Jianna returned to her tent, and filled a goblet with rich red wine. She did not often drink, but tonight she wanted that warm, enveloping mist that would soften the sharp pangs of her regrets.
She had not set out to become the Eternal, back on that distant day when her new eyes opened to a world of blue skies and fresh, sweet air. That was when she had first seen Landis Kan. In those early days in the temple she had merely been glad to be back in the world of the flesh, enjoying the long forgotten delights of eating, sleeping, feeling the sun on her face, the wind in her hair. And she had been fascinated by the temple and its artefacts. There had been no thought of building armies, or regaining thrones. She learned within the first few days of her new existence that the old empire of Naashan had survived a mere fifty years after her death, and that, now, her old palace was a ruin. At first she had thought it would be good to travel across the sea, and gaze once more on familiar mountains. Common sense told her that this was not wise. The new world was much like the old, torn by wars, greed and the lust of men. A woman without wealth, travelling alone, would be prey to any bandit chief, slaver, or mercenary warlord.
The decision which set her on her current path had been made with the best intentions. Landis Kan told her that a former priest, now a renegade warlord, had gathered a force and was said to be marching on the temple, desiring its power, and the wealth it contained. The priests were terrified. The ward spell which protected them could be pierced by the renegade. Jianna asked them why they were not making plans to defend themselves. Landis Kan pointed out that the men here were academics, and not warriors.
They commanded no soldiers, and no defence force.
By this time Landis Kan was her lover, and would do anything to please her. She told him that the answer lay in hiring mercenaries, from among the bandits who roamed the wild lands. He was aghast at the thought. ‘Anyone who tried to approach them would be taken and tortured,’ he said. ‘These are savage, unholy creatures.’
‘Who is the worst of them?’ she had asked.
‘Abadai. He is vicious and cruel.’
‘How many men does he have?’
‘I have no idea. Nor do I want to know.’
‘How old is he?’
‘In his middle years. He has been raiding the caravans and sacking towns for three decades at least.’
‘Then he will do,’ said Jianna. Two days later, on a borrowed horse and armed with a sabre, Jianna had ridden from the temple. She still had a crystal clear memory of the moment she glanced back, and saw nothing but a mountain behind her. No sign of the great doors, or the many windows. Merely blank rock. Even the great, golden mirror atop the peak was no longer visible.
She pushed on, following the directions Landis had reluctantly given her. He had even offered to come with her, and she had seen the gratitude in his eyes when she refused. By late afternoon, high in the mountains, she saw the first of Abadai’s riders. There were three of them sitting their horses on the trail ahead. Jianna realized that from their position they must have been watching her for some time. As she rode closer she saw the hunger and the lust in their eyes. The men were of Nadir extraction, with high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes.
They wore breastplates of baked leather, and carried long lances.
Jianna drew rein. ‘I am seeking Abadai,’ she said.
‘I am Abadai,’ answered one of the men. ‘Step down and let us talk.’
‘You are far too ugly to be Abadai.’ The other riders smiled at her insult — the smiles vanishing as the first man glared at them.
‘You will regret those words,’ he said.
‘Regret is pointless,’ she told him. ‘Now, either take me to Abadai, or. .’ The sabre flashed into her hand. ‘. . or just try to take me.’
The lance head dropped and he yelled a wild battle cry as he heeled his horse forward. Jianna swayed to her left as the lance blade thrust at her, then her sword arm lashed out, the blade slicing through the back of the man’s neck as he passed. His horse galloped on for several steps. Then he pitched from the saddle.
‘Do I have to kill you all?’ she asked the two warriors, noting their expressions of shock. ‘Or will you take me to Abadai?’
‘We’ll take you,’ said one. ‘You should know that the man you killed was Abadai’s brother.’
The camp was a ramshackle affair, the tents old and patched. Naked children ran across the stony ground, and the women she saw were scrawny and undernourished. Raiding had obviously not been so profitable recently.
The men drew up outside a tent larger than the others. One of them called out, and a squat, powerful, middle-aged man stepped out. His harsh face was deeply lined, his eyes black and cruel. The riders spoke to him in a language Jianna did not know, and she sat quietly waiting.
At last Abadai turned his dark eyes on her. ‘Speak,’ he said. ‘When you have finished I will decide whether to kill you quickly or slowly.’
‘You will not kill me, Abadai,’ she said, stepping down from the saddle, and lifting her saddlebag clear. Draping it over her shoulder she walked to face him.
‘And why will I not?’
‘I hold your dreams in my hand, warrior. I can give you what your heart most desires. I can also give your people what they most desire.’
‘And what is it that I most desire?’ he asked.
Jianna smiled and stepped in close, her mouth next to the warrior’s ear. ‘To be young again,’ she whispered. He laughed then.
‘And perhaps I could grow wings, so that I could attack my enemies from the air, like an eagle?’
‘Invite me into your tent and I shall prove the truth of my promise.’
‘Why should I even talk to you? There is a blood feud now between us. You killed my brother.’
‘You will not mourn him. I doubt you even liked him. The man was an idiot. You are not. However, if my words prove false, or if you decide to take your revenge anyway, it can wait until after we have spoken. You know the old saying? Revenge, like wine, needs time to mature. Then it tastes all the sweeter.’
Abadai laughed. ‘You are an unusual woman. Is it merely extreme youth that makes you so reckless?’
‘Youth, Abadai? I am five hundred years old. Now invite me inside, for the sun is hot, and I am thirsty.’
Jianna smiled as she remembered that long ago day. Sipping her wine she thought of Skilgannon. He would have been proud of her. There would have been no look of contempt in his eyes. She sighed. That look was hard to bear. It did not matter that he was a romantic, and could never understand the need for ruthlessness in a monarch. It did not matter. .
Yet it did.
In all her long life Jianna had needed admiration from only one person.
The man now out to destroy her.
She shivered, drained her goblet, poured another, and sought refuge in a past untainted by soaring ambition.
Landis Kan had given her a regenerative potion that the priests used to fend off sickness. It was, he said, a life extender. Not as powerful as having a Reborn body, but it strengthened the immune system, and revitalized glands and muscles that had begun to wither with age.
She had walked into Abadai’s filthy tent and sat down on a rug at the centre, her sabre across her lap, her saddlebag by her side.
Abadai sat cross-legged opposite her. ‘Your words need to be golden,’ he said.
She smiled. Reaching into her saddlebag she produced the potion. It was contained in a bottle of purple glass, stoppered with wax. ‘Drink this,’ she said, offering it to him.
‘What is it?’
‘It might be poison. Or it might give you a hint of what youth was once like.’
Abadai returned the smile, but it was more of a grimace. He called out to the riders who were waiting outside. Ducking under the tent flap they entered.