“Word?” The beast was uncertain.
“Your promise. No harm to Skins.”
“No harm,” said the beast, at last. Lifting a mighty arm he gestured at the waiting Jiamads, and they shuffled forward past him, toward the entrance. Shakul was the last to leave. He swung toward Skilgannon and looked into his eyes. But he said nothing. Then he, too, left the cave.
By the far wall the young man in red groaned and sat up. “I’m not dead,” he said.
Then the young woman climbed down from the shadows of the rock shelf and turned toward Skilgannon.
He felt as if his heart had stopped beating.
“Jianna!” he whispered.
J ust before the rear wall crashed in and the Jiamads burst through, Askari had emptied her quiver, laying her remaining shafts on the shelf wall. Then she had nocked one to the string and prepared to fight for her life. There was no fear in her, no regret, just a fierce determination to survive; to kill every enemy that came at her.
When the Jiamads did rush through she realized there was to be no escape. There were too many, and they were too swift. At best she could kill three; then the others would swarm over the rock shelf and drag her down.
She watched Stavut make his suicidal leap down into them, and saw his body hurled against the rock wall. Even then there was no regret, and fear was absent from her. Coolly she loosed three shafts and reached for a fourth.
Then the miracle happened. Two warriors rushed into the fray, one black bearded and powerful, bearing a glittering double-headed ax, the second tall and lean, bearing two shining swords, one pale gold, the other moonlight silver.
In the brief battle that followed, two Jiamads were slain, and a third cut deeply across the face. Askari nocked an arrow to the string. Then the tall warrior called out: “Hold, Harad!” He glanced up at her, and she felt the shock of his sapphire gaze. “Loose no more shafts,” he ordered. Then he called for the Jiamad leader to step forward. What followed seemed almost dreamlike to Askari. The beast obeyed him, and the two talked. Then, amazingly, the Jiamads filed out of the cave. For several heartbeats she remained where she was in the high shadows, staring down at the swordsman. She had only known one lord, and that was Landis Khan. He had authority and power. But not like this man. At his word all action had ceased, the power of his personality overlaying the violence and bloodlust. His accent was strange, each word carefully enunciated. It sounded almost like poetry. She heard Stavut groan, and saw him sit up. “I am not dead,” he said, the words echoing in the silence. Trust Stavut to voice the obvious, she thought. Replacing her shafts in her quiver, she hooked it over her shoulder and climbed down from the rock shelf. Turning toward her rescuers, she was about to thank them when she saw all color fade from the swordsman’s face. He was staring at her in shock. In his handsome face she saw both pain and longing.
“Jianna?” he whispered.
The intensity of the stare was uncomfortable, and Askari decided to press on. “I am Askari the Huntress,” she said. “This is my friend Stavut. We thank you for your help.”
The swordsman struggled for words, then his expression darkened. Askari thought she saw anger there. “Better see to your friend,” he said coldly, then turned away and walked to the rear of the cave and vanished into the darkness beyond. The axman approached her. “I am Harad. That is . . . was . . . Skilgannon.”
“It seems he finds it easier to talk to beasts than to women,” she said.
“Who doesn’t?” muttered Harad, with feeling. There was something in the rawness of the man’s honesty that made her smile. Askari moved to Stavut, crouching down beside him and examining his head. There was a large lump just into the hairline above his temple. The skin was split and oozing blood.
“You have a hard skull, Stavi.”
“I feel sick,” he said, “and the cave seems to be moving.”
“Lie down,” she ordered him. Fetching two blankets, she rolled one for a pillow, then covered him with the second. For the first time she felt the chill in the cave and shivered. The small lantern did not give out much heat, and she prepared a fire. Once it was blazing she sat down beside it, holding out her hands to the flames. Harad joined her. He was not a talkative man, but she discovered that he and Skilgannon had come from the village. It lifted her heart to know that Kinyon had survived. But what she really desired was information about the man with the sapphire eyes.
“Is he coming back?” she asked Harad. The big man shrugged.
“Have you been friends for long?”
“No. A few days. Landis Khan asked me to show him the high country. You have any food here?”
“There is some salt-dried beef in my pack. You are welcome to it. I am not hungry.”
Harad accepted the gift and sat silently chewing the meat. The lack of conversation became irritating, and Askari stood, gathered up her bow, and left the cave, wandering down the darkened tunnel, emerging at last to the rock ledge on the cliff face. Skilgannon was there, sitting quietly in the morning sunshine.
“Your friend Harad is not a talkative man,” she said.
“One of the qualities I like about him,” he said.
“Have I done something to anger you?”
“Not at all,” he said, with an apologetic smile. “Please join me. The view from here is pleasant.” Askari settled down alongside the swordsman and stared out over the treetops and the flowing hills beyond. The sky was bright and clear, the air fresh and cool.
“What you did in that cave was astonishing.”
“I was lucky. We have all been lucky,” he added. He seemed friendlier now, but she noticed he did not look at her.
“Are you one of the Legend people?”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“From the north. The ones who hold to the ancient ways of the Drenai?”
“No. I am from Naashan, across the sea.”
“I have not heard of that place. But I guessed from your voice you were from Outside.”
“Something tells me you would like Naashan if you saw it.” He took a deep breath. “You grew up in these mountains?” Askari nodded. “And Landis Khan visits you often?”
“He seems to have taken a liking to me,” she told him. “It makes me uncomfortable.”
“Do you know why the beasts were hunting you?”
“Because I killed one back at the village,” she said.
He shook his head. “No. Kinyon said they came to the village seeking you.”
“That makes no sense. I have no enemies. Not here and not Outside.”
“Landis Khan has the answers. I shall wring them from him,” he said, his voice angry once more. She found herself staring at his profile and suddenly shivered.
“Have we met before?” she asked him.
“Not in this lifetime,” he answered.
T he silence grew. At last Askari pushed herself to her feet. “You seem uncomfortable in my company, Skilgannon,” she said, a note of sadness in her voice.
“It is not your fault,” he said with a sigh. Taking a deep breath, he looked up into that familiar face. His breath caught in his throat as he did so. But he stumbled on. “A long time ago I loved a woman with all my heart. You are . . . very like her. That . . . likeness . . . stabs at my soul.”
“Jianna,” she said, sitting down once more. He saw her tension ease. Then she lifted her hands, pulling her hair back from her head and raising her face to the sun. It was such a simple gesture, and it tore into him with knives of fire. He had first seen it a thousand years ago, in the house he shared with the gardener, Sperian, and his wife, Molaire. Anger rose again, and he looked away, struggling for calm. He had been uneasy with the actions of Landis Khan in bringing him back from the dead. Then he had discovered Harad, and that uneasiness had coalesced into rage. Now, though, he felt as if his memories and his life had been violated. The living forms of Druss the Legend and Jianna the Witch Queen were beside him again, and far from being uplifted by the experience,
he was filled with burning regrets.
“Are you a friend of Landis Khan’s?” she asked him.
“A friend? No. In fact I am beginning to dislike him immensely.”
“I used to like him,” she said. “He came often to my mother’s house, and would sit chatting to me. As a child I looked forward to his visits.”
“What changed?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.
“I stopped being a child. How was it you were able to command that beast?”
“I did not command him. I gave him a choice. He chose wisely.”
“He might change his mind.”
“Aye, he might. And that would not be wise. How is your friend, Stavut?”
“He has a mighty lump on his head, and is sleeping.” She laughed, the sound rich and familiar. “He is not a warrior, but he is very, very brave.”
“And in love with you—according to Kinyon.”
Her smile faded. “I don’t know what that means. I know that I am beautiful, and that men want to possess that beauty. Why must they call it love?”
“Why does it anger you?” he countered.
“Because it is dishonest. Does the bull love the cows in the herd? No, he just desires to push his swollen penis into somewhere warm and inviting. And when he is done he walks away and chews grass. Is that love?”
“Perhaps it is. I do not know. I have never chewed grass.”
Her laughter rippled out. “You are a handsome man, and you have wit. How is it that you lost this woman you loved with all your heart?”
“I have pondered that question for . . . a long, long time. I have no answers. Sometimes there are no answers.”
“That cannot be. There are always answers.”
“Why does the sun rise and fall?”
She smiled at him. “I do not know—but then that only means that I do not know the answer. It does not mean there is no answer.”
“That is true.”
“Did she love you?”
“Let us talk of other things,” he said, forcing a smile. “When Landis Khan visited you, did he ask about your dreams?”
“Yes,” she answered, surprised. “How would you know that?”
“I know Landis Khan,” he hedged. “And what were those dreams?”
“Ordinary childish dreams. I dreamed of castles and palaces, and great heroes who would carry me away . . .” She faltered, and her expression changed. “I dreamed of a man with eyes the color of sapphires. I remember that now. He had eyes like yours. And he had two swords.” She shivered suddenly. “Oh, this is all too silly.” Pushing herself to her feet once more, she said: “I am going back to . . . to check on Stavut.”
Skilgannon said nothing, and watched her walk away.
Alone again he sought to focus his thoughts. It was not easy. Jianna had always stirred his blood—virtually from the first moment he had met her. And after all the hardships, the cruelties, and her ruthless need for power, he had still yearned for her on that last day on the battlements.
Askari is not Jianna, he told himself. She is merely a twin. And yet . . .
Would it not be glorious to hold her close, to kiss those lips? To feel her warm flesh against his own?
Who would you be making love to? he countered. You would be holding Askari and thinking of Jianna. Is there a worse insult to a woman than that?
Closing his eyes, he began to breathe deeply, seeking calm. This is not a time to let emotions run free, he thought. Concentrate on the important issues.
Landis claimed to have resurrected him to fulfill an ancient prophecy. Skilgannon believed this to be true. He could also understand why Landis experimented with the process on the bones of Druss. But Jianna? When she died her body would have been returned to Naashan and buried there, thousands of miles across the ocean. Why had Landis sought her? Was she part of the prophecy? Another thought came to him. Why had he failed to restore Jianna? If Skilgannon had been trapped in the Void for his sins, then surely Jianna would have been similarly cursed? Unless her soul had been destroyed in that awful place. Skilgannon shivered. Aye, that would be it. She was a good swordswoman, and courageous. But to survive the Void called for more than that.
He rose, then moved into a series of exercises, stretching his tired muscles and seeking to free his mind. The effort relaxed his body, but his thoughts continued to prowl his consciousness with restless intensity.
Why were the forces of the Eternal hunting Askari? If she was part of the prophecy, why had Landis not told him? He sat alone for several hours, seeking answers. In the end he accepted defeat. This problem could not be solved by reason alone. There were too few facts. Only Landis had the answers. Skilgannon finally relaxed.
Tomorrow they would head back to Petar. Then all would become clear.
U nwallis had been gripped by a sense of foreboding as he rode up the long hills toward the lands of Landis Khan. Dead Jiamads were everywhere, the bodies rotting on the hillsides. Black carrion birds, gorged and fat, pecked at the corpses, while others sat in the tree branches, staring at the riders with cold, hungry glances.
The bodies should have been cleared away and burned.
The gray-haired ambassador glanced back at the column of riders behind him. Their horses were skittish with the scent of corruption in the air.
Unwallis rode on, the foreboding turning to anger as he saw the desolation in Petar itself. Smoke was still rising from burned-out buildings, and there were few people to be seen. The Eternal’s Jiamads roamed the streets, and here there were more bodies, many of them human.
At the palace there were no servants to take care of the horses. Unwallis ordered the cavalry captain to find the stables and see to the mounts, then dismounted and entered the gloomy main entrance hall. No lanterns had been lit, and his footsteps echoed through the empty halls. His clothes were travel stained, his hooded gray cloak wet from a recent downpour. He had hoped for a hot bath and a relaxed meal before beginning his investigations. There was no such hope now. The place echoed like a great tomb.
Mounting the stairs, he walked past the near-decapitated body of a servant, then through to a rear upper balcony and gazed down on the gardens below. A pyre had been set there, and ash had blown across the flower beds. The last remains of Landis Khan. No hope of resurrection for you, Landis, old friend, he thought. Unwallis rubbed at his weary eyes. Slowly he searched the building, seeking Decado. He found five more bodies, three men and two women, lying together in an upper corridor. All carried similar slashing wounds; two had their throats sliced open, the others had been hacked in what was obviously a frenzied attack. This was what happened when matters were left in the hands of a psychopath like Decado. The town was a near ruin, the people fled or murdered, the palace a shell. Surely, he reasoned, the Eternal would not forgive this disaster. Decado was finished. There was no exultant joy in Unwallis as he considered this. The first body in the palace had been of a plump, elderly man, ashamed of going bald. He had grown his hair long above his right ear, and had swept it up and over his crown. An ordinary palace servant, skilled, no doubt, at cooking or cleaning. Unwallis had paused to stare at his face. There was a look upon it of horror and shock. He would have had no reason to believe that a berserk warrior would leap upon him and hack him to death.
Yes, it was good that the Eternal would finally see what a monster she had allowed to roam free. But not at the cost of even one old man’s life.
He found Decado asleep on a couch in Landis Khan’s apartments. He was unshaved, his dark clothes stained with blood. He awoke as Unwallis entered. Decado’s hooded eyes were red rimmed, and he looked weary.
“What happened here?” asked Unwallis.
Decado stretched and yawned. Then he rose and moved to a nearby table, filling a silver goblet with wine. “You want a drink?”
“No.” Unwallis waited. He had no power over Decado, nor any right to demand answers.
“The blind man escaped,” said Decado. “The people were hiding him.”
“So you sent out the Jiamads to search the town?”
“Of course. The Eternal ordered me to kill him.”
“And the people panicked and fled?”
“Yes.”
“So the Jiamads chased them and killed them?”
“It is what Jiamads do,” said Decado, draining the goblet and refilling it.
“And you found Gamal?”
“Not yet. But I will. How far can a blind man get?”
“I don’t know,” said Unwallis. “Let me try to understand the situation. You killed Landis Khan, then sought Gamal and did not find him. What did the servants tell you? And where are they, by the way?”
“I had to kill a few. The rest ran.”
“I see. So there is no one to supply us with food, the blind man remains at large, and a thriving, prosperous settlement has been brought to the edge of destruction. The Eternal will not be pleased, Decado. Is there any other ill news you would like to share? Where is the girl, Askari?”
“We have had no contact from Corvin.”
“Corvin?” queried Unwallis.
“The officer sent to apprehend her.”
“Then we don’t have her, either?”
“Of course we have,” snapped Decado. “He took a company of Jiamads. It is just that he has not reported back yet.”
“At the risk of adding salt to the wounds, Decado, what became of Landis Khan’s nephew?”
“He was not here when I came back for Landis. He, too, has gone.”
Unwallis was tempted to make another dry comment, but Decado’s eyes now had an almost feral glitter. Judging from the slaughter inside the palace, he had already been involved in at least one killing frenzy. Unwallis decided to soften his approach. “I expect he will be discovered in due course,” he said softly. “And now, by your leave, I shall instruct the soldiers with me to begin a cleanup of the settlement. There are rather too many bodies lying around.”
“As you wish,” said Decado. He gave a cold smile. “This is all your fault, Unwallis. You know that?”
The Swords of Night and Day Page 18