The Swords of Night and Day

Chapter Sixteen

Askari, nursing a thudding headache, sat with Harad as Skilgannon, Alahir and many of the riders gathered round and talked. Much of the conversation was lost on the huntress, dealing as it did with Drenai history, old legends, and new prophecies. Her interest waned still further when Alahir produced a brilliantly burnished helm of bronze and showed it to Skilgannon. Armour was not one of her interests.

Beside her, Harad was becoming irritated by the number of men wishing to see the axe. Many of them reached out reverentially and touched the haft.

One young man squatted down before them and just stared at the weapon. Askari, her patience wearing as thin as Harad’s, said: ‘It is an axe — not a holy relic’

‘It is the axe,’ the boy replied, not taking his eyes from the weapon.

‘Well, you have seen it. Now leave us in peace,’ snapped Harad.

The conversation among the leaders turned to more recent events, and Askari heard Stavut’s name mentioned. A grizzled veteran was talking about the merchant’s now keeping company with a troop of Jiamads. Askari listened in amazement. Stavut, who was terrified of wolves, and noises in the dark, was now leading a pack of monsters? It was ludicrous. There must have been a mistake. He was supposed to be leading her friends to a place of safety. Rising, she walked to where the men were talking and questioned the old soldier. He told her what had transpired, including the story Stavut had outlined, of a battle to avenge the deaths of people he cared about.

‘Which way was he heading?’ she asked.

‘Northeast.’

Askari moved back from the men, swept up her bow and quiver and walked away through the trees.

Harad followed her. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked.

‘To find Stavut.’

‘I’ll come with you.’

‘No disrespect, Harad, but you can’t move as fast as I can.’ With that she set off at a run, cutting through the trees and back towards the north. Once away from the group she felt her tensions ease. The headache she had suffered for the last few hours drifted away. There were perhaps three hours of good daylight left as she loped across the grassland towards a distant wood. If Stavut was with a pack of Jiamads then their tracks should not be hard to find. As she ran, eyes scanning ground, she thought of what she had heard. Stavut covered in blood. Something had obviously happened that had unhinged the young man. Though brave he was not a warrior, as she had seen during the fight in the cave. No, Stavut was a sensitive fellow, with charm, wit and a good heart. So why was he with the beasts? Perhaps they had taken him hostage or were keeping him for. . for food? She shuddered at the thought.

Askari ran on, moving now towards the east, seeking to cut across the trail left by the beasts. The tracks would tell the story better than she could imagine it. The search took far longer than she had anticipated, and there was less than an hour’s daylight remaining when she came upon the trail. She was tired now, having been on the move at speed for around two hours. Carefully she studied the spoor. It was difficult to estimate the numbers of beasts, for the tracks overlapped one another, but it seemed there must be more than thirty of them. Stavut’s boot prints were clear, here and there. One huge Jiamad was walking alongside him. Guarding the prisoner? Now with a clear trail Askari ran again, heading northeast. The ground rose steadily towards a high stand of pine. The wind was blowing from the west, so the Jems would not be able to pick up her scent. Even so she moved more warily. The last thing she needed was to run straight into their camp.

As she neared the tree line she heard a horse whinny. Coming to a stop she notched an arrow to her bow. From the trees ahead she saw Decado ride into sight. He waved and smiled. ‘You are a long way from your friends, beauty,’ he said.

‘And you are a short way from death,’ she said.

‘Pish! We are all a short way from death.’ Lifting his leg over the saddle horn he jumped lightly to the ground. ‘So what brings you here?’ he asked, walking to a jutting rock and sitting down.

‘Does it not concern you that I might kill you?’ she asked.

‘You didn’t kill me that first night, beauty. You just let me go. Why was that?’

‘Obviously a mistake,’ she told him.

‘Probably.’

‘And stop calling me beauty. I am not her.’

‘Confusing, though,’ he said. He winced suddenly and rubbed at his eyes.

‘What is wrong with you?’

‘Nothing of note. I get head pains sometimes. Mostly they are bearable. Sometimes — as when you found me — they are. . not so bearable. This one is — happily — not too debilitating. So, why are you here?’

‘I am looking for a friend.’

‘You are lucky, then, for you have found one.’

‘You are not my friend, Decado. I am speaking of a true friend, a man named Stavut.’

‘The one walking with the Jiamads?’

‘You have seen them?’

‘Indeed I have. I came upon them earlier. Thought I would have to fight my way clear. Happily he has them well disciplined, so there was no trouble.’

‘He is not a prisoner, then?’

‘It would be an unusual definition of the word prisoner. He commands them, and they obey. We had some conversation. Strange man. A little deranged, I think.’

Askari laughed then. Decado smiled. ‘I have amused you?’

‘That you, of all people, should accuse another of being deranged.’

‘Yes, ironic, isn’t it? Of course I could argue that it gives me a better insight.’ He looked at her quizzically. ‘No offence, but I don’t suppose you’d consider getting naked with me. It would help relieve my headache.’

‘I don’t believe you! I loathe you, Decado. What on earth would make you think I’d want to sleep with you?’

‘I wasn’t talking about sleep. Just sex. However, a simple no would have been sufficient.’ He glanced up at the sky. ‘Are you still thinking of finding your friend?’

‘Of course.’

‘You won’t do it before dark on foot. Climb up behind me and I’ll take you to them.’ Rising from the rock he walked to his horse, stepped into the saddle, then held out his hand to her.

‘Why should I trust you?’

‘I can’t think of a single good reason.’

‘Nor I,’ she said, with a smile.

Returning the arrow to its quiver she took his hand. Decado slipped his foot from the stirrup and Askari levered herself up to sit behind him.

The meeting with Gilden had depressed Stavut considerably. He liked the man and, more, respected him.

Gilden was brave, honourable, and good-hearted. Yet the hatred in his face when he talked of vermin had shocked Stavut. As he walked on, the ground rising higher and higher towards the northeast, he kept thinking of Gilden’s savage reaction. It wouldn’t have surprised him a few weeks ago, he realized. In fact, he too had felt the same about Jiamads. But then he had never known any. Now he knew there was no evil in them. They were savage in the same way as the wolf or the lion. They killed to eat. There was no hatred in them, no malice.

Last night he had witnessed a fight between Shakul and another huge beast. It had begun so swiftly Stavut had had no chance to intervene. The two beasts had rushed at one another, snarling and biting. At first Shakul had been pushed back, but then he struck his opponent with a ferocious right hand. The beast staggered. Shakul leapt upon him, bearing him to the ground. He hit him twice more, open-handed, the sound sickening. The beast slumped. Then Shakul rose above him, standing very still. The dazed Jiamad slowly moved to all fours, then nuzzled the ground at Shakul’s feet. The other members of the pack gathered round. Then each began to stamp his feet on the ground.

Shakul walked back to where Stavut stood, mesmerized by the scene. ‘What was that about?’ the merchant had asked.

‘Place,’ said Shakul. ‘Place in pack.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Shakul’s place.’

‘He wanted to take your place as. . what?’

Shakul’s huge hand touched Stavut’s shoulder. ‘Bloodshirt,’ he said. Then he tapped his own chest.

‘Shakul.’ He pointed to the beast he had fought. ‘Broga.’ Then at Grava, who was sitting close by.

Stavut understood then. The pack order was decided by battle. The realization left him suddenly uneasy. ‘Does this mean you and I will fight one day?’

Shakul’s shoulders heaved as he gave the staccato growl Stavut understood to be laughter. Then he walked away.

Throughout the morning the pack pushed on. Stavut had no idea how fast the army of the Eternal marched, nor indeed whether they had anything to fear from them. It was likely they would merely pass through the land. However, Stavut had no wish to depend on luck. His view was to put as much distance between the army and the pack as possible. Unfortunately this meant climbing higher into the mountains.

The Jiamads were taking turns now hauling his wagon, but the trail was becoming more and more difficult. It was also narrowing. To Stavut’s right there was a fearsome drop. As he walked he stayed close to the cliff wall on his left. Shakul came alongside him, staring at him.

‘Bloodshirt sick?’

‘No. Frightened. I hate heights,’ he said, pointing to the edge.

Shakul walked to the lip of the precipice and stared over and down. ‘Long way,’ he said.

Then he marched on, scouting the path ahead. Grava came alongside, his long tongue lolling from his mouth. He said something utterly unintelligible. Stavut nodded. ‘Good point,’ he replied. Grava nodded and spoke again. Happily he wandered off before Stavut was forced to admit he hadn’t understood a word.

The pack moved on. Up ahead came the sound of falling rocks. Stavut raised his arm and halted the beasts. Grava ran forward to check for danger. When he returned Stavut could see he was agitated. He ran to Stavut and began to speak. ‘Slow down,’ said Stavut. ‘I can’t understand you.’

Grava obliged, but Stavut could only make out one word. Shakul.

He followed Grava back to where a rockslide had struck the trail. A section of the ledge had fallen away. Grava moved to the edge and pointed down. Stavut inched his way forward, then dropped to his hands and knees. Stomach churning, he peered over. Some thirty feet down Shakul was clinging to an overhang, unable to lever himself up. Stavut swore — then remembered there was rope in the wagon.

Easing back from the ledge he ran to where three Jiamads were heroically pulling the wagon up the slope.

Climbing to the driver’s seat he applied the brake, then clambered over to the back, searching through the packages, pushing aside small barrels and bales of cloth. At last he came up with the rope. Looping it over his arm he ran back to where Grava and some others were gathered. Calling one of the most powerful of the Jiamads to him, he passed one end of the rope over the beast’s shoulder and pressed it into his hand. ‘I am going to throw the rope to Shakul,’ he said. ‘When he grabs it you pull him up.

Understand?’

‘Pull up,’ answered the beast.

Uncoiling the rope as he went, Stavut walked to the edge. ‘I am throwing a rope down,’ he shouted to Shakul.

Grava came alongside, shaking his head.

‘What?’ asked Stavut. Grava lifted his hands in a clawing motion and spoke very slowly. He had to repeat his words several times before Stavut could make them out. Shakul could not let go. Stavut moved to the cliff edge once more, and understood what Grava was trying to say. Shakul’s arms were fully extended, his weight enormous. If he tried to let go and reach for the rope he would fall.

‘Can you climb down to him?’ Stavut asked Grava. The beast stepped back, shaking his head.

Stavut swore again, then took hold of the end of the rope and made a large loop. Then he threw the rope over the edge. Glancing back at the beast holding the other end of the rope he said: ‘When I shout, you pull up.’

‘Pull up,’ said the beast again.

‘Brilliant!’ muttered Stavut.

Taking a deep breath he took hold of the dangling rope and lowered himself over the edge. ‘Do not look down,’ he told himself. ‘That’s what Askari says.’ Carefully he climbed down the rock face.

Footholds were plentiful and he had little difficulty reaching Shakul. As he came alongside the Jiamad he saw fear in Shakul’s eyes.

‘Long way!’ the beast gasped.

‘I am going to loop the rope round your waist. You hang on!’

This was the moment when Stavut realized he was going to have to look down. His stomach tightened.

Slowly he moved his head, his eyes fastened to the black fur on Shakul’s massive legs and dangling feet.

Carefully Stavut lowered himself further, lifting the loop over the legs and up towards the hips. A cold wind blew across the cliff face. Small stones tumbled down. Shakul’s left hand slipped, then scrabbled to hold on. Stavut pulled the rope up over the beast’s hips, then shouted: ‘Pull up!’

Nothing happened.

Only then did he realize he had given the rope to Broga — the beast Shakul had fought the night before.

You idiot, he told himself. The one creature in the pack who wanted Shakul displaced now had Shakul’s life in his hands. ‘Pull the rope!’ he shouted again.

Shakul fell, dislodging Stavut.

The rope went tight. Shakul’s arm shot out, talons slicing through Stavut’s shirt, and raking the skin beneath. They hung together over the dizzying drop. The shirt began to tear.

Grava’s head peered over the edge. ‘Pull us up!’ yelled Stavut.

The rope tightened once more, and slowly, inch by inch, they were hauled up the cliff face. Once above the overhang Shakul managed to gain footholds. As they neared the top Grava reached over and grabbed Stavut, pulling him to safety. The merchant moved away from the cliff edge, then turned towards Broga. There was blood on his hands, where the rope had burned him. Yet he had not let go.

‘Good work,’ said Stavut, patting him on the arm. ‘Thank you.’

‘Broga pull up,’ the beast said, dropping the rope and licking his bloodied palms. Stavut walked away.

His legs were trembling now, and he felt sick. To give himself something to take his mind off the possibility of vomiting he gathered up the rope, looping it over his forearm. Only when he was almost done did he realize that one end was still tied round Shakul. Walking back to the beast, he undid the knot.

‘An adventure, eh?’ he said.

‘We move now,’ said Shakul. ‘Find place. Eat. Sleep.’

‘No, no,’ said Stavut, ‘you are embarrassing me with such a show of gratitude.’

Shakul stared at him, nonplussed. ‘Again?’ he said.

Stavut grinned. ‘It doesn’t matter. Let’s find a place to rest, eat and sleep.’

Shakul nodded, then ambled off once more down the trail.

As Stavut sat quietly by the small campfire he kept glancing at Shakul. It seemed to him that the beast had been behaving strangely since the incident on the cliff. He had snarled and snapped at the others, and was now squatting alone beneath an overhanging tree branch. A group of the others, led by Grava, had left on a hunt. The rest, including the massive Broga, were sleeping. Stavut was also tired, but the stinging pain from the deep scratches where Shakul’s talons had pierced his shirt was keeping him awake. Rising from the fire he walked over to Shakul. The beast’s golden eyes looked up at him. Stavut sat down.

‘What is wrong, my friend? Are you hurt?’

‘Not hurt. Shakul sleep now.’ The Jiamad closed his eyes.

‘I know you are not sleeping,’ said Stavut.

Shakul snarled suddenly, causing to Stavut to jerk back. Then the beast blinked, and his shoulders sagged. He glanced at the others. Some of them, hearing the snarl, had stirred and were watching the pair. Shakul settled back. Realizing there was no drama the others returned to sleep. Stavut sighed. ‘Talk to me, my friend. What is troubling you?’

‘Big fear,’ said Shakul, his voice low. ‘Long way down.’

And Stavut knew what the problem was. Shakul was both embarrassed and shocked by his fear. The great beast had not experienced such terror before, and the new sensation had left him uneasy.

‘Nothing wrong with fear,’ said Stavut at last. ‘It is how we deal with it that counts. A friend taught me that.’ He laughed. ‘You and he wouldn’t get on. Though in fact I think you are quite similar.’

‘Shakul was coward,’ said the beast, his head sagging.

‘Nonsense! Every living thing knows fear. Listen to me, Shakul. When you were hanging on that rock face you were frightened. And so you should have been. It was a long way to fall. But when I was dislodged you caught me. You saved me. Shakul is not a coward. Shakul is brave. I know this.

Bloodshirt knows this.’

Shakul’s head began to twist from side to side, his body rocking. Stavut waited. ‘Big fear,’ the Jiamad said, at last.

‘Me too. But we survived, you and I. We live. We will hunt and we will eat.’

‘Bloodshirt came for Shakul.’

‘Yes. We are friends.’

‘Friends?’

‘We are pack,’ corrected Stavut, with a grin. ‘I am sure you would have done the same for me.’

‘No,’ said Shakul. ‘Long way down.’

‘Whatever! Are you feeling better now?’

Shakul’s head came up. His nostrils quivered. ‘Horse. Skins,’ he said.

‘Soldiers?’

‘Same Skin Bloodshirt meet.’ He sniffed the air again. ‘One other. Female.’

‘Gilden? The soldier with the bow?’

‘Other Skin.’

Stavut remembered the dark-eyed young man, the one wearing swords like Skilgannon’s. Stavut hadn’t liked him much. Rising to his feet he said: ‘Where are they coming from?’

Shakul pointed to the south. Stavut strolled across the campsite and waited. He heard a horse whinny in fear. Then it came into sight through the trees. The horse was skittish as the smell of the beasts came to it, but the rider was skilled, and kept it calm. A dark-haired woman jumped down from behind him.

Stavut’s heart leapt. It was Askari.

He ran forward to greet her, smiling broadly. ‘Oh, it is good to see you,’ he said.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked him, gazing round at the beasts, who had now awoken and were staring balefully at the newcomers.

‘Long story — and a sad one.’

The rider dismounted. Holding to the reins of his horse he walked forward. ‘I shall leave you now, beauty,’ he said to Askari. ‘Can we part as friends?’

‘We are not enemies, Decado,’ she said.

‘Good.’ He delved into the pocket of his jerkin and came up with a small golden locket on a thin chain. ‘Take this,’ he said, extending his hand.

‘I don’t want gifts.’

‘It is a peace token. No more than that.’

Askari took it, and Stavut saw that there was a small blue gem at the centre of the locket. It was a valuable piece, though there was no reason why a country girl like Askari would know that. He felt anger welling, but kept his expression calm.

‘It is very pretty. Thank you, Decado. Where will you go?’

‘I shall find Skilgannon. I’ll tell him where you are.’

‘You are going to join us?’

‘Why not? In a way he and I are kin.’ With that the swordsman, without a glance at Stavut, stepped smoothly into the saddle and rode from the woods.

‘I do not like that man,’ said Stavut.

‘Never mind him,’ said Askari. ‘What has happened to you, Stavi?’ She stared at her friend, trying to see some sign of the merchant she had known. His dapper red clothes were stained with blood and dirt, his dark hair matted and filthy, his face, now unshaven, smeared with dried blood. She looked into his eyes, and saw little there that she remembered.

‘Happened to me? So much, Askari.’

‘And my people?’

Stavut sighed, and his shoulders sagged. ‘All dead. Killed by soldiers of the Eternal. We hunted them down, though. None survived.’

‘Walk with me, Stavi,’ she said, setting off towards a rippling stream close by. He followed her, and as he walked he told her of the arrival of Shakul and the others, and how he had taught them to hunt.

Then of the villagers fleeing back towards the settlement. Askari listened, but said little. She followed the line of the stream until they reached higher ground, where the water bubbled over white rocks, tumbling down into a broader pool. Then she turned to him. ‘I’d like to see you without the blood and dirt,’ she said. ‘Come, let us see if the water is deep enough to swim in.’ Laying her bow and quiver on the bank, she stripped off her green, hooded shirt, and her leggings. Stavut stood, watching her.

‘I cannot swim,’ he said.

‘Then you can wade.’ Naked she stood before him. ‘Stavi, the stench of you could fell an ox. Now get out of those clothes.’ He stood very still, but did not resist as she stepped closer and lifted his bloodied tunic over his head. Then she saw the deep scratches. ‘Did one of the beasts do that to you?’

‘To stop me falling from a cliff. Saved my life.’

‘You have other clothes in the wagon, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then let us discard these.’

A huge beast pushed its way through the undergrowth, and stood, staring at Askari. She remembered it as one of the creatures who had attacked her in the cave, the one Skilgannon had spoken to. It was around eight feet tall, and its golden eyes were fixed on her coldly.

‘This is my friend, Shakul,’ said Stavut, walking to the beast, and slapping him on the shoulder.

‘Shakul, this is my friend, Askari.’ Then he paused. ‘Oh. I expect you remember her.’ Shakul said nothing. ‘Ah, I can see you are going to get along famously. I sense a real bonding taking place.’

Askari approached the beast, her heart hammering. ‘I have told him he should bathe,’ she said, trying to keep her voice light. ‘But he won’t get into the water.’

The beast’s huge head began to sway back and forth. Then he suddenly grabbed Stavut and hurled him into the pool. He landed with a huge splash and came up spluttering. The beast let out a series of short, staccato grunts, then turned away and wandered back through the undergrowth. ‘Well, thank you for that,’ Stavut called from the pool. ‘It is freezing in here.’

Askari ran down to the pool’s edge and waded in. He was right. The water was deliciously cold.

Reaching Stavut she told him to duck under the surface once more. Then she rubbed at his hair, until the dirt and the blood were gone. Finally she looked once more into his face. The sun was setting, turning the mountains to gold. ‘Are you still in there, Stavi?’ she asked him, her voice soft, her hands cupping his face.

‘I am here. A little wiser, maybe. A little sadder. But I am here.’

Leaning in she kissed him on the lips, and drew him into an embrace. ‘That is the kiss I owe you,’ she said.

‘There is not enough fletching thread in the world to merit that,’ he told her.

She laughed and kissed him again. Stepping back he gave a broad smile, and was Stavi again. Then he looked past her and laughed aloud. ‘Can no-one get any privacy here?’ he called. Askari turned. The sound of the rushing water had masked the approach of the pack, and she saw the pool was ringed by beasts, all staring at them. ‘Go away, you rascals!’ said Stavut, still smiling. The Jiamads turned at once and vanished into the woods.

Wading back to her he opened his arms. ‘I think that is enough for now,’ she told him. ‘Come, let us find you some fresh clothes.’

A little later, with Stavut in clean leggings and yet another crimson tunic shirt, they sat by the fire.

Askari, with a blanket round her shoulders as she waited for her clothes to dry, gazed round the campsite. Some of the beasts were feeding, others stretched out, sleeping. The sun was down now, the light fading fast. Stavut told her of his climb down to rescue Shakul, and how the beast had been embarrassed by fear.

‘You talk of him as a friend, Stavi,’ she said, her voice low, ‘but they do not understand friendship.

Landis Kan spoke of Jiamads often. He was a man who liked to talk. He said that the merging of beast and man eliminated the best of both species. You lead because you offer them something. There is no affection there, no loyalty. No understanding of genuine love. No compassion.’

‘You are wrong. There is, in them, something far greater than anything we have allowed to develop.

Put aside your prejudices for a moment. Shakul came after us because he was curious. When you told him I would not enter the pool he threw me in. That sound you heard from him was laughter. You see? It was a practical joke. And when Shakul was hanging from the cliff face, the beast that pulled him up was one he had fought the night before to confirm his place in the pack.’

‘That is what I am saying,’ she insisted. ‘They fight for place and position. No loyalty.’

‘Men do the same. But men will assassinate rivals, or plot to see them removed from power. When Shakul fought Broga there was no blood spilt. There is no animosity between them. Merely, rank is decided on strength, because the pack leadership needs to be strong. These creatures have never been allowed to develop. They have been subject to iron discipline, and used only for war and death. Out here they are forming bonds, and learning to cooperate. They no longer need me, Askari. If what you said was true then Shakul would just kill me and lead the pack himself.’

Askari was unconvinced. Stavut added wood to the fire. ‘You are happy among them, aren’t you?’

she said.

He grinned at her. ‘Yes, I am. I couldn’t begin to tell you why. I am watching them grow. I am seeing their joy at running free. It is a wonderful feeling.’

Askari relaxed. This was the Stavut she knew, an intuitive man, generous and sweet-natured. She gazed at him fondly, then realized it was more than fondness she felt for him. The kiss had lingered long in her mind.

He saw her looking at him. ‘What are you thinking?’ he asked her.

‘Nothing,’ she said.

Stavut laughed then. ‘When a woman says that, a man knows he is in deep trouble.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘I forgot that you have known many women.’

‘Yes, I have,’ he said. ‘But I would not trade that kiss in the pool for all the wealth in the world.’

She relaxed. ‘Sometimes you do know how to say the right words.’

‘Would you like to take another walk with me?’ he asked her.

‘I think that I would.’

Rising, he held out his hand, and together they walked into the woods.

Memnon had seen death before. Many times. Yet the feeling he had now was most odd. His spirit floated above the narrow bed, and he stared down at the dying child. The boy’s thin face was drawn and pale, his skin glistening, his breathing ragged. His mother was at the bedside, holding his hand. Tears were streaming down her face. Behind her, his hand on her shoulder, stood the man who believed himself to be the father. His face was set, his eyes red-rimmed. Memnon saw the boy shudder, then all movement ceased. The mother cried out, and threw herself across the dead child.

‘There, there, my love,’ said the father. ‘There, there.’

The mother’s wailing grated on Memnon’s nerves, irritating him. Also he could no longer see the boy’s face. He floated to the right. Now he could see the child in profile. It was a sad face, a lost face.

His face.

That is all the feeling is, thought Memnon. A remembrance of a childhood that lacked warmth. It was not the death he mourned. And yet the strange feeling remained, a hollow emptiness. It is a regret, he told himself. That is all. An experiment failed. The mother took the boy’s face in her hands and kissed both his cheeks. Memnon could not remember anyone ever kissing his cheek. Nor, had he died as this child had, would anyone have wept over him. But then he had chosen these parents well. The man was a merchant, dealing in linen and cotton. The woman was a seamstress, and well known for her gentle nature. They lived by the sea, on the Lentrian coast. Memnon had thought the air would be good for a growing boy.

He had grown now, as far as he would ever grow. An immense sadness touched Memnon then. An experiment failed, he told himself again.

The father walked across the room, and picked up a pottery jug. ‘No more of these useless potions,’

he said. ‘No more.’ In a sudden fit of anger he hurled the jar across the room. It smashed against the far wall, scattering seeds and dried leaves, which settled on the rug beneath the window. Light shone on them.

Memnon floated closer and stared down at the seeds, recognizing them. Sadness disappeared.

His spirit fled back to the flesh and he surged upright. Rising too fast he staggered and almost fell.

Usually he lay still for a while, until his body and spirit came into balance. He made it to the door of his room, and stood for a moment, holding to the frame and drawing in deep breaths. Then he opened the door and walked down to Landis Kan’s laboratory. A heavy weariness lay upon him. The last few days had been tiring, especially the long ride into the high country, where he had summoned several of his Shadows to meet him. Memnon did not like to be far from the comforts of a good palace.

In the laboratory his two assistants were still working. Patiacus looked up from the notes he was studying, then rose and bowed. Red-headed Oranin scrambled to his feet, dropping his notes. He too bowed deeply.

‘Have you discovered anything?’ asked Memnon, his voice soft and friendly.

‘Much of general interest, lord,’ replied Patiacus, ‘but nothing as yet of a nature specific to your request.’

‘In time it will become clear.’ He turned to Oranin. ‘It is getting late, young man. Go and have some food. Get some rest. It will be a long day tomorrow.’

‘Thank you, lord.’ The young apprentice bowed again, then backed away to the door.

After he had gone Memnon walked to Patiacus and patted him on the shoulder. ‘Sit down, my friend.

Let us talk.’

‘Yes, lord. What did you wish to talk about?’

‘The child died tonight. It was very touching. Tears and wailing.’

‘I am sorry, my lord.’

‘Yes. As am I.’ Memnon moved behind him, his hands resting on the man’s shoulders. ‘How is your knowledge of herbs these days? Do you maintain your previous interest?’

‘I have little time for such matters now, lord.’

‘Was it interesting working as an apothecary?’

‘It was interesting enough, lord. Not as fascinating as the work I do now.’

‘I would imagine not.’ Removing one hand from Patiacus’s shoulder, Memnon drew a small needle dagger from a sheath hidden beneath his shirt. Reaching round, he held the blade in front of Patiacus’s face. The man jerked back. ‘If this blade had been smeared with the resin obtained from abalsin stem, swagger-root, and corin seed, what would the effect be, were I to cut you with it?’

‘Death, my lord.’

‘Instant death?’

‘Convulsions, swelling of the glands in the throat and the groin. Excruciating pain. Then death.’

‘Very good,’ said Memnon, patting the man’s shoulder. ‘Excellent. You have a fine mind, Patiacus. I have always respected that. Good memory, and excellent attention to detail.’

‘You are frightening me, my lord.’

Memnon glanced down. Sweat was glistening on the man’s bald head. ‘Oh, do not fear, Patiacus. The blade does not carry the poisons I described. Though it is very sharp.’ Lifting the knife, he made a tiny cut in the skin of Patiacus’s cranium. The aide cried out, and struggled to rise. Memnon’s hand came down firmly on his shoulder, pushing him back in his chair. ‘We do need to talk, you and I.’ Sheathing the blade, he moved past Patiacus and pulled up a chair.

The assistant was sweating freely now. ‘About what, lord?’

‘About service, Patiacus. Loyalty, if you will. Whom do you serve?’

‘You, my lord.’

‘True, but not accurate. Do you not also serve the Eternal?’

‘Yes, of course. But you are my master.’

‘I am indeed. I am also infinitely cleverer than you. I say that not with any undue pride, merely stating a fact. Yet, despite my greater intelligence, I have been most foolish. The child who died, where did he live?’

‘On the coast. Lentria, I believe you said.’

‘Yes, I did. With whom did he live?’

‘A merchant, you said. Cotton.’

‘Exactly. Did you mention this fact to anyone else?’

‘Of course not, lord.’

‘Ah, a lie, Patiacus. Your eyes flickered as you spoke it. So, whom did you tell?’

‘I did not lie,’ answered Patiacus, straining to hold to Memnon’s gaze.

‘This time your eyes widened, showing the effort you were making to keep your eyes still. My dear Patiacus, you are not doing very well. How are you feeling?’

‘I am. . feeling very warm, lord. And still frightened.’

‘Can you move your legs?’

Patiacus glanced down, and jerked once more. ‘You have poisoned me!’

‘Yes, but it is not deadly. It is Shadow venom. Not in its pure form. Diluted. The paralysis will be that much slower. Also — and more important — you will be able to talk. You will not be able to move, but you will feel. There should be a tingling in your fingers now. It is the sign that your arms and upper body are becoming immobile.’

‘I don’t know what you want from me.’

‘There is a mixture of seed and leaf that you used for me in the past, to kill those who sought me harm.

You recall. The slow killer. The mixture could be boiled and administered within a stew, or even placed in a sweetened tisane, you said. It was almost tasteless, save for the trace of tannin. Death could take weeks, sometimes months, depending on the amount administered.’

Patiacus’s arm flopped out as he struggled to rise. His body spasmed and he slid from the chair.

Memnon grabbed the collar of his tunic and hauled him out from beneath the table. ‘Imagine my surprise, Patiacus, when I saw that the boy’s parents had been administering the same seed and leaf to their son, thinking it to be medicine.’

‘Not I, lord. Please!’ begged Patiacus, his words slurring.

‘Not you? Let me think. Someone wanted to kill a merchant’s son in a small town on the coast. In order to do this they decided to prepare the slow killer and convince the parents it was a potion for good health. Does that not seem to you to be overly complicated, Patiacus? If someone wanted the boy dead they could just as easily have stabbed him. The question then becomes, why did they not? The answer is fairly obvious. They wanted the death to appear natural. The lumps under his skin would be thought to be cancerous. Is the merchant so feared that his vengeance might be the reason for the complexity? I think not. And then, my dear friend, there are the others. All my Reborns have died in the same way. Can you account for that?’

‘I am your loyal servant. I swear it!’

‘You are beginning to irritate me. Let us move to the specifics of your predicament. I am going to kill you, Patiacus. There is no question of a change of heart. I am going to spend the entire night causing you the most dreadful pain. I shall use flame, a metal file, a hammer, and any other item that comes to mind. I shall rend your flesh and smash your bones. Is that clear?’

‘Oh, please, lord. I beg you!’

‘Begging is not going to change anything. Tell me why you have been killing my children, and I might kill you swiftly.’

‘You are making a mistake!’

Memnon smiled. ‘I am glad you said that. For an awful moment I thought you were going to tell me right away. You just lie there, Patiacus, while I fetch what I need.’