David Gemmell - Wolf in Shadow

They rode up out of the gulley, where Shannow dragged back on the reins and swung the gelding.

'What now?' asked Batik.

Shannow rode back to the edge and looked down. From here he could see the giant jaw and the ruined ribs of the creature. 'I think you have answered the mystery, Batik. It is a fish.'

'I am glad I didn't hook it. Don't be ridiculous, Shannow! First, it would be the great mother of all fishes — and second, how did it get into the middle of a plain?'

'The Bible talks about a great fish that swallowed one of the prophets — he sat in the belly of it and lived. Ten men could sit inside that rib-cage. And a fish has no legs.'

'Very well, it's a fish. Now you've solved it, we can go.'

'But, as you said, how did it get here?'

'I don't know, Shannow. And I don't care.'

'Karitas told me that in the Fall of the World the seas rose and drowned much of the lands and cities. This fish could have been brought here by a tidal wave.'

Then where is the sea? Where did it go?'

'Yes, that's true. As you say, it is a mystery.'

'I'm delighted we've solved that — now can we go?'

'Do you have no curiosity, Batik?'

The Hellborn leaned forward on his saddle. 'Indeed I have, my friend. I am curious as to the whereabouts of thirty-six trained killers; you probably find it strange that I seem so preoccupied.'

Shannow lifted his hat and wiped the sweat from the brim. The sun was high overhead, just past noon, and the sky was cloudless. A speck caught his eye — it was an eagle, circling high above them.

'For much of my life, Batik,' he said, 'I have been hunted. It is a fact of my existence. Brigands soon became aware of me, and my description was well circulated. I have never known when a bullet or an arrow or a knife might come at me from the shadows. After a while I became fatalistic. I am unlikely to die in my bed at a grand old age, for my life depends on my reflexes, my keen eyesight and my strength. All will fade one day, but until that day I will retain an interest in things of this world — things that I do not understand, but which I sense have a bearing on what we have become.'

Batik shook his head. 'Well, thank you for sharing your philosophy. Speaking for myself I am still a young man, in my prime, and I have every desire to be the oldest man the world has ever seen. I am beginning to think that Ruth was right. If I stay in your company, I am sure to die. So I think this is the time to say farewell.'

Shannow smiled. 'You are probably right. But it seems a shame to part so swiftly. Up there looks to be a good campsite. Let's share one last evening together?'

Batik's eyes followed Shannow's pointing finger to where, high up on a slope, was a circle of boulders. The Hellborn sighed and kicked his horse into a run. The ground within the circle was flat, and at the back of the ledge was a rock tank full of water. Batik dismounted and unsaddled his horse. Tomorrow, he decided, he would leave the Jerusalem Man to whatever fate his dark god intended.

Just before dusk Shannow lit a fire, despite Batik's protestations concerning the smoke, and brewed some tea. Thereafter he wrapped himself in his blankets against a rock wall and laid his head on his saddle.

‘For this you wanted my company?' asked Batik.

'Go to sleep. You've a long ride tomorrow.'

Batik lifted his blanket around his shoulders and settled down beside the fire. A loose rock dug into his side and he pried it loose. After a while he dropped into a light sleep.

The moon rose over the hills and a solitary owl swooped down over the camp and back up into the night. An hour passed and six shadows moved slowly up the slope, pausing at the edge of the rocks. The leader stepped into the campsite, pointing to the far rock face. Three men crept silently forward while the others stealthily approached Batik at the fire.

From his position twenty feet above the camp-site, wedged behind a jutting finger of rock, Shannow watched the men approach. His pistols levelled on the two men closest to Batik, he squeezed the triggers and flame blossomed, the guns bucking in his hands. The first of his targets was hurled from his feet, his lungs filling with blood; the second was slammed sideways as a bullet lodged in his brain.

Batik rolled from his blankets, pistol in hand. The third attacker fired as he moved, the bullet kicking up dirt some inches to Batik's right. His own pistol thundered a reply and the man was lifted from his feet and thrown backwards.

Shannow, meanwhile, had turned his guns On the men by his own blanket. Two of them had fired into what they thought was his sleeping body, and a ricochet from one of the rocks hidden there had slashed a wound in a Zealot's thigh. Now the man was kneeling and trying to staunch the blood gushing from the wound. Batik ran forward, dived and rolled to come up on one knee, firing as he rose. Shannow killed one of the men, but the second sprinted for the slope. Batik fired twice, missing his target, then lunged to his feet and gave chase.

The Zealot was almost to the foot of the slope when he heard Batik closing on him. He whirled and fired, the shell whistling past Batik's ear. Batik took aim and pulled the trigger, but there was a dull click. He cocked the pistol and tried again. It was empty. The Zealot grinned and raised his own pistol. .

A small hole appeared at the centre of his forehead, and the back of his head exploded.

As the Zealot tumbled to the ground, Batik spun round to see Shannow kneeling at the top of the slope, his pistol held two-handed. Batik cursed and ran back to the camp.

'You son of a slut,' he stormed. 'You left me like a sacrificial goat!'

'I thought you needed your sleep.'

'Don't give me that, Shannow; you planned this. When did you climb that damned rock?'

'About the time you started snoring.'

'Don't make jokes; they don't become you. I could have died tonight.'

Shannow moved forward, the moonlight glinting from his eyes, giving them a feral look.

'But you didn't, Batik. And if you want the lesson spelt out for you, it is this: while you were berating me, you failed to notice an eagle circling above us for over an hour. You also missed the reflection of sunlight on metal west of us before we found the bones, which is one of the reasons I was happy to stay hidden in the gully. You are a strong man, Batik, and a brave warrior. But you have never been hunted. You talk too much and you see too little. Dead if you remain with me? You won't live a day vnthout me!'

Batik's eyes blazed and he raised his pistol.

'Load it first, boy,' Shannow told him, moving towards his saddle and blankets.

Jacob Madden crouched on the hillside above the Hellborn camp and watched the men below gathering in line for the evening meal. There were almost two hundred men already in the camp, and over the last two days he had estimated that a further fifty were scattered over the surrounding countryside.

Griffin had asked him to study the discipline in the camp, and Madden had to accept that it was good. There were twenty-eight tents set in two rows on the banks of the river. A latrine trench had been dug downwind and earthworks had been thrown up around the camp to a height of around four feet, these were patrolled at night by six sentries working four-hour shifts. The horses were picketed in three lines north of the latrine trench, while the cooks' tents were set at the other end of the camp. Madden was impressed by the organization.

A skilled hunter himself, Madden had found no problems avoiding contact. His horse was well-hidden and the bearded farmer had never approached within sixty yards of the camp. His scouting had been conducted with patience and care.

But this morning six men had ridden into the camp, and from the moment of their arrival Madden had felt an increasing sense of disquiet. In appearance they seemed little different from the other Hellborn riders, dark armour emblazoned with a goat's head, black leather cloaks and high riding boots. But on their heads they wore dark helms which covered their faces, all but the eyes. For some reason that Madden could not pinpoint they had made his flesh crawl, and he was filled with an unreasonably burning desire to move to their tent and find out more about them.