The Swords of Night and Day

Chapter Nine

Emerging from the cave, Skilgannon went first to the body of the dead Jiamad at the base of the cliff.

Judging from the angle of entry, the shafts had been fired from directly above. He glanced up, and, in the pre-dawn light, could just make out the narrow line of a ledge. ‘That is where we have to go,’ he told Harad. The black-bearded logger stared up, his expression doubtful.

‘Do you fear heights?’ asked Skilgannon.

‘Of course not,’ growled Harad. ‘I was just wondering how I can climb that, and still carry Snaga.’

The axe blades were too wide, and too wickedly sharp, for the logger to push the haft into his belt. The wrong move, or a slip, could see the pointed upper or lower blades pierce his flesh.

‘We will pass it between us,’ said Skilgannon. Stretching to the first handhold, he placed his foot on a jut of rock and levered himself upwards. ‘Hand me the axe,’ he said. ‘Then you climb.’

It was painstaking and slow, but they reached the ledge safely, then followed it round to the left until they reached a chimney of rock. This proved an easier climb, and at the top they came to a dark tunnel.

Skilgannon crouched down at the entrance and peered inside. Closing his eyes he drew in a deep, slow breath through his nostrils. ‘The beasts passed this way,’ he said softly. Then he glanced at Harad.

‘Every step from here must be considered carefully,’ he whispered.

‘We find them and kill them,’ said Harad, with the confidence of the young.

Skilgannon looked into his pale eyes. This man is not Druss, he told himself. He is young and callow, and over confident. ‘Listen to me, Harad! You killed a Jiamad back at the village. But it knocked you from your feet, and you lost your grip on the axe. Had there been a second close by it would have torn your throat out. We are about to face up to fourteen of these creatures. The chances of getting out alive are remote. So walk warily. Do not charge in unless there is no other way. Follow my lead, and stay behind me.’

Moving stealthily, they followed the tunnel, but it soon branched off into a series of deep, impenetrable caves. Twice Harad stumbled in the darkness. Then they heard the sound of crashing rocks from some way to their left. Skilgannon drew the Swords of Night and Day and angled towards the sound. A thin shaft of light was shining through a crack in the high, domed cavern roof. Skilgannon stood for a while, scanning the area ahead. Harad moved around him. ‘It’s coming from ahead. Is it a landslide, do you think? I wouldn’t want to get trapped in here.’

‘Don’t speak,’ hissed Skilgannon. ‘Sound carries far in caves like this.’

Harad said nothing, but stepped past Skilgannon and moved out into a wider section of tunnel.

Something dark and huge suddenly loomed over him. Harad spun, the axe slashing out, but the Jiamad was upon him, and all that struck it was Snaga’s haft. The Jiamad’s weight bore Harad back. Losing his footing the young logger fell, the beast upon him. Harad’s left hand slammed into the creature’s throat, his fingers trying to prevent the long, vicious fangs from tearing at his face. But the power in the beast was astounding. Harad twisted under it, seeking to find a way to bring Snaga to bear. It was no use. His right arm was pinned beneath the Jiamad, and the strength in his left was fading. The fangs inched nearer to his throat. Glittering silver flashed above the Jiamad, and the beast’s body spasmed. Light flashed again. The head came loose in Harad’s hand, blood from the severed jugular gushing over the front of his jerkin and splashing his face. With a grunt he heaved the head aside, then kicked himself free of the decapitated corpse.

‘I’ll say it again,’ said Skilgannon softly. ‘Stay behind me. There is no room in the tunnels to swing that axe.’

Skilgannon moved forward stealthily, swords in hand. The tunnel widened, then branched off to the left. The sound of crashing rocks was louder now and dust filled the air. Another, taller, tunnel beckoned.

Skilgannon paused at the entrance and peered round the corner. Some thirty feet away he saw light appear, as a huge boulder was pushed clear of a blocked opening. In that light was a group of ten Jiamads. Three of them were throwing their weight against another massive boulder. It must have weighed several tons. A screeching sound came from the stone. Then it toppled. A chorus of growls greeted the move, and the Jiamads rushed into the wide, dawn-lit cave beyond.

Skilgannon took a deep breath. A sensible man would withdraw at this point, he knew. He glanced at Harad. ‘What are we waiting for?’ whispered the logger.

‘We can’t kill them all, Harad. To go in there is to die.’

‘ Protect the weak against the evil strong,’ quoted Harad. ‘It didn’t say anything about doing it only when you think you can win.’

Skilgannon gave a tight smile. ‘True!’

With that he swung and ran down the tunnel, Harad behind him. Just as they emerged into the cave entrance Skilgannon saw a young man, in red tunic and leggings, hurl himself down into the mass of beasts. From a rock shelf some twelve feet above the cave floor a young woman, her features in shadow, was shooting arrows into the surging Jiamads.

Harad gave a great shout and charged. Several of the Jiamads were swarming up the rock face trying to reach the woman. One fell, an arrow through his skull. Others roared their defiance and rushed at Harad. The great axe smashed one from his feet, his neck torn open, a second fell to a reverse cut that clove through his ribs.

Just as a third bore down on the young axeman Skilgannon sprang in, sending a slashing cut into its face. The creature leapt back, fell and rolled to its feet.

For a few heartbeats no-one moved. The Jiamads, surprised by the sudden arrival of the newcomers, pulled back to regroup. Harad was about to charge again. Skilgannon seized the moment. ‘Hold, Harad!’ he shouted. Then he called up to the woman. ‘Loose no more shafts!’ His voice rang with authority, but he knew the situation was fragile. Blood had been spilt, and the tension in the cave was palpable. One wrong word. One wrong move and the killing would begin again. ‘Who commands here?’

he said, stepping towards the seven remaining beasts.

‘Shakul leads,’ grunted a huge Jiamad, his fur darker than the rest, and his snout more rounded. More bear than wolf in this one, thought Skilgannon. The creature was tense, his taloned hands clenching and unclenching.

‘What are your orders, Shakul?’ The beast took a step towards him, but Skilgannon did not back away. He looked up into the creature’s enormous eyes. ‘Your orders?’ he repeated.

Shakul hesitated. The beast was torn between his desire to rend flesh and kill, and his training to be obedient to the wishes of humans. ‘Take woman,’ he said, at last.

‘Where?’

‘Corvin. Captain.’

‘Corvin is dead. Both your officers are dead. There is no-one to take the woman to. You now have a decision to make.’

Skilgannon saw the beast’s golden eyes flicker. His head tilted, and he gave a low growl. Skilgannon quelled the urge to speak again. It was best to keep matters simple and wait. The moment was pivotal.

Shakul swung to look at the remaining Jiamads, who were standing now, calmly awaiting his orders. Then the great beast glanced at the bodies of the Jiamads on the cave floor. His head shook, as if insects were buzzing around his eyes. ‘You soldier?’ he asked.

‘I am Skilgannon.’

Shakul began to sway, his golden eyes on the swords in Skilgannon’s hands. His talons opened and closed. Skilgannon sensed he was about to attack.

‘We could kill each other,’ said Skilgannon. ‘Or not. You choose.’ Shakul wavered. He glanced up at the woman with the deadly bow, then at the axeman standing ready. Skilgannon waited. And the tension eased.

‘Corvin dead?’

‘Yes.’

‘You kill Corvin?’

‘Yes.’

‘Fight no more,’ said Shakul. ‘We go.’

‘Do no harm to the villagers, Shakul,’ said Skilgannon. ‘Either go back to your regiment or head north.

No more killing here. Do I have your word?’

‘Word?’ The beast was uncertain.

‘Your promise. No harm to Skins.’

‘No harm,’ said the beast, at last. Lifting a mighty arm he gestured at the waiting Jiamads, and they shuffled forward past him, towards the hole they had made in the rear wall. Shakul was the last to leave.

He swung towards Skilgannon and looked into his eyes. But he said nothing. Then he too left the cave.

By the far wall the young man in red groaned and sat up. ‘I’m not dead,’ he said.

Then the young woman climbed down from the shadows of the rock shelf and turned towards Skilgannon.

He felt as if his heart had stopped beating.

‘Jianna!’ he whispered.

Just before the rear wall crashed in, and the Jiamads burst through, Askari had emptied her quiver, laying her remaining shafts on the shelf beside her. Then she had notched one to the string, and prepared to fight for her life. There was no fear in her, no regret, just a fierce determination to survive; to kill every enemy that came at her.

When the Jiamads did rush through she realized there was to be no escape. There were too many, and they were too swift. At best she could kill three, then the others would swarm over the rock shelf and drag her down.

She watched Stavut make his suicidal leap down into them, and saw his body hurled against the rock wall. Even then there was no regret, and fear was absent from her. Coolly she loosed three shafts and reached for a fourth.

Then the miracle happened. Two warriors rushed into the fray, one black-bearded and powerful, bearing a glittering double-headed axe, the second tall and lean, bearing two shining swords, one pale gold, the other moonlight silver.

In the brief battle that followed two Jiamads were slain, and a third cut deeply across the face. Askari notched another arrow to the string. Then the tall warrior called out: ‘Hold, Harad!’ He glanced up at her, and she felt the shock of his sapphire gaze. ‘Loose no more shafts,’ he ordered. Then he called for the Jiamad leader to step forward. What followed seemed almost dreamlike to Askari. The beast obeyed him, and the two talked. Then, amazingly, the Jiamads filed out of the cave. For several heartbeats she remained where she was in the high shadows, staring down at the swordsman. She had only known one lord, and that was Landis Kan. He had authority and power. But not like this man. At his word all action had ceased, the power of his personality overlaying the violence and bloodlust. His accent was strange, each word carefully enunciated. It sounded almost like poetry. She heard Stavut groan, and saw him sit up. ‘I am not dead,’ he said, the words echoing in the silence. Trust Stavut to voice the obvious, she thought. Replacing her shafts in her quiver, she hooked it over her shoulder and climbed down from the rock shelf. Turning towards her rescuers she was about to thank them when she saw all colour fade from the swordsman’s face. He was staring at her in shock. In his sapphire eyes she saw both pain and longing.

‘Jianna?’ he whispered.

The intensity of the stare was uncomfortable and Askari decided to press on. ‘I am Askari the Huntress,’ she said. ‘This is my friend, Stavut. We thank you for your help.’

The swordsman struggled for words, then his expression darkened. Askari thought she saw anger there. ‘Better see to your friend,’ he said coldly, then turned away and walked to the rear of the cave and vanished into the darkness beyond. The axeman approached her. ‘I am Harad. That is. . was. .

Skilgannon.’

‘It seems he finds it easier to talk to beasts than to women,’ she said.

‘Who doesn’t?’ muttered Harad, with feeling. There was something in the rawness of the man’s honesty that made Askari smile.

She moved to Stavut, crouching down beside him and examining his head. There was a large lump just into the hairline above his temple. The skin was split, and oozing blood.

‘You have a hard skull, Stavi.’

‘I feel sick,’ he said, ‘and the cave seems to be moving.’

‘Lie down,’ she ordered. Fetching two blankets she rolled one for a pillow, then covered him with the second. For the first time she felt the chill in the cave and shivered. The small lantern did not give out much heat, and she prepared a fire. Once it was blazing she sat down beside it, holding out her hands to the flames. Harad joined her. He was not a talkative man, but she discovered that he and Skilgannon had come from the village. It lifted her heart to know that Kinyon had survived. But what she really desired was information about the man with the sapphire eyes.

‘Is he coming back?’ she asked Harad. The big man shrugged. ‘Have you been friends for long?’

‘No. A few days. Landis Kan asked me to show him the high country. You have any food here?’

‘There is some salt-dried beef in my pack. You are welcome to it. I am not hungry.’

Harad accepted the gift and sat silently chewing the meat. The lack of conversation became irritating, and Askari stood, gathered up her bow, and left the cave, wandering down the darkened tunnels, emerging at last to the rock ledge on the cliff face. Skilgannon was there, sitting quietly in the morning sunshine.

‘Your friend Harad is not a talkative man,’ she said.

‘One of the qualities I like about him,’ he said.

‘Have I done something to anger you?’

‘Not at all,’ he said, with an apologetic smile. ‘Please join me. The view from here is very pleasant.’

Askari settled down alongside the swordsman, and stared out over the treetops and the flowing hills beyond. The sky was bright and clear, the air fresh and cool.

‘What you did in that cave was astonishing.’

‘I was lucky. We have all been lucky,’ he added. He seemed friendlier now, but she noticed he did not look at her.

‘Are you one of the Legend people?’

‘I don’t know what that means.’

‘From the north. The ones who hold to the ancient ways of the Drenai?’

‘No. I am from Naashan, across the sea.’

‘I have not heard of that place. But I guessed from your voice you were from Outside.’

‘Something tells me you would like Naashan if you saw it.’ He took a deep breath. ‘You grew up in these mountains?’ Askari nodded. ‘And Landis Kan visits you often?’

‘He seems to have taken a liking to me,’ she told him. ‘It makes me uncomfortable.’

‘Do you know why the beasts were hunting you?’

‘Because I killed one back at the village,’ she said.

He shook his head. ‘No. Kinyon said they came to the village seeking you.’

‘That makes no sense. I have no enemies. Not here and not Outside.’

‘Landis Kan has the answers. I shall wring them from him,’ he said, his voice angry once more. She found herself staring at his profile and suddenly shivered.

‘Have we met before?’ she asked him.

‘Not in this lifetime.’

The silence grew. At last Askari pushed herself to her feet. ‘You seem uncomfortable in my company, Skilgannon,’ she said, a note of sadness in her voice.

‘It is not your fault,’ he said, with a sigh. Taking a deep breath he looked up into that familiar face. His breath caught in his throat as he did so. But he stumbled on. ‘A long time ago I loved a woman with all my heart. You are. . very like her. That. . likeness. . stabs at my soul.’

‘Jianna,’ she said, sitting down once more. He saw her tension ease. Then she lifted her hands, pulling her hair back from her head and raising her face to the sun. It was such a simple gesture, and it tore into him with knives of fire. He had first seen it a thousand years ago, in the house he shared with the gardener, Sperian, and his wife, Molaire. Anger rose again, and he looked away, struggling for calm. He had been uneasy with the actions of Landis Kan, in bringing him back from the dead. Then he had discovered Harad, and that uneasiness had coalesced into rage. Now, though, he felt as if his memories and his life had been violated. The living forms of Druss the Legend and Jianna the Witch Queen were beside him again, and far from being uplifted by the experience, he was filled with burning regrets.

‘Are you a friend of Landis Kan’s?’ she asked him.

‘A friend? No. In fact I am beginning to dislike him immensely.’

‘I used to like him,’ she said. ‘He came often to my mother’s house, and would sit chatting to me. He talked of distant lands, and said he would like to take me there. As a child I looked forward to his visits.’

‘What changed?’ he asked, though he already knew the answer.

‘I stopped being a child. How was it you were able to command that beast?’

‘I did not command him. I gave him a choice. He chose wisely.’

‘He might change his mind.’

‘Aye, he might. And that would not be wise. How is your friend Stavut?’

‘He has a mighty lump on his head, and is sleeping.’ She laughed, the sound rich and familiar. ‘He is not a warrior, but he is very, very brave.’

‘And in love with you — according to Kinyon.’

Her smile faded. ‘I don’t know what that means. I know that I am beautiful, and that men want to possess that beauty. Why must they call it love?’

‘Why does it anger you?’ he countered.

‘Because it is dishonest. Does the bull love the cows in the herd? No, he just desires to push his swollen penis into somewhere warm and inviting. And when he is done he walks away and chews grass.

Is that love?’

‘Perhaps it is. I do not know. I have never chewed grass.’

Her laughter rippled out. ‘You are a handsome man, and you have wit. How is it that you lost this woman you “loved with all your heart”?’

‘I have pondered that question for. . a long, long time. I have no answers. Sometimes there are no answers.’

‘That cannot be. There are always answers.’

‘Why does the sun rise and fall?’

She smiled at him. ‘I do not know — but then that only means that I do not know the answer. It does not mean there is no answer.’

‘That is true.’

‘Did she love you?’

‘Let us talk of other things,’ he said, forcing a smile. ‘When Landis Kan visited you did he ask about your dreams?’

‘Yes,’ she answered, surprised. ‘How would you know that?’

‘I know Landis Kan,’ he hedged. ‘And what were those dreams?’

‘Ordinary childish dreams. I dreamt of castles and palaces, and great heroes who would carry me away. .’ She faltered, and her expression changed. ‘I dreamt of a man with eyes the colour of sapphires. I remember that now. He had eyes like yours. And he had two swords.’ She shivered suddenly. ‘Oh, this is all too silly.’ Pushing herself to her feet once more she said: ‘I am going back to. .

to check on Stavut.’

Skilgannon said nothing, and watched her walk away.

Alone again, he sought to focus his thoughts. It was not easy. Jianna had always stirred his blood -

virtually from the first moment he had met her. And after all the hardships, the cruelties, and her ruthless need for power, he had still yearned for her on that last day on the battlements.

Askari is not Jianna, he told himself. She is merely a twin. And yet. .

Would it not be glorious to hold her close, to kiss those lips? To feel her warm flesh against his own?

Who would you be making love to, he countered? You would be holding Askari and thinking of Jianna. Was there a worse insult to a woman than that?

Closing his eyes he began to breathe deeply, seeking calm. This is not a time to let emotions run free, he thought. Concentrate on the important issues.

Landis claimed to have resurrected him to fulfil an ancient prophecy. Skilgannon believed this to be true. He could also understand why Landis experimented with the process on the bones of Druss. But Jianna? When she died her body would have been returned to Naashan, and buried there, thousands of miles across the ocean. Why had Landis sought her? Was she part of the prophecy? Another thought came to him. Why had he failed to restore Jianna? If Skilgannon had been trapped in the Void for his sins, then surely Jianna would have been similarly cursed? Unless her soul had been destroyed in that awful place. Skilgannon shivered. Aye, that would be it. She was a good swordswoman, and courageous. But to survive the Void called for more than that.

He rose, then moved into a series of exercises, stretching his tired muscles and seeking to free his mind. The effort relaxed his body, but troublesome thoughts continued to prowl his mind with restless intensity.

Why were the forces of the Eternal hunting Askari? If she was part of the prophecy why had Landis not told him? He sat alone for several hours, seeking answers. In the end he accepted defeat. This problem could not be solved by reason alone. There were too few facts. Only Landis had the answers.

Skilgannon finally relaxed.

Tomorrow they would head back to Petar. Then all would become clear.

Unwallis had been gripped by a sense of foreboding as he rode up the long hills towards the lands of Landis Kan. Dead Jiamads were everywhere, the bodies rotting on the hillsides. Black carrion birds, gorged and fat, pecked at the corpses, while others sat in the tree branches, staring at the riders with cold, hungry glances.

The bodies should have been cleared away and burnt. The grey-haired ambassador glanced back at the column of riders behind him. Their horses were skittish, with the scent of corruption in the air.

Unwallis rode on, the foreboding turning to anger as he saw the desolation in Petar itself. Smoke was still rising from burnt-out buildings, and there were few people to be seen. The Eternal’s Jiamads roamed the streets, and here there were more bodies, many of them human.

At the palace there were no servants to take care of the horses. Unwallis ordered the cavalry captain to find the stables and see to the mounts, then dismounted and trod up the steps to the gloomy main entrance. No lanterns had been lit and his footsteps echoed through the empty halls. His clothes were travel-stained, his hooded grey cloak wet from a recent downpour. He had hoped for a hot bath and a relaxed meal before beginning his investigations.

There was no such hope now. The place echoed like a great tomb.

Mounting the stairs, he walked past the near decapitated body of a servant, then through to a rear upper balcony to gaze down on the gardens below. A pyre had been set there, and ash had blown across the flower beds. The last remains of Landis Kan. No hope of resurrection for you, Landis, old friend, he thought. Unwallis rubbed at his weary eyes. Slowly he searched the building, seeking Decado.

He found five more bodies, three men and two women, lying together in an upper corridor. All carried similar slashing wounds; two had their throats sliced open, while the others had been hacked in what was obviously a frenzied attack. This was what happened when matters were left in the hands of a psychopath like Decado. The town was a near ruin, the people fled or murdered, the palace a shell.

Surely, he reasoned, the Eternal would not forgive this disaster. Decado was finished. There was no exultant joy in Unwallis as he considered this. The first body he had seen in the palace had been that of a plump, elderly man, ashamed of going bald. He had grown his hair long above his right ear, and had swept it up and over his crown. An ordinary palace servant, skilled, no doubt, at cooking or cleaning.

Unwallis had paused to stare at his face. There was a look upon it of horror and shock. He would have had no reason to believe that a berserk warrior would leap upon him and hack him to death.

Yes, it was good that the Eternal would finally see what a monster she had allowed to roam free. But not at the cost of even one old man’s life.

He found Decado asleep on a couch in Landis Kan’s apartments. He was unshaved, his dark clothes stained with blood. He awoke as Unwallis entered. The swordsman’s hooded eyes were red-rimmed and he looked weary.

‘What happened here?’ asked Unwallis.

Decado stretched and yawned. Then he rose and moved to a nearby table, filling a silver goblet with wine. ‘You want a drink?’

‘No.’ Unwallis waited. He had no power over Decado, nor any right to demand answers.

‘The blind man escaped,’ said Decado. ‘The people were hiding him.’

‘So you sent out the Jiamads to search the town?’

‘Of course. The Eternal ordered me to kill him.’

‘And the people panicked and fled?’

‘Yes.’

‘So the Jiamads chased them and killed them?’

‘It is what Jiamads do,’ said Decado, draining the goblet and refilling it.

‘And you found Gamal?’

‘Not yet. But I will. How far can a blind man get?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Unwallis. ‘Let me try to understand the situation. You killed Landis Kan, then sought Gamal and did not find him. What did the servants tell you? And where are they, by the way?’

‘I had to kill a few. The rest ran.’

‘I see. So there is no-one to supply us with food, the blind man remains at large, and a thriving, prosperous settlement has been brought to the edge of destruction. The Eternal will not be pleased, Decado. Is there any other ill news you would like to share? Where is the girl, Askari?’

‘We have had no contact from Corvin.’

‘Corvin?’ queried Unwallis.

‘The officer sent to apprehend her.’

‘Then we don’t have her either?’

‘Of course we have,’ snapped Decado. ‘He took a company of Jiamads. It is just that he has not reported back yet.’

‘At the risk of adding salt to the wounds, Decado, what became of Landis Kan’s nephew?’

‘He was not here when I came back for Landis. He too has gone.’

Unwallis was tempted to make another dry comment, but Decado’s eyes now had an almost feral glitter. Judging from the slaughter inside the palace he had already been involved in at least one killing frenzy. Unwallis decided to soften his approach. ‘I expect he will be discovered in due course,’ he said pacifically. ‘And now, by your leave, I shall instruct the soldiers with me to begin a clean-up of the settlement. There are rather too many bodies lying around.’

‘As you wish,’ said Decado. He gave a cold smile. ‘This is all your fault, Unwallis. You know that?’

‘No, I did not know that. By what miracle of logic did you arrive at such a conclusion?’

‘If I had killed them both, as I wanted to, when Callan first insulted me we would not have this problem.’

‘That sounds eminently reasonable,’ said Unwallis, with a short bow. ‘I take it you will lead the hunting party that goes after Gamal, and the man you call Callan.’

‘What do you mean, call him?’

‘The real Callan is dead. It was a ploy. I don’t yet know why he sought to fool me, but I intend to study Landis Kan’s notes. The man was an inveterate scribbler. The answer will be here somewhere.’

‘I don’t care who he is. I shall cut him into pieces.’

‘Of course, Decade’ Unwallis failed to keep a note of sarcasm from his voice. Decado’s face paled and he stepped forward.

‘Are you insulting me, old man?’

‘Far from it. Cutting people into pieces is a skill at which you excel. A man should always stick to what he is good at. Now, if you will excuse me.’

Unwallis bowed again, then turned and left the room. His heart was beating hard, and once he was free of the apartments fear flowed to the surface causing his hands to tremble. Do not be such a fool, he warned himself. The man is insane. Bait him again and he will kill you.

Not for the first time Unwallis found himself wondering just what the Eternal could possibly see in such a man. How could she treat him as a lover? He was as likely to kill her in a blind rage as any other.

Unwallis smiled suddenly at his own foolishness. How many times had she died already? Death held no fear for her. Through the original brilliance of Landis Kan, and the devotion of the sly Memnon, there were always fresh hosts for the Eternal’s soul.

Unwallis sought out the captain of cavalry, gave instructions for the removal of corpses. ‘Then send several of your men into the hills to seek out villagers. Make sure the men have friendly faces and easy personalities. Get them to tell whoever they find that it is now safe to return. And ensure that is true.

Keep the Jiamads away from them. Ideally, captain, find some palace servants who will know how to prepare a bath.’

The captain smiled. ‘Two of my men have already fired up the palace ovens. Give us an hour or two and I’ll arrange a hot bath for you.’

‘You are a prince among men, captain,’ said Unwallis. ‘I shall be in the library area downstairs. When the bath is ready, send someone to find me.’

The thought of relaxing in a hot bath eased his mind, and he felt calmer as he made his way downstairs to Landis Kan’s study.

He did not remain at ease for long. In the rear area, resting against a back wall, he found three picture frames containing stretched, dried, tattooed skin. The first was small, showing a black spider. The second had an eagle with flaring wings. The third was of a snarling panther. Holding to the last Unwallis sank into a chair, his mind reeling. He gazed at the long dead skin and shuddered. So, it was true then. Landis had discovered the true Tomb of the Damned.

‘What were you thinking, Landis?’ he said, aloud.

Leaning back in his chair Unwallis thought through the implications of Landis Kan’s treachery. A Reborn created from the bones of Skilgannon was not, in itself, a major problem. Unless, of course, one was stupid enough to believe in ancient prophecies. Surely Landis Kan was too intelligent for such nonsense? Unwallis stared at the tattooed skin in the frame.

Bad enough that Landis Kan had hidden away a child born of the bones of the Eternal. The reasons were not hard to discern. The poor man had been hopelessly in love with her, and had been discarded, like all her lovers and favourites. He had sought to recreate a woman who could love him. That treachery was understandable. But the Skilgannon question nagged at him. It was possible to be both an intelligent man and a fool, so perhaps Landis had believed in the old prophecy. Unwallis remembered it from childhood. A hero reborn would raid the nest of a silver eagle. He would do this after defeating a mountain giant bearing a great shield of gold. As a result an immortal would taste death.

Fascinating nonsense. Mountain giants and eagles of silver did not exist in the known world. So why did Landis Kan believe it to be true? Unwallis gathered all the papers he could find and began to study them.

An hour passed. Then another. Darkness began to fall, and Unwallis lit a lantern. A young soldier came to him, and told him a hot bath had been prepared. Unwallis rose and stretched, then took a sheaf of papers and followed the man to an empty apartment on the ground floor. Here there was a sunken bath of marble. It had taken the soldiers some time to fill it, and the water was now only lukewarm.

Unwallis thanked the men, discarded his clothing and climbed gratefully into the bath. Two more soldiers arrived, carrying buckets of steaming water, which raised the temperature briefly. Unwallis sat back and reached for the next sheet of paper.

Gamal is very weary today. His spirit journeys into the Void have taxed his strength. It is also undeniable that entering a trance state, while his hands rest on the sword hilts, is causing him some distress. Gamal says there is evil in the blades; an old evil, some dark enchantment that grates upon his soul. However, this gives me hope, for the legends maintain that Skilgannon’s swords were cursed. They are quite simply beautiful weapons to observe. Both have hilts of intricately worked ivory, set with precious gems, but the metal blades defy analysis. The Swords of Night and Day are well named. One is pale gold in colour, and yet harder than the strongest steel; the other is moonlight silver. There is not a blemish or a nick on either blade. They could have come straight from a master swordsmith. Hard to believe these swords saw any action at all.

Unwallis read on, skimming through several sheets.

We are both filled with excitement today. Through the swords Gamal has reached Skilgannon.

He has been trapped in the Void for all this time. At first Gamal did not recognize him, for in the Void his skin is scaled like a lizard. He fights constantly, for he is hunted by other demonic forms.

Gamal says a shining figure was with him, but disappeared when Gamal approached. I think Gamal recognized the figure, but would tell me nothing. What is, however, of greater importance is that Gamal has convinced Skilgannon to return to the world. It is not possible to convey the joy this has brought me.

Dropping the paper Unwallis scrambled from the bath, threw a towel round his waist and strode from the room. As he emerged into the corridor he saw two more soldiers carrying buckets of hot water.

‘Are you all right, sir?’

‘Where is the Lord Decado?’

‘He rode out, sir, with a hunting party. Looking for some blind man, I think. You should sit down.

Your face is grey.’

Longbear was confused. Hunger gnawed at him, the scent of blood in the air making his stomach churn.

The desire to kill and eat was growing, making his mouth salivate and his taloned fingers twitch. The woman was bleeding from several small puncture wounds to her side, caused when Longbear carried her, and the old blind Skin, from the fight. As he had run up through the wooded hills his talons had pierced her clothing, pricking the flesh beneath. She was sitting now alongside Gamal, staring back down the track, her eyes fearful. Longbear could scent the salt in the blood, and knew the flesh would be savoury and filling. His empty belly rumbled.

Gamal swung his head, his blind eyes flickering towards Longbear. ‘How are you faring, my friend?’

he asked. ‘Do you carry wounds?’

Longbear grunted. The voice continued to strike a chord somewhere deep in his mind. He could not place it. ‘No wounds,’ he said. ‘Female bleeds.’

‘You are hurt, Charis?’

‘I am fine, sir. Why are they doing this?’

Longbear heard the terror in her voice. His golden eyes looked past her, seeing the distant smoke rise from the houses in which the Skins dwelt. The enemy had come in fast, scores of Jiamads, some on all fours, others carrying clubs or sharp blades. Longbear’s troop of twenty had charged them, ripping and killing, and dying. Longbear himself slew three of the enemy.

He and the surviving six of his troop had been beaten back, fleeing through the alleyways of the town and out into the countryside. On the hillside Longbear had seen the old blind man, Gamal, and the young, golden-haired woman with him. She was leading him by the hand. In the transient safety of the trees Longbear and his survivors gathered round the pair. The woman was terrified. Not so the blind man.

‘Who leads?’ he had asked, his voice firm, and strangely familiar. For a moment only, Longbear experienced an old memory. Strange, for he was lying on a raised platform, blankets upon his body, and the old blind man was sitting beside him. Longbear had never been inside a house, let alone covered in blankets. The image faded.

‘I am Longbear.’

‘That is good. Lead us away from here, Longbear.’

‘Where?’

‘High into the hills. North.’

‘North?’

‘Where the bears live,’ said the old man.

Another bizarre image flickered briefly to life. Longbear remembered walking the high hills. He was carrying a young Skin upon his shoulders. The child was laughing. A feeling came with the memory, of great contentment and joy. Longbear shivered. Such feelings usually came when the bright stone in his temple grew warm.

So they had set off towards the land of the bears. The female Skin held to the old man’s hand, and the pace was terribly slow. Happily they were not followed immediately, and, as the sun fell on the first day, they had made it into the high country.

Here came the first quarrel. Usually at sunset the stone in Longbear’s temple would begin to vibrate.

He would fall into a deep, refreshing sleep. It was close to dusk, and there was no warmth from the stone. The other six of his comrades also grew uneasy. They gathered together, away from the Skins.

‘Dark soon. Who brings food?’ asked Balla, whose appetite was always prodigious.

‘Skin place burns,’ said another, pointing back to a red glow in the southern sky.

A growing sense of unease followed. Longbear squatted down on his haunches. He had no answers.

The whole world seemed to have changed. No food was coming. The stones were cold. And the sound of the old man’s voice was stirring fragmented memories that left him uncomfortable.

The breeze shifted. All the Jiamads tensed. The scent of the enemy came to them. Balla, who had the keenest eyes, ran to the edge of the trees.

‘Only three,’ he said. ‘We kill! Now!’

The Jiamads rose and rushed out onto the hillside.

‘No!’ shouted the old man, his voice cutting through the blood mist that had begun to descend on Longbear. ‘Longbear! To me!’

The others were charging down the slope. Longbear hesitated. The old man shouted again. There were only three enemy. His strength would not be needed. Padding back through the trees he waited by the blind man. ‘What is happening?’ asked Gamal. Longbear glanced back. His troop was tearing into the Jiamads. Two enemy were down, the third fleeing. Then a volley of arrows soared out from the trees close by. Three of his troop went down. A rider galloped from the trees and leapt from the saddle, a slim, dark-haired Skin, dressed all in black and wielding two bright swords. The remaining three of Longbear’s Jiamads rushed the small man. Balla was the first to reach him. The swordsman ducked under Balla’s flailing arms and sent a disembowelling cut across Balla’s belly. Then, even before the Jiamad had fallen, he leapt towards the others. Longbear saw the dazzling swords flicker and rise and fall. Then the swordsman was standing alone. One Skin had killed three of his brethren in a matter of heartbeats.

‘Speak to me!’ whispered Gamal.

At first Longbear could find no words. The shock was immense. ‘A Skin. Two swords. All dead,’ he said.

‘Decado! We must get away from here. Fast! Can you carry us?’

Longbear dropped his quarterstaff and swept the old man up under one arm. Then he grabbed the girl and started to run. His legs were powerful, his stamina prodigious. Up through the wooded hills he ran, cutting left and right through the trees. On open ground for a while he sprinted on, over rocky outcrops, until at last even his great strength began to fade.

Releasing the old man and the girl he looked back for the first time. Darkness had fallen and he could see little. Closing his eyes he sniffed the wind. His nostrils quivered, separating the many scents of the forest. Some deer a little way to the west, a bighorn sheep, out of sight in a stand of rock. But he could scent no other humans, nor Jiamads.

Turning back to the human pair he smelt the blood on the woman. Hunger surged in him. His long tongue lolled from his mouth as he began to salivate. The woman had removed a small pack from her shoulder. From it she took a loaf of bread. As her hands delved deeper the scent of dry-cured meat came to him. Longbear watched as she produced a half-round of pink meat from the pack. ‘I have some ham and bread, lord,’ she said to Gamal.

‘Give the meat to Longbear,’ he said softly. ‘And tell him your name.’

Longbear stood silently. The golden-haired woman turned to stare at him. He could scent her fear in the sweet smell of sweat breaking out on her face and arms. ‘Would you like some ham?’ she said, moving nervously towards him, and extending her arm. ‘My name is Charis.’

Longbear did not speak to her. He snatched the ham, and moved away from the pair. Squatting down he tore at the meat, then gnawed at the bone beneath. It only partially sated his hunger.

The old man approached him. ‘Time for you to rest, my old friend,’ he said. Gently he laid his hand upon the jewel in Longbear’s temple. The familiar vibration began, soothing, warming. Longbear yawned and lay down. ‘Sleep, Longbear. Dream no dreams.’

Peace settled on the Jiamad, and he passed into darkness.

Charis sat very quietly with her back to a rock, staring at the sleeping Jiamad. The deep scratches in her side were stinging, and there was blood on the left side of her cream shirt. The night grew colder, and she drew her rust-coloured, hooded cloak around her shoulders. The shivering started then, but it was not caused just by the cold. The long day had been terrifying.

It seemed somehow inconceivable to her that only the previous evening she had been singing a song in the palace kitchens, as she and four other servants prepared the next day’s food packages for the loggers in the woods. The day had been bright and clear, a soft breeze blowing down from the mountains. Charis had been happy then. Life was good.

Then she had been sent to Landis Kan’s apartments with a tray of food, and a jug of wine. As she reached the apartment she realized there was no goblet upon the tray. Annoyed with herself, she had swung round to return to the kitchen. Then she remembered that there were several crystal goblets in the guest rooms close by. Moving to an empty apartment she opened the door and stepped inside, laying her tray on a table by the wall. She heard footfalls in the corridor outside, and peered round the half-open door. One of Landis Kan’s guests had returned, the dark-haired man with the cold eyes. Probably need two goblets now, she thought.

Decado entered Landis Kan’s apartment. Then Charis heard voices. She would never forget the words spoken.

‘ You said you would not kill me,’ she heard Landis Kan say, his voice trembling with fear.

‘ And I shall not,’ came the voice of a woman. ‘He will. Not a trace of flesh or bone to be left. I do not want him reborn.’

‘ As you order, so shall it be,’ she heard Decado reply.

‘ Do not make him suffer, Decado. Kill him swiftly, for he was once dear to me. Then find the blind man and kill him too.’

‘ The nephew, beloved. He insulted me. I want him too.’

‘ Kill him, my dear,’ said the woman’s voice. ‘But no-one else. Our troops will be here by morning. Try to remember that we will still need people to till the fields, and I would like servants to remain in the palace ready for my arrival. I do not want blind terror causing havoc here.’

Charis stood frozen to the spot. Then she heard a gurgling scream come from Landis Kan. Fleeing the room she raced along the corridor to the stairs leading to Gamal’s apartment. She did not wait to knock, but ran inside, finding the blind man sitting on his balcony. Swiftly she told him what had transpired, her words tumbling out almost incoherently.

‘I feared it would come to this,’ said the blind man, with a sigh. ‘Fetch me my cloak, Charis, and a stout pair of shoes. Get yourself a cloak also. You shall lead me into the hills. There is someone I must find.’

Now, following a night of terror and a day of death and bloodshed, Charis was sitting once more in the darkness, a terrible beast close by. The shivering worsened. Gamal came alongside her, placing his arm round her shoulder.

‘I am sorry, my dear, for all that you have suffered. But I could not have made it this far without you.’

Charis felt close to tears. Not this time through fear. The kindness and compassion in his voice created a shocking contrast to the horrors of the day. ‘Are we safe now?’ she whispered.

She saw his head tilt towards the sleeping beast, and noted the concern that showed on his weary face. He took a deep breath. ‘No, my dear, we are not safe. Longbear was once a friend of mine, but little of that man is left in the creature. We must be careful around him. Try not to react fearfully, and do not look directly into his eyes. All animals see that as a challenge or a threat. If we can find a food source I believe there will be less cause for concern.’

‘Where are we going, lord? There is nothing out here, save an old fortress and a few settlements.’

‘I need to find the young man who was at the palace recently.’

‘The one with the paintings on his skin?’

‘Yes.’

‘He is with Harad.’ Thoughts of Harad calmed her. She wished he was here now. The beast they travelled with would seem far less daunting if Harad was close by. ‘How will we find them?’

‘Tomorrow I shall ask Longbear to seek his scent. They met a few days ago. Now forgive me, child, but I am bone weary and must rest. You should try to do the same. Longbear will sleep at least until dawn.’ Gamal lay down, his head resting on his arm. His breathing deepened.

Once he was asleep it occurred to Charis that she could simply stand up and walk quietly away into the night. The deadly woman who had ordered the lord’s death had made it clear that no-one was to be needlessly killed. She had said something about ensuring that the palace servants continued their duties.

Surely all danger would be over now? It was an inviting thought. Charis gazed down at the sleeping man.

He is old and blind, she told herself. What can he do without help? How will he find Harad and the tattooed man? The beast will do it for him, argued an insistent voice in her mind. He said they were friends once. Leave him. Save yourself!

The thought was more than tempting. It was right!

Slowly she rose, so as not to disturb him. The moon emerged from behind a cloud, and in its harsh light she saw the frailty of the sleeping man. His eyes were sunken, his face seamed with wrinkles so deep they appeared as scars.

He will die out here without me, she realized, with cold certainty.

In the near distance she could hear the sound of running water. Another thought came to her then, and she quietly slipped away from the campsite. The stream was close by, bubbling over rocks, and tiny waterfalls. Slowly she followed its path until she came to a wider pool, some thirty feet across. She sat by it for a while, then stood and removed all her clothes. Shivering, she stepped into the water and carefully waded out towards a deeper section, surrounded by rocks. Then she stood, statue still, her hands beneath the surface. After a while she saw the sleek form of a fish swim by, then another. Charis did not move. For what seemed an age no fish swam close enough. But then a long, fat fish glided over her hands. In a flash Charis swept it up and hurled it out onto the bank, where it flopped and twisted. Then she froze once more, waiting patiently. She failed in several more attempts, then succeeded, landing a second large fish. After several hours, her teeth chattering with the cold, she waded back to the bank.

Drying herself with her shirt she climbed into her long green skirt and threw her cloak around her shoulders. There were six fat fish on the bank. Charis smiled. Her father — who had taught her this technique when she was a child — would have been proud of her skill. Using her shirt as a makeshift pack, she carried the fish back to the campsite. Gamal and the beast were still sleeping. Charis lay down alongside the old man and slept dreamlessly.

She awoke with the dawn. Gamal slept on. She glanced at the beast, who began to stir. It rolled to its feet, sniffing the air. Charis took a calming breath and rose.

‘I have food for you, Longbear,’ she said, her voice firm. ‘Do you eat fish?’

‘Fish good,’ said Longbear, his nostrils quivering.

Putting two fish aside, she carried the others over to him and laid them on the ground. Longbear stared at her, but she avoided his eyes.

‘How you catch fish?’ he asked.

‘With my hands. My father taught me.’

He said no more, but squatted down, lifted a fish and tore a huge chunk from it.

‘Be careful of the bones,’ she said, and walked back to where Gamal lay. From her pack she took a small tinderbox, then began to set a fire.