David Gemmell - The Swords of Night and Day

‘Of course, lord. Is Patiacus returning to Diranan?’

‘Patiacus is dead. He betrayed me. Parts of him are still littering the laboratory floor. Clean them up yourself. The sight of his remains would disturb the servants. I shall be leaving tomorrow, to join the Eternal. You will work diligently while I am gone. I expect to see a successful conclusion to your studies.’

‘And you shall, lord,’ said Oranin, bowing once more. ‘Might I ask how Patiacus betrayed you?’

‘Why?’

‘So that I do not make the same mistake,’ replied the man, with transparent honesty.

Memnon sighed. ‘It was not a small oversight, Oranin. I did not kill him out of pique. He poisoned my Reborns. I should have expected something of the kind. Always been a problem of mine, to see the best in people.’

‘Why would he do such a thing?’ asked Oranin, appalled.

‘On the orders of the Eternal. It is so obvious, really. As a mortal I could serve her diligently. As an immortal I might have become a threat. Understandable. I don’t doubt, had the situation been reversed, that I, too, might have come to the same conclusion.’

‘You are not angry with her, lord?’

‘I do not become angry, Oranin. She is the Eternal. It is not for me to question her on grounds of loyalty, or treachery. The virtues of the one are ephemeral, the vices of the other debatable. It is merely the nature of politics, Oranin. Go now, and do as I have bid.’

Alone once more Memnon stretched out on the sofa and closed his eyes. It took him time to release his spirit, but once he had done so he soared up over the palace and sped north. He hovered for a while over the tent of the Eternal. Guards patrolled outside, while inside she slept. He gazed at her face, enjoying the exquisite beauty of her. Then he moved on.

Some twenty miles north of the encamped army he found Decado, asleep in the midst of a group of soldiers. There was no sign of Skilgannon. Memnon circled the area, at last heading east, over wide grassland. He almost missed the dead Shadows, only seeing the bodies at the last moment. Memnon floated down above them. Four bodies there were — one with an arrow through the skull, another with its skinny legs drawn up, its clawed, blood-covered hands placed as if seeking to stem the flow of blood from its gutted belly.

It was unheard of. Four Shadows killed in a single night. He floated closer. Three had been killed by a sharp blade, the last by a shaft. They would not have attacked had the victim not been alone, or vulnerable. Far off to the right Memnon saw a twinkling campfire. His spirit sped to it.

There were Jiamads there, and several humans. One was the Eternal’s Reborn, the other a bearded man in clothes of bright crimson. Memnon admired the tunic shirt, which was beautifully cut, though the cloth was not of the highest quality. The third human was Skilgannon, who was lying down, apparently asleep.

‘Might have been better had they killed him,’ said the man in the red shirt.

‘Don’t say that, Stavi!’

‘I didn’t mean it. Well. . not entirely. Because of him my lads are going into danger.’

‘That is not fair. They are going because of you. You could always stay here. After we succeed I will come back and find you.’

‘I love the optimism. You are going to find a temple that no longer exists and destroy the source of a magic you don’t understand. What does it really look like, this thing you call an egg? How will you know it when you see it? Silver eagles, magic shields! None of it makes any sense.’

‘It does, as Skilgannon explained it to me. The ancients could and did work miracles that we no longer understand. They created the magic. It doesn’t matter how it works, the fact is that it does. Now bear with me. The artefacts of the Elders were just that, for a long while. Empty and dead. Suddenly they had life. Something woke them, powered them. Something at the temple. The legends say that all this power comes from the silver eagle in the sky.’

‘Metal birds,’ muttered the man scornfully.

‘Forget birds. Something metal was raised into the sky by the ancients. Whatever it was gave them the power to work magic. Now somewhere, way back in the olden days, that power suddenly stopped. It no longer reached the artefacts. They all stopped. They. . slept. . would be the best way to describe it. Then something happened, and the power returned. You understand?’

‘I understand this is making my head hurt.’

‘Think of it this way. There is a cup which is empty. It does nothing. It sits. It has no uses. Then someone goes to a well and fills the cup with water. Now it is useful again. You can drink from it.’

‘The power source is someone with a jug?’

‘No, it is the water, stupid. The water makes the cup useful. Inside the temple there is something that fills the artefacts. We will destroy it. The artefacts will become useless. No more Reborns. No more Jiamads. No more Eternal. She will age and die like the rest of us.’

‘All right,’ said the man in the red shirt. ‘Suppose all you say is true. You still have to find a temple that is no longer there.’

‘It must be there, Stavi. It is the source of the power. And the power still operates. If it was truly gone the artefacts would already have become useless.’

‘This is all very well,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘But I would think more clearly if you were to take a little walk in the woods with me.’

‘You would not think more clearly,’ she said. ‘You would fall asleep with a smile on your face.’

‘So would you,’ he countered.

‘That is true.’

Hand in hand they crept through the sleeping Jiamads and away into the woods.

Memnon did not follow. He had seen people rut before.

Instead he flew back to the palace. There was so much to think on, and so many plans to initiate.

There were times in Jianna’s long life when she considered boredom to be almost terminal. Intrigue had long since lost the fascination it had held for her when young, and the new Queen of Naashan.

Manipulation, coercion, seduction had been exciting then, and each small victory had been something to celebrate. This last hundred years particularly had seen those skills honed to a perfection she felt she should have been proud of. Instead the practice of them had become a chore. There was a time when she had found men fascinating and intricate. Now they were — at best — merely diverting. Their needs and their values were always the same, their strengths and their weaknesses so easy to manipulate. It was one reason her heart yearned for Skilgannon; why she had sought his body for so many centuries. The prophecy did not weigh with her. She had lost count of the number of prophecies concerning her that had come to nothing over the centuries. It was not that some of the seers did not possess genuine talent. It was merely that a level of wish fulfilment entered their heads, colouring the visions they had. No, Skilgannon was unique among the men she had known. He had loved her fully and completely — loved her enough, indeed, to walk away from her. Even after all these years the shock of his departure remained a jagged wound in her heart.

He would have enjoyed this victory.

Agrias, apparently outnumbered and outmatched, had pulled back his army towards the ruins of an ancient city. Jianna’s forces had swept forward, through a valley between a line of wooded hills, pursuing the fleeing enemy. It had been a trap, and beautifully worked. Agrias had sent out three regiments, two of men, one of Jiamads. The beasts had attacked from the high woods to the west, the enemy infantry sweeping down from the east. The third regiment of lancers had emerged at the rear of Jianna’s forces, completing the circle. It was a splendid ploy, which she had much enjoyed. Sadly for Agrias she had also anticipated the manoeuvre, and had held back the regiment of Eternal Guards, the finest fighting men on the planet. Highly trained and superbly disciplined, they had fallen on the enemy rear, scattering the lancers. Jianna’s own Jiamads had torn into the enemy ranks. The encircling manoeuvre had been the only potent weapon in Agrias’s arsenal. When it failed the spirit of his troops was broken. They had fought well for a little while, but then panic set in, and they fled the field. In the rout that followed thousands were slain.