The Swords of Night and Day

Chapter Eight

Stavut lay in his blanket, unable to sleep. Images of Jiamads with slavering jaws filled his mind. He had fought hard to retain his composure while with Askari. No man liked to look feeble in front of a woman he desired. Alahir called it the ‘swan impersonation’ — serene on the surface, little legs paddling furiously below. But the horror of the night’s events was telling on Stavut now. His hands were trembling, and his fertile imagination produced more images of dismemberment and death.

‘Imagination is a curse to a warrior,’ Alahir had said once. He was mildly drunk, and working hard to reach a comatose state. ‘I once saw a friend have his spine snapped. We were out riding — racing in fact -

and his horse stumbled and threw him. When I got to him I thought he was just stunned. But he was awake and couldn’t move. Took him a month to die.’ Alahir had shivered. ‘That haunted me for a while.’

‘How did you overcome it?’ Stavut had asked.

‘You know the Dragon’s Horns?’

Stavut nodded: a tower of rock close to Alahir’s home city of Siccus. Around two hundred feet high, the top was split, creating the impression of horns. ‘Well, I saw a holy man, and told him that I couldn’t get the thought of Egar’s accident out of my mind. He told me to leap the Dragon’s Horns, then mention my fears to the Source.’

Stavut was horrified. ‘You didn’t do it?’

‘Of course I did. Holy men know what they’re talking about.’

‘You jumped across a chasm.’

‘It wasn’t a chasm, idiot. No more than ten feet wide at the narrowest point. Then I sat down and talked to the Source. After that all my fear went away.’

‘Did the Source answer you?’

‘Of course He did. Didn’t I just say my fears went away?’

‘No, I mean did you hear His voice?’

‘I don’t hear voices any more,’ replied Alahir, his expression hardening. ‘I wish I’d never mentioned them to you. Anyway, that’s not the ^>oint of the story.’

‘What is?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Alahir, returning to his ninth jug of ale and draining it. ‘Can’t remember why I even mentioned it. Oh yes!’ he added brightly. ‘Fears and such like.’

‘The Source had nothing to do with it,’ insisted Stavut. ‘You became aware of mortality when your friend died, and then did something mindless, stupid and dangerous in order to convince yourself that you are really immortal and nothing can hurt you.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ said Alahir amicably, his voice slurring. ‘I don’t much care which it was. The fear went away. Maybe you should try it.’

‘I will. I’ll put it high on my list of things to do. Just behind slapping the balls of a hungry lion.’

Alahir smiled. ‘You are a strange man, tinker. You talk yourself down all the time. But I know you -

better than you know yourself. You are stronger than you think. And that’s your problem, you know.

You think too much.’ Then he belched loudly. ‘You think this ale is a little weak?’ he asked. ‘It doesn’t seem to be hitting the spot.’

Stavut was about to answer, but Alahir rose to call for another jug. His legs gave way and he sank slowly to the floor.

‘What do you think you are doing?’ asked Stavut.

‘I think I’ll camp here for the night,’ said Alahir, lying down.

Thoughts of his friend helped ease Stavut’s fears as he lay wedged on the narrow rock shelf.

A noise from below jerked him back to the present. Fear blossomed. Easing himself up he glanced over the shelf. Moonlight was shining through the high opening in the roof of the cave. By its light he saw Askari had returned. There was blood on her face. Then the moonlight was cut off. Stavut swung his head. A huge Jiamad was clambering through the window opening. Askari swept up her bow and loosed a shaft. It slammed against a wide bronze rivet on the creature’s leather breastplate and ricocheted away.

With a blood-curdling roar the beast leapt into the cave.

Grabbing the spear Stavut levered himself to his feet and jumped, screaming at the top of his voice.

The Jiamad spun and looked up. Stavut slammed into the beast, the spear hammering into its neck, then plunging down through its chest. Stavut hit the ground hard, and rolled to his knees. Askari was shooting again. A second beast fell to the cave floor, an arrow through its eye. It was thrashing around in its death throes. Stavut glanced round at the Jiamad he had leapt upon. It was dead. The spear had hit it at the base of the neck and been driven downwards, impaling the heart.

‘We are in trouble,’ said Askari. ‘There is no way out.’

Harad sat in the entrance of a shallow cave, overlooking a sheer cliff face. Moonlight bathed the rocks only intermittently, as gathering rain clouds filled the sky. They had followed the tracks to this spot, but lack of light led Skilgannon to call off the hunt until dawn. The swordsman was sleeping lightly at the rear of the cave, his two swords lying beside him unsheathed.

Harad felt at peace. He knew this was strange. All his life he had struggled with a volatile temper, and an underlying anger that troubled him. Now, however, in the midst of a hostile forest, in pursuit of terrifying beasts, he felt calm and untroubled. Hefting the axe, he stared at the silver runes engraved on the black haft. The weapon was beautiful. There was not a single nick in the axe blades, not a speck of rust. With Snaga in his hands Harad felt almost immortal.

‘You should get some rest,’ said Skilgannon, moving silently alongside him. Harad jerked.

‘By Heaven, must you always creep up on a man?’

Skilgannon smiled. ‘My apologies, axeman.’

Harad shivered. ‘Don’t call me that. It feels. . wrong somehow. I can’t explain it.’

‘You don’t have to.’ The moon appeared again, shining down on the Jiamad body at the base of the cliff face, some thirty feet below them. ‘They climbed that cliff,’ said Skilgannon. ‘The Jiamads did not follow. They skirted it to the west. Either the girl and the merchant found a way over, or a way in. Let us hope it was the latter.’

‘A way in to what?’ asked Harad.

Skilgannon pointed to the cliff wall. It was pitted with cave entrances. ‘I’d say there were tunnels and crevices within the cliff. I think she knew where she was going. On the other hand she may have tried to outrun them. That would not have been wise. Joinings have immense stamina.’

‘How long do we wait?’

‘Until dawn. We don’t want to be stumbling around in the dark.’

‘They could kill her by then.’

‘Yes, they could. But once inside, in the dark, we could face two sets of perils. She is a huntress. As far as she knows there are only enemies close by. I would rather not be shot by someone I am trying to help.’

‘Good point,’ agreed Harad. They sat in comfortable silence for a while. Then Harad spoke again.

‘How skilled was that officer you killed?’

‘He had talent and speed of hand.’

‘You beat him easily.’

‘He lacked heart, Harad.’

‘Courage, you mean?’

‘Not exactly. A warrior with heart can reach inside himself and find the impossible. Druss was like that. He was an older man when I met him — around fifty. He was ill. Yet when we were attacked he found strength somewhere, and tore into the Nadir warriors facing us. You can’t teach that. You can improve skill and speed and strength. But heart is something a man is born with. Or not — as with that officer. You have it, Harad. He did not.’

‘Aye, but it is not mine, is it?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I am a Reborn. Everything I have comes from Druss the Legend. What is there of Harad?’

‘I am no philosopher, my friend. And I do not understand the magic by which you were born. And, yes, there is much of Druss in you. But you are who you are. More than that, you are who you choose to be. It seems to me that the same concerns could be voiced by any man born of woman. How much of my father is in me? How much of my mother? How many of their weaknesses am I cursed with? How much of their strength can I call my own? Landis Kan tried to explain to me the process of Rebirth, but I confess it shot past me like an arrow. What I did manage to hold on to was that the physical essence of the original person, their seed if you like, is obtained from the bones. The only difference between you and any other man is that you have only one parent and not two.’

‘There is nothing of my mother in me?’ asked Harad. ‘How can that be?’

Skilgannon spread his hands. ‘Landis Kan spoke of seeds and eggs and arcane machines. None of it made much sense to me. What I did understand was that the Rebirth produced a physical duplicate of the original. But this is my point. It is physical. What truly makes a man who he is? Is it the strength of his arms, or the courage in his soul? You have your own soul, Harad. You are not Druss. Live your own life.’

Harad let out a long deep breath. ‘Aye, it is good advice. I know that. And yet. .’ The big man sighed. ‘I think I’ll sleep now.’

‘I’ll keep watch,’ said Skilgannon.

Rain began to fall, at first merely a few drops pitter-pattering on the rocks around the cave opening.

Then the clouds opened. Skilgannon eased himself back from the entrance. Rivulets of water began to stream down the cave walls as the sudden storm found cracks in the cliff face above. Skilgannon sheathed his swords and sat on a rock. As fast as it had come the storm suddenly passed, and the sky cleared. Moonlight bathed the cliffs opposite. Harad began to snore. Skilgannon moved back to the entrance.

The air was fresh, and he could smell the closeness of the nearby pine trees. High above him the stars were bright in the night sky. The same stars he recalled from his youth.

His heart felt suddenly heavy. The same stars that had shone upon him when he had first met Jianna, that had blazed above him as he had grown to manhood, and taken up the cursed Swords of Night and Day. And by their light he had overseen the slaughter of every man, woman and child in the city of Perapolis.

Another life.

He shivered suddenly, as the old memories flowed. Like the rivulets on the cave wall they seeped out from the hidden recesses of his mind.

He and the young Angostin warrior, Vakasul, had just returned from a scouting trip into the mountains.

Skilgannon had been tired, and yet exultant. News had reached them of a great battle to the south. The Naashanites had fought the Zharn outside the old city of Sherak. Jianna, the Witch Queen, had crushed the Zharn army, and sent them fleeing north. Such a victory was sure to have earned breathing space for the Angostins, and Skilgannon, returning once more to his home on the cliffs above the sea, felt confident for the first time in months. There were gulls wheeling in the air, and the sun was shining in a cloudless sky. Skilgannon’s aches had all but disappeared and he felt at peace with himself. Vakasul had taken the horses back to the stables. Skilgannon had stridden into the east wing of the house, and then through to the rear gardens. A team of gardeners were at work, pruning back flowering shrubs and preparing the soil for bedding plants. The air was rich with the scent of honeysuckle and rose. A servant brought him a cool drink, and another carried out letters that had arrived from court. These he left unopened while he enjoyed the scene in the gardens. Stepping from the broad patio he wandered out to speak to the gardeners. One of them was planting pockets of golden blooms, edged with crimson, along the line of the path. The man glanced up as Skilgannon approached, and grinned. ‘I know, general! They will spread too far and block the path. But they are so pretty it will be worth it.’

Skilgannon squatted down. ‘They are beautiful. What are they called?’

‘Bride’s Garland is the common name, general. Sadly, there is no scent.’

Skilgannon chatted to the man for a while, and then saw Vakasul approaching. He walked with the young warrior back to a shaded area of the patio, and they sat together while Skilgannon opened his letters. There was little of import. Putting down the last of them he glanced at his companion. The warrior seemed edgy.

‘What is troubling you, my friend?’

‘News from the south, general. I don’t know how it will affect us. After the battle of Sherak the Witch Queen took ill and died. You think that will affect how the Naashanites deal with the Zharn?’

Then — as now — the shock of the words had stunned him. The world changed in an instant. Above the garden the sky was unbearably blue, and he found himself staring up into the heavens. ‘Are you ill, general?’ Vakasul’s concern was genuine, but Skilgannon raised a hand.

‘Leave me now,’ he said.

He could not remember the young man’s departure, nor what happened to the rest of that once beautiful afternoon.

Jianna was dead. The reality was so shocking that he could find no way of dealing with it. He had not seen her in thirty years, but rarely an hour passed without his thinking of her, knowing that she stood under the same sun, and breathed the same air. Only now she did not, and Skilgannon felt more alone than at any other time in his life.

The shock had been too great for tears. He sat quietly, thinking back to those glorious first days, when she was disguised as a common whore, her dark hair dyed yellow, with red strands. Her courage in the face of peril and treachery was colossal, her spirit unconquerable. And he had loved her with such passion there had been no room for any other in his heart.

What he had not realized, until the moment he heard the news of her death, was that — despite the physical distance between them — the knowledge that she was alive somewhere was sustaining his own life. Added to which, he realized, he had secretly believed that someday they would find a way to be together.

Sitting now in the cave the anguish he had felt then returned with renewed power. He found himself wondering if he could have lived his life differently. Had he stayed with her perhaps he might have softened her thirst for power and empire. His eyes misted, and then anger flickered. ‘This would be a good time for Joinings to come upon you, you weeping fool!’ he whispered.

‘You say something?’ asked Harad, rolling to his feet, axe in hand.

‘Talking to myself.’

‘You’ve been alone too long,’ said Harad.

‘A thousand years too long,’ agreed Skilgannon. ‘Is there a woman in your life?’

‘No.’

‘What about Chads?’

‘What about her?’ snapped Harad, reddening.

‘She told me she was a friend of yours,’ said Skilgannon.

‘Aye, I expect we are,’ muttered the young logger defensively. ‘Were you married?’

‘Once. A long time ago.’

‘You have children?’

‘Not by my wife. She died young. Plague.’

‘You never married again?’

‘No.’

‘You must have loved her greatly then.’

‘I didn’t love her enough, Harad.’ Skilgannon glanced out of the cave. ‘Dawn is coming. Time to tackle that cliff, I think.’

Stavut stood at the far wall, clutching the spear so tightly that his knuckles were bone white. It had taken all his strength — and powerful assistance from Askari — to wrench it from the body of the Jiamad. His hands were sticky with the congealing blood that covered the long haft. In the main he kept his eyes fixed on the opening high in the cave wall, through which several beasts had already attempted to clamber. The first he had killed with the spear, the second had been shot through the eye by Askari. A third took a shaft through its taloned hand, and fell back out of the opening. Stavut hoped fervently it had also fallen to a bloody death on the rocks below.

His mouth was dry. He glanced at Askari, who was resting on one knee, an arrow notched to the composite bow. Then his gaze was drawn to the dead Jiamads. In death they looked just as terrifying as in life. Long fangs, wicked talons and dark fur. He shivered. There had been fourteen left, Askari had said, after she had killed the one on the cliff face. Another two were dead here. Oh good, he thought.

Only twelve left.

The moonlight faded. Askari put down her bow and lit the old lantern. A dim golden light filled the cave. Replacing it on the rock shelf she stretched her arms over her head and took a deep breath.

‘It will be dawn soon,’ she said.

‘Perhaps they’ll go away.’

She turned to stare at him, then gave a wide grin. ‘Always jesting, Stavi. I like that about you.’

He was not jesting, but decided to accept the compliment.

Then came a scraping noise from the rear of the cave. He swung to stare at the jumbled rocks and boulders. A small pebble was dislodged and tumbled to the cave floor. ‘What is going on?’ he asked

‘I’d say they have found a blocked tunnel and are trying to clear it.’

‘They can’t, though, can they?’

Askari shrugged. ‘How would I know?’ Bow in hand she ran to the rear of the cave and pressed her ear to the rocks. Then she came back to Stavut. ‘I can hear them tearing at the rock. I don’t think they are far away.’

‘Better and better,’ said Stavut.

‘Can you shoot a bow?’ she asked.

‘Why? How many bows do we have?’

She stepped in close and lowered her voice. ‘We have only one. Our only escape is up there, through the opening, and out onto the cliff face. I need to know if there are more of them still out there. I can’t climb and hold the bow ready to shoot.’

‘I always hate disappointing women,’ said Stavut, ‘but I’d be just as likely to shoot you.

Marksmanship was never my strong point.’

‘What is?’ she snapped, turning away from him.

‘Mending kettles,’ he said softly. Another small stone dislodged itself from the rocks at the rear of the cave and clattered to the floor. Stavut took a deep breath, then walked to the far wall, beneath the opening some fifteen feet above him. The wall was jagged, with jutting sections that made for easy climbing. Something cold settled inside Stavut. His mind cleared. There were twelve beasts left. Most would be needed to clear the boulders from the rear of the cave. How many would be waiting at the other two exits, the narrow tunnel and this high window? Probably only one at each of them. All he needed to do was to climb out, grab the beast and lever himself from the rock face, dragging the Jiamad to its death. That would clear the way for Askari to escape. And without the burden of protecting him she would possibly survive. He began to climb. Askari ran to him, grabbing his arm and hauling him back.

‘What are you doing?’ she said, her dark eyes showing her concern. He told her his plan, and she stood, looking into his eyes. Then she gave a soft smile and stroked his cheek.

‘No, Stavi. We fight for life as long as we can.’

He sighed, then took a deep breath. ‘Very well. When I reach the opening I want you to throw the spear up to me.’

‘You can’t fight with a spear up there.’

‘I don’t intend to fight with it. Now do as I ask.’ Returning to the wall he picked up the spear, and polished the blade with the hem of his shirt. He passed the weapon to the bemused Askari and climbed swiftly until his head was level with the bottom of the opening. Cool air was blowing in from the outside.

Clinging to the rock with one hand, he half turned. Askari flipped the spear up through the air. Stavut caught the haft, then levered himself higher. The opening widened towards the outside, becoming some six feet tall and five feet long. It would make no sense for a Jiamad to be above or below the opening.

From above it would not be able to reach out and grab someone who was swift enough to clamber out and begin a fast descent. And from below it could be dislodged by someone appearing above it. No, the beast — or beasts — would be either left or right of the opening. Or both, he realized glumly.

Leaning in to the rock face, Stavut allowed the spear haft to slide through his fingers until the curved iron head was just below his hand. As silently as he could, he eased the spear into the opening, his keen eyes fixed to the polished head, using it as a mirror. Inching the spear forward he saw the stars reflected on the blade. Tilting the weapon slightly he could just make out the sheer cliff wall to the left of the opening. There was no beast there. He had to withdraw the weapon in order to climb across to the right and repeat the maneouvre. Slowly he slid the spear along the length of the opening.

A massive, taloned hand swept down, grabbing the spear. Stavut jerked and almost lost his hold on the rock. The Jiamad hauled itself into the opening with incredible speed. Stavut saw long yellow fangs and a gaping maw hurtling towards his face. He froze.

An arrow slammed into the beast’s open mouth, driving through the soft palate. It reared up in shock, its head crashing into the rock above it. Another arrow punctured its throat, and it sagged down, its face mere inches from Stavut’s own. He found himself staring into golden eyes. The creature was blinking fast.

Blood gushed from its mouth. Then the eyes closed. The body all but filled the opening. Reaching up, Stavut tried to pull it clear, but it was too heavy. Askari, her bow looped over her shoulder, came up alongside him, and together they hauled the body out. It thumped to the floor below. At the rear of the cave a larger rock came tumbling clear.

‘They are almost through,’ said Askari, levering herself into the opening, and pulling Stavut up beside her. ‘Come on!’

She moved towards the lip of the opening. Stavut followed her and gazed down. The sheer cliff wall fell away for about two hundred feet. Stavut shrank back, nausea almost overwhelming him. He pushed his back against the wall and sat, eyes closed.

‘Come on, Stavi!’

‘Can’t do it,’ he whispered.

‘We’ll die here if we don’t!’

‘I’m sorry. You go. Go on.’

‘You can do it!’

He opened his eyes and sighed. ‘No, Askari, I cannot. My legs are trembling and I can’t move them.

Go! Please just go.’

‘If all else fails I will do exactly that,’ she said, easing back past him and into the cave once more. With easy grace she climbed across to the shelf of rock where Stavut had rested earlier. Here she removed her quiver of arrows, laying them down alongside her. Then she lifted her bow clear and notched a shaft to the string.

‘You can’t take them all,’ he said.

‘Why not?’

‘Please don’t die because of me!’ he begged.

The rear wall suddenly sagged and fell. Dust filled the air. Two Jiamads came running into the cave.

Askari shot the first through the skull. The second staggered back, a shaft in its shoulder. Then eight more swarmed forward. Stavut, realizing that Askari would not leave if he still lived, grabbed the spear, hauled it out, then leapt down into the cave.

Two huge Jiamads charged him. He stabbed the spear at the first, who brushed it away. Then he was flung against the cave wall, striking his head.

Merciful darkness followed.