The Swords of Night and Day

Chapter Twenty

For Stavut there was no sense of even a transient victory. The day had been nightmarish. The first battle, in which Harad had been struck down, was bad enough. Eight of his lads were dead, three others nursing deep wounds that concerned Stavut. Then they had travelled here to find the Legend Riders facing massive odds. Shakul, without any order from Stavut, had hurled himself into the fray. He now carried more cuts and a puncture wound to his thigh.

The Jiamad wounded, who had lagged behind in the march to the high pass, arrived just as night fell.

One of them was Ironfist, the scrawny hunchback who had joined them recently. He was being supported by the skinny Blackrock. Ironfist was breathing heavily, and there was blood dripping from his elongated jaw. Stavut ran to him, and helped Blackrock lower him to the ground. Ironfist leaned his back against the cliff face. Stavut laid his hand on the beast’s shoulder. ‘How are you feeling, my friend?’

‘Much pain. Better when sun shines.’

‘Sit quietly. I’ll fetch a surgeon.’

Stavut ran back to the poolside, where the seriously injured had been carried from the battle site. He saw the small surgeon, Anatis, kneeling beside a seated rider, and inserting stitches in a wound to the man’s shoulder. Stavut recognized the burly rider as the man who had screamed at him, and almost caused a fight between the Jems and the riders. His name, Stavut had learned later, was Barik. Stavut moved alongside them. ‘One of my lads is seriously wounded,’ he said to the surgeon. ‘Do you know anything about Jems?’

‘I don’t treat beasts,’ answered the man, without looking up.

‘Then you won’t live to treat anyone ever again, you bastard!’ shouted Stavut, dragging his sabre clear of its scabbard. Terrified, the surgeon flung himself to the ground, rolling behind the wounded Drenai soldier.

‘Whoa!’ ordered Barik. ‘Rein in, Stavut! This man came to help us, and I’d as soon you didn’t kill him before he’s finished sealing this scratch.’

‘My lads have died in your battle, Drenai! The least you could do is see them tended.’

‘I agree.’ Pushing his hand over the still bleeding wound he glanced round at the cowering Anatis. ‘If you wouldn’t mind, sir,’ he said. ‘I’ll sit here while you tend to his friend. Is that all right with you?’

‘The man’s mad!’ said Anatis.

The soldier laughed. ‘You think sane men would choose to come to this arid place in order to kill each other? Go tend the beast.’

Stavut let his sabre fall clattering to the ground. ‘I am sorry, surgeon,’ he said. ‘Will you help me?’

Anatis eased himself to his feet and swung his medicine bag over his shoulder. ‘I do not know how the melding changes the physical structure. But I will do what I can.’ Together they walked out into the moonlight. ‘I should have asked for lanterns,’ he said.

Ironfist was breathing raggedly, his head resting back against the rock face. The surgeon glanced at Stavut. ‘He’s not going to attack me, is he?’

‘No.’ Stavut crouched down on the other side of the beast. ‘It is me, my friend. I have brought someone to help you. You understand? To mend your wound.’

The surgeon took hold of Ironfist’s paw, which was resting over an awesome puncture wound in his chest. His fur was covered in blood, some dried, but more flowing from the wound. At the point of entry the blood was coming in small spurts. Ironfist suddenly coughed, and blood sprayed Stavut’s face and chest. The surgeon looked across at Stavut. ‘Now do not go back for that sabre, but there is nothing I can do. All the indications are that the wound is deep, and has pierced a lung. It has also severed an artery, which is why the blood is coming so fast.’

‘Would you know what to do if he were a man?’

‘If he were a man he would be dead already. And before you ask, the answer is no. Even if I got to the man immediately the wound was delivered I could not save him. My best guess is that your. . friend will not last the night. All you can do is make him comfortable.’

‘You wouldn’t lie to me?’

‘No, Drenai, I would not lie about my craft, not even to an enemy. If we had bright light, and perfect surroundings, and the right tools, I could have tried opening the wound further and attempting to seal the artery. This would cause immense pain to your friend, and would still result in death forty-nine times out of fifty. I do not have the light, or the tools, and this wound has been bleeding too long. The creature’s strength is almost gone. It could not survive surgery. And now, if you will excuse me, I shall finish stitching the soldier’s wound.’

Stavut said nothing and turned back to Ironfist. ‘I don’t know how much of that you understood, my friend,’ he said. ‘So we will just sit together for a while, you and I.’

Shakul came alongside and peered at Ironfist. ‘You die soon,’ he said.

‘Soon,’ answered Ironfist. Shakul squatted down, and laid his huge hand gently on Ironfist’s arm.

Leaning forward he touched his finger lightly to the wound, then licked the blood. Pulling back he made way for Blackrock, who did the same. One by one all the beasts tasted the blood of Ironfist. Stavut had seen this peculiar ritual earlier, but had not asked Shakul about it. By the time Grava came to repeat the manoeuvre Ironfist was dead. Grava looked enquiringly at Stavut.

‘Why do you lick his blood?’ Stavut asked. The beast answered in his usual incomprehensible manner.

This time, however, Stavut managed to piece together the words. With a sigh, he placed his own finger on the wound, then licked it clean. Then he rose and sought out Alahir.

The rider was talking with Skilgannon and Askari as Stavut approached. Then the group broke up, Skilgannon and Askari walking past the former merchant. He reached out to Askari as she passed. She smiled at him. ‘I will see you later,’ she said, then followed Skilgannon.

‘Well, we survived the day, tinker,’ said Alahir.

‘And tomorrow?’

Alahir shrugged. ‘They are great warriors, and they outnumber us. I won’t lie to you. Chances are we won’t see another sunset.’

‘I don’t want my lads to die here.’

‘No, nor do I. I don’t think the Guard will send their beasts. Though they might, if we hold them long enough. You have done enough, my friend. Take your pack and go.’

‘No, I will stay. I will send my lads out over the other pass. I’ll need to borrow some armour.’

‘There is plenty to choose from, tinker. We lost seventy men today.’

‘That many? I am sorry, Alahir.’

The sound of horses’ hooves clattered on the stone. Stavut swung to see Skilgannon and Askari ride from the pass.

‘Where are they going?’

‘To the temple. Skilgannon thinks he can find a way in. We need to hold the Guard off for another day.’

Stavut walked back to where the pack were sitting, by the entrance to the rock pool. He squatted down alongside Shakul. ‘It is time we had a new leader,’ he said.

Shakul stared at him. ‘Bloodshirt leads.’

‘No. Not any more. This is Shakul’s pack. I want you to trust me, Shak. Tomorrow this battle will be lost, whether you are here or not. The pack has given lives for these men and their war. You have fought well. Tonight I want you to take the pack back through the pass we fought in earlier today. From there you can see the green mountains. There will be deer there. You can hunt. You can run free, Shak. You can truly run free.’

Shakul’s head swayed from side to side. ‘Hungry,’ he said.

‘Hungry,’ muttered some of the others.

‘Hunt deer,’ said Shakul. Pushing himself to his feet he swung to the others. ‘We go!’ he said.

Immediately they rose and padded off.

Stavut stood alone and watched them until they had disappeared over the rim of the road.

‘Not a sentimental bunch, were they?’ said Gilden, moving alongside him. ‘No hugs. No long speeches.’

Stavut shook his head. ‘I watched one of them die tonight. Each of the others placed a finger on the wound and licked it. I asked why. Grava told me in three words. Carry with us.’ The two men stood in silence for a moment.

‘Come on, Stavut,’ said Gilden, ‘let’s find you some armour. You can be a Drenai warrior for a day.’

The moon was bright in a clear sky as Skilgannon rode down the mountainside. The trail was more treacherous here, shifting scree under his gelding’s hooves, so he rode slowly and with care, constantly glancing back to see how Askari was faring. Once on level ground she drew alongside him, and they moved on in silence for a while.

‘You could not have saved them if you stayed,’ she said.

He glanced at her. ‘It would not have been to save them. I brought them to this. My head tells me that I must go to the temple, but my heart feels I am deserting them. Stavut is with them. Are you not concerned about his survival?’

‘Of course I am. He is a sweet man.’

‘A sweet man?’ he echoed. ‘Faint praise for a man you love.’

She did not reply, and the silence grew. ‘Have I offended you?’ he asked at last.

‘Not at all. I was thinking about what you said.’

‘About Stavut?’

‘No, about love. Do you really believe in it, Skilgannon?’

‘What an odd question. It is not about belief.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course I am sure.’

‘Do you desire me?’

The question shook him. He drew in a deep breath. ‘Yes,’ he said, at last. ‘You are a beautiful woman.’

‘Is that love?’

‘Of a physical kind. Yes. But that is not only how I loved Jianna.’

‘Ah. Two kinds of love then. Did you love your father?’

‘Deeply.’

‘And that is three. Love seems to be a harlot, flitting from object to object. A word with so many uses ultimately becomes meaningless. I have heard Alahir talk of the love of the homeland, and Stavut speak of his love for the beasts. It is all mystifying.’

‘Yes, it is,’ he agreed, ‘but once true love touches your heart you will understand. It has a power beyond any magic in the world. If I walked into a room in which Jianna was sitting I felt my spirit lift. She was in my thoughts every day for all of my previous life. I would fall asleep thinking of her, and wake thinking of her. The day she died it was as if someone had robbed the world of sunlight.’

‘And you never felt that way about anyone else?’

‘No. There were women I cared for deeply, and others whose company I enjoyed for a time.’

‘Perhaps it was just because she was the first,’ Askari offered.

‘There is. . was. . a belief among the Naashanites that, for every man and woman, there was one great love waiting to be found. Some never found it. Some settled for less. The very lucky would stumble across it. Like finding a diamond in a ditch. Jianna was my diamond. There could never be another.’

‘Yet you can contemplate destroying her, and sending her soul to the horror of the Void?’

‘We all face the horror of the Void,’ he said. ‘And, no, I could not kill her. Any more than I could kill myself. What I am attempting to destroy is the Eternal, and the magic that has brought this world to vileness and ruin.’

‘A magic that brought about my own life — and yours,’ she pointed out.

Drawing rein he turned towards her. In the moonlight her beauty was startling. It robbed him, for the moment, of speech. She edged her mount alongside his own. His throat was dry, and it seemed as if time ceased flowing. All that existed was this one moment. ‘What is it?’ she asked softly.

Tearing his gaze from her he turned his horse. ‘We must move on,’ he said, heeling the chestnut into a run.

Allowing the gelding to have his head Skilgannon tried to clear his thoughts. The pounding of the hooves, the wind in his face, helped him to focus. Ahead lay the crater. Slowing his mount Skilgannon rode to the rim, turned his back, and drew the Sword of Night. Staring into the blade he saw once more the rearing temple mountain, and the great golden shield at its peak. More than this he saw, some distance to his left, shimmering blue lights on the desert floor, marking a path to the doors of the temple.

He touched heels to the gelding and rode round the rim until he reached the start of the path. Then he dismounted. Askari came alongside. He showed her the reflection.

‘How do we know it is a pathway?’ she asked.

‘My guess is that the priests needed a safe way through the crater, in order to bring in supplies. But let us test it.’

From round his neck he lifted clear the golden locket, then, holding the Sword of Night high, he tossed the locket over his shoulder to land between two of the shimmering lights. Then he turned to watch what happened. The locket lay on the ground, unmoving. Skilgannon took a deep breath, then stepped out onto the crater to retrieve it. Moving back to Askari he said: T intend to walk the path. It might be safer if you wait here for me.’

‘I didn’t come this far to hold the reins of your horse. I will come with you.’

He smiled. ‘I guessed you would say that.’ Then it registered that she had not brought her bow with her. Instead she had a scabbarded cavalry sabre looped over her shoulder. ‘The first time I have seen you without the recurve,’ he said.

‘I loaned it to the Legend Riders. They are running out of arrows.’

Skilgannon drew both swords then, holding one above his head, the other before his eyes. Carefully he adjusted the higher sword until the path could be seen reflected in the blade before his eyes.

Then he walked slowly towards the hidden temple.

‘How does anyone find the strength to fight, wearing all this?’ complained Stavut, as Gilden looped the chain-mail hauberk over his head. The sleeves came down to Stavut’s elbows, the hem touching the backs of his calves. It was split front and back at the waist, allowing for freedom of movement in the saddle, but the biggest surprise to Stavut was the weight. ‘I feel as if I’m carrying Shakul on my back!’

‘The best is yet to come,’ said Gilden, lifting the coif and settling it over Stavut’s head. It was lined with soft leather, and smelt of rancid goose grease. Lastly came the helm. When Stavut had first tried it he had laughed aloud. It was way too big, and slid comically around his head. Now with the added thickness of the coif the helm fitted perfectly. Gilden tied the bronze cheek guards together.

‘How does it feel? he asked.

‘What? I can’t hear a thing in here.’

Gilden repeated the question. ‘It feels ludicrous,’ Stavut told him. ‘If I fell over I’d never be able to get up.’

‘If you fall over you won’t need to worry about getting up,’ observed Gilden. ‘Walk around for a while. You’ll get used to the weight.’

The sergeant wandered off and Stavut, feeling foolish, tromped off towards the pool. Most of the warriors had gathered there, and were sitting quietly. He noticed that many of them were casting furtive glances at Harad, who was standing apart from the men, the axe head resting on the ground, his huge hands crossed over the pommel on the haft. Stavut found a place to sit, close to some of the warriors.

Slowly he lowered himself down. The chain mail creaked and groaned as he sat.

‘You think it could be true?’ he heard a man ask, his voice low.

‘It comes from Alahir. He said Skilgannon told him.’

‘Gods, then we are looking at the Legend!’

‘Aye, we are. Did you see him today? I don’t know how the Guard felt, but he terrified me.’

Stavut had no idea what they were talking about. He felt incredibly tired, and stretched out on the ground. The mail hauberk made him feel as if he was lying on a bed of brambles. With a groan he rolled over and forced himself back into a sitting position. Then he looked around and realized he was the only man in armour. Feeling even more foolish he undid the chin straps of his helmet and pulled it clear. Then he struggled out of the chain mail. The relief was total.

Gilden wandered back and crouched down beside him. ‘What happened in the other pass today?’ he asked.

‘I told you. Enemy Jems attacked and we beat them.’

‘To Harad, I mean.’

‘I know. He is speaking most strangely. He seems to be copying Skilgannon’s archaic style of speech.

He was struck in the head. Ever since he woke he’s been. . been. .’ Stavut struggled for the right description.

‘Like someone else?’ offered Gilden.

‘Yes, that’s it exactly. Called me laddie. And those eyes. I’ve never noticed before how frightening they are.’

‘Did you see him fight here today?’

‘Of course. Completely different. In the pass earlier he was massively powerful, but clumsy and winning through brute strength. On the road he was awesome, balanced and deadly and terrible to behold.’

Gilden sat beside him, then glanced back at Harad. ‘Skilgannon says he is Harad no longer. He says the ghost of Druss the Legend now inhabits his body.’

‘I hate to be the man who shoots down someone else’s pigeon,’ said Stavut, ‘but he got a hefty whack to the head. Could he not have become. . you know. .’

‘Deranged?’

‘I wouldn’t go quite that far, but, yes. Not himself.’

‘Skilgannon told Alahir that Druss had inhabited the body once before, to warn him of the coming battles. He also said that Harad was a Reborn, created from the bones of Druss.’

‘That cannot be right,’ said Stavut. ‘Druss was tall and golden-haired. I read that somewhere.’

Gilden sighed. ‘According to our legends he was a silver-bearded giant. But then at the last battle he was very old.’

Stavut rose. ‘Where are you going?’ asked Gilden.

‘I am going to talk to Harad,’ he said. ‘No point sitting here whispering about it. I’ll ask him.’

He strolled through the ranks of the Drenai and waved as he approached Harad. ‘How is the head?’

he asked.

‘Bearable, laddie. Has the word spread to everyone yet?’

‘About the Druss. . er. . story?’

The axeman chuckled and fixed Stavut with a piercing glare. ‘Aye, the Druss story.’

‘Yes. Is it true? Do you think you are Druss?’

‘What I think is unimportant now. It is what they think that matters. You know what is going to happen tomorrow, Stavut?’

‘We are all going to die.’

‘And that is the general feeling, is it?’

‘I think it is considered to be rather more of a fact,’ Stavut told him. ‘We lost seventy today. They lost about twice that. If it is the same tomorrow there will be too few of us to hold the road. And there will still be around seven hundred of them.’

‘It won’t be the same tomorrow, laddie. The wind blows the chaff away first. Good men though they are it was, in the main, the weakest of them who died today.’

Stavut was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. It didn’t sound like Harad. Many years ago, in Mellicane across the sea, he had attended a theatre, and watched actors perform. They had been speaking lines written hundreds of years ago, and the pitch and style of their speech patterns sounded very similar to Harad now. Was Harad acting? Nothing in his brief experience of the man had given any hint of a theatrical nature. He looked into those piercing ice blue eyes. And shivered. If this was acting it was of far greater quality than the mummers in Mellicane produced.

The axeman hefted Snaga and walked out to stand before the warriors. He said nothing for a moment, his gaze running over the gathered men.

‘You can cease your whispering now!’ he thundered. Silence fell on the Drenai. Stavut felt goose bumps on his neck. The voice rang with command. The axeman pointed at Alahir. ‘Be so good as to stand, Earl of Bronze,’ he said. Alahir, still in the golden armour, rose to his feet. ‘The last man I saw wearing that was fighting on the ramparts of Dros Delnoch — against an army two hundred times the size of that facing you. The Nadir horde filled the valley. Their spears were a forest. Their arrows darkened the sun, so that we fought in the shade. In the main our army was made up of farm workers and land labourers. Aye, we had Hogun’s legion, but many of the rest had never picked up a sword before enlisting. Yet they fought like heroes. By Heaven, they were heroes. At Skein we stood against the best warriors I have ever known, Gorben’s Immortals. They had never lost before that day.’ He paused and rested the axe blades on the ground before him, his hands on the haft. ‘Now I just asked young Stavut what is going to happen tomorrow. He said: “We are all going to die.” He was wrong. Those of you who think the same are wrong. We are going to win. We are going to break their spirit, destroy their morale, and send them running from the road. We are going to hold this position until Skilgannon achieves what he set out to do. Not man nor beast will prevent us. Because we are Drenai. The last of the Drenai. And we will not fail.’ He fell silent again. Not a sound was heard, as his gaze raked the ranks once more.

‘Skilgannon returned to this world to fulfil a prophecy. The Armour of Bronze reappeared to aid him. I am here for a little while, to stand once more with Drenai warriors in a cause that is just and noble. Now get on your feet. Up! I want to see you standing like men.’ The Drenai rose and stood before him. Then he raised the axe above his head. ‘What is this?’ he bellowed.

A few men called out: ‘Snaga!’

‘Again! Every man!’

‘Snaga!’ they shouted, the sound echoing around the rocks.

‘And who carries Snaga the Sender, the Blades of No Return?’

‘Druss the Legend!’ came the answering roar.

‘Again!’

The men began to chant the name. For Stavut the moment was hypnotic, and he found himself chanting along with the others. ‘Druss the Legend! Druss the Legend! Druss the Legend!’

The axeman let the chanting go on for a short while. Then he lowered his axe and raised his hand for silence. Obedience was instant. ‘Rest now, Drenai,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow we carve a new legend for your children and their children.’

With that he turned and walked away, his giant frame passing into the shadows of the entrance, and out into the road beyond.

Stavut’s heart was beating fast, and his hands were trembling. There was no way that could have been Harad. Deranged or not. Everywhere there was silence. He glanced at Alahir, who was staring in the direction the axeman had taken.

Then the Earl of Bronze walked away from his men, and followed Druss the Legend out onto the road.

Alahir felt unsteady as he followed the Legend out into the night. The speech had been delivered with such power and confidence that he felt his spirits soar. Yet he knew the chances of actually winning were hundreds to one. The Eternal Guard were damn fine fighters, and they weren’t likely to break. And if they did there were a hundred Jiamads waiting to tear into the defenders.

He saw Druss ahead. The man had walked to the narrow section of the road and was staring down at the camp of the Guards, a quarter of a mile below.

Alahir was nervous as he approached him. ‘Am I disturbing you?’ he asked.

‘No, laddie. I hoped you would come.’

‘Why are you out here? My men would love to sit around and talk to you about the glory days, and hear first hand of your exploits.’

‘I never was much for bragging about the past. However, I can’t sit with the men, and joke and laugh.

I am the Legend. They need to feel in awe of me. I am not comfortable with that — but it is necessary here and now.’

‘They were lifted when you said we could win. Did you mean it, or was it just to raise their morale?’

‘I never lie, laddie.’

‘And you never lose.’

‘Some men are born lucky. A stray arrow could have pierced my eye, or a lancer could have plunged a weapon in my back as I fought someone else. I am not a god, laddie. These Guards are fine fighters, and the odds are all with them. Plus they have made it slightly easier for themselves.’

‘How so?’

‘By sending the surgeon to you.’

‘That was a noble gesture.’

‘Perhaps. It was also good strategy. Men fight better when they are full of passion. I do not like hatred, but it is a vital weapon in war. If a leader can convince his men that the enemy they face is evil, and that their own cause is just or holy, then they will fight harder. If you tell them that the enemy will plunder their homes and rape their women they will fight like tigers. You understand, Alahir? While the Guard were merely tools of the evil Eternal, and the homeland was at risk, the men were fired up. When the surgeons came your riders found a new respect for the enemy. The enemy cares about your wounded. Good men. We could all be friends and brothers, couldn’t we? That single gesture, which will not add one more fighting man to our ranks, leached away the fire from your warriors’ hearts. What do you think will happen if they force a surrender tomorrow?’

Alahir thought about the question. The Guard had fought many battles, and he had heard stories of their ruthlessness. Agrias had told him that when Draspartha was besieged twenty years ago the Guard had put to death every enemy soldier, then lined up the civilians of the city, and butchered one in ten of the men.

‘Judging from their past victories they would kill us all.’

‘And the wounded?’

‘Them too.’

‘No surgeons then to offer assistance, and stitch wounds?’

‘No,’ said Alahir, his voice hardening.

‘No,’ echoed Druss. ‘They will come looking to hack us to death. They are hard, cold murderous men. Even now that surgeon is in his general’s tent, detailing the mood of your men. That is why I did not give my little talk until he had gone. He will report that the enemy has been softened, and is ready for the kill. This will be passed to the fighting men. They will march up here tomorrow with high hopes. What they will find is men who fight twice as hard as yesterday. And I’ll wager you this, Alahir. When we push them back tomorrow there will be no offer of surgeons.’

Alahir sank down to the rock beside the warrior. ‘If I had been a better leader I would have seen that ploy. I am a captain, Druss, and not the brightest of our officers. I cannot understand why the Armour came to me.’

‘Aye, fate does have a sense of humour sometimes. When I went to Dros Delnoch to train the troops there was a general in command there named Orrin. A fat little fellow with the fighting instincts of a startled rabbit. Rek, who became the Earl of Bronze, was a poser, frightened of the dark, who had only come to the Dros because he was in love with the daughter of the dying earl. There were farm boys with no sword skills. One stabbed himself in the leg when he tried to sheathe his blade. By the end Orrin was a hero, and I was proud to fight alongside him, and Rek held them all together after I died. His was the great victory.’ Druss suddenly chuckled. ‘And don’t feel too bad about the surgeons. I didn’t realize it either. Skilgannon told me before he left. So don’t judge yourself yet. Wait until sunset tomorrow.’

Alahir smiled. ‘ Then will you sit with my men and tell us stories?’

‘We’ll see. Now get back to your riders and walk among them. I have put a little passion back, but you need to inspire them.’

‘Are we not going to discuss strategy?’

Druss laughed. ‘Strategy, eh? Very well. I shall take up my axe and stand at the centre of our line.

When the enemy appear I shall wade into them. You and your riders will follow me. Then we keep fighting until the Guard break and run.’

‘No bowmen?’

‘No. That will come later.’

‘Later?’ queried Alahir.

The smile faded from the axeman’s face, and his eyes grew cold. ‘When we have broken the Guard they will not regroup for another attack. They will send the beasts. That is when you will need your arrows.’

‘Good as my riders are, Druss, I have to tell you that one Jiamad can take out three men. They have more than a hundred Jems down there.’

‘One battle at a time, laddie. First we break the Guard. Then we’ll worry about the puppies.’

Even within the pathway of lights Skilgannon could feel the pull of the crater around them. A vague feeling of nausea, accompanied by light-headedness, made balance difficult. His vision swam, and he had to stop several times to adjust his swords and keep the shimmering lights in focus.

Finally they reached the high double doors to the temple. Stepping up to them Skilgannon pressed a handle and pushed. The doors were locked. Sheathing the Sword of Day he inserted the blade of the Sword of Night into the thin gap between the doors, locating the block of wood which sat in brackets beyond, barring entrance. Holding the sword two-handed he slid the blade under the block and tried to lift it. It moved an inch or so, then seemed to catch on something. Askari joined him, sliding her sabre alongside his own. The block lifted further — then fell clattering to the floor beyond the entrance.

Skilgannon pushed his shoulder against the doors, and they swung open.

Inside was the entrance chamber he remembered from his past visit, a deep reception area, which branched out left and right into tunnels leading to a series of stairways. There were chairs here, and long couches, all covered with dust. The sight saddened him. On his last visit this area had been brightly lit, radiating harmony and warmth. It calmed the soul and lifted the spirits. Now it was cold and dead.

Askari tapped his arm, and pointed to the floor nearby. In several places there were mounds of dried animal droppings.

Skilgannon walked slowly across the reception area, moving towards the right, and the tunnel which led to the first of the staircases. As he passed under the entrance arch to the tunnel the lights flickered.

Then a voice echoed eerily from the walls.

‘Do not enter here,’ it said. The voice was bizarre, almost metallic. It was accompanied by a sound like wood crackling on a campfire. Skilgannon ignored it and walked on warily, both swords in his hands.

‘These tunnels are guarded,’ said the voice. ‘It is not my wish to see anyone suffer harm, but if you do not leave you will die.’

Askari moved alongside him. ‘From the droppings I would say the beasts are large, probably Jiamads.’ Skilgannon nodded.

Together they advanced down the tunnel. They passed many rooms, which had once housed priests of the Resurrection. There were none here now. The floor was dust-covered, and there were cobwebs on the occasional chairs and couches placed in the recesses. Once this had been a temple of serenity and beauty. Now it was a shadow-haunted place of death and decay.

Sweat dripped into Skilgannon’s eyes. The feeling of nausea had not passed. He glanced at Askari.

She too was suffering. His fingers began to tingle, and his mouth was dry. The light was poor, but Skilgannon could see the stairwell ahead. He walked on.

Something huge and pale rushed at him from a hidden recess on the left. The Sword of Night slashed out, cleaving into flesh. Then he was thrown from his feet. He struck the tunnel wall hard, then hurled himself to his right as the beast lunged for him. Askari leapt to his defence, the cavalry sabre plunging into the beast’s back. It gave a shrill cry, and spun to meet the new attack. Skilgannon surged to his feet and charged in. The Sword of Day sliced through the creature’s neck. Blood sprayed from the wound. The beast staggered. Skilgannon drove the Sword of Night through its heart. As it fell he dragged his blade clear, and the two companions stared down at the dead creature. It was unlike any Jiamad Skilgannon had seen. There were only patches of fur on the pale body, which was covered in huge warts, and purple tumours. ‘It is grotesque,’ whispered Askari. ‘Impossible to see with which animal it was melded.’ The body was lying on its side. Skilgannon knelt to peer at a fist-sized section of skin-covered bone protruding from its back.

‘What does that look like to you?’ he said. Askari prodded the lump with her sabre. The skin around it spasmed — and five bony fingers opened. Askari jumped back.

‘Sweet Heaven!’ she said. ‘It is a hand! A hand in the centre of its back!’

‘We need to move on,’ he said, pushing himself to his feet. His stomach suddenly heaved, and he vomited. He stood for a moment, supporting himself on the wall. ‘We cannot stay here long,’ he said.

‘The magic that warps the land outside has somehow seeped into here.’

Together they walked on until they reached the first stairway. It was of metal and speckled with rust.

‘This leads to the main dining and recreation area,’ said Skilgannon. ‘There were also libraries and a museum.’

He climbed the stairs. The nausea faded a little, but there was a metallic taste in his mouth, and his teeth had begun to ache. Behind him Askari staggered, and grabbed the stair rail for support.

‘I am all right,’ she assured him. ‘Go on. I’ll follow!’

The top of the stairwell opened out into a vast deserted hall. Tables and chairs had been hurled around the room, as if by a storm. Books and scrolls littered the floors. There were also scattered bones.

Moonlight could be seen through the high windows and Skilgannon walked on into the hall. A shadow moved against the far wall. Skilgannon spun. A massive, two-headed hound was padding across the floor towards them. It was the size of a lion. The hound began to run. Skilgannon sheathed the Sword of Night, and held the Sword of Day two-handed. ‘Get behind me!’ he ordered Askari.

The hound tore towards them — and sprang. Skilgannon leapt to meet it, the Sword of Day slashing down in an overhead cut that clove between the two heads, plunging down through the chest. The weight of the beast carried it on. It thudded into Skilgannon, hurling him from his feet. The Sword of Day slid clear. The beast rolled over, then came to its feet, both heads snarling. Askari hacked at it with her sabre.

It leapt for her, then stumbled, blood gouting from the terrible wound in its chest. Askari backed away.

Skilgannon moved alongside her. The hound’s front legs gave way, and it crashed to the floor. Sunlight suddenly blazed through the windows, columns of golden light illuminating the hall.

Skilgannon watched as the light moved across the bone-littered floor. He blinked. Then walked to the window. Askari joined him. Shielding his eyes Skilgannon watched the sun rise.

‘It is too fast,’ he said. ‘The sun does not rise that swiftly.’

Askari pointed to a flock of birds in the distance. They were speeding across the sky. ‘Time is flowing faster out there,’ she said. Skilgannon nodded agreement, and turned away from the sunlight. Taking a deep breath he walked back past the dead beast and headed across the hall.

‘Do you know where you are going?’ Askari asked him.

‘When I stayed here I was allowed to roam freely — except for the upper levels. So that is where we will make for.’

Crossing the hall Skilgannon glanced at several skeletons. They were twisted and unnatural, some with overly curved spines, others with grossly distended bones. There was a skull with four eye sockets.

Skilgannon and Askari travelled on in silence, along deserted tunnels, and up a second flight of metal steps. The higher they climbed the better they felt. Skilgannon’s nausea passed, as did the tingling in his fingers. Another corridor led them back to a high gallery above the dining hall they had just left. There were creatures moving across it now, some like the giant hound, but also other, paler beasts, hulking and brutal. One of them gazed up and saw them. It made no move to follow. Instead it loped to the dead hound and began ripping flesh from it. Other beasts joined in. From far below they heard a high-pitched scream. Several of the creatures loped off towards the sound.

Skilgannon came to an oval wooden door. It was locked. Stepping back he took several deep breaths, then hammered his right foot against the lock. The frame shuddered, but the lock did not give.

Twice more he struck at the lock. On the third blow the door bowed, and wood splintered around the frame. A fourth blow snapped the lock, and the door flew open. Skilgannon stepped inside. The room was an antechamber leading to another door. This was not locked and Skilgannon passed through into a larger room, shelved along the far wall, and stacked with books and scrolls. There was an open window, with a balcony beyond, and before it stood a wide desk of beautifully fashioned oak. An old man was sitting there. He did not rise in alarm as they entered, merely looked at them with weary eyes. His face was oddly shaped, heavy bone around the brows and cheeks. His mouth was wide, the teeth misshapen.

‘What is it you want, Demon Woman?’ he asked Askari.

‘She is not a demon,’ Skilgannon told him. ‘She is a Reborn.’

‘I know what she is. She is evil. We brought her back. We thought she would tell us the wonders of her age. She told us nothing. Landis begged her, and she laughed. Vestava questioned her, and she said she could not remember. Give her time, she asked us. Then she rode out and gathered an army. The days of blood and death began. I know her. I know her too well.’

‘You are mistaken, priest. This is not the Eternal. She is one of her Reborns, and is, with me, trying to end her reign. We need to find the silver eagle and its egg.’

The old man laughed. ‘You cannot find the eagle, warrior. It floats so high that the sky is no longer blue. It moves among the stars.’

‘But it sends power here,’ said Skilgannon. ‘To feed the egg.’

The old man lifted a gnarled hand and rubbed at his face. ‘I am so tired,’ he said. The hand was webbed, the knuckles grotesquely distorted.

‘What is happening here?’ asked Skilgannon.

‘We made an error — a dreadful error. We tried to move the Temple outside time. Just a few seconds, so that she,’ he said, pointing at Askari, ‘could not steal more artefacts. We had discovered a series of hidden tunnels below the temple. There were artefacts there. Terrible artefacts.’ His misshapen face turned towards Askari. ‘She knows this. Weapons that deal death over great distances. There were also scrolls and documents that spoke of even more ghastly devices. Aye, and maps which showed where they were hidden. She wanted them. It was not enough for her that she had corrupted our work. She desired even more power, even greater weapons. We could not allow it. We sought to hide the temple from her. At first we thought we had succeeded.’ He gave a harsh laugh. ‘Instead we merely slowed time within these walls. What followed was more horrible than you could imagine. We began to change. Our structures became unstable. Bone continued to grow. Many of the brothers died, others became deformed. It was slow at first, and we did not realize what was happening. Once we did we tried to change the spell. It only made matters worse. The wards around the temple increased in power. After that everything happened so swiftly there was no time to escape. Some of the brothers managed to reach these higher levels, where the mutations slowed for a while. Gradually they all changed, reverted to beasts, and tore one another apart, or fled below to join the packs that roam the lower levels.’

‘Yet you survived,’ said Skilgannon.

Lifting his grotesque hand the old priest pulled clear a golden chain, hanging from his neck. Upon it, in a golden clasp, was a black and white crescent, part crystal, part stone. T carry the Abbot’s Moon,’ he said. Idly he stroked the crescent. ‘Its power is almost gone. Once it shone, white and bright. It sustained me.’

‘It has been five hundred years,’ said Askari. ‘How do any creatures still live here?’

‘Five hundred years, is it? Not when each day outside passes in under an hour. By my reckoning it is fifteen years since we cast the spell — though my mind is not what it was, and I could be wrong. For a while we could leave and bring in supplies. When more of us became beasts we began to feed on each other.’ His head drooped. ‘We believed we were the keepers of knowledge, that we could lift the world from its savagery. Instead we became savages. The mutation in our bodies also made us long-lived.’

‘Why did you not just end the magic?’ asked Skilgannon. ‘That would surely have stopped the horror of the Eternal.’

The deformed priest looked bemused. ‘End the magic? How would one accomplish such a feat? We tried to change the spell. We knew it was destroying us. But the more we meddled with it, the worse it became. A few months back we made our last attempt. All we succeeded in doing was accelerating the process. Now there is no food, my people are dead, or changed. They feed on each other.’

‘Listen to me, old man,’ Skilgannon urged him. ‘The eagle feeds the magic. It comes somehow through the Mirror of Heaven. Where does it then go?’

‘Magic does not go, warrior. Magic is.’

‘Where is the holiest place here?’ asked Askari.

The old priest gave a cackling laugh. ‘That you of all people should ask that! How amusing. Evil seeks holiness.’

‘Is there such a place?’ Skilgannon pressed him.

‘The Crystal Shrine. The Great Abbot built it, I believe. That is where we used to meet and pray, and heal the sick.’

‘Is it close, this shrine?’ asked Skilgannon patiently.

A distant scream sounded. Then another. Their interlocutor seemed not to notice. He stared at Askari.

‘Where is the shrine?’ asked Skilgannon. The old man did not reply, but his gaze shifted to a far door on the western wall. ‘Let’s go!’ said Skilgannon.

The priest stumbled to his feet. ‘No!’ he shouted. ‘She must not go near it. She would defile it!’

‘Listen to me!’ said Skilgannon, taking the man by the arm. ‘Try to understand. She is not Jianna! She is Askari, a young woman from the mountain lands south of here.’

‘She might once have been this Askari you speak of. Not now. I am not fooled. I see beyond the flesh. I see the aura of her soul. She is Jianna. She is the Eternal.’

Skilgannon turned slowly towards Askari. She was standing behind him, her sabre in her hand.

‘The twisted magic here has driven him mad,’ she said.

‘No,’ said Skilgannon softly. He sighed. ‘I knew something was wrong back on the road when I looked at you in the moonlight. My heart almost stopped. I think I knew then. I just didn’t want to believe it. How did you do it, Jianna?’

He thought she was going to deny it. Instead she merely smiled. ‘Decado gave one of Memnon’s jewels to the girl. It connected me to her. All I had to do was die. It was most painful. Much like this. .’

As she spoke her sabre lunged forward, spearing Skilgannon’s chest. He staggered back, and tried to draw his own swords. Strength seeped from his body and he fell heavily. Jianna leaned over him. ‘Do not fret, my love,’ she said. ‘I will have you Reborn. Perhaps by then you will have put aside notions of destroying me. And now I must go. Memnon is waiting for me.’

With that she walked past the old priest, and through the far door.

As the sun rose the Drenai warriors filed out onto the road, forming up in ranks, twelve men across and seven deep. A little way back a second phalanx formed, ready to rush to the aid of the first when needed. Stavut had been placed at the rear of the second group, along with the less experienced of the Drenai. These were the younger men, new to the front line. Stavut glanced at their faces. Many were nervous, but all stood ready. From their high vantage point Stavut could see the Eternal Guard forming up below. In their black and silver armour they looked invincible, and the inspirational speech Druss had given the night before seemed suddenly hollow and unconvincing.

Stavut felt the weight of the chain mail on his shoulders, and sweat was beginning to trickle down his neck. How odd, he thought. Water is running freely from my skin, and yet my mouth is parched and dry.

It was then that he realized his bladder was full. He swore. ‘What is it?’ asked the man beside him.

Stavut told him, and the young soldier smiled. ‘Me too. It will be the same for every man here.’

‘Why?’ asked Stavut.

‘According to Gilden it is the tension and the fear. It tightens the muscles around the bladder. The feeling will go away once the battle starts.’

‘Oh, I’ll look forward to that,’ muttered Stavut.

The Eternal Guard began to march. Instinctively Stavut reached for his sword hilt. ‘Not yet,’ said the soldier. ‘Your arm will be tired enough by the end. Wait until you actually need to draw it.’

Up ahead Stavut saw Druss, dressed now in a long mail hauberk, walking along the front rank, Alahir beside him in the Armour of Bronze. The axeman was talking to the soldiers, but his words did not fully carry to the second phalanx. Stavut thought he heard the word ‘wedge’.

‘Can you hear what he’s saying?’ he asked the soldier beside him.

‘Don’t need to,’ said the man. ‘Alahir told us last night what the plan was. We will hit them when they reach the narrowest point of the road. They will be expecting arrows. Instead they will be met by a charge, in wedge formation. It will pierce them like an arrow head, with Druss at the point.’

The Eternal Guard marched on, not swiftly, but steadily, conserving their energies for the battle ahead.

Stavut found himself wondering about his lads, and how they were faring in the green hills. He sighed.

The sun was bright in a cloudless sky, and he saw several doves flying by. A sense of unreality gripped him. It was hard to believe, standing here in the sunlight, that men were about to die. Then he thought about Askari. She had been acting strangely these last few days. Ever since the nightmare. She had suddenly awoken beside him with a cry. He had reached over to her, and she had slapped his hand away and looked at him strangely. ‘It is all right,’ he said. ‘You were dreaming. That’s all.’

‘Dreaming?’ She relaxed then. ‘Yes, I was dreaming. Where is Olek?’

‘Olek?’

‘Skilgannon.’

‘He is out scouting the passes for sign of the Guard.’ He had leaned in to her then, and suggested they find a spot away from the others where they could be together.

‘Not now, Stavut,’ she said. It had been odd hearing her use his full name. He had become so used to Stavi.

The men around him began to shuffle and swing their arms, loosening the muscles. Stavut saw that the Guard were approaching the narrowest point of the road. They began to shuffle together, raising their long shields to protect themselves from arrows.

Without any battle cries the Drenai line surged forward, Druss at the centre, axe raised. It was several moments before the marching Guard realized they were under assault. Stavut saw the huge axe splinter a shield, and sweep the man beyond from his feet. Then the noise erupted, metal on metal, screeching and clamouring, screams and shouts and death cries. Several of the Guard were pushed over the edge of the precipice, and fell. Stavut watched them, arms flailing as they plummeted towards the rocks far below.

Switching his gaze back to the front line he saw the carnage and his stomach knotted. The axe rose and fell, swept and cut, blood spraying from it. It seemed perpetually in motion, as if it was somehow mechanical. There was a gap opening around Druss, as men fought to keep back from the slashing blades. Then, with the initial shock of the charge over, the Guards’ discipline reasserted itself. They began to push forward. Now Stavut saw Legend Riders fall, as the black and silver ranks hurled themselves at the defenders. Slowly, inexorably, the Drenai were forced back. Druss fought on, and the enemy warriors had almost reached the point of encircling him. Then Alahir threw himself into the attack, battling to reach Druss. Several men, Gilden among them, joined him, and once more the two fighting groups became wedged together, neither giving nor gaining ground.

The battle seemed to go on for ever, but Stavut glanced at the sky and saw that the sun had barely moved.

Another line of Drenai reserves rushed forward to fill the gaps left by the dead and dying. The soldier beside him had been right, thought Stavut, as he and the men around him shuffled forward. He no longer felt the urge to piss, and his mouth was no longer dry. He saw Alahir go down, and then rise again. The battle looked chaotic now. More men fell screaming from the edge, and the ground was dense with bodies, some still writhing, or trying to drag themselves clear of the fighting. Stavut, though he had no experience of battles, could sense that the tide was beginning to turn. The Drenai had been pushed back from the narrow point. This allowed more Guards to enter the fray. Druss was still holding his ground, but once more the two flanks were pressing inwards. A second line of reserves ran in, briefly bolstering the defence. Druss suddenly surged forward into the Guards trying to join the fighting, cutting left and right with his terrible blades. Stavut shivered as he saw men go down, helms crushed, faces slashed away.

This sudden, almost berserk attack opened a gap behind the Guards, and Stavut saw many men in the front ranks glance nervously behind them. Alahir must have seen it to, for he bellowed: ‘At them, Drenai!

Kill them all!’

The defenders returned to the attack with renewed vigour, hacking and slashing, hurling themselves at the enemy. The guardsmen at the rear turned and fled from the awesome axe. Then the front line caved.

Men spun on their heels and began to run, streaming back down the pass road.

Stavut couldn’t believe his luck. He had not been called to battle at all.

Legend Riders ran to their fallen comrades, lifting those still breathing from the battle site and carrying them back to the relative safety of the rock pool. Then they began to gather their dead. It seemed to Stavut there were a great many bodies. Swiftly he cast his glance around, estimating the numbers of the survivors. There were considerably less than a hundred men still standing. He saw Druss walk to the narrow point and stare down at the enemy. Then the axeman swung round and strode back up the road.

Stavut shivered as he saw him. The mail hauberk was splattered with blood, as was his face and beard.

There were bleeding cuts on his huge arms, and a long gash on his cheek. A cut above his right eye was seeping blood. ‘There is a rider coming,’ the axeman told Alahir.

The Earl of Bronze and the axeman walked down to meet him. Stavut tagged along behind them. The rider was a tall man, hawk-eyed and lean. He sat his black horse and stared past the two men, observing the battlefield. Then he turned his dark gaze on Druss.

‘You have performed bravely, but you cannot hold out much longer,’ he said.

‘Ah, laddie, that was but a warming up exercise. Now that we’re loose the real fighting can begin.’

The man gave a cold smile. ‘Do I have your permission to remove my wounded and dead?’

‘What, no offers of surgeons?’ said the axeman.

‘I fear the amount of damage you have caused necessitates my using both my surgeons,’ said the officer.

‘You can have your wounded,’ said Druss. ‘The men you send to carry them better be stripped of all armour and weapons, or I’ll roll their heads back to you.’

‘Your tone is disrespectful, sir,’ said the officer, tight lipped.

‘I’d have more respect had I seen you among your men, and not watching the battle from afar. Now scuttle back to where you came from. This conversation is over.’

Druss turned his back on the man and led Alahir back up the road. Stavut watched the officer wrench his horse round and ride away.

‘Why were you so discourteous, Druss?’ asked Alahir.

The axeman chuckled. ‘I want him boiling mad. Angry men tend to act rashly.’

‘I think you achieved that. And you were right about the surgeons.’

‘As soon as they have collected their dead and wounded form up the bowmen and prepare for the beasts.’

Druss glanced to his right. A wounded guardsman was desperately trying to unbuckle the breastplate of a fallen comrade. Blood was gushing from beneath the smashed armour. Druss laid aside his axe and moved alongside the men. Together they wrenched the breastplate clear. The man’s right side was drenched with blood. Druss ripped the shirt open, to reveal smashed ribs and a huge cut. From the look of the ruined breastplate, and the depth of the wound, Stavut knew it had come from Druss’s axe. Druss pulled the shirt back over the wound, and told the second man to hold his hand over it. ‘Press lightly,’ he said, ‘for those ribs might be pushed into the lung.’

‘Where did you come from?’ asked the second man.

‘From Hell, laddie. Let’s look at your wound.’ The soldier had taken a heavy hit on the lower leg, which was broken. ‘You’ll live,’ said Druss. ‘Your friend might not. Depends how tough he is.’ He stared hard at the young soldier with the chest wound. ‘Are you tough, laddie?’

‘Damn right,’ said the man, gritting his teeth against the pain. Druss grinned.

‘I believe you. Normally when I hit a man that hard, the axe cleaves all the way to the backbone. You were lucky. Caught me on a poor day.’

Stavut gazed around the battle site. There were hundreds of fallen guardsmen, and the road was slick with blood.

And noon was still hours away.

Skilgannon struggled to rise. The old priest knelt by his side. ‘Do not move, my son. Conserve your strength. Hold on to life and I will help you as best I can.’ Skilgannon felt liquid in his throat, choking him.

He coughed and sprayed blood to the floor. The priest drew the golden chain from round his neck.

Turning Skilgannon onto his back he placed the black and white crystal on the bleeding wound. ‘Lie still; let its power work.’

Breathing was becoming difficult, and Skilgannon’s vision swam. His hands and feet grew cold, and he knew death was close. Then a gentle warmth began in his chest, and slowly flowed through his body. His palpitating heart grew more rhythmic in its beat.

He lay there, staring up at the ceiling, and cursed himself for a fool. Askari never travelled without her bow, and the few arrows in her quiver would have meant nothing to the Legend Riders. Feeling stronger he placed his hand over the crystal and sat up. His shirt was ripped, and he pulled it open. Smearing away the blood he found no wound below it. He turned to the priest. ‘My thanks to you. .’ he began.

Then he stopped. The old man was sitting on the floor with his back against the desk. His face was waxen, his breathing ragged. Skilgannon moved to his side, holding out the crystal. Then he saw that it no longer glittered, and was instead merely a lump of black stone.

‘The Moon has been growing weaker,’ said the old priest, his voice a dry whisper. ‘It is because I have not taken it to the shrine to pray. It always gleamed when I did that.’

‘You allowed me to take all its power,’ said Skilgannon. ‘Why?’

‘To pay a debt. I am the oldest of the brethren, Skilgannon. The last of them. You look at me now and you see a twisted ancient. I looked different when you rescued me from the Nadir. I was young then, and full of idealism. Did you keep in touch with little Dayan?’

‘No.’

‘A sweet girl. She wed a young man and went to live in Virinis. I visited her there several times. She had seven children. Her life was happy, and she gave joy to all who knew her. She was over eighty when she died. A full life, I think.’

‘That is good to know.’

‘Do not let the evil one desecrate the shrine.’

‘Her evil will end today. I promise you that.’

Skilgannon rose, drew the Swords of Night and Day, and walked from the room.

Outside the sun was beginning to set.