David Gemmell - The Swords of Night and Day

On the plain below were thousands of marching men and columns of horses. Bringing up the rear were two regiments of Jiamads. The army stretched all the way back to a distant line of hills. Gilden hunkered down and tried to gauge the numbers of the enemy. He estimated there to be at least twenty thousand fighting men, plus the two thousand Jiamads. In the vanguard he saw the riders of the Eternal Guard, in their armour of black and silver. Like the Legend Riders they wore elaborate chain-mail hauberks, coifs and gorgets. They also carried sabres and lances, and round bucklers on their left forearms. The thousand men of the Eternal Guard were the elite of the Eternal’s army, hand picked for their valour in other regiments.

Then he saw the Eternal herself, dressed in armour of bright silver, riding a white horse. Narrowing his eyes he sought to focus more sharply. It seemed the horse had horns curling over its ears. Gilden eased himself back from the slope and mounted his own chestnut. Swinging the beast he set off slowly towards the north.

He would have preferred to ride at speed, but was wary of the dust his horse would stir up on the dry hillside. When he reached lower ground he eased the beast into a run.

There was no doubt now that the last battle was approaching. Agrias would be hard pressed to hold off such a force. Especially without the Legend Riders. Alahir had sent Bagalan back to gather the other two hundred fighting men, ordering him to rendezvous in three days at the small town of Corisle, eighty miles north. The town’s income derived from its situation, close to the merging of three rivers. Due north, along the ancient canal, lay the Rostrias; west was the narrow, silt-heavy waterway that once flowed freely down to Siccus on the coast. East was another ancient canal that had been created in the far past to ferry supplies to the copper mines in the old Sathuli territories. From Corisle the plan was to commandeer barges that would carry the riders to the Rostrias, and along the river towards the site of the mysterious temple Skilgannon spoke of. The journey — if all went smoothly — would take many days.

Gilden was unhappy with the plan. More so now that he had seen the Eternal’s army. The battles would rage into Drenai land, and, as far as Gilden was concerned, that was where the Legend Riders should meet the foe. Others agreed with him, and the conversation had become heated.

Then Skilgannon had spoken. ‘I understand your concerns,’ he told them. ‘I also understand the desire to protect the homeland. It does you credit. We could ride for Siccus, and fight, seeking to hold off the Eternal. We might even succeed in turning back one of her armies. One of her ten armies.

However, we would ultimately fail, because her resources are so much greater than those of your people.

She can summon thousands of Jiamads, scores of regiments. If Ustarte’s prophecy is true, then we can win the war only by destroying the source of all her power. It is my belief the answer lies at the temple.’

‘A temple you say is no longer there,’ put in Gilden.

‘That is so,’ agreed Skilgannon. ‘However, since the artefacts of the Elders still generate magic the power source must still be operating. The first time I visited the temple it could not be seen. I had already ridden past it many times in my search. A ward spell had been placed over it, which fooled the eye. I cannot say to you, Gilden, that we will succeed. This may be a fool’s errand. But I trust Ustarte. I believe it was she who spoke to Alahir, leading him to the Armour. It was she who urged him to follow me.’

‘Prophecies be damned,’ said Gilden. ‘Why could she not just have told us what to do?’

‘Not an easy question to answer,’ said Skilgannon. ‘When I spoke to her she talked of there being many futures. Each decision we make changes those futures. We could go to the temple. We could travel to Siccus. We could stay here and do nothing. Some could go, some could stay. Each decision would result in scores of possible outcomes. Nothing is certain. My guess is that Ustarte saw a great number of possibilities for us. She dared not push us in any one direction, for fear of inadvertently sending us on the wrong path. The decisions are ours to make, for that is our destiny.’

‘Well, that just shot over my head like an arrow,’ said Gilden. ‘Perhaps there is a future where the Eternal vanishes in a puff of dust.’ The comment eased the tension, and the men chuckled.

‘The key,’ said Skilgannon, as the laughter died down, ‘has to be in the source of the magic. Destroy that and there will be no more Jiamads, no more Reborns, and — ultimately — no more Eternal. This will become once more a world of men. Think of it this way. If a bear is savaging your cattle you do not wait in the pastures for his next attack. You seek out his lair and you kill him. The temple is the lair. That is where the war will be won.’

‘Much as I appreciate discussion,’ said Alahir, ‘I know of only one certain fact. The voice told me to follow where Skilgannon led. She said the hope of the Drenai rested on me. I will ride to the temple.

Alone if need be.’

‘Damn it, man, you won’t be alone!’ said Gilden. ‘It hurts me you would say such a thing. We’re all with you. I’d ride into a lake of hellfire if you ordered it.’

Bagalan laughed. ‘You didn’t follow him into the pleasure den last week. Left him alone, I recall, with a goat-faced whore.’

‘Ah well,’ replied Gilden, smiling broadly, ‘he wasn’t the Earl of Bronze then.’

The conversation had moved on to more prosaic matters, like provisions for the journey, and how they would pay for passage on the long barges that ferried supplies and men along the coast. The discussion was interrupted by the arrival of a scout, followed by a dark-haired swordsman on a tall chestnut.

‘This man claims to know Skilgannon,’ said the scout.

Skilgannon rose. ‘What do you want here, Decado?’

At the mention of the name a sudden silence fell over the warriors. Every rider had heard of the famous killer.

‘I came to join you, kinsman, and to tell you that Askari is currently in the camp of the beast master.

She called him Stavi, I recall.’

‘What are you talking about?’ asked Skilgannon.

‘Her friend. A merchant, I think she said.’

‘Stavut is with beasts?’

Gilden stepped in and explained what had passed between him and Stavut the previous day.

‘How many Jiamads does he have?’ asked Skilgannon.

‘I’d say around fifty,’ Decado told him.

‘They could be useful.’

‘We don’t need animals,’ said Gilden. ‘We are warriors. We fight as men.’

Skilgannon shook his head. ‘We don’t yet know what we need. Successful war involves using all the weapons at one’s disposal. That is how we came to train horses, Gilden. We saw they would make us faster and more mobile. The Eternal will have sent a force to stop us. You think they will all be men?

These are strange days. The Armour of Bronze has returned, and the axe of Druss the Legend. I am here

— and I died a thousand years ago. Now, a gentle merchant has somehow gathered an army of beasts, who could aid us in any battle. If I can use them, I will.’

With that, Skilgannon had walked to the white stallion and saddled it. Then he mounted and rode back to Decado. ‘Where are they?’ he asked.

‘About ten miles due east and a little north. You’ll see a ridge, and just beyond it a line of trees. They are camped there.’

Skilgannon swung to Alahir. ‘Head towards the town you spoke of. I will catch up with you. The Eternal’s army is marching through the mountains, so make sure you keep scouts ahead.’

Without another word he rode from the campsite. Decado dismounted. ‘A little food would not go amiss,’ he said. No-one spoke to him, though at the orders of Alahir a warrior fetched him a bowl of broth and some dried beef. Decado took it a little way from the others and sat down to eat.