliff edge once more, and understood what Grava was trying to say. Shakul’s arms were fully extended, his weight enormous. If he tried to let go and reach for the rope he would fall.

‘Can you climb down to him?’ Stavut asked Grava. The beast stepped back, shaking his head.

Stavut swore again, then took hold of the end of the rope and made a large loop. Then he threw the rope over the edge. Glancing back at the beast holding the other end of the rope he said: ‘When I shout, you pull up.’

‘Pull up,’ said the beast again.

‘Brilliant!’ muttered Stavut.

Taking a deep breath he took hold of the dangling rope and lowered himself over the edge. ‘Do not look down,’ he told himself. ‘That’s what Askari says.’ Carefully he climbed down the rock face.

Footholds were plentiful and he had little difficulty reaching Shakul. As he came alongside the Jiamad he saw fear in Shakul’s eyes.

‘Long way!’ the beast gasped.

‘I am going to loop the rope round your waist. You hang on!’

This was the moment when Stavut realized he was going to have to look down. His stomach tightened.