‘ You are an arrogant man, Skilgannon.’
This was true. The Shadows may not even be coming for you, he realized. They could be looking for Decado, or Alahir, or even Askari. The thought was an uncomfortable one. If the last was true, then he had left her unprotected. The Jiamads may be huge and powerful, but they were cumbersome, and could not prevent an attack. On the other hand, even if they paralysed her, the Shadows would not have the strength to carry Askari away from the likes of Shakul. The reasoning calmed him. She would be safe with them.
And if it was Decado they were hunting? Well, in many ways that would be a problem solved.
His exercises complete, he continued to cast his gaze over the grassland, seeking not to focus on any one spot, but allowing his peripheral vision to pick up movement. Slowly the moonlight began to fade. He glanced at the sky. There were few clouds and the stars were bright, but the moon itself would soon be behind the distant peaks.
The stallion suddenly reared, its tethered front feet thumping down on the hillock. ‘I know, Greatheart,’ he said softly. ‘They are coming.’
Yet still there was nothing to be seen on the swaying grassland.
As Malanek had taught him so many centuries before, he slipped into the Illusion of Elsewhere, freeing his body to act and react instantly, without need for conscious thought. This simple mind trick enabled him to cut down reaction time. His eyes continued to watch the land, but his mind concentrated on a single memory from the past. He saw himself standing with Druss the Legend on the high parapet of Boranius’s tower, after the rescue of the child, Elanin. Druss had been fifty years old, his beard more grey than black, his eyes a piercing winter blue. The golden-haired little girl had been standing beside him, her small hand engulfed by his own huge fist. He had talked of returning to his cabin in the mountains, and retiring from wars and battles. Skilgannon had laughed.
‘I am serious, laddie. I’ll hang Snaga on the wall and put my helm and jerkin and gauntlets into a chest.
By Heaven, I’ll even padlock it and throw away the key.’
‘So,’ said Skilgannon, ‘I have witnessed the last battle of Druss the Legend?’
‘Druss the Legend? You know I have always hated to be called that.’
I’m hungry, Uncle Druss,’ said Elanin, tugging on his arm.
‘Now that is a title I do like,’ said the old warrior, lifting the child into his arms. ‘That is who I will be.
Druss the Uncle. Druss the Farmer. And a pox on prophecies!’
‘What prophecy?’
Druss had grinned. ‘A long time ago a seer told me I would die in battle at Dros Delnoch. It was always a nonsense. Delnoch is the greatest fortress ever built, six massive walls and a keep. There’s not an army in the world could take it — and not a leader insane enough to try.’
The grassland still seemed empty, and Druss’s last words echoed through his mind. ‘A pox on prophecies,’ he had said. And yet, ten years later, the sixty-year-old Druss had stood on the walls of Dros Delnoch, defying one of the largest armies ever seen in the world.
Skilgannon had been in a tavern in Gulgothir when he had heard Druss was back, training the recruits at Delnoch. He had seen the Great Khan, riding out with his army two days before, and had known the fortress would fall. Ulric was a brilliant strategist and a charismatic leader. The armies of the Drenai had been largely dismantled by a political leadership who believed that was the best way to avoid war. It was a reasonable theory. Lessen the strength of your army and you gave the clearest indication to neighbouring countries that you were not planning to invade them. The problem with the theory was that it required potential enemies to be equally reasonable. For all his great skills and his enormous courage Ulric was not a reasonable man. And his problems were diametrically different from those of the rich Drenai southerners. Ulric had a vast army. Armies need to be fed and paid. The larger the force, the greater the drain on the treasury. Huge armies needed plunder. Ulric had already destroyed the Gothir.
The Drenai, by reducing their fighting forces, were now virtually defenceless against him. One decrepit fortress, manned by raw recruits, farmers and peasants, against a horde of Nadir warriors, fearless and valiant. There could be only one outcome.
Skilgannon had been emotionally torn when he heard Druss was among those defenders. He loved the old man, but he also owed Ulric his life. The latter had risked everything to save him, when they had fought together. Two friends on opposite sides. Skilgannon could not help them both, save by staying clear of the conflict.
The decision was a heavy burden to bear.
A flicker of movement on the grassland caused his head to turn. There was nothing to be seen. He glanced at the stallion. Its ears were flat back against its skull now, and it was tense and nervous.
Returning his gaze to the darkening grassland he saw a small, dark patch of earth some two hundred paces from him. Movement flickered again to his left, but he kept his eyes on the dark patch. Suddenly it moved, with blistering speed. Skilgannon saw then that it was a slender figure, in a hooded dark robe.
Another movement to his right. They moved so fast it seemed they disappeared from one place only to appear in another, as if they were moving through invisible gateways.
Skilgannon walked several steps away from his horse, giving himself room to swing his blades. He could not beat these creatures for speed, so he watched them move across the flatland, heading inexorably for the hillock, and gauged their style of movement. Their attack was designed to confound the eye. One would move and drop to the ground. Another would move fractions of a heartbeat after the first. The victim would continue to seek out movement, and never quite be able to focus on any one Shadow. By now Skilgannon knew there were three of the creatures. He felt his heartbeat quicken with the thought of battle, and quelled the rising excitement. If they were to pierce him with the paralysing darts, or get close enough to bite, then he didn’t want the venom to be pumped swiftly through his system by a fast heartbeat. Many years ago, when his father’s retainer, Sperian, had been bitten by a snake, he had lain very still while his wife Molaire ran for the local apothecary. The nine-year-old Skilgannon had sat beside Sperian, who closed his eyes and breathed slowly and deeply. Later, after the apothecary had administered an antidote, Skilgannon asked him how he could have stayed so calm. ‘Only way to stay alive, boy. Fear causes the heart to beat faster, and that pushes the poison round the blood faster. Don’t want that. Too much of it in the heart itself and that’s it. Life’s over.’
Moonlight had almost gone now and Skilgannon calmly awaited the attack.
It came suddenly. Something bright flashed before his eyes. The Sword of Day swept up. A dart cannoned from the blade, spinning off across the hillock. Skilgannon dived to his left. A second dart missed his face by inches. Rolling to his feet he lunged — the sword cutting into a dark robe, and slicing through it. Skilgannon rolled again, coming up fast. The Sword of Night swept out, biting through flesh and bone. Skilgannon had not even seen the creature’s approach. The cut had been an automatic response. The Shadow fell writhing to the ground. Something sharp bit into Skilgannon’s shoulder. He staggered back, feeling the venom in his system. He stood very still, then toppled to his knees, his arms outstretched, his sword tips resting on the earth. Staying calm he slowed his heartbeat once more, concentrating deeply. He did not blink or move. The remaining two creatures came into sight, no longer darting. They watched him. Then they moved forward, lips drawn back. One had a thick, single curved fang, which jutted over his lower lip, while the other boasted two slender fangs. Their mouths widened as they approached him, squatting down. The Swords of Night and Day swept up. One sliced through the first creature’s throat, the second almost missed, as the Shadow hurled itself backwards. But the Sword of Night cut through its ribs and across its stomach, disembowelling it. The creature tried to run, then stumbled and fell, twitching, to the earth.