‘We are pack! We are pack!’ The chant boomed out over the meadows.
‘Shakul!’ yelled Stavut. ‘What are we?’
Shakul began to stamp his foot. One by one the beasts copied him. ‘We are pack!’ roared Shakul, then let out a ferocious howl. The Jiamads raised their heads and howled with him.
‘Let’s hear some Drenai howls!’ shouted Alahir. Cupping his hands over his mouth he let out a piercing wolf call. Laughing now, the Legend Riders began to whoop and yell. The horses scattered once more, but no-one seemed to care.
Skilgannon looked round and smiled. For the first time in days he felt the tension ease from his body.
As Skilgannon walked back to where the barges were moored Alahir joined him. ‘What you said back there, was it true?’ he asked.
‘I do not lie, Alahir.’
‘Druss fought alongside a Jiamad?’
‘We called them Joinings back then, but they were the same. A Nadir shaman had performed a melding on one of Druss’s oldest friends, a man named Orastes.’
‘Ah well,’ said Alahir, ‘that is different then.’
‘What is?’
‘The Jiamad was once a man Druss knew.’
Skilgannon took a deep, calming breath. ‘Where is the difference, Alahir? Shakul was once a man. All of them were.’
‘Aye,’ agreed Alahir, ‘but criminals and such like. Theirs is a punishment for crimes committed.’
Skilgannon paused. He had no wish to insult the man, and he was grateful for the action he had taken.
He looked at the young warrior. ‘I know you are not a stupid man, Alahir. But what you just said shows a remarkable naivete. Do you believe the Eternal is evil?’
‘Of course. Her actions prove it.’
‘Exactly. Why then do you suppose that an evil leader would use only criminals for melding? Shakul was melded for the Eternal’s army. Yes, he might have been a thief, or a murderer. Or simply a good man who spoke against the Eternal.’
‘I see where you are going. Yes, forgive me, Skilgannon. I am a stupid man.’
Skilgannon laughed. ‘When you consider this venture, I think we both qualify for an award in stupidity.
Do not be so hard on yourself. We all get locked into prejudices. In my time and my country the Drenai were considered to be arrogant, selfish conquerors, who needed to be taught a lesson in humility. Had I been a little older I too might have been part of Gorben’s army, taking on the Drenai at Skein Pass. You look at the beasts, their awesome power and their ferocious ugliness, and you wonder just what they could have done to deserve such a fate. For surely, if there is a Source watching us all, they must have done something. I don’t doubt the first Jiamads might have been criminals. After that, with the need for more and more to fill her armies, I expect they were mostly peasants, rounded up in villages. I tell you, Alahir, I was moved when I saw the pack volunteer to travel with Stavut. It made me think there just may be a chance for humanity to change one day. That a group of beasts could show such loyalty and affection inspired me.’
‘Ah well, everybody likes Stavut. He has a rare gift for comradeship.’
Once back at the barges Skilgannon bade Alahir goodnight, and wandered down to the last barge. He found Harad sitting at the stern, Snaga in his hands. He looked up as Skilgannon climbed to the deck.
‘You should have told me,’ said Harad, tossing the axe to the deck. The points of the butterfly blades bit into the wood and the haft stood upright, quivering with the impact.
‘What difference would it have made?’ said Skilgannon, sensing what he spoke of. ‘She died in an earthquake. She died instantly.’
‘Aye, but by my axe!’ The anguish in his words was painful to hear.
‘I knew a man once who was killed by a pebble, flicked up from the hoof of a passing horse. The man was a tough warrior, who had survived a dozen battles. The stone struck him in the temple.’
‘There is a point to this?’ demanded Harad.
‘We rarely get to choose the manner of our passing. You did not kill Charis. The earthquake killed her. Listen to me, Harad. Guilt always follows bereavement. It is a natural part of the process. Someone we love dies and the first question we ask ourselves is: could we have done anything to prevent it? And even if we couldn’t the guilt remains. Did we love them enough? Did we give them enough of our time?
We remember arguments or rows, or tears or misunderstandings. And every one of them comes back to us like a knife in the heart. You are not alone in your suffering. Every man or woman old enough to know someone who has died feels the same. For me it was my wife. She was pregnant and happy. Then the plague struck. For years I suffered, knowing that I had not loved her enough. I travelled the world with a shard of her bone and a lock of her hair, seeking the very place we are now trying to find. I wanted to bring her back, to repay her for the days of love she had given me. Charis loved you, Harad. The gift of love is priceless. You are a better man for having loved her, and for having been loved by her. Let the grief flow by all means. But rid yourself of the guilt. You have nothing to feel guilty about.’
Harad sat silently for a moment, then he let out a sigh. ‘I will think on what you have said,’ he told Skilgannon. Leaning forward, he wrenched the axe from the deck. ‘Why are we in these damned barges?’ he asked. ‘I could walk to the desert faster than this.’
‘Tomorrow you will see. Alahir says the waterway opens out into a great submerged canyon. We will have to leave the oxen behind, for there is no land for them to walk on. There are sheer mountains all round. Alahir claims it is the fastest way to the Rostrias. If we had to ride it would take another two weeks to skirt the mountains.’
‘I have another question,’ said Harad.
‘Ask it.’
‘What happens if we do stop the source of the magic?’
Skilgannon was puzzled. ‘The Eternal will be able to create no more Jiamads or Reborns. Have I not said this before?’
‘Yes, you have. I meant what happens to the Jiamads?’
‘I really don’t know. They are melded by magic. It could be that removing it would cause the meld to come apart. Or it could be that nothing will happen to them. You are concerned about the welfare of the beasts?’
‘As a matter of fact I am,’ said Harad. ‘But I was thinking more about you, and me, and Askari.’
‘I don’t follow you.’
‘Were we not also created by magic? Are we not, in our own way, just as unnatural as the Jems?
Perhaps destroying the source will kill us too.’
‘That is a thought I could have done without,’ admitted Skilgannon. He looked at Harad. ‘Does it make a difference?’
‘No,’ said the axeman. ‘We are doing this to protect the weak from the evil strong. We are following the code. Have you any idea of how to find this temple?’
‘I know where it was,’ said Skilgannon. ‘We’ll start from there.’
Seventy years before, when Unwallis had first travelled to Diranan, one of the first important people he had met had been Agrias. His position as the Queen’s favourite, and Chief Councillor, had seemed unassailable. Fiercely intelligent, handsome and multi-talented, Agrias had radiated power and authority.
Unwallis had stammered foolishly upon being introduced, muttered some dreadful banality, and then had stood like a country bumpkin as Agrias and his entourage swept on through the palace.
Physically Agrias had not changed. He still looked young. He was still handsome and tall. But now he radiated nothing but fear, as he was dragged before the Eternal. For five days he had been kept tied in a covered pit amid the ruins. He was hauled out on the fifth morning, blinking and squinting against the sunlight, his long pale robe soiled with his own excrement. Unwallis wanted to look away, but there was something magnetic about the man’s disintegration.