David Gemmell - The Swords of Night and Day

The lance head dropped and he yelled a wild battle cry as he heeled his horse forward. Jianna swayed to her left as the lance blade thrust at her, then her sword arm lashed out, the blade slicing through the back of the man’s neck as he passed. His horse galloped on for several steps. Then he pitched from the saddle.

‘Do I have to kill you all?’ she asked the two warriors, noting their expressions of shock. ‘Or will you take me to Abadai?’

‘We’ll take you,’ said one. ‘You should know that the man you killed was Abadai’s brother.’

The camp was a ramshackle affair, the tents old and patched. Naked children ran across the stony ground, and the women she saw were scrawny and undernourished. Raiding had obviously not been so profitable recently.

The men drew up outside a tent larger than the others. One of them called out, and a squat, powerful, middle-aged man stepped out. His harsh face was deeply lined, his eyes black and cruel. The riders spoke to him in a language Jianna did not know, and she sat quietly waiting.

At last Abadai turned his dark eyes on her. ‘Speak,’ he said. ‘When you have finished I will decide whether to kill you quickly or slowly.’

‘You will not kill me, Abadai,’ she said, stepping down from the saddle, and lifting her saddlebag clear. Draping it over her shoulder she walked to face him.

‘And why will I not?’

‘I hold your dreams in my hand, warrior. I can give you what your heart most desires. I can also give your people what they most desire.’

‘And what is it that I most desire?’ he asked.

Jianna smiled and stepped in close, her mouth next to the warrior’s ear. ‘To be young again,’ she whispered. He laughed then.

‘And perhaps I could grow wings, so that I could attack my enemies from the air, like an eagle?’

‘Invite me into your tent and I shall prove the truth of my promise.’

‘Why should I even talk to you? There is a blood feud now between us. You killed my brother.’

‘You will not mourn him. I doubt you even liked him. The man was an idiot. You are not. However, if my words prove false, or if you decide to take your revenge anyway, it can wait until after we have spoken. You know the old saying? Revenge, like wine, needs time to mature. Then it tastes all the sweeter.’

Abadai laughed. ‘You are an unusual woman. Is it merely extreme youth that makes you so reckless?’

‘Youth, Abadai? I am five hundred years old. Now invite me inside, for the sun is hot, and I am thirsty.’

Jianna smiled as she remembered that long ago day. Sipping her wine she thought of Skilgannon. He would have been proud of her. There would have been no look of contempt in his eyes. She sighed. That look was hard to bear. It did not matter that he was a romantic, and could never understand the need for ruthlessness in a monarch. It did not matter. .

Yet it did.

In all her long life Jianna had needed admiration from only one person.

The man now out to destroy her.

She shivered, drained her goblet, poured another, and sought refuge in a past untainted by soaring ambition.

Landis Kan had given her a regenerative potion that the priests used to fend off sickness. It was, he said, a life extender. Not as powerful as having a Reborn body, but it strengthened the immune system, and revitalized glands and muscles that had begun to wither with age.

She had walked into Abadai’s filthy tent and sat down on a rug at the centre, her sabre across her lap, her saddlebag by her side.

Abadai sat cross-legged opposite her. ‘Your words need to be golden,’ he said.

She smiled. Reaching into her saddlebag she produced the potion. It was contained in a bottle of purple glass, stoppered with wax. ‘Drink this,’ she said, offering it to him.

‘What is it?’

‘It might be poison. Or it might give you a hint of what youth was once like.’

Abadai returned the smile, but it was more of a grimace. He called out to the riders who were waiting outside. Ducking under the tent flap they entered.

‘I am about to drink a potion,’ he said. ‘If it kills me then I want the bitch cut into pieces. Her suffering should be long.’

The riders glanced at one another and looked nervous. Jianna leaned forward. ‘They don’t want to embarrass themselves, Abadai, but they would be happier if you called in more men. However, that will not be necessary.’ She lifted her sabre and tossed it to one of the warriors. Abadai shook his head and suddenly chuckled.

‘I am beginning to like you very much,’ he told her, his gaze resting on her long legs.

‘I have that effect on men,’ she said.

Abadai took the purple bottle, broke the seal, and drank the contents in a single swallow. Then he sat very still watching her. ‘I feel nothing,’ he said.

‘You will, warrior. Now here is the second part of my promise.’ Delving once more into the bag she produced a heavy pouch, tossing it to the leader. He tipped the contents into his palm. Gold coins tumbled from his fingers. The other two warriors scrambled forward to get a closer look at the treasure.

Abadai waved them back. He looked at her now with different eyes.

‘This is the kind of promise I can understand,’ he said. ‘What is it for?’

‘I need an army. Not too large. Perhaps two hundred good fighting men, a few archers.’

Abadai took a deep breath, then levered himself to his feet. Stretching out his arms he clenched his fists. Jianna looked at him. The deep lines on his face were softening, the iron grey of his hair growing darker. ‘I feel. . strong,’ he said. Jianna, who had only heard from Landis about the power of the potion, was almost as surprised as the warlord. The effect was startling. Masking her surprise, she glanced at the two warriors. They were standing open-mouthed.

Abadai waved them away. As they left the tent he sat down once more. ‘You have been true to your word, girl. Where do you come from?’

‘The Temple of the Resurrection.’

His eyes widened, and he was about to reply when he stopped and laughed. ‘I was about to say it was a myth. But I am here, younger and stronger. How young do I look?’ he asked suddenly.

‘You have lost at least ten years,’ she said. ‘I will supply fifty more gold coins before the fight, and fifty after we win. How many men do you have?’

‘Sixty or so. There were more.’ He shrugged. ‘This has been a bad year. Two bands struck out on their own.’

‘You know where they are?’

‘Of course.’

‘Then send for them. When they are gathered show them the gold. I will supply you with one extra coin for every man. This needs to be accomplished with speed, Abadai. The force we are facing will be in the mountains within the week.’

‘And they are?’

‘Mercenaries — much like you yourself. They are led by a former priest of the Resurrection, and will be travelling down from the city of Gassima.’

‘How many men does this priest have?’

She shrugged and spread her hands. ‘I would think no more than a few hundred. Perhaps less. All plunder from the bodies will belong to you, and all horses taken.’

Drawing in a deep breath he stared at her with undisguised longing. ‘You fire my blood, girl. Share my bed and we will spit hands on the agreement.’

Jianna laughed. ‘After we win, Abadai, I will come to you. You will need the extra youth and vitality I have given you. And perhaps more.’ Rising from the rug she gathered up her saddlebag, slinging it over her shoulder. ‘When you have the men assembled, ride west until you see the hanging rock. You know where I mean?’

‘Of course I know. Close to the old oasis.’

‘The very same. I will join you there.’