David Gemmell - The Swords of Night and Day

Slowly he moved his head, his eyes fastened to the black fur on Shakul’s massive legs and dangling feet.

Carefully Stavut lowered himself further, lifting the loop over the legs and up towards the hips. A cold wind blew across the cliff face. Small stones tumbled down. Shakul’s left hand slipped, then scrabbled to hold on. Stavut pulled the rope up over the beast’s hips, then shouted: ‘Pull up!’

Nothing happened.

Only then did he realize he had given the rope to Broga — the beast Shakul had fought the night before.

You idiot, he told himself. The one creature in the pack who wanted Shakul displaced now had Shakul’s life in his hands. ‘Pull the rope!’ he shouted again.

Shakul fell, dislodging Stavut.

The rope went tight. Shakul’s arm shot out, talons slicing through Stavut’s shirt, and raking the skin beneath. They hung together over the dizzying drop. The shirt began to tear.

Grava’s head peered over the edge. ‘Pull us up!’ yelled Stavut.

The rope tightened once more, and slowly, inch by inch, they were hauled up the cliff face. Once above the overhang Shakul managed to gain footholds. As they neared the top Grava reached over and grabbed Stavut, pulling him to safety. The merchant moved away from the cliff edge, then turned towards Broga. There was blood on his hands, where the rope had burned him. Yet he had not let go.

‘Good work,’ said Stavut, patting him on the arm. ‘Thank you.’

‘Broga pull up,’ the beast said, dropping the rope and licking his bloodied palms. Stavut walked away.

His legs were trembling now, and he felt sick. To give himself something to take his mind off the possibility of vomiting he gathered up the rope, looping it over his forearm. Only when he was almost done did he realize that one end was still tied round Shakul. Walking back to the beast, he undid the knot.

‘An adventure, eh?’ he said.

‘We move now,’ said Shakul. ‘Find place. Eat. Sleep.’

‘No, no,’ said Stavut, ‘you are embarrassing me with such a show of gratitude.’

Shakul stared at him, nonplussed. ‘Again?’ he said.

Stavut grinned. ‘It doesn’t matter. Let’s find a place to rest, eat and sleep.’

Shakul nodded, then ambled off once more down the trail.

As Stavut sat quietly by the small campfire he kept glancing at Shakul. It seemed to him that the beast had been behaving strangely since the incident on the cliff. He had snarled and snapped at the others, and was now squatting alone beneath an overhanging tree branch. A group of the others, led by Grava, had left on a hunt. The rest, including the massive Broga, were sleeping. Stavut was also tired, but the stinging pain from the deep scratches where Shakul’s talons had pierced his shirt was keeping him awake. Rising from the fire he walked over to Shakul. The beast’s golden eyes looked up at him. Stavut sat down.

‘What is wrong, my friend? Are you hurt?’

‘Not hurt. Shakul sleep now.’ The Jiamad closed his eyes.

‘I know you are not sleeping,’ said Stavut.

Shakul snarled suddenly, causing to Stavut to jerk back. Then the beast blinked, and his shoulders sagged. He glanced at the others. Some of them, hearing the snarl, had stirred and were watching the pair. Shakul settled back. Realizing there was no drama the others returned to sleep. Stavut sighed. ‘Talk to me, my friend. What is troubling you?’

‘Big fear,’ said Shakul, his voice low. ‘Long way down.’

And Stavut knew what the problem was. Shakul was both embarrassed and shocked by his fear. The great beast had not experienced such terror before, and the new sensation had left him uneasy.

‘Nothing wrong with fear,’ said Stavut at last. ‘It is how we deal with it that counts. A friend taught me that.’ He laughed. ‘You and he wouldn’t get on. Though in fact I think you are quite similar.’

‘Shakul was coward,’ said the beast, his head sagging.

‘Nonsense! Every living thing knows fear. Listen to me, Shakul. When you were hanging on that rock face you were frightened. And so you should have been. It was a long way to fall. But when I was dislodged you caught me. You saved me. Shakul is not a coward. Shakul is brave. I know this.

Bloodshirt knows this.’

Shakul’s head began to twist from side to side, his body rocking. Stavut waited. ‘Big fear,’ the Jiamad said, at last.

‘Me too. But we survived, you and I. We live. We will hunt and we will eat.’

‘Bloodshirt came for Shakul.’

‘Yes. We are friends.’

‘Friends?’

‘We are pack,’ corrected Stavut, with a grin. ‘I am sure you would have done the same for me.’

‘No,’ said Shakul. ‘Long way down.’

‘Whatever! Are you feeling better now?’

Shakul’s head came up. His nostrils quivered. ‘Horse. Skins,’ he said.

‘Soldiers?’

‘Same Skin Bloodshirt meet.’ He sniffed the air again. ‘One other. Female.’

‘Gilden? The soldier with the bow?’

‘Other Skin.’

Stavut remembered the dark-eyed young man, the one wearing swords like Skilgannon’s. Stavut hadn’t liked him much. Rising to his feet he said: ‘Where are they coming from?’

Shakul pointed to the south. Stavut strolled across the campsite and waited. He heard a horse whinny in fear. Then it came into sight through the trees. The horse was skittish as the smell of the beasts came to it, but the rider was skilled, and kept it calm. A dark-haired woman jumped down from behind him.

Stavut’s heart leapt. It was Askari.

He ran forward to greet her, smiling broadly. ‘Oh, it is good to see you,’ he said.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked him, gazing round at the beasts, who had now awoken and were staring balefully at the newcomers.

‘Long story — and a sad one.’

The rider dismounted. Holding to the reins of his horse he walked forward. ‘I shall leave you now, beauty,’ he said to Askari. ‘Can we part as friends?’

‘We are not enemies, Decado,’ she said.

‘Good.’ He delved into the pocket of his jerkin and came up with a small golden locket on a thin chain. ‘Take this,’ he said, extending his hand.

‘I don’t want gifts.’

‘It is a peace token. No more than that.’

Askari took it, and Stavut saw that there was a small blue gem at the centre of the locket. It was a valuable piece, though there was no reason why a country girl like Askari would know that. He felt anger welling, but kept his expression calm.

‘It is very pretty. Thank you, Decado. Where will you go?’

‘I shall find Skilgannon. I’ll tell him where you are.’

‘You are going to join us?’

‘Why not? In a way he and I are kin.’ With that the swordsman, without a glance at Stavut, stepped smoothly into the saddle and rode from the woods.

‘I do not like that man,’ said Stavut.

‘Never mind him,’ said Askari. ‘What has happened to you, Stavi?’ She stared at her friend, trying to see some sign of the merchant she had known. His dapper red clothes were stained with blood and dirt, his dark hair matted and filthy, his face, now unshaven, smeared with dried blood. She looked into his eyes, and saw little there that she remembered.

‘Happened to me? So much, Askari.’

‘And my people?’

Stavut sighed, and his shoulders sagged. ‘All dead. Killed by soldiers of the Eternal. We hunted them down, though. None survived.’

‘Walk with me, Stavi,’ she said, setting off towards a rippling stream close by. He followed her, and as he walked he told her of the arrival of Shakul and the others, and how he had taught them to hunt.

Then of the villagers fleeing back towards the settlement. Askari listened, but said little. She followed the line of the stream until they reached higher ground, where the water bubbled over white rocks, tumbling down into a broader pool. Then she turned to him. ‘I’d like to see you without the blood and dirt,’ she said. ‘Come, let us see if the water is deep enough to swim in.’ Laying her bow and quiver on the bank, she stripped off her green, hooded shirt, and her leggings. Stavut stood, watching her.