Wolf in Shadow

by David Gemmell

  “You call being outnumbered ten to one lucky?”

  “It’s only eight to one now, and yes, I’d call that lucky. If they’d started with a charge, they could have cut through us and been on their way into Yeager by now.”

  “Well, you keep on outthinking them, son, and I’ll be forever in your debt.”

  “I’ll do my best, big man.”

  Two days out from Castlemine, having found a gap in the mountains that allowed them to move west, Shannow and Batik found themselves in a cool valley edged with spruce and pine.

  They stopped at the shores of a lake that sheltered beneath tall peaks and watered their horses. Shannow had said little since they had buried Archer, and Batik had left him to his solitude.

  As the afternoon drew on, Batik saw a rider bearing down on them from the west. He stood and shaded his eyes against the falling sun, and as he neared, Batik’s eyes widened in shock.

  “Shannow!”

  “I see him.”

  “It’s Archer!”

  “It can’t be.”

  The rider approached and slid from the saddle. He was a black man over six feet tall and was wearing the same style of gray shirt Archer had sported.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he said. “I take it you are Shannow?”

  “Yes. This is Batik.”

  “I am pleased to see you. My name is Lewis, Jonathan Lewis. I have been sent to guide you in.”

  “Into where?” asked Batik.

  “Into the Ark,” he replied.

  “You are one of the Guardians?” Batik asked unnecessarily.

  “Indeed I am.”

  “Archer is dead,” said Shannow, “but then, you knew that.”

  “Yes, Mr. Shannow. But you made his passing more easy, and for that we are grateful. He was a fine man.”

  “I see you are armed,” said Batik, pointing to the flapped scabbard at Lewis’ waist.

  “Yes. Samuel could never see the point …” He did not need to finish his sentence. “Shall we go?”

  They followed Lewis for more than two hours, turning into a wide canyon flanked by black basaltic rock.

  Ahead of them lay another ruined city, larger than the first they had found before meeting Archer. But it was not the city that caused the breath to catch in Shannow’s throat. Five hundred feet above the marble ruins lay a golden ship, glowing in the dying sunlight.

  “Is it truly the Ark?” whispered Shannow.

  “No, Mr. Shannow,” said Lewis, “though many have taken it to be so, and in the main we do not disenchant them.”

  The trio rode into the ruins along an overgrown cobbled street to the foot of the mountain. There Lewis dismounted, beckoning the others to follow. He led his horse to the rock and stopped to turn a small handle set within it. A section of the rock face then moved sideways, leaving a rectangular doorway seven feet high and twelve feet wide. Lewis entered, with Shannow and Batik leading their horses behind. Two men waited within the tunnel; they took the horses, and Lewis led Shannow and Batik to a steel doorway that slid open to reveal a room four feet square and seven feet high. With the three men inside, the door whispered shut.

  “Level twenty,” said Lewis, and the room shuddered.

  “What’s happening here?” Batik asked, alarmed.

  “Wait for a moment, Batik. All will be well.”

  The door opened once more, this time to a bright hallway, and Shannow stepped out. It was lighter than day there, yet there were no windows. All along the walls were glowing tubes; when Shannow reached up and touched one, it was faintly warm.

  “You must have many stones to produce this much magic,” said Shannow.

  “We do indeed, Mr. Shannow. Follow me.”

  Another door opened before them, and the three men entered a round room at the center of which was a white desk in the shape of a crescent moon. Behind it sat a white-haired man, who stood and smiled at their approach. He was more than six feet six, and his skin was golden, his eyes slanted and dark. His hair was long, sweeping out from the scalp like a lion’s mane.

  Lewis bowed. “My Lord Sarento, the men you wished to meet.”

  Sarento moved around the table and approached Shannow.

  “Welcome, my friends. For my sins I am the leader here, and I am delighted to welcome you. Lewis, fetch chairs for my guests.”

  With Batik and Shannow seated and Lewis having been sent to bring refreshment, Sarento leaned back on the table and spoke. “You are a remarkable man, Mr. Shannow. I have followed your exploits for a number of years: the taming of Allion, the hunting down of the brigand Gareth, the attack on the Hellborn, and now the liberation of Castlemine. Is there nothing that can stop you, sir?”

  “I have been fortunate.”

  “Fortune favors the Rolynd, Mr. Shannow. Have you come across the name?”

  “Archer mentioned it, I believe.”

  “Yes, dear Samuel … I cannot tell you how much his death depresses me. He more than anyone is responsible for the growth in Guardian wisdom. But I was speaking of the Rolynd. A wondrous race were the Atlanteans; they conquered mysteries that still baffled our elders eight thousand years later. They were the fathers of magic, and they understood the gifts men carried. Some could heal, others could grow plants, still others could teach. But the Rolynd were special, for they were lucky; they carried luck like a talisman, a personal god who would step in whenever needed. And with the Rolynd warriors it was needed often. Warriors like you, Mr. Shannow, who could somehow hear a stealthy assassin creeping upon them in the midst of a storm. The Atlanteans believed the gift was linked to courage. Perhaps it is. But whatever the cause, you have the gift, sir.”

  Lewis returned and served a goblet of white wine to each of the men, then laid the pitcher on the table and left the room.

  “You have great power here,” said Shannow.

  “Indeed we do, sir. With knowledge comes power, and we guard the secrets of the old world.”

  “But you also have the stones.”

  “What is the point you are making?”

  “With all this power, why do you not stop the Hellborn?”

  “We are not meddlers, Mr. Shannow, though we have tried to guide this world for more than three hundred years. Men like Prester John Taybard and the man you knew as Karitas have been sent from here to educate the people of this continent, to lead them toward an understanding of what they are and whence they come. I have no army, and even if I did, I have no God-given right to change the destiny of the Hellborn. On the other hand, since the battle is unequal, I am willing to help you.”

  “In what way?”

  “I can give you weapons to take to Daniel Cade.”

  “How will that help me kill Abaddon?”

  “It will help you do more than that; it will help you beat him.”

  Shannow looked into Sarento’s dark eyes and stayed silent.

  “What sort of weapons?” asked Batik.

  Sarento gave an order to one of his men, who opened a hidden door in the far wall to reveal a firing range. At the farthest end of the first line was a wooden statue dressed in the armor of the Hellborn. Sarento stepped onto the range and lifted a bulky black weapon almost three feet long, which he handed to Batik. “Pull back the bolt on the left, then aim it—but hold it steadily; it may surprise you.”

  Batik sprang the bolt and pulled the trigger. The rolling explosion deafened them momentarily, and the statue disappeared, its upper torso smashed beyond recognition. Batik laid the weapon gently to rest.

  “Five hundred bullets a minute, moving at three thousand miles per hour,” said Sarento. “Hit a man in the upper leg with just one, and the hydraulic shock will drag his blood from his heart and kill him. You can destroy an army with ten of these, and I’ll give you fifty.”

  “I’ll think about it,” said Shannow.

  “What is there to think about?” argued Batik. “We could ride in and take Babylon itself with these.”

  “Probably, but I’m t
ired. Is there somewhere I can rest?” Shannow asked Sarento.

  “Of course,” was the reply, whereupon he opened a door, which Lewis entered. “Show our guests to suitable quarters. I will see you both in the morning.”

  The Guardian took them to another level and into a T-shaped room containing two beds, a table, four chairs, and a wide window looking out on a gleaming lake. Shannow moved to the window and tried to open it, but the lock would not shift.

  “It does not open, Mr. Shannow. It is not a window at all but a light picture, what we call a mood-view.” He moved to a dial on the wall and turned it. The view mellowed into dusk, evening, and finally moonlit night. “Set it as it pleases you. I shall have food sent to you.”

  Once the Guardian had left, Shannow lay back on the first bed, his head pillowed on his arms.

  “What’s bothering you, Shannow?” asked Batik.

  “Nothing. I am just tired.”

  “But those weapons … Even your god would be hard-pressed to come up with a better miracle.”

  “You are easily pleased, Batik. Now leave me to think.”

  Batik shrugged and wandered around the room until Lewis returned with food. For Batik he brought a huge rare steak and green vegetables. For Shannow there was cheese and black bread. When they had consumed the food, Lewis rose to leave.

  “Is there no water anywhere?” asked Shannow. “I would like to clean the dust from my body.”

  “How foolish of me,” said the Guardian. “Look over here.” As he spoke, he slid back the wall by the mood-view to reveal a cubicle of glass. Lewis reached inside and pressed a switch, at which point warm water jetted from a nozzle in the wall. “Soap and towels are in here,” said Lewis, opening a wall cupboard.

  “Thank you. This place is like a palace.”

  “It was constructed from plans that existed before the Fall.”

  “Did the Guardians build this place?”

  “After a fashion, Mr. Shannow. We used the stones to recreate the magic of our forefathers.”

  “Where are we now?”

  “You are inside the shell of the Ark. Once we harnessed the Sipstrassi, we rearranged the interior to house our community. I think that was some three centuries ago; there have been some modifications since.”

  Shannow sipped a glass of clear wine. He was bone-weary, but there was much he needed to know.

  “I never really had a chance to talk to Archer about what you guard. Would you mind explaining?”

  “Not at all. Our community exists to gather and hoard the secrets of Pre-Fall in the hope of one day bringing it back. We have a library here with over thirty thousand books, most of them technical. But there are also four thousand classics in eleven languages.”

  “How can you bring back what is past?” asked Batik.

  “That is a question for Sarento, not for a soldier.”

  “And you believe you can help bring back civilization with guns that can kill five hundred men a minute?” said Shannow softly.

  “Man is an inventive animal, Mr. Shannow. Any weapon of death will be improved. Would you not sooner have the guns than the Hellborn? Sooner or later their gunsmiths will perfect them.”

  “How many of you are there?”

  “Eight hundred, including the women and children. We are a fairly stable community. Tomorrow I will show you around. Perhaps you would agree to meet Amaziga Archer. It will be painful, but I know she wants to hear of her husband’s last hours.”

  “He spoke of her at the end,” said Shannow.

  “Perhaps you would be kind enough to tell her that.”

  “Of course. Were you a friend of Archer’s?”

  “Very few people disliked Sam. Yes, we were friends.”

  “His stone turned black,” said Batik. “It was very small.”

  “He always overused it; he treated it like a magic bauble. I shall miss him,” Lewis said with genuine regret.

  “Was he the only Guardian with a love of Atlantis?” asked Shannow.

  “Very much so. He and Sarento, that is.”

  “An interesting man. How old is he?”

  “Just over two hundred eighty, Mr. Shannow. He is very gifted.”

  “And you, Mr. Lewis? How old are you?”

  “Sixty-seven. Sam Archer was ninety-eight. The stones are wondrous things.”

  “Indeed they are. I think I will rest now. Thank you for answering my questions.”

  “It was a pleasure. Sleep well.”

  “One last question.”

  “Ask it.”

  “Do the stones create your food for you?”

  “They used to, Mr. Shannow, but we needed the power for other and more important things. We now run a sizable herd of cattle and sheep, and we grow most of our vegetables.”

  “Thank you again.”

  “Not at all.”

  Shannow lay awake long after Batik had fallen asleep. The mood-view was set to moonlight, and he watched as clouds drifted across the sky, the same clouds time and again in relentless regularity. He closed his eyes and saw once more the sundered statue, picturing a real man lying there with his entrails around him like torn ribbons.

  Had Karitas possessed weapons such as these, the Hellborn would never have destroyed his village and young Curopet would still be alive.

  Shannow rolled over and lay on his stomach, but sleep evaded him despite the softness of the bed. He was uneasy and tense. He swung his legs from the bed and moved to the water cubicle, stepping into the shallow basin and turning on the spray. In a tray to his right was a bar of scented soap, and he scrubbed his skin, reveling in the heat of the shower. Toweling himself down, he returned to the mood-view and on impulse switched it to day and watched the sun hurtle into the sky.

  He sat at the table and poured a glass of water. All his life he had been both hunter and hunted, and he trusted his instincts. There had to be a cause for his uneasiness, and he was determined to find it before his next meeting with Sarento.

  Sarento. He did not like the man, but that was no reason to judge him harshly. Shannow liked few men, and the Guardian leader had been pleasant enough. Despite his words, he had not seemed unduly distressed by Archer’s death, but then, the man had merely been a follower and Shannow knew that the emotions of men whom the world thought great rarely ran deep. Humanity invariably ran a poor second to ambition.

  Shannow relaxed his mind. In hunting one used peripheral vision to spot movement, and it was the same with a problem. Staring at it head-on often blurred the perspective. He let his thoughts roam …

  Karitas leapt from his subconscious, kind, gentle Karitas.

  Hellborn Karitas, the father of guns.

  Sent out by Sarento?

  To serve Abaddon?

  Shannow’s jaw tightened. He knew little of Karitas’ background, but had not Ruth told him that he had given Abaddon the secrets of firearms? And had not Sarento claimed he was a Guardian sent to instruct?

  What game was being played here?

  And why did the Guardians need cattle when their stones could create such a palace of miracles within a ghost ship? Lewis said they needed the power for more important things. What was more important than feeding a colony?

  Sarento had said that Shannow was Rolynd, which meant that his knowledge of Atlantis was greater than Archer’s. Why had he not shared it with the Guardian?

  And lastly there was Cade—Cade the brigand, Cade the killer—throwing his hat into the ring of war.

  What right-thinking man would supply him with the weapons of empire?

  Shannow had told Ruth that he was happy to hear of Daniel’s actions, and that was true. Blood was thicker than water, but Shannow knew Cade better than any man alive. His brother was tough and merciless. And if he had taken on the mantle of leadership, it would not be for altruistic reasons. Somewhere within the horror of war Cade had seen the chance for profit.

  He switched the mood-view to night and returned to his bed. With his thoughts more settled, he fel
l into a deep sleep. When he awoke, Batik was already dressed and sitting with Lewis at the table. Before the Hellborn was a plate stacked high with eggs and bacon. Shannow dressed and joined them.

  “Would you like some food, Mr. Shannow? I am afraid Batik ate your ration.”

  “I am not hungry, thank you.”

  Lewis glanced at a rectangular bracelet on his wrist. “Sarento is ready to meet you.”

  Batik belched and rose. “How are we going to get those guns to Cade?” he asked.

  Shannow smiled and ignored the question. “Shall we go?” he said to Lewis.

  Once they were in the glowing corridor, Shannow slipped the retaining thong from the hammer of his right-hand pistol. Batik noticed the surreptitious movement and silently freed his own pistol. He asked no more questions but dropped back a pace, keeping Lewis ahead of him.

  Inside the meeting room Sarento rose and greeted his guests with a warm smile.

  “Did you sleep well?”

  “We did indeed,” said Shannow. “Thank you for your hospitality, but we must be leaving.”

  “It will take time to prepare the guns for the journey.”

  “We will not be taking the guns.”

  The smile left Sarento’s face. “You are not serious?”

  “Indeed I am. You misread me, sir. There is only one dream in my life: to find Jerusalem. Sadly, I must first kill Abaddon. It is a question of pride and revenge. I am not part of the Hellborn war. If you wish guns to go to Cade, send some of your men.”

  “Is that not a little selfish, Mr. Shannow?”

  “Good-bye, Sarento.” Shannow turned his back on the Guardian leader and moved to the door. Behind him Batik spread his hands and backed out into the corridor. Shannow stood by the elevator, Lewis joined them, and the journey to the canyon floor was made in silence.

  The horses were brought out, and Lewis walked out into the bright sunlight with the two men.

  “Good luck in your quest, Mr. Shannow.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Lewis.”

  Shannow mounted and swung the stallion’s head to the south. Batik cantered alongside him, and the two rode in silence to the rim of the hills overlooking the ruined city and the golden Ark.