‘Problems for another day,’ said Alahir.
‘Never did study much, save for Drenai history,’ said Gilden. ‘But I know that civilizations rise and fall and die away. The Sathuli used to inhabit this region. Where are they now? Dust. All but forgotten. The Nadir hordes swept across these lands and butchered them all. And where are the Nadir? Dust. All my life I’ve fought to keep the Drenai alive. Yet we are dying, Alahir. Slowly. If not Agrias, then it will be the Eternal. A pox on them both!’
‘No argument there. I agree the future looks bleak,’ he said, seeking to find something hopeful to say to the man, ‘but it has been bleak before, and we are still here. Think of Dros Delnoch, when Ulric’s Nadir were before it. Hundreds of thousands of warriors, and only a handful of soldiers and volunteer farmers. They held, though, and the Drenai lived on.’
‘They had Druss.’
‘And we have you and me — and five thousand like us. If we have to go down, Gil, we’ll carve a legend of our own.’
‘Aye, that we will.’ Alahir saw the man relax. Gilden suddenly smiled. ‘That was the ugliest whore I’ve ever seen. She had a face like a horse.’
‘Goat,’ corrected Alahir.
‘Ah, I see,’ said Gilden. ‘I’d forgotten you’re from farming country. Sing love songs about goats up there.’
‘Only the pretty ones,’ replied Alahir.
Chapter Thirteen
The long ride back to Petar helped clear Decado’s head. The pain finally faded away, and the freedom from it was almost as blissful as a kiss from the Eternal.
There were people moving through the streets of the town, and a semblance of normality had returned.
There were no Jiamads in sight, but he saw several groups of soldiers walking among the citizenry.
At Landis Kan’s palace he dismounted, handed the reins of the horse to a servant and walked up the steps to the great doors. Once inside he saw two female servants, carrying a heavy rug. They were young women, and quite pretty. One of them glanced up. He smiled. The girl cried out, dropped her end of the rug and fled. The second girl also let go of the rug, and backed away, her eyes wide, her face pale. ‘I am not going to hurt you,’ said Decado. The girl turned, gathered up her long skirt and ran after her friend.
Decado looked down at the embroidered rug, which had partially unrolled. It was stained with dried blood.
He wandered up to his rooms, wondering how long it would be before the Eternal returned from the high country. Now that his head was clearer he found it strange she should have been there at all. It was rare for her to travel without her guards. And she had been dressed strangely. In disguise, he guessed.
The outfit suited her, the leather leggings emphasizing the sleekness of her figure. Once in his rooms he removed his boots, and looked for some wine. He needed a drink, but there was nothing here, and no servants were close by. Even if they were, he realized, they would run from him. Tugging on his boots again, he walked to the door. At that moment there came a tap at the wood frame outside.
‘Come in,’ he ordered, hoping it was a servant. Instead it was the old statesman Unwallis. Decado gazed at him curiously. The man seemed different, younger. Lines of stress had vanished from his face.
Though his hair was still iron grey there was a brightness to his eyes, and the smile he offered was warm and friendly.
‘Welcome back, Decado,’ he said. ‘How was your mission?’
‘I fell ill. The Eternal ordered me back here. Let me know when she returns.’
‘Returns?’
‘I saw her in the high country. She said to come back to Petar.’
‘Er. . She is here, in Landis Kan’s old apartments.’
‘That’s not possible. She could not have returned before me.’
Decado saw the confusion in Unwallis. The statesman stood silently for a moment. ‘May I come in?
We should sit down and talk.’
‘There’s nothing to talk about.’
‘Decado, my boy, there is everything to talk about. The Eternal arrived here two days ago. She has not left the palace.’ He sighed. ‘Is it possible you dreamed it? I know of the head pains, and the narcotics Memnon supplies. They are very powerful.’
‘Yes, they are,’ snapped Decado. ‘But I always know the difference between dreams and reality. She was there, dressed as a hunter. She even had a bow.’ He went on to explain how he had been following the trail of the blind man, but had been struck down by terrible pain in the head. Then he described how she came to him, and ordered him back to Petar. Unwallis listened intently.
‘So,’ he said at last, ‘there were some things Landis did not note down. Fascinating.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘She was not the Eternal. That is the only point you need to realize. I take it you did not find the nephew?’
‘No.’
‘Then you should know he is not the nephew. Landis Kan rebirthed the bones of Skilgannon. He also found the man’s soul and reunited them. The man you were chasing is the legendary Skilgannon himself.’
Decado walked back into the apartment, and sat down on a wide couch. The Swords of Blood and Fire were beside him, and he absently reached out and laid his hand on one of the hilts. Unwallis moved into the room and sat beside him. ‘The woman you saw is a Reborn. Landis obviously stole some bones from the Eternal’s last resurrection two decades ago.’
‘I need to see Jianna,’ said Decado. ‘I need to explain. .’
‘Of course — but may I suggest that you bathe first? The days of travel have left you. . somewhat pungent, Decado. Servants are preparing a bath downstairs.’
Decado, still shaken by what the statesman had told him, nodded. ‘Yes, that is a good idea. Thank you, Unwallis.’
‘A pleasure, my boy. Come. I will have fresh clothes brought for you.’
‘Just lead on!’ snapped the swordsman. As he followed Unwallis from the room he felt foolish. There was something about the urbane statesman that always riled him. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he had once been a lover of the Eternal. Decado didn’t know — but he did know she did not want Unwallis killed. This was a problem for the young swordsman. Often he had no control over such matters. Just like the first time in the orchard. He would hear a roaring in his ears, and then — apparently — pass out. Only he did not pass out. He would awake some time later to discover either bloodstains on his clothing, or the corpses of those he had slain. Only later would the memories return, and with them the shame of his murderous rage. Memnon called it the Sleep of Death and had offered advice on how to prevent, or at worst delay, its onset. Curiously it involved being more aggressive with people. According to Memnon the condition was triggered by Decado’s attempts to hold in his rage. ‘Let it out a little at a time with angry words,’ Memnon had advised. Mostly it worked, though as Decado followed Unwallis down the long corridor he saw more bloodstains on the rugs there, and he remembered the unfortunate servants who had fallen victim to his insanity. A deep depression settled on the young man, and he focused on the murals they passed, hoping his concentration on works of art would blot out the images of the terrified victims. It was a vain hope.
They reached the lower levels and Decado followed Unwallis into a small, lantern-lit bathhouse. There was already hot water in the deep marble bath. Decado sighed. If only he could wash away the sins of his flesh as simply as he could sponge away the dust and the dirt on his body.
‘I will leave you to relax, my boy,’ said Unwallis, stepping to the long garden window and pulling shut the heavy drapes.
‘I. . thank you,’ said Decado. ‘I am sorry that I have been so boorish in your company.’ Unwallis looked shocked. He stood waiting for some barbed comment. When he realized none was to come he smiled.