Skilgannon took a deep breath. The air was fresh and cold, and he felt suddenly at peace. More memories flowed then. The chubby priest had been called Braygan. Skilgannon had left him in the war-torn city of Mellicane, before he and Druss the Legend and a group of fighters had set off to rescue the child, Elanin, held in a citadel by Nadir warriors.
A savage exultation coursed through Skilgannon, drowning the frustration of these last few days. He could not remember everything, but he knew he had fought no dragons. There was no winged horse.
Nine-tenths of the stories of his life were legends, and the rest were stretched and twisted beyond recognition.
Landis Kan came alongside him, and gratefully stepped down from the saddle. ‘You had us worried,’
he said.
‘I met some of your Joinings. They are less fearsome than those I recall.’
Landis looked at him closely. ‘You are recovering your memories?’
‘Not all. There are large gaps. But I know a great deal more now.’
‘That is good, my friend. Then you should meet GamaL’
‘Who is he?’
‘An old man — the wisest of us. I invited him to live in my home when he finally lost his sight last spring.
It was he who found your soul in the Void, and brought you back to us.’
Skilgannon shivered suddenly. A sharp image came to him, of a slate grey sky and a landscape devoid of trees or plants. Then it was gone.
They walked together, Landis leading the chestnut. A line of women came into sight, moving up the hillside towards the timber line. All conversation ceased as they came close to Landis Kan and his
‘guest’. The women passed by with eyes downcast. Skilgannon saw they were carrying baskets of food.
Landis Kan noticed his interest. ‘They are bringing food to the loggers working beyond the timber line,’
he said.
‘A wagon and a single driver would be more effective, surely?’ observed Skilgannon. ‘Or do the women bring more than just food?’
Landis smiled. ‘Some of them are wed to loggers, and perhaps they do creep off into the undergrowth for a while. In the main, however, they just bring food. You speak of effectiveness. Yes, a wagon would bring more supplies, more swiftly, with considerable economy of effort. It would not, though, encourage a sense of community, of mutual caring.’
‘That is a good principle,’ said Skilgannon. ‘How does it equate with the fact that when they passed us none of them spoke, and not one of them looked up at us?’
‘A good question,’ observed Landis, ‘and I am sure you already know the answer. It is important to encourage a sense of community. People need to feel valued. It would be exceedingly foolish, however, for a leader to join in. He needs to set himself apart from his followers. If he were to sit among them, and chat to them, and share with them, eventually someone would ask him why he was the leader. By what right did he rule? No leader wishes to engage in that conversation. No, I am like the shepherd, Skilgannon. I muster the sheep and lead them to good grazing land. I do not, however, feel the need to squat down and munch grass with them. Was it so different in your day?’
‘For many years I served a warrior queen,’ Skilgannon replied. ‘She would tolerate no defiance of her will. Those who spoke against her — those she even thought were speaking against her — died. In many ways the society prospered. The Drenai, on the other hand, had no kings. All their leaders were elected by the votes of the people. Yet they also prospered for many centuries.’
‘Yet, in the end, both fell,’ said Landis.
‘All empires fall. The good, the bad, the cruel, and the inspired. For every dawn there is a sunset, Landis.’
No more was said until they reached the palace. There a groom led away the chestnut and Landis and Skilgannon climbed to the uppermost level, entering a high circular tower. ‘Gamal is very old,’ Landis told the warrior. ‘He is blind now, and frail. He is, however, an Empath and versed in the ancient shamanic skills.’
He pushed open a door and the two men stepped into a circular chamber, the floor scattered with rugs. Gamal was sitting in an old leather chair, the blanket pulled close around his thin shoulders. His head came up, and Skilgannon saw that his eyes were the colour of pale opals. ‘Welcome, warrior, to the new world,’ he said. ‘Pull up a chair and sit with me awhile.’
Skilgannon settled himself in another armchair. Landis was about to do the same when the old man spoke again. ‘No, Landis, my dear, you must leave Skilgannon and me alone for a little while.’
Landis looked surprised, and a little concerned. But he forced a smile. ‘Of course,’ he said.
After Landis had gone the old man leaned forward. ‘Do you know yet who you are?’
‘I know.’
‘I will be honest with you, Skilgannon. I am not a man who places great faith in prophecies. Landis -
dear though he is to me — is a man obsessed. I brought your soul back because he asked me to.
However, like so much in our modern world, it is against nature to do such a thing. Worse than that, it was morally wrong of me. I should have resisted it.’
‘Why did you not?’
The old man gave a rueful smile. ‘A question that deserves a better answer than I can give. Landis asked it of me, and I could not refuse.’ Gamal sighed. ‘You must understand, Skilgannon, Landis is trying to protect this land and its people. He is right to fear for the future. Rebel armies are currently fighting amongst themselves. But that war is nearing its conclusion. When it is won the Eternal could turn her eyes towards these mountains. Landis would do anything to prevent his people being enslaved. Can you blame him?’
‘No. It is the nature of strong men to fight invaders. Tell me of the Eternal.’
Gamal smiled. ‘I could tell you all I know, and that would be but a fraction of all there is to know.
Suffice to say she is the queen of all the lands between here and the southern seas and the far western mountains. Her armies are now fighting battles on two continents. We live in a world that has been at war for more than five hundred years. For most of that time the Eternal has ruled. She is, like you and me, Skilgannon, a Reborn. I would imagine she has lost count of the number of bodies she has worn and discarded.’
Gamal fell silent, lost in thought. Skilgannon waited for him to continue. After a while the old man drew in a deep, shuddering breath. He shivered. ‘I served her for five lifetimes. In those three hundred and thirty years I almost lost my humanity. Just as she has. We are not created to be immortal, Skilgannon. I do not fully understand it even now, but I know that death is necessary. Perhaps it is merely that we need the contrast. Without the darkness of night how can we fully appreciate the glory of the sunrise?’
Skilgannon ignored the philosophical question. ‘If she has ruled all this time why is it that Landis Kan has not been troubled before?’
‘He served her faithfully. These lands were his reward.’
‘No,’ said Skilgannon. ‘I think there is more to it. That is why you did not want Landis here when we spoke.’
The old man hesitated. ‘Yes, there is,’ he said finally. ‘You are very astute. Landis and I developed a talent for discovering artefacts of the ancient world — the world long, long before you fought your battles, Skilgannon. The Elder races had powers beyond imagination. Despite all our discoveries we still know very little. Like finding part of a rotted leaf, and trying to extrapolate from it what the tree might have been like. What we do know is that the ancients destroyed themselves. How or why remains a mystery.’