The Warrior

by Joseph Delaney

  ‘And I did not want Peri to die,’ I said sadly.

  For the first time Shalatan smiled. ‘You still have much to learn. Peri is not dead. While our mother lives, how can she die? She will be born again of the shatek, as are we all. Death is temporary. While our mother lives, we cannot die.’

  ‘Then let me see her one last time,’ I begged.

  Shalatan shook her head. ‘She cannot yet speak. But she will still speak when you are dust. We will remember you, scholar.’

  Then they took me back to my cell and I waited in the dark to be handed over to the barska. My mind kept returning to what Shalatan had said:

  While our mother lives, we cannot die.

  That was something else that I had learned. It was obvious now – something that Ada would already know – but the key to destroying Hob was to slay the shatek he used to give birth to his selves. This should be our primary target.

  They came for me that night, and I emerged from the darkness expecting to see a barsk and an orl.

  Instead, there was a woman waiting just beyond the open garden gate. She was staring at the city wall and, beyond that, the High Wall. She wore a long gown and her feet were bare. For a moment I thought it was Peri, but at my approach she turned and the starlight revealed that it was Shalatan herself. Her imperious gaze looked me up and down, but then her expression seemed to soften and she moved towards the city wall, beckoning me to follow.

  I glanced back and saw that my escort had halted just within the hansha, so I strode after Shalatan, slowing down as I came closer, realizing that she might not consider it fitting for me to walk alongside her.

  But then, to my utter astonishment, she suddenly stopped and seized my right hand, holding it tightly, her eyes fixing on mine. It was the first time I’d stood so close to her – usually she’d been mounted on a rasire or seated on a chair – and I realized that she was as tall as I was.

  ‘Does this contact of our hands disturb you, scholar?’ she asked. ‘Our previous handshake did not bother you.’

  Something in her expression changed again. Her face softened, the pale, green-tinged skin seemed to darken and, with a sudden shock, I found myself gazing into the soft brown eyes of Peri. It only lasted for a moment. The eyes and skin couldn’t really have changed colour – no doubt my imagination had played a trick on me – but I’d glimpsed the resemblance between Peri and Shalatan, her mistress.

  ‘Don’t you know, scholar, that we are one?’ she asked me.

  Still holding my hand, she began to stroke the back of it with her thumb, slowly and tenderly, as Peri had once done.

  ‘It was I who shook your hand, I who taught you the words of our language,’ Shalatan said softly. ‘I who drank wine with you and broke bread – and also, clad in blue armour, slew my enemies. I fight and die, and am reborn from the womb of my mother to fight and die again. Seven hundred and thirteen we are. No more and no less. Seven hundred and thirteen is my number. And each of them I am, for we are one. I am a warrior djinni. I am Shalatan.’

  My mind in a whirl, I began to count. There were seven hundred warriors. Then an additional four in Shalatan’s personal guard, and sometimes another six. Peri and Shalatan herself brought the total to seven hundred and twelve. Then I remembered the shatek I’d seen scuttling along in the pit below my cell.

  She was the mother of all within her krie-kore. Those who dwelt there were one creature, a beast with one mind and many selves. Shalatan was like Hob, but on a much bigger scale.

  The world beyond the Barrier was populated by djinn like Hob. Although hundreds fought in the arena here, there were really only thirteen, one in each zone: thirteen djinn, each with a host of selves.

  I’d already been aware of this fact because of my knowledge of Hob and my conversations with Ada, but only now, after listening to Shalatan’s explanation, did I realize what it really meant and see it through her eyes. When I talked to Peri, I’d been speaking to the gorestad, and all Shalatan’s selves shared that ‘high mind’. They were truly one, and all of them had been listening to me.

  Shalatan turned back to the wall. ‘We must hurry,’ she whispered. ‘There is little time remaining before the moon comes up.’

  Still holding my hand, she led me across the grass towards the city wall. Soon we were following its gradual curve westwards. My heart leaped when I saw that we were heading towards the small postern gate that I’d noticed during my ramblings.

  The gate was open and, to my astonishment, I saw that my mare, Laras, was waiting in the shadows beyond. My weapons were there too – the bow and arrows that I’d abandoned on the stone bridge. The two longswords, left near the Grey City, were in their scabbards on either side of the saddle, and my shield hung below the pommel. The others lay on the grass, gleaming faintly in the starlight.

  ‘You brought my weapons?’

  ‘Of course – we retrieved those you left behind.’

  ‘But my horse – the agnwan – it was dead and now lives. How is it possible?’

  Shalatan smiled. ‘Many things can be reborn from the womb of a shatek,’ she told me mysteriously.

  My mind was filled with further questions, but I could see that she was growing impatient.

  She suddenly released my hand. ‘Take them,’ she said. ‘I return to a warrior what belongs to him.’

  Astonished, I quickly lifted the short sword and thrust it into the scabbard on my shoulder. Next I picked up the bow and the quiver, which was almost half full of arrows. I counted them quickly – there were twenty-two, as before. I slung the quiver over my shoulder, then attached the bow to the strap that hung from the horse’s neck.

  ‘Go quickly!’ Shalatan commanded. ‘Go directly towards the small bridge south. Tonight it is unguarded. Once across the river, ride for your life. Out on the plain, in the moonlight, you will be seen from the tower, and the barska and orla will follow. There are ten minutes before the moon rises, so use them well. This agnwan is swift and has stamina. If you get a good start and can keep ahead of your pursuers until dawn, they will probably give up the chase.’

  I climbed onto Laras’ back and looked down at Shalatan. ‘Thank you for giving me this chance of life,’ I said softly.

  ‘Why do you think I’ve given you your freedom?’ she asked me.

  I smiled and shrugged. ‘Out of generosity perhaps?’

  ‘The barska and orla visited me again less than an hour ago. Now they tell me that I am to be sent north to be judged. They believe that I am contaminated because I have been close to you for so long. And I will no doubt be found guilty and sentenced to death; that would include all my selves, including my shatek. Our death would be final. That is their decision – I cannot change their will. Perhaps they are right: we have become too close and I have taught you too much. There is nothing more that they can do to me now. What more is there beyond judgement and death? So now I give you a chance of freedom.

  ‘I do it not just for you, but for your people. After all, we djinn are the children of humans, and not all children hate their parents. I chose the human shape over others because it pleases me. Go back, scholar, and tell them what they face. Tell them how foolish they would be to invade our lands.’

  ‘Invade?’ I asked, about to protest my innocence.

  Shalatan smiled. ‘Do you think I am so easily fooled by a spy who carries a map – a map that was still being drawn? Go back now and make your report. Tell them there are djinn like me, each seven hundred and thirteen strong. Many Shalatans. And legions far greater than that. Numbers beyond counting. Tell them also of the barska and the orla. Then tell them that this is only the beginning: far greater terrors await them beyond the High Wall; you have only seen the least of the djinn warriors. Bid them stay safe in Danur, the land that has been allocated to them. Within its wall of mist, life is possible for your people. Were they to cross the Barrier, girded for war, they would be wiped off the face of this world for ever.’ She pointed upwards to the sky. ‘Djinn rule the stars,�
�� she told me.

  ‘You have reached the stars?’ I asked in astonishment.

  ‘Yes. Beyond this island there are vast continents ruled by djinn, but we have also reached worlds that orbit other suns like our own. We wish you to know that. Make the other humans see that. Make them see sense. That is why I have released you. If they invade, they cannot hope to win. I offer your people the chance of life. Go now in safety, and carry back the warning of one who is soon to die.’

  ‘I will tell them what you have said, Shalatan,’ I replied. ‘And I thank you for this chance. And now, forgive me, but I must presume to advise you. Don’t go meekly to your death. Leave this city this very night and return to your krie-kore in the south. Gather your vassal djinn and fight those who pursue you. You are a warrior, and a warrior should die fighting. What better end is there?’

  Shalatan smiled but did not reply.

  I rode through the open gate, heading towards freedom, with the city wall on my left, the dark swathe of the river and the High Wall on my right.

  After a few minutes I saw the small bridge on my left; as Shalatan had promised, it was unguarded, and I rode swiftly across while, beneath me, the waters surged westwards.

  Once across, rather than heading south, retracing my route home, with the river on my right, I continued towards the ocean. The barska and orla might soon come in pursuit, but I needed to study that bronze gate and assess how easily it might be breached.

  Laras whinnied at my change of direction, but I forced her on towards the gate.

  Soon I was well beyond the red walls that marked the western boundary of the city; here the two rivers flowed together in a wide, deep channel, rushing towards the Western Ocean, no more than two leagues away. I could smell salt in the air and hear the distant crash and roar of waves. Now I came to the wide bridge spanning the river on my right, and set off across it, the mare’s hooves thundering on the stones and echoing back from the High Wall.

  The huge bronze gate was directly opposite the bridge; I saw now that it was circular, like a vast, dark mouth in the grey stone. It was fastened to the wall itself by great iron bolts, and was so large that it would have needed an army of men just to move it. But there were chains suspended from it, and two capstans south of the door, set in concrete plinths. It seemed likely that animals – probably rasire – were used for the task.

  I glanced back and saw that the plain behind me was now bathed in moonlight. So high was the wall that the moon was still hidden behind it, but once I left it I’d be clearly visible to anyone on guard in the tall watchtower.

  I studied the gate: it opened towards the river so that access was controlled by those on this side. That was strange, for the greater power lay beyond it to the north. Was it a defensive wall? I wondered.

  Now, suddenly, I saw that it might have been built by others who had once ruled this land – perhaps even by the ancestors of my own people – to keep at bay some threat from the north. Whatever the truth of the matter, it might be used in that way again. It would take the Genthai army many weeks to reach this wall. However, once here, they could rest and gather their strength in safety, shielded by that High Wall.

  I’d seen enough, so I turned round, sensing danger. Once I’d reached the south side of the bridge, I urged Laras into a gallop, emerging from the shadow of the High Wall as the moon rose up into the sky above it.

  Then, from the watchtower, I heard the sudden harsh blare of a horn, echoing back and forth like mocking laughter.

  I rode directly south, the sound of drumming hooves filling my mind, increasing my sense of urgency. Around me was flat farmland, with the occasional drainage ditch, which Laras jumped over easily, but in two or three miles the ground would begin to rise. Two miles after that, I’d be forced to dismount and lead her to the top of the steep incline.

  I wondered how fast an orl carrying a barsk could run across this flat terrain. And could it climb the slopes ahead? An unworthy thought slipped into my mind: perhaps Shalatan had set me free on the orders of the barska and orla so that they could hunt me down for their pleasure.

  I glanced back at the moon and saw, to my dismay, three distant riders. Even as I watched, they seemed to be gaining on me, and I cursed my foolishness in tarrying near the gate.

  No. Shalatan had not betrayed me, I thought. I should have taken her advice. I should have ridden south at once. When I reached the hill, the pasture land would give way to scrub, then to trees, but I couldn’t hope to throw my pursuers off my trail because there was only one direct route to the top. And I suddenly realized that they would probably catch me there.

  Another backward glance established that they were already much nearer. I knew that there was now only one thing I could do; I heard Garrett’s voice speaking inside my head:

  There are only three. Hardly worth my trouble, Leif, so I’ll leave them all to you. Kill them now, before you reach the slope!

  LEIF THE WARRIOR

  The moment Leif challenged the barska and orla is considered by most human historians to mark the beginning of the Djinn War.

  The History of the Conflict by Eitel the Pessimist

  LEIF

  I brought my mare about in a tight curve, hardly checking her speed. Then, galloping directly towards the djinni on the left, I reached down for my bow. It was better to die here, facing my enemies, than to be cut down from behind.

  I controlled Laras with my knees while I nocked an arrow. There were many unknown factors here. I couldn’t be sure that Laras would continue on her present course long enough for me to get close enough. Djinn considered horses to be cowardly beasts. She might veer away in terror. Then again, the breeze was blowing from the west, from the ocean, and their scent might not reach her until they were very close.

  Although a mounted Genthai archer could fire accurately at speed, he would never release an arrow without seeing a feasible target. The sky was cloudless and the moon was bright. Its silver light would give me a clear sight of my enemies. This was what Garrett had taught me; he had called it the ‘economy of combat’. There would be no wasteful, wild releasing of arrows, so I was ready to put aside my bow and reach for another weapon if the situation dictated it.

  Using the High Tongue, I called out loudly so that my enemies would hear my words clearly: ‘I am the Beast from Danur come to devour you all! I come to take back my world!’

  I was very close now: the orl was coming towards me with a curious rocking motion, its great head swaying from side to side, obscuring the moon at each stride, while on its back the barsk held in one arm a long barbed spear, angled up at forty-five degrees. Two further arms gripped the bone on the orl’s neck, while the fourth was invisible.

  The orl seemed to be holding no weapons, but its sharp nails glittered ominously in the moonlight. I could see the dangers I faced if I got near, and desperately sought some target for my arrows.

  Then, as the orl’s head swayed once more, I glimpsed an almond-shaped eye regarding me with hatred. I only saw it for a moment, but I took aim and released the arrow, already nocking a second to my bow as the first struck the target.

  The arrow pierced its eye, and the orl’s head twisted up in agony, enabling me to put another arrow alongside the first, so that their feathers were touching.

  Now the orl was going down, buckling at the knees, and I took a third shot, this time at the eye of the barsk. This arrow missed and went skittering away, deflected by the nose guard, but we were very close now, and I sent the next flying into the barsk’s left eye.

  I nudged Laras with my knees, passing to the left of my foe. I wasn’t skilled with the heavy longsword, but it had a good reach from horseback. I clipped the bow back into its strap and drew my longsword; gripping it two-handed, I swung it as we galloped by.

  The orl was falling, head down, one hand groping for the ruin of its eye, while the barsk was probably already dead, held in position only by its two-handed grip. However, taking no chances, I struck the head of the barsk
clean off its shoulders and brought my horse about, already returning the sword to its scabbard and reaching again for the bow. As I did so, Laras whinnied, as if in triumph.

  I was now behind my pursuers, and I approached the second barsk from the side. The orl was beginning to come around towards me to avoid being attacked from the rear: I could see its neck armour – the green scales would surely deflect an arrow, even at close range. The barsk’s black armour was also impenetrable, but now the orl lifted its tail – presumably to keep its balance when making such a tight turn.

  Aiming by the silver light of the moon, I quickly sent an arrow into the soft tissue beneath the tail; the orl screamed and almost threw its rider, its neck twisting and jerking in agony. Once again, I swapped bow for longsword and, coming about in a tight arc, met barsk and orl head on, trying to unseat my black-mailed adversary. There was the clash of steel against steel, and sparks flew as my blade met the upright spear and slid down its length to strike the hand that gripped it.

  Whether or not my blade pierced the mail, the barsk held onto its weapon. I felt a shudder run through my mare and looked down to see the orl raking its nails down her neck so that she reared up, almost unseating me.

  But then, as Laras plunged down again, I swung the sword two-handed and cut off the orl’s hands at the wrist. Blood gushed from the stumps and it screamed in agony once more.

  I could see the third pair of barsk and orl closing in on us fast, so I disengaged and urged Laras southwards, reaching down to pat her. She didn’t seem to be badly wounded, and although there was blood flowing down her neck, the orl’s nails had perhaps not penetrated too deeply.