The Last Guardian

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The pistol competition had left Shannow short of shells for his Hellborn pistols. There were twenty-fhree left, including the ten in the cylinders of his guns. Pilgrim's Valley boasted one gunsmith and Shannow made his way to the man's small shop in the eastern section. It was a narrow building, lit by lanterns, the wall behind the service area filled with weapons of every kind from flintlock pistols to percussion rifles, flared-barrelled blunderbusses alongside sleek gravity-fed weapons with walnut stocks. But there were no pistols like Shannow's.

The shop-owner was a short, bald elderly man who identified himself as Groves. Shannow drew one of his guns and laid it on the double plank unit that served as a long table between the gunsmith and his customers. Groves sniffed and lifted the weapon, flicking open the gate and ejecting a shell. 'Hellborn,' he said. 'There are a lot of these in the north now. We're hoping to get some — but they're mighty expensive.'

'I need bullets for it,' said Shannow. 'Can you make them?'

'I'd have no trouble with the moulds, or the fulminates. But these brass cases? It will not be easy, Mr Shannow, Nor cheap.'

'But you can do it?'

'Leave me five shells with which to experiment. I will do what I can. When are you leaving?'

'I was due to ride on today.'

Groves chuckled. 'I need at least a week, sir. How many do you require?'

'One hundred would suffice.'

'That will cost fifty Bartas. I would appreciate half now.'

'Your price is very high.'

'So is the level of my craftsmanship.'

Shannow paid the man and returned to the hotel where he found Mason sitting in a comfort chair by an open window, dozing in the sun.

'I need the room for another week,' he said.

Mason blinked and stood. 'I thought you were moving on, Meneer Shannow.'

'I am, sir, but not for a week.'

'I see. Very well. A week, then.'

Shannow walked to the stable and saddled the stallion. The hostler grinned at him as he rode out and Shannow waved as he steered the horse to the south, heading for the Wall. He rode for two hours, crossing rich grassland and cutting high into the timberline of the hills. He saw cattle grazing, and a herd of antelope moving along the line of a stream. The Wall grew ever nearer.

From the high ground where he rode, Shannow could see over the colossal structure and the rolling hills beyond it. There was no sign of life; no cattle, sheep, goats or deer. Yet the land looked rich and verdant. Angling the stallion downwards, he halted on the hillside, drawing his long glass from the saddlebag. He followed the line of the Wall first to the east where it disappeared in the blue haze of the mountains; then he swung the glass west. As far as he could see the Wall went on for miles, unbroken and unbreachable; he focused the glass on a section of it some half a mile away, and saw a group of men camped nearby. Then he continued his descent and rode on. The Wall now reared above him and he estimated its height at more than sixty feet.

It was constructed of giant rectangular blocks each approximately ten feet wide and more than six feet high.

Shannow dismounted and approached the edifice. He drew his hunting-knife and tried to push the blade between two stones, but the fit was too tight and there was no sign of mortar. From the hill above he had judged the Wall to be at least ten feet thick. He sheathed his knife and ran his fingers over the blocks, seeking handholds that might permit him to climb. But apart from lichens and curious shells imbedded in the surface, there was no purchase.

He stepped into the saddle and followed the line of the Wall west until he reached the camp-site where Boris Haimut was chipping away at one of the blocks with a hammer and chisel. The scholar put down his tools and waved.

'Fascinating, is it not?' said Haimut, grinning cheerfully. Shannow dismounted, his eyes scanning the small group of men who continued with their work. To the far right he could see the two men who had tried to force him to leave the site of the shipwreck; they avoided his gaze, and continued to chip away at the blocks.

Shannow followed Haimut to the camp-site where a large pot of Baker's was brewing. Haimut wrapped a cloth around the handle and lifted the pot, filling two mugs. He passed one to Shannow.

'Have you ever seen anything like it?' asked Haimut and Shannow shook his head. 'Neither have I. There are no windows, no towers and no gates. It could not have been built for defence; any invading army would simply throw grappling lines over the top and climb it. There are no parapets. Nothing. Just a colossal Wall. Take a look at this:' He fished in his pocket and produced a shining shell, slightly larger than a Barta coin. Shannow took it, turning it over and holding it to the light. There were many colours glistening within the grooves — purple, yellow, blue and white.

'It is very pretty,' Shannow said.

'Indeed it is. But it is also from the sea, Mr Shannow. This towering structure was once below the ocean.'

'This whole land was once under water,' Shannow told him. 'There was a civilisation here — a great civilisation. But the seas rose up and devoured them.'

'So then, you are saying this is an Oldworld site?'

'No. The Oldworld sites are now mostly beneath the seas. I learned several years ago that the earth had toppled not once, but twice. The people who lived beyond this Wall were destroyed thousands of years ago. I have no way of knowing, but I would guess it happened about the time of the Flood described in the Book.'

'How do you know all this?' asked Haimut.

Shannow considered telling him the whole truth, but dismissed the thought. What credibility he had would disappear if he explained how the long-dead King of Atlantis had come to his rescue in the battle against the Guardians during the Hellborn War.

'Two years ago, with a friend, I rode into the ruins of a great city. There were statues everywhere.

Beautifully carved. While there, I met a scholar named Samuel Archer. He was a fine man: strong, yet gentle. He had studied the ruins and others like them for many years and had even managed to decipher the language of the ancients. The city was called Balacris, the land was known as Atlantis. I learned much from him before he died.'

‘I’m sorry that he is dead. I would like to have met him,' said Haimut. 'I too have seen the inscriptions on gold foil. But to meet a man who could read them… How did he die?'

'He was beaten to death because he would not work as a slave in a silver mine.'

Haimut looked away and sipped his Baker's. 'This is not a contented world, Meneer Shannow.

We live in strange circumstances, fighting over scraps of knowledge. Everywhere there are isolated communities, and no central focus. In the wildlands the brigands rule, and in settled communities there are wars with rivals. There is no peace. It is most galling. Far to the east there is a land where women are not allowed to show their faces in public and men who deny the Book are burned alive. To the north there are communities where child sacrifice has become the norm.

Last year I visited an area where women are not allowed to marry; they are owned by the men and used as breed cows for the community. But wherever you go there is violence and death, and the rule of the powerful. Have you been to Rivervale?'

'I have,' replied Shannow. 'I lived there once.'

'Now that is an oasis. It is ruled by a man named Daniel Cade. They have laws there, good laws; and families can raise their children in peace and prosperity. If only we could all find such a way.

You say you lived there? Do you know Daniel Cade?'

'I know him,' said Shannow. 'He is my brother.'

'Good Lord! I never knew that. I have heard of you, of course. But no one ever spoke of a brother.'

'We were parted as children. Tell me, what do you hope to achieve here?'

'Meneer Scayse is looking for a way to breach the Wall. He has asked me to examine it. And I need the coin, in order to be able to return home.'

'I thought you disapproved of him?'

'I do. He is — like all men who seek power — eminently selfish. But I cannot afford too many scruples. And I harm no one by examining this edifice.'

Shannow finished his drink and rose.

'Will you stay the night, Meneer?' Haimut asked. 'It would be good to have some intelligent conversation.'

'Thank you, no. Another time perhaps. Tell me, what do you know of Scayse?'

Haimut shrugged. 'Very little. He came here a year ago with a great deal of coin and a large herd of cattle. He is said to be from the far north. He is a clever man.'

'I don't doubt that,' said Shannow.

Shannow returned to the settlement just before dusk. He left the stallion at the stable, paid the hostler to groom and feed him and then walked to the Jolly Pilgrim. Beth McAdam smiled as he entered and moved across to greet him.

'Haven't seen much of you, Shannow,' she said. 'Food not good enough?'

'The food is fine. How are you faring?'

'Can't complain. You?'

'Well enough,' Shannow replied, aware of a rising tension. 'Would you bring me some food?

Anything hot that you have.'

'Sure,' she told him. He sat quietly facing the door and glanced around the room. There were eight other diners — they studiously avoided looking at him. Beth brought him a bowl of thick broth and some dark bread and cheese. He ate it slowly and considered ordering a Baker's, but then he remembered Haimut's warning about the drink being habit-forming and decided against. Instead he asked for a glass of water.

'Are you all right, Shannow?' asked Beth, as she brought it to his table. 'You seem a little…

preoccupied.'

'I have been studying the Wall,' he told her, 'looking for a way through. It looks as if I will have to climb it and proceed on foot. I do not like travelling that way.'

'Then ride around it. It cannot stretch across the world, for goodness' sake.'

That could take weeks.'

'And you, of course, are a man with no time on his hands.'

He grinned at her. 'Will you join me?'

'I can't; I'm working. But tomorrow morning I get a free hour at noon. You could come then.'

'Perhaps I will,' he said.

'Maybe, if you do, you should consider getting that coat brushed and cleaning your other clothes.

You smell of dust and horses. And that silver-forked beard makes you look like Methuselah.'

Shannow scratched his chin and smiled. 'We will see.' Just then Alain Fenner entered. He spotted Shannow and approached.

'May I sit down, Meneer?' he asked.

'I thought we had concluded our conversation,' said Shannow, annoyed that the interruption caused Beth to leave.

'It is only advice I am seeking.'

Shannow gestured to the chair opposite. 'How can I help you?'

Fenner leaned forward, lowering his voice. 'We are going to close down Webber tonight. As you suggested there will be a group of us — Brisley, Broome and a few others. But we are none of us men used to sudden violence. I would appreciate your thoughts.'

Shannow looked into the man's open, honest face and realised that he liked him. Fenner had courage, and he cared. 'Who will be your spokesman?' he asked.

'I will.'

'Then it is you the ungodly will look to for action. Do not allow Webber or anyone else to take the lead. Do not enter into any discussion. Say what you want and make it happen. Do you understand me?'

'I think so.'

'Keep all talk to a minimum. Move in, get Webber out and close the place. If there is the least suggestion of opposition, shoot someone. Keep the mob off balance. But it is Webber you must control. He is the head of the snake — cut him off and the others will stand and wonder what to do and while they are wondering, you will have won. Can you trust the men with you?'

'Trust them? What do you mean?'

'Are they close-mouthed? Will Webber know of your plan before you arrive?'

'I do not think so.'

'I hope you are right. Your life depends on it. Are you married?'

'I have a wife and four sons.'

'Think of them, Fenner, when you walk in. If you make a mistake, it is they who will pay for it.'

'Can it be done without shooting anyone?'

'Perhaps. I did not say you should walk in with guns blazing. I am trying to tell you how to stay alive. If Webber starts to talk and you respond his men will begin to gather themselves — and your men will start to waver. Be strong, be swift and be direct. No shades of grey, Meneer Fenner.

Black and white. Win or lose. Live or die.'

Fenner took a deep breath. 'I will try to follow your advice. Thank you for your time.'

'It cost me nothing. If trouble starts — or even looks like starting — kill Webber.' But Shannow knew he would not, for even as he said it the young man's eyes wavered from his direct gaze. 'Do your best, Meneer.'

When the young man had left, Beth returned to the table. 'He's a good man,' she said.

'He may not live very long,' Shannow told her.

There were eight armed men in the group that entered Webber's gambling-house. It was crowded with more than twenty tables and a long bar packed with customers. Webber himself sat at a Carnat table to the rear and Fenner led the group through to him.

'You will come with us, Meneer Webber,' he said, drawing his pistol and pointing it at the gambler. As the revellers realised what was happening a silence fell on the room. Webber stood and folded his arms. He was a tall man, running to fat but powerfully built; his eyes were black and deep-set and he smiled at Fenner. Gleaming gold flashed in his grin and Fenner saw that the teeth on either side of his incisors were moulded from precious metal.

'Why in the Devil's name should I?' Webber asked.

Fenner cocked the pistol. 'Because you'll be dead if you don't,' he told him.

'Is this fair?' Webber thundered. 'What have I done? I run a gambling-house. I have killed no one

— save in fair battle.'

'You are a thief and a scoundrel,' said Josiah Broome, pushing forward, 'and we are closing you down.'

'Who says I am a thief? Let him stand forward,' Webber shouted.

Fenner waved Broome back, but the man pushed on.

'People who win from you are killed. Do you deny any responsibility?'

'Why is that my fault, Meneer? A man who wins a great deal of coin is seen by many other -

unluckier — gamblers.'

Fenner glanced around. The crowd had fallen back now and Webber's men ringed the group.

Brisley was sweating heavily and two of the others were shifting uneasily. Fen-ner's pistol levelled at Webber's chest.

'You will move now, Meneer. Or suffer the consequences.'

'You would shoot me down? Murder me, Meneer? What sort of law is this you are proposing?'

'He.. he's right, Alain,' whispered Broome. 'We didn't come here to kill anyone. But let this be a lesson to you, Webber! We'll not stand for any more violence.'

'I stand and quake in my shoes, Meneer Bacon-server. Now all of you put down your weapons, or my men will blow you into tiny pieces.' Brisley's gun clattered to the floor and the others followed… all save Alain Fenner. His eyes locked to Webber's and understanding flowed between them.

But Fenner was no killer. He uncocked the pistol and thrust it deep into the scabbard at his hip, but as he did so Webber drew his own pistol and shot Fenner twice in the chest. The young man scrabbled for his gun and fell to his knees, but a third shot struck his breastbone and spun him back to the floor.

'Emily…' he whispered. Blood bubbled from his lips and his body twitched.

'Get the fool out of here,' ordered Webber. 'There's a game in progress.'

Brisley and the others hauled Fenner out into the street and back past the Traveller's Rest.

Shannow was sitting on the porch; a great sadness weighed down on him as he stood and walked to the group.

'He just shot him down,' said Broome. 'Alain was putting away his gun, and Webber just shot him down.'

Shannow leaned over and touched his hand to Fenner's neck. 'He's dead. Put him down.'

'Not in the street,' Broome protested.

‘Put him down!' stormed Shannow. 'And wait here.' He took off his coat and left it by the body, then walked swiftly to Webber's establishment. He entered and stalked across the room where the gambler was drinking and joking with his men. Then he drew his pistol, cocked it and slid it against Webber's lips.

'Open your mouth!' said Shannow. Webber blinked twice and saw the light of fury in Shannow's eyes. He opened his mouth and the barrel slid between his teeth. 'Now stand!' Webber eased himself to his feet. Shannow walked him slowly back through the throng and out of the door into the street. He did not need to look back to know that everyone in the gambling-house had followed. Word spread to other establishments and the crowd grew. Webber backed away, the gun almost making him choke. His own pistol was still in its holster, but he kept his hands well away from it. Shannow halted by the body of Alain Fenner, and turned slightly to look at the crowd.

'This young man risked his life for many of you. And now he lies dead, and his wife is a widow, and his sons have been robbed of a father. And why? Because you have no courage. Because you allow the vermin to walk among you. This man died as a result of sin.' His eyes swept the crowd.

'And as the Book says, "The Wages of Sin is death"!'

Shannow pulled the trigger. Webber's brains mushroomed from his skull and the body fell back to the earth with dark powder-smoke streaming from the blackened mouth.

'Now you listen to me!' Shannow roared into the stunned silence dial followed. 'I know many of you brigands. If you are in Pilgrim's Valley come morning, I will hunt you down and kill you on sight. You may be sitting breaking your fast, or sleeping snug in a warm bed, or quiedy playing Carnal with friends. But I will fall upon you with the wrath of God. Those with ears to hear, let them understand. Tomorrow you die.'

A stocky man stepped from the crowd, wearing two guns thrust into his belt. 'You think you can tackle all of us?' he challenged.

Shannow's pistol boomed and the man flew from his feet, his skull smashed.

'There will be no questions,' declared the Jerusalem Man. 'Tomorrow I will hunt you down.'