The Swords of Night and Day (29 page)

“How do you intend to kill me?”

“Ah, did Gamal not indicate to you the dangers of these kinds of journeys? How remiss of him. Let me explain. The essence of your life force is now here. For short periods such departures from the flesh can be tolerated. After a few hours, though, the body begins to die. Time here does not flow in the same way as beyond. I would say that your new form is already fighting for life. So what would you like to talk about, in the brief time that we have?”

Skilgannon closed his eyes. He pictured the shallow depression in the rocks where his body lay, and tried to will his spirit to return. When he opened his eyes the dark-haired Chiatze was staring at him.

“You are not as godlike as the Eternal described you,” said Memnon. “True, you have beautiful eyes, but you are merely a man. I suppose that is what legends do. They exaggerate and amplify. However, she loved you, and I suppose that does color the memories. Even so you do not seem like a man who would butcher the inhabitants of an entire city.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” said Skilgannon.

“Quite so. Excuse me for a moment.” Memnon faded from view. Alone now Skilgannon sought again to awaken, but to no avail. He walked to the water’s edge and found a sharp stone, which he tried to cut into his palm, thinking that pain might awaken him. There was no pain. The skin cut and bled, then resealed instantly.

Memnon reappeared. “I apologize for leaving you. I wanted to see how close the pursuers were to your little group. Their deaths will not be long after yours—and considerably more painful I would say.”

H
arad was standing on the shelf of rock, staring out over the land, Charis beside him. Askari had left some time before, to scout for any sign of their enemies returning. The sun was setting, the sky red as blood. Brilliantly lit clouds hovered above the western mountains, themselves dramatically colorful with their bases crimson, their flanks a mixture of coral and black, their rounded peaks white as snow. “It is so beautiful,” said Charis, taking Harad’s arm, and resting her head on his shoulder. “Look at those clouds.”

“I am looking at the clouds. I think it will rain tomorrow.”

“Oh, Harad,” she said. He heard the disappointment in her voice and felt a sense of loss as she withdrew her arm and moved away from him.

“They are beautiful,” he said, swiftly.

“You don’t see it, though, do you?” she said, turning toward him. “You look at clouds and you think of rain. A deer is just meat on four legs. A tree is something to chop down to make a table, or a chair.”

“Aye, well that’s all true, isn’t it?”

“Of course it’s true, you clod! There is so much more, though. I wish you could see it.”

“Why? What difference does it make what I see?”

Charis did not answer. She rubbed at her tired eyes, and then pushed her hand through her golden hair, pushing it back from her face. “I am really tired,” she said. “I think I’ll go and rest.”

“I understand beauty,” he said, softly. “When you just brushed your fingers through your hair. That was beautiful. Sometimes, on a cold autumn day, after the rain, when the sun shines through the broken clouds, that is beautiful, too. When you live alone in the mountains you tend to deal in realities, like food and shelter and comforts. Clouds bring rain, deer is meat.”

“Well,” she said, with a smile. “You used up a whole winter of words there.”

“I didn’t want you to go away,” he told her, his face reddening.

“Why did you come after me, Harad?” she asked, stepping in close.

“Thought you might need me.”

“And I did. Not just because I was in danger. I needed you before that. Did you never wonder why I always brought your food?”

“I thought it was because you enjoyed irritating me.”

Her face darkened. “Did it not occur to you that I might have been attracted to you?”

“To me?” he said, shocked.

“Yes, to you, you dimwit! Did I not ask you to the Feast? Did I not promise to teach you to dance?”

Harad struggled in vain to bring his thoughts into focus. It was as if the sea were roaring between his ears. “I’m not a handsome man,” he said, at last. “It never entered my mind that you . . . I don’t . . . I don’t know what to say.”

“Tell me you love me. Or you don’t,” she added, swiftly.

Harad drew in a deep breath; then he relaxed and gave a broad smile. “Of course I love you. When I thought you might have been . . . hurt,” he said, unwilling to voice the real fear, “I thought I would go out of my mind.”

“Then perhaps you should kiss me,” she said, moving in close.

At that moment there came a strangled cry of pure agony from behind them. Harad swung around. The old man, Gamal, was writhing on the ground. His body spasmed, and there was blood upon his lips. Charis ran to him, kneeling by his side. Gamal’s face was a mask of agony. “The swords!” he groaned. “Skilgannon!” Then he screamed in pain. His body convulsed, and more blood sprayed from his mouth as he cried out.

“Help me, Harad!” pleaded Charis.

The axman knelt down beside Gamal. The old man sagged unconscious into Harad’s arms. The big man lowered him gently to the ground.

Charis held her fingers to Gamal’s throat. The pulse flickered briefly for a few moments, then stopped. Charis sighed, and a tear fell to her cheek. “I liked him,” she said.

She began to weep and Harad sat close to her, his huge arm around her shoulder. He felt a touch of guilt, for, despite her distress, Harad himself felt content. In fact more content than at any time he could remember. The woman he loved was nestled in close to him. He could feel her warmth, and smell the scent of her hair. The moment was blissful. For the first time in days the glittering ax was forgotten. All that mattered was that he comforted this woman in his arms.

Charis relaxed, her head against his chest. “He was a kindly old man,” she said. “It was so cruel to hunt him in this way.”

Harad said nothing. The old man had been one of the lords, one of the creators of beasts. Harad had little sympathy for his passing.

“I am so glad you are here, Harad.”

“Where else would I be?”

Charis sighed and moved back a little from him. She leaned in and closed the dead man’s eyes. “Your friend is still asleep. Should we wake him?”

“He said not to.” A sense of emptiness touched Harad as Charis drew away from him. A flicker of anger replaced it. Then she smiled at him, and the anger melted away.

“Where did you find that big ax?”

“It was a gift,” he told her.

“It is a horrible weapon.” She shuddered. “Why do we need such things?”

“What sort of question is that?” he responded. “Without the ax I would have been killed. Then I couldn’t have been here to help you.”

“I meant why do people
want
to make such weapons. Why do we fight each other?”

“I don’t know. I never know answers to the questions you ask. Everything is so complicated when you are around. It makes my head swim.” Yet there was no irritation now. Harad wondered if there ever would be again. He gazed at her face. She had never been more beautiful.

“I’m really frightened, Harad,” she said, suddenly. “All I’ve wanted for the last two years is for us to be together. Now we are. And people are trying to kill us.”

His pale eyes glittered. “No one is going to kill you, Charis. They’d have to get past me. I may not be handsome, and I’m not a great thinker, but I
am
a fighter. Ten days ago that was not a virtue. Now it is. We’ll get away from here. We’ll find a place. With the Legend people, maybe, to the north. Or high in the mountains, away from Jems and armies.”

Askari came running over the lip of the rock shelf. “They are closing in,” she said. “Around twenty riders and four Jems. Not seen their kind before. They move on four legs, like hounds, but they are big. Almost as big as ponies.” She glanced at the dead man, then at Skilgannon. “Best wake him,” she said.

Harad leaned over and shook Skilgannon. There was no response.

Charis touched his face. “The skin is cold,” she whispered. “I think he’s dead.”

Askari knelt on the other side of Skilgannon and shook him roughly. Charis touched his throat. “There is a heartbeat,” she said. “It is very faint.”

The sound of a distant howl came to them. Charis shivered. “Doesn’t sound like a wolf,” she said. “It makes the blood run cold.”

“Wait till you see them,” said Askari. “Your blood will turn to ice!” She shook Skilgannon again. “We have to get away from here,” she told Harad. “Can you carry him?”

Harad grabbed Skilgannon’s arm and hauled him upright. Askari ran to the edge of the rock shelf. “Too late,” she called back. “The beasts are coming.”

Harad laid Skilgannon down, then took up Snaga and moved out into the moonlight. He followed Askari for some fifty paces to the edge of the slope.

Four huge beasts were bounding up the trail.

Askari nocked an arrow to her bow.

The grotesque hounds came rushing up the hillside. Harad had once seen a lion in the high country, but these creatures were far bigger. For the first time in his life he knew fear. Not for himself, but for the fact that Charis was behind him, and if the beasts got past him, she would be torn to pieces. The fear was replaced by a sudden blazing fury. These creatures were threatening the woman he loved. He hefted the ax and waited. Askari let fly. The shaft flashed through the air, thudding into the chest of the first beast. It howled in pain and swerved, but then came on. A second arrow plunged into its gaping maw. Its jaws snapped shut, snapping the shaft. Then it continued its run.

Harad leapt out to meet the charge. Snaga hammered into the beast with terrible force, half severing the head. Harad wrenched it clear. A second creature leapt at him. A shaft plunged into its side. Snaga clove into the jaws, splitting the skull. A third Jiamad leapt over Harad as he killed the second beast, and ran on toward the cave. The fourth stumbled and fell as a shaft from Askari tore into its throat.

Harad ran back toward where he had left Charis. The last beast had almost reached the campsite. Harad could never make it in time. He ran up the hill as fast as he could. As he came over the lip of the rock he saw the beast, sprawled on the ground. Skilgannon was standing there, the Swords of Night and Day in his hands.

Without a word to the swordsman Harad ran to the campsite beyond. Charis was standing in the shadows. Dropping the ax he swept her into his arms, holding her close. Then he let out a sigh of pure relief.

He turned to Skilgannon. “Thank the Source you woke in time,” he said.

Skilgannon merely nodded. Harad saw that he looked exhausted. Releasing Charis, he moved to the swordsman. “Are you all right?”

“Weak,” said Skilgannon. He staggered and almost fell.

Harad caught him. “Rest a moment,” he said.

“No time for that,” said Askari, running into the camp. “The riders are already in sight. We need to get higher into the tree line.”

Skilgannon sheathed his swords, then swung to Charis. “You saved me,” he said. “I would have died there.”

Then he followed Askari out into the open. Harad took Charis by the hand, and they moved after the huntress and the swordsman. The twenty riders were still some way distant. Harad glanced up at the tree line. It was at least half a mile away. Skilgannon and Askari were already running. Harad and Charis followed them. Skilgannon stumbled twice, then fell to his knees. Harad hauled him to his feet, then ducked down and lifted the exhausted swordsman onto his shoulder. Then he ran again. Charis and Askari were far ahead, but Harad pounded on. The slope was steep, and there was scree underfoot. Even Harad’s great strength began to fail. His breath coming in ragged gasps, he forced himself on. He could hear the pounding of hooves getting closer.

An arrow sang past him, and he heard a horse whinny in pain.

Then he was into the trees. Askari sent another shaft down into the riders. It sank into the shoulder of a bearded horseman. The other soldiers hauled on their reins and turned their mounts, riding back down the slope.

Harad laid Skilgannon down. The man was unconscious again, but breathing normally.

Charis came alongside and felt his pulse. “He’s just sleeping now,” she said. “When I woke him he could barely stand. I don’t know how he found the strength to kill that awful creature.”

“How did you wake him?” asked Harad.

“The swords,” she told him. “You remember when Gamal woke. He shouted: ‘The swords. Skilgannon.’ When you ran out to fight the Jems I drew one of his swords and put it in his hand. His body jerked and he cried out. I helped him to stand, then we saw the beast coming. He drew the other sword, the golden one, and stepped out to meet it. I thought there was no way he could survive. He is an amazing man.”

“I killed two of them and
he’s
the amazing man?” grumbled Harad, good-naturedly.

“Are you jealous?”

“Yes.”

“Good!”

Askari kept watch, and Charis slept for a while. Harad dozed beside her. After an hour Skilgannon woke. He sat up. The movement roused Harad.

“How are you feeling now?”

“Stronger. Thank you, Harad. I couldn’t have made it.”

“It was a pleasure. So what do we do now?”

“You
should take your lady and find somewhere safe. As for me? I’m going to fulfill a prophecy.”

A
lahir was glad to be away from the encampment. The army of Agrias had swelled to around twelve thousand now—more than a third of them Jiamads. They were camped on high ground near a deserted and ruined city that had once been the capital of the Sathuli lands. Every day more troops arrived, along with an endless stream of supply wagons. Alahir found the encampment too noisy and far too unpleasant on the nose. Latrine trenches had been dug, but Jiamads tended to squat wherever and whenever they felt the need, and the stench was overpowering.

The tall cavalryman led his troop of fifty riders over a ridge, heading south. It was not a routine patrol, hunting runaways and scouting for any sign of enemy movement. Agrias had said the Eternal was moving her forces into the lands of Landis Khan, and there were reports of enemy cavalry moving through the mountain passes. So all the riders wore full armor, heavy, hooded mail shirts and breastplates, and horsehair-crested battle helms with long bronze nasal guards. Each man possessed a recurve bow with fifty shafts, a heavy cavalry saber, and a short sword in a scabbard fitted to the left shoulder. Agrias had said the final battle was approaching. His words were full of confidence at the outcome, but Alahir didn’t like the look in the man’s eyes. There was fear there. He had expected a huge uprising to follow his rebellion, and it had not materialized. Alahir wouldn’t have cared one way or another who won, save that his own homeland was at risk.