The Swords of Night and Day

Chapter Four

Thirty miles to the south a small group of cavalry and infantry made their way up the steep slopes towards the pass of Cithesis. Two scouts rode ahead of the main party. One of them carried a long lance, from which fluttered an unadorned flag of simple yellow. The bearer glanced nervously about him.

Too many of his comrades had been killed while carrying a flag of truce for him to feel at ease.

Some distance behind him rode the herald, Unwallis. Alongside him was the swordsman, Decado, and fifteen riders of the Eternal Guard, in their armour of black and silver. Bringing up the rear were twenty Jiamads.

Unwallis was not a young man, and he loathed these missions to outlying lands and settlements. Of late he had grown ever more fond of his palace back in Diranan. There was a time when he had revelled in intrigue and politics, but he had been younger then. This latest war had sapped both his ambition and his energy. He glanced at the dark-haired young man riding beside him on a white gelding. He was everything Unwallis had once been: ambitious, ruthless, and driven by a desire to excel. Unwallis hated him for his youth and his strength, although he kept that hatred well masked. Decado was not a man to endure enemies, and, more, he was the latest favourite of the Eternal. Mostly, however, Decado was at least an interesting companion. He had wit, and a sharp, dry sense of humour. Except, of course, as now, when he was suffering. Unwallis glanced at the young man. His face was unnaturally pale, his dark eyes narrowed in pain. Unwallis himself had suffered severe headaches in his long life, but nothing compared to what the young swordsman went through. Last month he had collapsed in the palace, and his ears had bled. Unwallis shivered. Memnon had administered a heavy narcotic, but even this had not quelled the pain, and Decado had spent three days in a darkened room, crying out in agony.

‘How much further?’ asked the young swordsman.

‘We should make contact with their scouts within an hour,’ answered Unwallis. ‘Landis Kan will make us welcome.’

‘I do not see why we did not merely bring a regiment and take the damned place,’ said Decado.

‘Landis Kan served the Eternal well for many lifetimes. She wishes to give him the opportunity to declare his loyalty anew.’

‘He is creating Jiamads. That makes him a traitor.’

Unwallis sighed. ‘His role was to create Jiamads. His expertise is in creating Jiamads. The Eternal knows this. It was unlikely he would retire here and spend his days growing vegetables.’

‘So, you are to ask him to renew his vow of loyalty?’

‘That is one of our missions.’

‘Ah yes, the hunt for the long dead hero,’ said Decado, with a laugh. ‘The one. It is a nonsense.’

Unwallis gazed at the young killer. How curious, he thought. You are jealous of a man who has been dead for a thousand years. ‘He was an interesting figure,’ said Unwallis, innocently, knowing that talk of Skilgannon would irritate the swordsman. ‘It is said that no-one could stand against him, blade to blade.

Even in middle age he was deadly.’

‘All legends say that about heroes,’ snapped Decado, rubbing at his eyes.

‘True. However, the Eternal herself says there was no man like him.’

‘As far as I can tell he killed a few primitive Jiamads, and won a few battles. It doesn’t make him a god, Unwallis. I don’t doubt he was a good swordsman. But I could have taken him. Have you ever seen anyone as skilled as me?’

‘No,’ admitted Unwallis. ‘You are exceptional, Decado. As indeed are the blades you carry,’ he added, glancing at the single scabbard hanging on the man’s back, twin swords sheathed in it. ‘I would imagine there is no-one in the world today who could stand against you.’

‘There never will be anyone to stand against me.’

‘Indeed, let us hope you are correct,’ said Unwallis. The young, he thought, have such arrogance.

They assume they will never suffer the ravages of age. He glanced at Decado. Will you still have such a belief in twenty years’ time, he wondered? Or thirty, when your muscles are stretched, and your joints rheumatic? But then again, he thought, the Eternal might not tire of you, and offer you longer life. She had done this with Unwallis for a few decades. Extended youth had been a wondrous gift. Sadly it had mostly been enjoyed in retrospect. Only when that youth began to fade had he truly appreciated its wonder.

By then the Eternal had tired of him as a lover, and he became. . what had he become? A friend?

No. The Eternal had no friends. What then? Sadly he had to accept he had become merely another follower, a servant, a slave to her whims. In truth, however, there was no cause for complaint. In a world savaged by war, pestilence and disease Unwallis had a palace and servants, and riches enough to last any man for several lifetimes. Not that he had several lifetimes. He was a ninety-year-old man, in a fifty-year-old body. He looked again at Decado. What will you do when she abandons you, he wondered?

They rode on for some time. Then there came a shout from the lead rider.

Two Jiamads stepped from the shadows of the trees, and stood waiting. Unwallis rode up to them.

Both were quite primitive melds, obviously wolves. Landis Kan had clearly not acquired enough artefacts to hone the process. ‘I am Unwallis,’ he told the pair. ‘The lord Landis Kan is expecting me.’

‘No soldiers,’ said the first Jiamad, the words slurring in his misshapen mouth. ‘You ride on. They stay.’

Unwallis had expected this, but the young Decado was furious.

Edging his horse forward he reached up to one of the swords that hung between his shoulder blades.

In that moment other Jiamads appeared from behind the trees. They outnumbered Unwallis’s force by more than two to one. The situation was tense. Unwallis heeled his horse forward. ‘The soldiers will await us here,’ he said. ‘Myself and my companion will ride up to meet the Lord Landis Kan.’

‘This is intolerable,’ said Decado.

‘No, my friend, it is merely inconvenient,’ said Unwallis. Swinging in the saddle he called back to the captain of the Eternal Guard: ‘We will return tomorrow. I shall have food sent down to you.’

With that he heeled his horse past the Jiamads. Decado rode silently beside him. He knew what the young man was thinking. Their own force, though outnumbered, could have defeated these primitive melds. The Jiamads of the Eternal were bigger, stronger and more delicately honed than those of Landis Kan. Decado was a warrior. He had fought in a score of battles. He had, Unwallis believed, the simplistic nature of the fighting man. Enemies were to be slain wherever they were found. There was little understanding of intrigue, or the necessity to nurture one’s enemies, either making them friends, or lulling them into complacence for later annihilation. As far as Decado was concerned Landis Kan represented a small threat, and one easily crushed. This, of course, was to miss the point. The war was finely balanced.

The Eternal had the advantage on this side of the ocean, and, barring unforeseen disasters, would gain the final victory sometime this year. This would allow a seaborne invasion of the east next year, and a final victory perhaps the year after. An eastern invasion now, however, would leave forces on this side of the ocean thinly spread. Which was why Landis Kan had become an important factor. If the Eternal needed to use her regiments to destroy Landis and his Jiamads, it would strengthen her chances of a swift victory on this side of the ocean, but delay her invasion of the east. Such a delay might allow the enemy to regroup. The balance of power could then shift.

Landis Kan needed to be neutralized without the cost of a time-consuming campaign.

Unwallis rode on, coming at last to a stretch of open ground between two high crags. A new wall had been built here, some twelve feet high, a bronze reinforced gate set at the centre. As the riders approached, the gate was drawn open and a horseman rode out to meet them.

‘Unwallis, my dear old friend,’ said Landis Kan. ‘You are most welcome.’

Skilgannon watched from his balcony window as Landis Kan rode from the palace, heading south to meet the messengers. Then, his expression grim, he left his rooms and walked down to the long library.

He did not pause by the bookshelves, nor seek out any tomes. Moving through the archway into the rear of the library he approached the locked door to Landis Kan’s private study. The door was solid oak.

Skilgannon paused before it, closing his eyes and gathering his strength and concentration. Leaning to his left he hammered his right foot against the lock. Three times more he repeated the manoeuvre. Then he waited, drawing in deep, calming breaths. His boot crashed against the frame twice more — and the door sprang open.

Striding inside, he began to search the room. There were papers scattered upon the desk. Skilgannon scanned them, seeing references to his own history. He searched the drawer of the desk, but found nothing of importance. At the rear of the room was another door. This too was locked. But the timber was thinner and Skilgannon splintered the wood around the lock with a single kick.

It was dark inside, the small window shuttered. Skilgannon opened it, and turned. The first thing he saw chilled his blood. It was a large picture frame, though there was no picture inside. Instead a section of human skin had been stretched over the inner frame. The skin bore a tattoo of an eagle with outspread wings. Beside it was another frame, this one face down. Skilgannon turned it over. As he expected this also contained tattooed human skin. The identical snarling panther that even now adorned his chest. On a small desk he saw a sheaf of papers, bound with ribbon. Sitting down, he untied the ribbon and spread out the papers it held. Then he began to read, his mood darkening with each sentence.

Landis Kan was a meticulous note taker. Much of what he had written was lost on Skilgannon, but even more was easily digestible. As the light began to fade he gathered up the papers and rose from the desk. He had promised Gamal he would stay for a while. He would keep that promise. Then he would leave, and make the long journey to what had once been his home. Skilgannon had no interest in silver eagles, or the Eternal, or the war that was being fought here.

He had once been a general, issuing orders, preparing strategies. He had fought for an empire. Now he was being used like the lowliest foot soldier. It galled him.

The blond-haired servant girl, Charis, brought him some food as he sat on the balcony reading Landis Kan’s notes. She hovered close by, even after he had thanked her. He glanced up, his expression stern.

‘You want something, child?’ he asked.

‘You are going into the mountains tomorrow,’ she said.

He sighed and shook his head. ‘Is that a question or a statement?’

‘A statement.’

‘Why would you make it? I know where I am going tomorrow.’

‘Are you always so argumentative?’ she asked.

He laughed aloud, feeling some of the tension leave him. ‘What kind of training have you received as a servant?’ he countered.

She smiled and walked past him, to stand in the sunshine bathing the balcony. ‘How much training does one need to bring a tray to a guest’s room? It is a pretty view from here. I can see my father’s bakery.’

‘Shall we return to your interest in my journeyings?’

‘Oh, I am not interested in where you go. It is just that you will be travelling with Harad. He is not as fierce as he appears. Best to remember that. He is, in fact, quite shy.’

‘Not the first adjective that would spring to mind,’ he said. ‘Surly, perhaps. Discourteous. Cool. But, yes, shy would account for them. Why does it concern you?’

‘Harad is my. . friend. I wouldn’t want him to get into trouble with the lord. Is it true you are his nephew?’

‘Is that so surprising?’

‘No,’ she said, moving back past him. ‘There are many rumours about you. Some say you are a new form of Jiamad.’

‘And what animal do they say I am melded with?’

‘Perhaps it is a panther,’ she suggested. ‘You have a certain catlike grace.’

‘You should go now,’ he said. ‘I have much to do, and, fascinating as this conversation is, it does not seem to be going anywhere.’

‘Be a little gentle with Harad,’ she said. ‘He is a fine man.’

‘I shall bear it in mind. However, I know Harad better than you think. Be at ease, Charis. We will walk the mountains and then return.’

When she had gone Skilgannon picked up the papers and began reading once more. Towards dusk Landis Kan entered the room. He did not knock, and his face was flushed and angry.

‘Is this how you repay me?’ he thundered. ‘Breaking open my study, and stealing my papers?’

Skilgannon rose smoothly. ‘Do not bluster,’ he said softly. ‘You are not a man of violence. Do not pretend to be one. And I owe you nothing. Did I ask you to hunt my bones and collect my skin? Did I request you to copy my tattoos? We will begin anew, Landis Kan. No more evasions. No more games.

Why did you take the bones from my locket?’

Landis Kan’s shoulders sagged. ‘You mind if I sit down?’ he asked.

‘Not at all.’

The lord slumped into a chair. ‘Back in Diranan I had access to a great many of the artefacts of the Elders. I had learned how to use them, to create exceptional Jiamads, and to. . to ensure the success of any rebirth. Here I have few. You were too important to risk. So before I attempted to bring you back I took the bones from your locket and Harad was the eventual result. Was he your brother, your father. .

something else?’

‘He was my friend, Landis. He was a great man.’

Landis Kan brightened. ‘Another hero from the past? Who? Who was he?’

‘To use your own words, Landis, let us take matters carefully. Trust me. When the time is right I might tell you. Why is it that his memories never returned?’

‘There was no way we could bring his soul back from the Void. We did not know who he was. If you tell us, perhaps we can restore the man you knew.’

‘No. My friend does not wander the Void. He passed beyond it. His deeds would have ensured him a place in the Hall of Heroes, or paradise. . or whatever exists beyond the gateway.’ He smiled ruefully.

‘And even if you could find his spirit he would not return. He would ask: “What will become of Harad?”

No, Landis, he will not return, though it would lift my heart immeasurably were it to happen. I liked him better than any man I ever met.’

‘You are sure? Gamal could search for him.’

‘I am sure. Why do you want me to travel the mountains with Harad?’

‘It was Gamal’s idea. He felt you needed time away, to consider your actions. He thought also — as do I — that the company of someone familiar to you would help you link more strongly to the memories of your previous existence.’

‘He was right about one thing,’ said Skilgannon coldly. ‘It will be good to be away from here for a while. Did your guests arrive?’

‘Aye, you will see them at dinner this evening. There are two, Unwallis and Decado. The first is an adviser to the Eternal. He is sharp and observant, with a brain that is cunning and subtle. Not an easy man to read, and a difficult one to fool. I did have a nephew called Callan. He ran a farm near Usa, in the lands you would have known as Ventria. It was close to the ocean. He died last year. His ship was lost in a storm. Should he ask you about this you can say you survived by clinging to a piece of driftwood.

Whatever you choose. Best though to say little.’

‘And Decado?’

Landis took a deep breath. ‘No more evasion, you said. So be it. Decado is a failed Reborn, like Harad. The Eternal had his bones brought back from a tomb on an old battle site. The original Decado was the leader of a group of warrior priests called the Temple of the Thirty. He was known, in his day, as the Ice Killer, a ferocious and deadly swordsman — possibly the greatest of his time.’

‘I sense there is more,’ said Skilgannon.

‘Indeed there is.’ He sighed. ‘I had a long conversation with Gamal this morning. He knows far more about you than I realized. For reasons best known to himself he did not share this knowledge with me until now.’ He glanced up at Skilgannon. ‘According to Gamal the original Decado was your direct descendant.’

‘More myths, Landis. I had no children.’

‘Gamal told me that a woman called Garianne bore you a son. He was born in the temple of the Blessed Priestess eight months after your battle with a villain. . I don’t recall his name.’

‘It was Boranius.’

‘Yes, I remember now. Anyway, your blood line was strong and true — a line of warriors. On the instruction of the priestess, Garianne continued the tradition of your house, Skilgannon. The first male child was called Decado, and his first son was Olek, then Decado, and so on. Gamal knew only the outline of the story. History tells us nothing of Garianne and her life, her thoughts or her dreams.

However, back to the present. The Reborn Decado is also a swordsman, and one of great repute. He carries two blades in a single scabbard — like your Swords of Night and Day. He has killed twenty men in single combat, or duels. Like his namesake he is deadly. He is also — according to Gamal — existing on the borders of insanity.’

The shock was intense, but Skilgannon disguised it, and forced his mind to focus. ‘Why is he here?’

‘To study our defences, I should imagine. He is a skilled strategist.’

‘And Unwallis? What does he require?’

‘He will seek to persuade me to renew my oath of allegiance to the Eternal. This will be a difficult request to deal with. To the north of us is one of two rebel armies, to the south the forces of the Eternal.

If I swear allegiance to her, then the rebels will seek to kill me or conquer my lands. If I refuse, then the Eternal will send an army to reoccupy Petar.’

‘The choice you face is not enviable,’ said Skilgannon. ‘What will you do?’

‘I shall play it like a maiden being wooed. I will hedge and I will prevaricate, and do my best to keep both suitors at arm’s length. And now it is time to prepare for dinner. Do you wish to sit beside the politician or the madman?’

‘The madman. I do not like politicians.’

The rooms assigned to Unwallis were in the southern wing of the palace, but there was a balcony terrace which overlooked the western mountains. An hour before the meal he stood upon it, watching the sun set behind the snowcapped peaks. It was his favourite time of the day, and he liked to spend it alone.

He found himself missing his garden back in Diranan. During the last few years Unwallis had discovered great joy in tending his flower beds. The cycle of life, death and rebirth in his garden fascinated him. Below, upon the western wall of the palace gardens he saw a climbing plant, with huge blooms of lilac and gold, clinging to a trellis. It was called Ustarte’s Star, and Unwallis had never had any success with it in his own garden. He would plant it in good earth. It would grow voraciously for half a season, then inexplicably die back. The topmost leaves would turn black, and then nothing would save it.

Unwallis found it most galling, and decided he would ask Landis Kan for advice over dinner.

Unwallis sighed. What a strange world we live in, he thought. I am to dine with a man I shall — in all likelihood — order to be murdered. Before that, however, I will ask his help with a gardening problem.

The thought weighed heavily upon him. He had always — despite his best efforts — liked Landis Kan.

The man was a legend in Diranan when Unwallis was a student, an enduring part of modern history. He had served the Eternal for centuries. Indeed, no-one knew how old he was, nor how many lives the Eternal had granted him. His powers were enormous, and yet, despite them, he was easy-going and cordial with the young men who came to serve with him. He had been most helpful to Unwallis in those early years. Seeing him with grey hair and the lines of age upon his face had seemed almost unnatural.

Unwallis sighed and found himself hoping that Landis would agree to the Eternal’s demands.

Will it matter if he does?

The thought was immediately chilling and Unwallis tried to push it from his mind. The Eternal had told him to convey her wishes to Landis, but had then told him he would be accompanied by Decado. This had surprised him. Why send a deranged killer on a mission of diplomacy?

The sun was going down. Unwallis heard the door of the apartment open and turned to see a young woman bearing a lantern and a taper. She curtseyed to him, and moved round the apartment lighting lanterns.

Unwallis poured himself a goblet of wine, adding water to it. He did not want his senses impaired during the coming meal. There would only be four people present, he and Decado, plus Landis Kan and his nephew Callan. Unwallis wondered why Gamal would not be joining them. His understanding was that the old man was now living with Landis.

The girl curtseyed again and left the room.

It would be an uncomfortable meal. Decado, when in pain, was not an easy man to spend time with.

His manner became harsh and confrontational, his conversation limited to weapons and warfare. Unwallis found himself wondering what the Eternal saw in him as a lover. He recalled his time with her, and found once more the ache of regret filling him. It was not merely the joining of bodies, the passion and the extremes of pleasure, that haunted him. More it was the quiet times afterwards, as they lay upon the satin sheets and talked. Those moments lay in his memory like hidden treasures. He had been in love.

Massively, completely, irrevocably in love. Then she had discarded him. He had felt like a man deprived of food and water, his soul starved. She had sent him across the sea, to serve her in the eastern empire.

He had laboured long and diligently there, hoping that one day she would call him back again to that satin-covered bed. She never had.

Unwallis imagined the Eternal lying in the moonlight and talking and laughing with Decado. Free of pain he was a witty man, and he was young and handsome. The Eternal’s lovers were always young and handsome. It always surprised Unwallis when he thought of her laughing. The sound was rich and musical. It was a sound of joy, which lifted the spirits of all who heard it. He found it hard to equate this wondrous woman with the ruthless queen who could casually order the deaths of thousands. Unwallis was forced to admit that he did not understand the Eternal at all. She could be harsh beyond reason, and cruel beyond measure. She could also display great affection and loyalty.

A sense of melancholy settled on him, so great that his spirits were raised when Decado appeared in the doorway. The young swordsman’s long dark hair was pulled back from his head into a pony tail, and he was wearing a tight-fitting black shirt and leggings, with calf-length riding boots of black leather. The only adornment he sported was a wide belt, edged with silver.

‘Let’s get this over with,’ said Decado.

‘How is your headache?’

‘Bearable.’

Unwallis looked into his eyes. The pupils were distended, and the statesman knew Decado had imbibed more of Memnon’s narcotic to relieve his pain. Donning a cloak of cream-coloured wool, edged with silver, Unwallis walked out of the room.

A servant was waiting at the far end of the corridor. She led them up a flight of stairs and into a long room, lit by glowing lanterns. A table had been set near a huge window overlooking the mountains.

Landis Kan was standing by the window, talking to a tall young man. Both men turned as the guests arrived.

‘Welcome once again, dear Unwallis. And to you also, Decado. It is good to have guests from Outside. I fear we are so cut off here that I long for news from the city.’ Unwallis looked at the young man with Landis. His eyes were an astonishing blue. ‘My nephew, Callan,’ said Landis. ‘He is visiting from Usa.’

‘A troubled land,’ said Unwallis, shaking the man’s hand. ‘You are a soldier?’

‘A farmer,’ said Landis swiftly.

‘You have the look of a soldier,’ said Unwallis.

‘Looks can be deceiving,’ put in Decado. ‘He looks to me like a farmer.’

Callan laughed aloud, the sound full of genuine good humour, which was a relief to Unwallis, but seemed to irritate Decado further. ‘What is so amusing?’ asked the young swordsman.

‘The choice of words. If looks can be deceiving, and yet I look like a farmer, does this suggest I am or am not a farmer?’ Before Decado could consider a response the young man pointed to the black scabbard hanging from Decado’s back. ‘Is it the custom here to come armed for dinner?’ he asked.

‘They are always with me,’ said Decado, staring hard at the man.

‘Well, put your fears to rest. There are no enemies here.’

‘Fears? I have no fears.’

‘Might I see one of the swords?’ Callan enquired. Unwallis saw Decado hesitate. There was sweat on his face, and the statesman guessed the exchange was increasing the intensity of his head pain. Unwallis thought he would refuse the request. Instead he pressed a jewelled stud on the hilt of the lower sword and drew it, passing it to Callan. Landis Kan’s nephew hefted the blade, then stepped back and swung it expertly several times. Then he flicked his wrist, and released his grip on the hilt. As the weapon rose from his hand he slapped the hilt. The sword spun viciously, the razor sharp blade slicing through the air.

Unwallis flinched. Callan’s left hand snapped forward, smoothly grasping the ivory hilt. Unwallis could scarcely believe what he had seen. One tiny mistake and the blade would have slashed through his fingers, or his wrist, or ricocheted across the room, spearing one of the watching men. ‘Beautiful balance,’ said Callan, reversing the blade and offering it to Decado.

‘Where did you learn that?’ asked Unwallis. ‘It was incredible.’

‘We farmers learn a lot of things,’ said Callan. He glanced at Decado. ‘You do not look well, boy.’

Decado tensed. ‘Call me boy one more time, you whoreson, and I’ll show you how a sword should be used.’

‘This has gone quite far enough,’ said Unwallis, trying to sound stern. ‘We are guests here, Decado.

And you, sir,’ he said, addressing Callan, ‘should not seek to provoke a soldier of the Eternal.’

‘I accept your rebuke, sir,’ said Callan, with an easy smile. ‘I too am a guest in this house and should have known better.’ He bowed gracefully, then turned to Landis Kan. ‘Perhaps we should eat, uncle.’

The meal was conducted in near silence and Unwallis was relieved once it was over and Decado rose, offered cursory thanks to Landis Kan, and stalked from the room.

‘Believe me, sir, that was very unwise of you,’ Unwallis told Callan. ‘Decado is a deadly swordsman, and not a man to forgive an insult. I suggest you return across the sea as soon as is convenient to you.’

‘I intend to. It is my hope to explore the old kingdom of Naashan.’

‘You are a historian?’

‘Of a kind.’

‘Naashan, eh? One of your favourite places of excavation, Landis, was it not?’

‘Yes indeed,’ said Landis Kan. ‘A great many artefacts were discovered there. And now, I think, it is time for you and I to sit down and talk.’ Turning to Callan, he said: ‘I fear our conversation would bore you, nephew.’

‘Then I shall leave you,’ said Callan, rising from the table. Bowing once more to Unwallis, he left the room.

‘By the Blessed!’ whispered Unwallis. ‘Does the man have a death wish? Or has Decado’s reputation not reached the east?’

‘He knows his reputation, my friend. Callan is not a man who scares easily.’

‘He has an odd accent. I have travelled in Naashan and never heard one quite like it.’

‘East coast,’ said Landis, with a smile. ‘I had immense trouble understanding any of them.’

Unwallis sighed. ‘I shall try to keep Decado from killing him. Though I cannot guarantee it. The man is somewhat inhuman when he is sick. If his head pain clears he may be in a more forgiving mood.’

‘Why is he with you?’ asked Landis, as he filled two goblets with wine.

‘I have asked myself the same question. Perhaps the Eternal is tiring of him, and wanted him away from Diranan. I really don’t know. But let us talk of you, Landis. You know the peril you are in.’

‘I know. Old habits die hard, my friend. I found some artefacts and could not resist experimenting with them. As you could see, my Jiamads are not of the highest quality.’

‘You told the Eternal you wanted a quiet life away from the turmoil of empire. She granted you these lands.’

‘Does she now want them back?’

‘Of course not. The Eternal merely wants right of passage through them, so that our armies can clear the north of traitors.’

‘Come now,’ said Landis, ‘you know that the fastest way to the north is across the plain and through the ruins. You already have an army camped below the southern pass. To send a force this way would take an extra month, and for what? So speak plainly, Unwallis. What does the Eternal really want from me?’

‘You do not need me to scribble it on a tablet of clay. You were the most senior of her advisers, and the longest-serving. Even I do not know how long you were in her service. But longer than Agrias. And who are we fighting? The same Agrias who swore to serve her for life. Agrias who has caused us untold harm. More than a hundred thousand dead in battle, and five times that starved or fallen to disease.’

‘You are saying she fears I will become another Agrias?’ Landis laughed. ‘Nothing could be further from the truth. I want no power, other than that which I wield here.’

‘Do you still love her, Landis?’

‘You of all people should not have to ask this. Of course I love her. She was my life, and my dream.

She was everything to me, from the moment I first saw her statue.’ Landis sighed. ‘I shared her bed for many years.’ He shrugged. ‘Aye, and I was also forced to share her with whatever lover she took a liking to. None of that mattered. I would give a hundred years of life merely to share that bed one more night.’

‘As would I — though I do not have a hundred years to spare,’ said Unwallis. ‘You did warn her about Agrias. I remember that.’

‘You remember what else I told you?’

‘I remember. I am still not convinced. But that is in the past and not relevant. The Eternal wishes to be sure of your loyalty. She wants a small force in your lands to protect the borders. Would that be so terrible, Landis? A few soldiers, a few Jiamads.’

Landis filled a goblet with wine, and sipped it before answering. ‘Yes it would. Agrias has several armies in the north. If the Eternal’s forces come here Agrias will hear of it. Then the war will spread to my lands, which, at present, are mercifully free of terror.’

Unwallis took a deep breath. ‘Then let us move on to another point, and one of great delicacy. The tomb of Skilgannon.’

‘What about it? It was empty.’

‘Not the cave, Landis, but the site a half-mile distant on the dry island.’

‘It wasn’t him. I dug there and found some old bones, but the artefacts in the grave were of the wrong age.’

‘One of your diggers reported that you found two swords in a single scabbard.’

‘Not so. We found a massive axe, double-headed, which had not rusted, and a few pots containing gold coins. The coins were of the late Drenai period, and stamped with image of King Skanda. I still have some of them, should you wish to see them.’

‘Why do you have ward spells over your domain, Landis?’ The question was asked softly and Unwallis watched his old friend closely. Landis did not look him in the eye.

‘I do not like being watched. I am a private man and it irked me to have Memnon spying on me. I never liked the man. I live in hopes that the Eternal will realize he is a snake and place his head upon a spike.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Unwallis. ‘No-one likes Memnon. But let us run over the facts. Like Agrias you are creating Jiamads. You refuse the Eternal the right to cross your lands. You have cast ward spells to prevent the Eternal from seeing what you are doing here. Does this accurately cover what we have discussed?’

‘It does not sound good, does it?’ said Landis, forcing a smile.

‘No, Landis. It does not sound good at all. I am your friend. I would like to help you. If I leave here, however, with no agreement, I fear for you.’

‘She knows I would never. . harm her.’ Landis was frightened now. Unwallis could hear it in his voice.

‘I cannot say what the Eternal knows, Landis. I only know what she does to those she believes are a threat. You think your long relationship with her will keep you alive? You are deluding yourself. Memnon has sent Shadows to the southern pass you spoke of. It could be they are heading north to eliminate some rebel general. Equally they could be coming over the mountains to find you.’

‘She would not kill me, my friend. I gave her life. You wondered how long I served her. I was here before the Eternal, Unwallis. She was the first Reborn. I brought her back. She will not kill me. Go back and tell her that I am not her enemy. Tell her you are convinced of this. She will believe you. Tell her I need a little more time to consider her offer.’

Unwallis felt his heart sink. ‘Do you not know her at all, Landis? Have you not seen how many men she has killed? Many of those loved her in their own way. I am telling you that your life is in danger.’

‘A little more time, Unwallis. Just ask that from me. You will see. She will grant it. Now would you like to see those Skandian coins? They are remarkable.’

It was late but Skilgannon was not sleeping. Standing on the balcony he breathed in the sweet night air and gazed at the distant mountains, bathed in moonlight. Garianne had been pregnant, and he had never known. This was hard to bear. He had never loved the tormented warrior woman, but he had come to care for her. Why had she not told him? Why had Ustarte not told him? Did a man not have the right to know that he had a son?

Your son died a thousand years ago.

The thought was painful.

Decado’s face flickered into his mind. Did my son look like you, he wondered? He had hoped to like Decado, to find something in the man that reminded him of himself. There was nothing, and within moments he had found himself detesting the arrogant young swordsman. In turn the man had obviously detested him. Ah well, he thought with a smile, perhaps we are not so different then.

He heard the apartment door open and turned. The elderly head servant, Ensinar, entered the room.

Seeing Skilgannon he bowed, the swept-over hair on his bald head flapping as he did so. ‘The lord asked me to see if you were awake, sir,’ said Ensinar. ‘He hopes you will join him in the library.’

Skilgannon nodded and followed the man through the night-deserted palace, and down to Landis Kan’s study. In the lantern light Landis seemed drawn and pale. As Ensinar departed he bade Skilgannon sit down. ‘It did not go well,’ he said, with a sigh.

‘I am sorry that I baited your guest,’ said Skilgannon. ‘It was discourteous.’

Landis Kan waved his hand. ‘That is not what I meant. I have been very foolish. Unwallis is a sharp and intelligent man. In my arrogance I thought to deceive him, and the Eternal. I have not succeeded. I think there is still time. Yes, I am sure there is.’

‘You wanted to see me.’

‘Yes. Forgive me. Too many thoughts buzzing in my brain like hungry bees.’ Landis rose and moved to the far wall, easing back a panel on the wall. From within it he hauled out a black-handled, double-headed axe. It was heavy and he struggled to lift it. ‘You know this weapon?’

‘Yes,’ said Skilgannon, rising and taking it from Landis’s hands. ‘It is Snaga, the axe of Druss the Legend.’

‘ The blades of no return,’ said Landis. ‘That is what the runes say, that are engraved upon the handle. It would take a mighty man to wield this in battle.’

‘He was a mighty man. I take it this was in my tomb.’

‘Yes. How did you come by it?’

‘It was a gift from a great warlord. His men had slain Druss at the battle of Dros Delnoch. I went to him and asked for the axe.’

‘And some bones, which you placed in the locket round your neck.’

‘Indeed so. Does Harad know he is a Reborn?’

‘No. But now that we know who he was I could ask Gamal to seek his soul in the Void.’

‘And I have already told you he would not find him,’ said Skilgannon. ‘Druss was a fine man. A hero.

He would not be wandering that accursed place. He would have passed beyond it. You have meddled enough, Landis. Let it be.’

Landis slumped back to his chair. ‘There is more truth in that than you know. When you go to Harad tomorrow, will you take him the axe as a gift from me?’

Skilgannon smiled. ‘Since it was in my tomb I would say it should be a gift from me. But, yes, I will give it to Harad. I think Druss would like that. I will walk the mountains with Harad, Landis. Then I will leave this land. I have no interest in your struggles with the Eternal.’

‘I understand. Truly, I do. For all my age and wisdom I have been such a fool, Skilgannon. Ustarte was not a goddess, nor even blessed by the Source. She was a talented Jiamad, created by someone probably just like me.’ He gave a grim laugh and shook his head. ‘I thought bringing you back would balance the scales in my favour. I thought that if I fulfilled Ustarte’s prophecy the Source would forgive me. ‘

‘What is there to forgive?’ asked Skilgannon.

‘The world’s torment, my boy.’ Landis Kan sighed. ‘I brought the Eternal to life. I discovered how to manipulate the machines which create the Jiamads. All the unnatural horror on the face of this blessed earth is down to me.’

‘There were Joinings on this world before you were born, Landis. Nadir shamans could create them.

You take too much upon yourself.’

‘A few, perhaps. Enough to give rise to legends of monsters. Not armies of them, Skilgannon. Gamal told me of Perapolis, and the few thousand whose souls weigh heavily upon your own. I have hundreds of thousands upon mine. For your sins you walked the Void for a millennium. What of me? I will never pass the gateway you spoke of. And I will not be able to fight the demons there.’

‘Probably not,’ agreed the warrior. ‘What will you do now?’

Landis sighed once more. ‘I shall run. I shall seek a place to live out my days. Will you grant me one last request?’

‘I don’t know. Ask and you will find out.’

‘Take the Swords of Night and Day with you. Bury them if you like. Cast them into the sea. I care not.

I would not want them to fall into the wrong hands if. . if matters go awry. Will you do this one deed for me?’

Skilgannon sat silently for a moment. ‘Wrap them in cloth, and have them brought to my rooms tomorrow before I leave.’

They had walked for more than four hours. There was little conversation, which pleased Harad. The man, Callan, was strong and uncomplaining. By mid-afternoon it had begun to rain. At first Harad ignored it, but it grew steadily worse, the ground underfoot becoming slick and treacherous. He glanced up. Thunder clouds were gathering, and a bolt of lightning flared to the west. Harad angled their path towards a cliff face close by. It was pitted with shallow caves and the powerful logger chose one and moved inside, dumping his pack to the ground. Callan also shrugged off his pack and removed his ankle-length, dark leather topcoat. He stood for a moment, lifting his arms and easing the muscles of his shoulders. Below it he wore a sleeveless doeskin jerkin. Though he was slim his arms and shoulders were powerful. Harad saw the dark tattoo of a spider upon one forearm. He glanced at the man’s pack.

Strapped to it were two items wrapped in dark cloth. One was around five feet long and slightly curved.

The other piqued his interest more. Wide at one end and narrow at the other, its shape reminded Harad of the stringed instruments musicians played on feast days. Yet it was too flat.

They sat in silence for a while, then Callan donned his topcoat and walked out once more into the rain, returning with a bundle of dead wood. He repeated this manoeuvre several times until there was at least enough fuel to last the night. Then, removing his coat and draping it over a rock, he quietly prepared a fire. The wood was damp and it took some time to get a blaze going, but Callan showed no irritation.

Finally with the flames catching he leaned back against the cave wall. Harad opened his own pack and produced some dried meat, which he offered to Callan. Still nothing was said.

Lightning flashed, immediately followed by a rolling burst of thunder. The rain outside became torrential, lashing down against the cliff face. Harad, who had been hoping the man was not a chatterer, now found himself uncomfortable with the continued silence. ‘Might as well wait out the storm,’ he said.

He felt like slapping himself in the head. Of course they would wait out the storm. Why else were they inside the cave with a fire lit?

‘It is a good idea,’ said Callan. ‘I am more tired than I expected.’

‘Aye, it is a long climb for those unused to it,’ agreed Harad. Callan rolled smoothly to his feet and untied the thongs holding the oddly shaped item. Squatting down again he removed the cloth. Harad watched with undisguised interest. As the wrapping fell clear the firelight gleamed on a double-bladed axe with a black, silver-engraved haft. Harad had never seen a more beautiful weapon. The blades were shaped like the wings of a butterfly. He shivered suddenly, and felt goose flesh on his arms.

Callan hefted the weapon and passed it to Harad. It was heavy, and yet the balance was perfect.

Harad let out a long breath as he grasped the axe.

‘It is a gift from Landis Kan,’ said Callan.

‘He must value you highly to give you such a gift.’

Callan smiled. ‘The gift is for you, Harad.’ The Outsider returned to the fire, adding two thick chunks of wood.

‘Why would he give me such a gift?’

Callan shrugged. ‘Ask him when we get back. The axe has a name. It is called Snaga. The runes upon it say: The blades of no return. It is an ancient weapon. Once it was carried by a great hero.’

Harad stood and moved further into the cave. Hefting the axe he swung it lightly a few times. ‘He must have been a powerful man to wield this in battle,’ he said. ‘It is not light.’

Callan did not reply. He sat quietly in the firelight eating the dried meat.

Outside the rain pounded on. Thunder rolled and lightning flashed. A shape loomed at the cave entrance: a black bear. It stood for a few moments, then caught a whiff of the smoke and padded away.

‘Lots of bears up here,’ said Harad. ‘A few big cats too. Where are you from?’ he asked. ‘I have not heard that accent before.’ Returning to the fire and sitting down he laid the axe beside him, but could not resist continuing to touch it.

‘A long way from here,’ said Callan. Harad thought he detected a note of bitterness in the answer, and did not press him. After a while it became obvious that the storm was locked in for the night. Both men unrolled their blankets. Callan fell asleep almost instantly, but Harad sat up, holding the axe, and staring at his reflection in the butterfly blades. Just for a moment he felt as if he were looking at someone else, and he shivered and put the axe down. A feeling of disquiet touched him. He looked over at the sleeping Outsider. He had to admit the man was easy company. Callan did not question Harad, or seek to impress him. Perhaps these few days in the mountain would not be so arduous.

Harad stood and, axe in hand, wandered to the mouth of the cave.

Snaga.

It was a good name. The Blades of No Return. He found himself wondering about the hero who had carried it. Where was he from? Where had he fought?

In that moment the bear returned, ambling through the rain. Harad stood very still. The bear came closer, staring at the powerful figure in the cave mouth. Suddenly it reared up on its hind legs, towering above the man.

‘Let’s not do this,’ said Harad softly. ‘We are not enemies, you and I.’

For a moment more the bear continued to loom above him. Then it dropped back to all fours and moved off into the trees.

‘You have a way with bears,’ said Callan. Harad glanced round. The tall, blue-eyed Outsider was standing behind him, a hunting knife in his hand. Harad had not heard him approach.

‘I have seen him before. He once got into my cabin and ate three months of supplies. My own fault for leaving the door open.’ Harad glanced down at the knife, and grinned. ‘Good blade, but you’d need a lot of luck to kill him with that.’

‘I am a lucky man,’ answered Callan, sheathing the knife and walking back to his blankets.

The storm lasted for most of the night, but the dawn was bright and clear, the sky cloudless.

They walked without conversation for most of the morning, though this time Harad found the silence companionable and pleasant. In the distance he caught sight of several grey wolves, and a small herd of deer. They were grazing near some ruins in an area of flatland. ‘Who used to live here?’ asked Callan.

‘In the old days.’

Harad shrugged. ‘I don’t know much history. They were called Sathular — or something like it. They were wiped out way, way back.’

‘Sathuli,’ said Callan. ‘I have heard of them. Fierce tribal warriors. They were constantly at war with the Drenai.’

‘Whatever,’ muttered Harad, embarrassed by his lack of knowledge. ‘Good land. Few people.

There’s a small settlement to the north. No others. A man can walk here for weeks and never see anyone. I like that.’

They moved on, crossing a small valley before climbing again. ‘Still tired?’ asked Harad, as dusk approached.

Callan smiled. ‘Less so since I gave you that axe. A heavy piece.’

Harad hefted it. ‘It is a beauty. I feel as if I have carried it all my life.’

They camped that night in a small hollow. The wind had picked up. It was cold with snow from the mountain peaks. Callan lit a fire against a boulder, seeking to gain some added warmth from reflected heat. But the wind whipped through the hollow scattering sparks. Eventually the fire went out, and both men sat wrapped in their cloaks.

‘Do you know anything about the hero who carried Snaga?’ asked Harad.

‘Yes. His name was Druss. He was known as Druss the Legend. A Drenai hero.’

‘What was he like?’

Callan’s bright blue eyes suddenly met his own pale gaze. Harad sensed a moment of tension. Then it passed. ‘He was mighty. He lived by a code of honour.’

‘What does that mean?’

Callan shrugged. ‘A set of standards, rules, if you like. You want to hear it?’

‘Yes.’

Callan took a deep breath. ‘ Never violate a woman, nor harm a child. Do not lie, cheat or steal.

These things are for lesser men. Protect the weak against the evil strong. And never allow thoughts of gain to lead you into the pursuit of evil. That was the iron code of Druss the Legend.’

‘I like that,’ said Harad. ‘Say it again.’ Callan did so. Harad sat silently thinking it through. Then he spoke the code himself. ‘Did I get it right?’ he asked.

‘Aye, you did. You mean to follow it?’

Harad nodded. ‘If I carry his axe, I think I should carry also the code that went with it.’

‘He would have liked that,’ said Callan. ‘Where are we heading tomorrow?’

‘The ruins. I go there sometimes. I thought perhaps you would like to see them.’