David Gemmell: Wolf in Shadow

'Yes.'

'Have you ever had a wife, Mr Shannow?'

'It is getting late,' he said, standing. 'Eric should be home — shall I look for him?'

'I am sorry. Did I offend you?'

'No, Lady. My discomfort is my own and no fault of yours. Can you see the boy?'

She closed her eyes. 'Oh, God,' she said. 'They have taken him!'

'Who?'

'Bard and some others.'

'Where are they?'

‘They are traveling north-west, towards the settlement. They have hurt him and his face is bleeding.'

Gently he pulled her to her feet, then took her hands in his.

'I will find him and bring him home. Rely on it.'

Shannow left the house and saddled the gelding, heading him north at a canter. He avoided skylining himself on the crests of the hills, but still he rode with uncustomary speed. He had neglected to ask Donna how many men rode with Bard, but then the information was immaterial.

Two or twenty, the plan would be the same.

He emerged from the trees above the raiding party and sat back in the saddle. There were five men, including Bard — of Fletcher there was no sign. Eric's unconscious body was draped across Bard's saddle. Shannow breathed deeply, trying to stem the red rage swelling within, his hands trembling with the effort. As always he failed and his vision swam. His mouth was dry and the Bible text flowed into his mind:

'And David said unto Saul, Thy servant kept his father's sheep and there came a lion and a bear, and took a lamb out of the flock.'

Shannow rode down the hill and reined in ahead of the riders. They spread across the trail; two of them, Miles and Pope, were carrying crossbows cocked and ready. Shannow's hands swept up and smoke and flame thundered from the right-hand pistol. Pope flew from the saddle. The left-hand pistol fired a fraction of a second later and Miles pitched to the ground, the lower half of his face blown away.

'Step down, Bard,' said Shannow, both pistols leveled at the giant's face. Slowly the man dismounted. 'On your knees and on your belly.' The giant obeyed. 'Now eat grass like the mule you are.'

Bard's head shot up. ‘The Hell. . ' The left-hand pistol bucked in Shannow's hand and Bard's right ear disappeared in a bloody spray. The big man screamed and ducked his head to the ground, tearing at the grass with his teeth. The other two men sat motionless, their hands well away from their weapons.

Shannow watched them closely, then transferred his gaze to the two corpses.

Then he spoke: 'And I went out after him, and smote him, and delivered it out of his mouth: and when he rose against me I caught him by the beard and slew him.'

The two riders glanced at one another and said nothing. The Jerusalem Man was known to be insane, and neither of them had any wish to join their comrades, living or dead, upon the grass.

Shannow edged his horse towards them and they avoided his eyes, for his face was set and his fury touched them.

'You will put those your friends upon their horses, and you will take them to a place of burial.

You will not, at any time, cross my path, for I will cut you down as deadwood from the Tree of Life. Go collect your dead.'

He swung his horse, offering them his back, but neither man considered attacking him. They dismounted swiftly and bundled the corpses across the saddles of the horses standing quietly by.

Shannow rode alongside Bard, whose mouth was green and who was vomiting upon the grass.

'Stand and face me, Man of Gath.' Bard struggled to his feet and met Shannow's gaze. A cold dread settled on him as he saw the eyes and the fanatic gleam. He lowered his head and froze as he heard the click of a pistol hammer. His eyes flickered up and he saw with relief that Shannow had uncocked the weapons and returned them to their scabbards.

'My anger is gone, Bard. You may live today.'

The giant was close enough to pluck Shannow from the saddle and tear him apart bare-handed, but he could not, even though he recognized the opportunity. His shoulders sagged. Shannow nodded knowingly, and shame burned in Bard's heart.

Eric groaned and stirred on Bard's horse nearby.

And Shannow lifted him from the saddle and took him home.

Donna Taybard sat with Eric for over an hour. The boy was shaken by his ordeal. He had awakened to see Jon Shannow and two corpses, and the smell of death was in the air. The giant Bard had been shaking with fear and Shannow had looked an infinitely more menacing figure than Eric could have imagined. He had ridden home behind Shannow, his hands resting on the gun hilts as they jutted from their scabbards. All the way home Eric could see the two bodies, one with half a face missing, the other lying face-down with a huge ragged hole in his back where shards of bone had torn through his shirt.

Now he lay in bed, the after-shock making him sleepy. His mother stroked his brow and whispered soothing, loving words.

'Why did they kill Father?'

'I don't know, Eric,' lied Donna. 'They are evil men.'

'Mr Fletcher always seemed so nice.'

'I know. Sleep now; I'll be just outside.'

'Mother!'

'Yes, Eric?'

'Mr Shannow frightens me. I heard the men talking and they said he was insane — that he has killed more men than the plague. They said he pretends to be a Christ-person, but that all the real Christ-people shun him.'

'But he brought you home, Eric, and we still have our house.'

'Don't leave me alone, Mother.'

'You know that I won't. Sleep now. Rest.'

Leaning forward, she kissed his cheeks, then lifted the coal oil-lamp and left the room. He was asleep before the latch dropped home.

Shannow sat in the comfort chair staring at the ceiling. Donna placed the brass lamp on the table and moved to the stove, adding fresh wood to the blaze. As his head tipped forward and he caught her gaze, his eyes seemed unnaturally bright.

'Are you all right, Mr Shannow?'

'Vanity of vanities, saith the preacher, vanity of vanities; all is vanity. What profit hath a man of all his labours which he taketh under the sun?' Shannow blinked and leaned back.

'I am sorry,' she said, placing her hand over his, 'but I do not understand you.' He blinked once more, and smiled wearily, but his eyes lost their glitter and he seemed mortally tired.

'No, it is I who am sorry, Donna Taybard. I have brought death to your house.'

'You gave me back my son.'

'But for how long, Donna? All my life I have been the rock in the pool. I make a splash and the ripples rush out, but after that? The pool settles and is as it was. I cannot protect you from the Committee, nor Eric. I can make no difference to the evil of the world — indeed, sometimes I think I add to it.'

She held his hand tightly, forcing him to look at her.

There is no evil in you, Mr Shannow. Believe me, I know these things. When you first came I was frightened, but I have come to know you. You are kind and you are considerate, and you have taken no advantage of my situation. In fact the reverse is true; you have risked your life for Eric and me.'

There is nothing to that,' he said. 'My life is no great treasure; I do not value it. I have seen things in my life that would have cindered another man's soul — cannibals, savages, slavery and wanton murders. I have travelled far, Donna. And I am tired.

'Last summer I killed three men, and I vowed never to kill again. I have been hired to rid settlements of Brigands and war-makers — and I have succeeded. But then the eyes of those who sought me turn on me, and I see the fear in their eyes, and they are glad to see me ride on. They do not say, "Thank you Mr Shannow, stay among us and farm.” They do not say, "We are your friends, Mr Shannow, and we will never forget you." Instead they hand me the Barta coins and ask when I will be leaving.’