‘Much as I appreciate discussion,’ said Alahir, ‘I know of only one certain fact. The voice told me to follow where Skilgannon led. She said the hope of the Drenai rested on me. I will ride to the temple.
Alone if need be.’
‘Damn it, man, you won’t be alone!’ said Gilden. ‘It hurts me you would say such a thing. We’re all with you. I’d ride into a lake of hellfire if you ordered it.’
Bagalan laughed. ‘You didn’t follow him into the pleasure den last week. Left him alone, I recall, with a goat-faced whore.’
‘Ah well,’ replied Gilden, smiling broadly, ‘he wasn’t the Earl of Bronze then.’
The conversation had moved on to more prosaic matters, like provisions for the journey, and how they would pay for passage on the long barges that ferried supplies and men along the coast. The discussion was interrupted by the arrival of a scout, followed by a dark-haired swordsman on a tall chestnut.
‘This man claims to know Skilgannon,’ said the scout.
Skilgannon rose. ‘What do you want here, Decado?’
At the mention of the name a sudden silence fell over the warriors. Every rider had heard of the famous killer.
‘I came to join you, kinsman, and to tell you that Askari is currently in the camp of the beast master.
She called him Stavi, I recall.’
‘What are you talking about?’ asked Skilgannon.
‘Her friend. A merchant, I think she said.’
‘Stavut is with beasts?’
Gilden stepped in and explained what had passed between him and Stavut the previous day.
‘How many Jiamads does he have?’ asked Skilgannon.
‘I’d say around fifty,’ Decado told him.
‘They could be useful.’
‘We don’t need animals,’ said Gilden. ‘We are warriors. We fight as men.’
Skilgannon shook his head. ‘We don’t yet know what we need. Successful war involves using all the weapons at one’s disposal. That is how we came to train horses, Gilden. We saw they would make us faster and more mobile. The Eternal will have sent a force to stop us. You think they will all be men?
These are strange days. The Armour of Bronze has returned, and the axe of Druss the Legend. I am here
— and I died a thousand years ago. Now, a gentle merchant has somehow gathered an army of beasts, who could aid us in any battle. If I can use them, I will.’
With that, Skilgannon had walked to the white stallion and saddled it. Then he mounted and rode back to Decado. ‘Where are they?’ he asked.
‘About ten miles due east and a little north. You’ll see a ridge, and just beyond it a line of trees. They are camped there.’
Skilgannon swung to Alahir. ‘Head towards the town you spoke of. I will catch up with you. The Eternal’s army is marching through the mountains, so make sure you keep scouts ahead.’
Without another word he rode from the campsite. Decado dismounted. ‘A little food would not go amiss,’ he said. No-one spoke to him, though at the orders of Alahir a warrior fetched him a bowl of broth and some dried beef. Decado took it a little way from the others and sat down to eat.
‘They say he is a maniac,’ Gilden told Alahir, keeping his voice low.
‘A maniac with excellent hearing,’ called out Decado. ‘Move further away if you wish to discuss my merits. Better still wait for a few moments, for I shall be asleep by then.’ Finishing his meal, the swordsman stretched out on the ground.
Gilden and Alahir walked to the far side of the campsite. ‘I have heard the tales of him,’ said Alahir.
‘Cold and deadly, and utterly without mercy. However, he is a swordsman and a warrior. He could be useful.’
‘Beasts and madmen. Not very glorious, Alahir, my friend.’
‘I am not interested in glory,’ said Alahir, with a sigh. ‘I just want the Drenai to survive.’
Gilden recalled the conversation as he rode. There had been a weight of sadness in Alahir’s voice, and more than a little fear. As a Legend Rider Alahir was expected to fight for his homeland.
As the Earl of Bronze he would be expected to perform miracles.
As he rode away into the night Skilgannon’s mood was sombre. The young Legend Riders were fine men; brave. Bright-eyed and eager to fight for their homeland. Such was always the way with the young.
They had looked at him and seen someone of their own age, believed him to be filled with the same aspirations and ambitions. For the first time Skilgannon felt like a fraud. He wondered then about what was lost and what — if anything — was gained by the passage of the years. He was an old man in a young man’s body, and his thoughts of the world were sullied by his deeds in a previous lifetime. He had promised the Legend Riders that if they won it would once more become a world of men. He had made it sound as if this was something to be desired; some noble cause worth dying for.
He rode now under stars a thousand years older than when first he had seen them. And what had changed in this wondrous world of men? The strong still sought to dominate the weak. Armies still raged across the lands, killing and burning. What will truly change if we win, he wondered? The wheel of good and evil would spin on. Sometimes good would triumph for a while, but then the wheel would spin again.
The cold reality was that, even if he destroyed the current source of magic, one day another would be found.
By that token, he told himself, a man would never seek to counter the evils in his day. He would shrug and talk of spinning wheels. Perhaps, he thought, the experience of the old inevitably leads to a philosophy of despair and acquiescence.
Pushing such thoughts from his mind he rode on, enjoying the power and the grace of the stallion.
Moonlight gleamed on its bright flanks. Not the best horse on which to pass unnoticed, he thought, with a grin. His spirits lifted. In life a man could do no more than fight for what he believed to be right, without thought to future generations, or the ultimate folly of man’s dreams.
His thoughts swung to Decado. The man was a disturbing presence, and Skilgannon was unsure about trusting him. His story about being hunted by the Eternal might have been false. He could have been sent as a spy, or as an assassin. Skilgannon did not want to have to fight him. With two swordsmen of such skill it was unlikely that even the victor would escape unscathed.
Ahead he saw the ridge Decado had mentioned, and headed the stallion towards the trees.
As he rode up the hill a huge Jiamad came into sight. It stood and watched him. Controlling the urge to draw his swords Skilgannon guided the stallion closer. The horse was nervous, and began to stamp its foot and edge sideways. ‘Steady now, Greatheart,’ he said. As he came closer he recognized the Jiamad as the leader of the attack in the cave.
‘Well met, Shakul,’ he said. ‘How are you faring?’
‘Run free. It is good.’
‘I have come to see my friend Stavut.’
‘Bloodshirt with woman.’
Skilgannon dismounted. It was hard to tell from the growling delivery whether Shakul was pleased or irritated by Askari’s arrival.
‘Am I welcome in your camp?’
Shakul did not respond. Instead he turned and lumbered back into the trees. Holding firm to the reins of his mount Skilgannon walked after him. Some fifty paces beyond the tree line he came to the site.
Many of the Jiamads were asleep. Others were sitting close to one another, and speaking in low grunts.
Stavut was sitting by a campfire, Askari beside him. Skilgannon tethered his horse and walked across to them. He noted that Stavut was holding Askari’s hand, and surmised that their meeting had been a joyful one. A touch of jealousy stung him. Moving to the fire he sat down. ‘Good to see you, Stavut.’