The young merchant looked at him without warmth. ‘I’ll not take my lads into your battles,’ he said.
‘Know that straight from the outset.’
‘What he meant,’ said Askari dryly, ‘was that it is good to see you too.’
Stavut blushed. ‘It is good to see you,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry if I sounded brusque, but Askari has been telling me of your plan to find the temple. I don’t want my lads put in any danger.’
Skilgannon nodded. ‘Can we take this one step at a time? When last I saw you it was in the company of Kinyon and the villagers. Now you are being called the Beastmaster. I would be fascinated to know how all this occurred.’
Stavut sighed, and launched into his tale. It was told starkly and simply. Skilgannon listened, then leaned back. ‘I am sorry about the villagers,’ he said. ‘But it was their choice to return home. You have nothing to blame yourself for.’
‘Nice of you to say so, but I do blame myself. I should have realized they were fearful of the lads -
and of me. I should have taken steps to put them at their ease.’
‘I cannot fault you for that,’ said Skilgannon. ‘We all carry our guilts. So what will you do now?’
‘I. . we. . haven’t made any plans.’
‘Is that true?’ Skilgannon asked Askari. ‘No plans?’
‘I shall go with you to the temple, as I said,’ she told him.
‘What?’ burst out Stavut. ‘You can’t!’
‘I can’t?’ Her voice was cold, her expression icy.
Stavut looked crestfallen. ‘What I meant. . oh, never mind! Why do you have to go?’
‘Because her life is at risk as long the Eternal holds power. She is a Reborn, Stavut, like me. Askari was created from the bones of the Eternal herself. That is why she is the Eternal. She steals fresh bodies as her own decays. My purpose in this world is to stop her. To end the magic. If I succeed then Askari is safe from her.’
‘Then of course I’ll come with you. I’ll leave the lads with Shakul. He can lead the pack. They will be safe here. There is plenty of game, and no reason for soldiers to hunt them.’
From all about them the beasts began to move forward, squatting in a circle round the fire. Shakul leaned towards Stavut. ‘Bloodshirt leave?’ he asked.
‘You will be pack leader, Shakul. I have to go.’
‘We are pack,’ Shakul reminded him.
‘Yes, we are. But where I go there will be danger, and fighting, and death. This is my fight. Mine, Askari’s, Skilgannon’s. It is a fight for. . for Skins. It is not your fight. I don’t want to see any of you hurt. You understand?’
‘Not hurt,’ said Shakul, his great head swaying. Easing his huge bulk forward he peered at Skilgannon.
‘Not take Bloodshirt,’ he said.
‘He is not taking me,’ said Stavut. ‘I am going willingly. I don’t want to leave you lads. Truly I don’t.
You are the best friends I ever had. I am fond of all of you. But I must go.’
Shakul stared hard at Skilgannon. ‘Big fight?’ he said.
‘I think so, Shakul.’
The beast lifted its head and sniffed the air. ‘Many soldiers. Jems. Horses.’
‘There is an army moving south of us,’ said Skilgannon.
Shakul heaved himself upright and moved back from the fire. The other beasts crowded round him.
Skilgannon looked at Stavut. ‘What are they doing?’
‘Making a decision,’ said Stavut, ‘and — if it is what I think it will be — I am going to hate you, Skilgannon.’
They sat in silence for a while, as the beasts continued to speak in low, incomprehensible grunts. Then Shakul came back to the fire. All the other Jiamads formed a circle round the humans.
‘Make choice,’ said Shakul. ‘Go with Bloodshirt.’
Stavut’s head dropped. ‘I don’t want you to be in danger,’ he said.
‘We are pack!’ said Shakul, stamping his foot. One by one the others joined in, and Skilgannon felt the earth tremble beneath him.
It was close to midnight, and Skilgannon was sitting with his back against a tree. He had tried to sleep, but Stavut’s words continued to haunt him. It was obvious that he felt strongly about the Jiamads — his lads — but it was not just that affection which concerned Skilgannon. It was the deceit he himself had perpetrated on the merchant. In making their decision to travel with Stavut the Jiamads had surprised the swordsman. They had shown loyalty and friendship — virtues Gamal had informed him were not natural to the beasts. Stavut had talked of watching them develop, forming bonds, playing practical jokes, laughing.
This was a far cry from the savage, soulless creatures Skilgannon had believed them to be. He thought then of Longbear. According to Charis Gamal had sent him away, but he had charged back and died to defend his human comrades.
It made the deceit even harder to bear.
Skilgannon had talked of ending the magic, and thereby the reign of the Eternal. What he had not said was that, in doing so, it was possible that the Jiamads, melded by magic, would die in their thousands.
This meant that Shakul and his pack might unknowingly be fighting for their own doom.
Guilt nagged at the man Skilgannon, but the strategist Skilgannon knew that the Jiamads could mean the difference between success and failure. In war, he told himself, hard decisions had to be made.
And how does this make you different from the Eternal, he wondered?
Sadness touched him, merging with the guilt. He thought of the elderly abbot, Cethelin, a man who believed love was the way to change the world. The man had been prepared to die, cut down by a vengeful mob, rather than compromise his beliefs. Skilgannon had not allowed his sacrifice — and had butchered the ringleaders. Those moments of horrifying violence had ended his own attempts to become a monk, and had left Cethelin alive, but heartbroken.
Skilgannon had promised the Legend Riders he would help them change the world. It was a lie. The world would not be changed by swords. In theory Cethelin was right. The greatest change could only occur when all men refused to take up swords; when war was seen not as glorious, but as obscene.
It would never happen, he knew. He glanced round the campsite at the sleeping beasts. We are pack, Shakul had said. It was not only wolves and Jiamads that followed this hierarchical pattern. Man was the same. The strongest male would fight to rise in the pack, to dominate lesser males. It could be seen endlessly in the natural play of children. The weak and the sensitive were brushed aside by the brutish and the powerful.
Just then, in the far distance, he heard a high-pitched series of unnatural cries. On the far side of the camp Shakul stirred and sat up. Skilgannon rose to his feet and walked to his horse. Askari rolled from her bed and called out to him. ‘Where are you going?’
‘The Shadows are abroad,’ he said. ‘There is no room to fight here.’
Askari rose and stood by as he hefted the saddle onto the stallion’s back. Tightening the cinch he looked at Askari and smiled. ‘Do not look so concerned. I shall ride out to open ground and deal with them.’
‘I’ll come with you.’
‘No.’
‘You are an arrogant man, Skilgannon. Those creatures move with terrifying speed. You are not a god, you know.’
‘No, I am not. But I am a killer.’ Stepping into the saddle he touched heels to the stallion’s flanks.
Skilgannon rode out of the woods, and down the hill to the flat-land, constantly scanning the surrounding countryside. A quarter of a mile to the west there was a rounded hillock. From its summit he would have a clear field of vision. Against creatures of such speed he needed to be able to see them coming. Skilgannon dismounted at the top, and tethered the stallion. Then he eased himself through a series of exercises, loosening his muscles and preparing his mind. The moon was low in the sky, and there was little breeze. Drawing his swords, he waited.