David Gemmell - The Swords of Night and Day

‘There is no war.’

‘No, but there will be. Agrias to the north, Pendashal across the ocean. One or the other. Perhaps both.’

‘Have you told the Eternal of your fears?’

Landis had smiled. ‘You think she does not know?’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘She is bored, Unwallis. War is the only recreation that truly fires her blood.’

Unwallis had dropped his voice. ‘She wants a war?’

‘Think about it. Before sending Agrias north she abused him in front of the court, heaping ridicule on his achievements. She shamed him, then, by way of apology, she granted him the lands beyond the Delnoch mountains. You know Agrias as well as I do. He is unforgiving and vengeful. He is also powerful and charismatic. He has his own generals, his own artefacts. He can produce Jiamads. He can recruit men. If you were the lord of this realm, would you let him live?’

‘I suppose not,’ agreed Unwallis.

‘Indeed not,’ insisted Landis. ‘Now I have been granted lands adjoining his. I will not play this game, however. I will take no part in the coming war. Look after yourself, Unwallis.’

Looking back, Unwallis wondered how a man as intuitive and intelligent as Landis could have believed his later actions would fool the Eternal.

He trudged across the campsite to where his own tent had been placed. It was far smaller than that of the Eternal, and Unwallis had to stoop to enter it. There was barely room for the folding bed. He sat down upon it, then lay back and closed his eyes. It was as if a light had shone on a dark place in his mind, and he saw now clearly. The first indication had come during the battle — or to be more precise, at the dreadful moment when Jianna had drawn her grotesque horse alongside his and told him they were riding into a trap. Her eyes had shone with excitement, and he knew then that the Eternal enjoyed flirting with death. It seemed so obvious now why she engineered treachery and promoted men who would ultimately betray her. Eternal life bored her to tears. That was why she had ordered Memnon not to kill Skilgannon — not because she loved him, but precisely because he was a threat.

In effect, poor Agrias was to be buried alive for doing exactly what the Eternal wanted.

How evil is that, wondered Unwallis.

Then there was Decado. She had ignored his excesses for years, but when the time came refused to consider poison, which would have taken his life swiftly and without the risk of escape. Now he was with Skilgannon, making the threat to Jianna even more potent.

The Armour of Bronze was even more mysterious. Unwallis recalled a time some fifty years before, when the Eternal had become interested in archaic sites. She had travelled then with an arcanist named Kilvanen, a shy man, with only one abiding passion — seeking to unveil the secrets of the past. Unwallis had liked him. Unlike most of his contemporaries the arcanist was not power-hungry, nor did he seek to rise through the Eternal’s ranks. Unwallis felt comfortable in his company, and enjoyed the man’s tales of digging and scrabbling through ancient earth in search of history’s clues. He had become ill, after a dig in the Sathuli lands. Unwallis had visited him. Kilvanen was not a rich man, and had few servants. He lived in a pleasant house on the hills north of the city. Unwallis had decided to offer him the services of his own physician, but when he arrived at the house he knew it was too late for medicines or potions. Kilvanen was all skin and bone, his skin pale and dry, his eyes bright with the coming of death. Unwallis asked him if he was in pain, but Kilvanen shook his head. ‘The Eternal has sent me strong narcotics,’ he said.

‘Thank her for me when you see her.’

Then they had talked. Kilvanen drifted away into drug-induced sleep, then awoke and began to talk about his work. One story stayed with Unwallis. Kilvanen had discovered a secret chamber on a mountainside. In it, upon a wooden stand, was a suit of incredible armour, gleaming bronze. Kilvanen had known immediately what it was. It represented the greatest find of his life. He had rushed back to the camp to inform the Eternal, and together, holding lanterns, they had eased their way through the narrow tunnel that led to the armour. She had drawn the sword, and touched the gleaming breastplate. ‘Before we remove it,’ Kilvanen had said, ‘we need to examine the chamber and see if there are any other clues at to why it was brought here.’

‘I would imagine he would know,’ Jianna had replied, pointing to the bones on the ground.

‘My guess is that this was Lascarin the Thief,’ Kilvanen had told her. He then outlined the story of the theft of the legendary armour. At the rear of the chamber was a doorway, leading to a blocked tunnel.

Kilvanen had walked along it. Behind him the Eternal had cried out. Kilvanen rushed back.

The Armour was now encased in a block of glittering crystal.

‘What happened, Highness?’ he asked her.

‘It just appeared. Did you touch anything in the tunnel?’

‘No, Highness.’

‘How curious.’ Then, according to Kilvanen she had walked to the crystal and reached out for the sword. Her hand had passed through the block, and she had drawn the blade cleanly. She had laughed then. ‘It is merely an illusion,’ she said, returning the blade to its scabbard. Kilvanen had approached the block — only to find it solid as glass. For a time they talked about the magical phenomenon. Finally Jianna gestured for Kilvanen to draw the blade. This time there was no resistance, and the arcanist pulled the weapon clear. ‘Now put it back,’ she told him. After he had done so Jianna reached towards the glittering helm — only to find her fingers could not pierce the crystal. She had laughed. ‘A clever spell,’ she had said. ‘The crack in the rock through which we arrived was not here when this chamber was built.

The only entrance was the tunnel into which you walked. It is the tunnel which activates the crystal barrier and the sword which causes it to become illusion. This is so fascinating.’

For Kilvanen it had been the most rewarding moment of his life. His joy had been short-lived. Jianna had ordered the opening sealed, leaving the Armour of Bronze untouched. Kilvanen had pleaded with her, but she had been adamant not only that the Armour should remain where it was, but that Kilvanen should tell no-one of its existence. There was little chance of that. Kilvanen took ill almost as soon as they returned to the capital. He was dead within three weeks.

It was only later, when some of the Eternal’s other detractors died in the same way, that Unwallis realized she had killed the arcanist.

The Armour of Bronze, the great rallying symbol of the Drenai, was back.

Could it be, he wondered, that somehow the Eternal had engineered this also? That she had sought to make Skilgannon just a little more powerful, in order to heighten the risk?

That evening, in her tent, Jianna communed with Memnon. ‘I want to see Olek,’ she told the translucent image of the dark-eyed mage.

‘I can show you him, Highness.’

‘I want him to see me too. Can you help with this from such a distance?’

‘Distance is no object, Highness. Hold the talisman firm in your hand, and lie back. I will guide your spirit to him. He will see you.’

Lying down on her bed, the bronze amulet in her hand, she closed her eyes. A cool breeze whispered across her, and she felt the mildly sickening wrench that always accompanied these flights of the spirit, as if a harsh hand had dragged her from her body. Then she was in the air, her spirit being drawn towards the northeast. She flowed over mountains and plains, and through a winding river canyon. Below her she saw five long barges, their sides painted bright crimson. They were anchored in the lee of a towering cliff face.