With a scream he fell back, the Sword of Fire dropping from his mutilated hand. Boranius backed away.
Skilgannon followed. ‘Now tell me about Greavas!’ he said. ‘Now tell me about his pleading!’
Boranius screamed in pain and fury and rushed in. Skilgannon parried, leapt aside and sent a slashing cut across Boranius’s back as he blundered past. The Sword of Night sank deep, slicing into Boranius’s spine. His legs gave way and he fell to his knees, his remaining sword slipping from his hand.
Skilgannon walked around the man. The Sword of Day sliced through the leather straps holding the iron mask in place. It fell away, exposing the horror of Boranius’s mutilated face. The man’s blue eyes blazed with undisguised malice and hatred. ‘You are nothing, Boranius,’ said Skilgannon, his voice emotionless. ‘You never were. Greavas was ten times the man you are.’
With that he walked away. Boranius screamed insults after him. His body jerked as he tried to force his legs to obey him, but his fractured spine could no longer send messages to his muscles. He tried to reach for his sword, but his arm spasmed and twitched.
He looked up to see the Witch Queen walking towards him, a slender dagger in her hand.
She knelt down before him, and he looked into her eyes. ‘You killed my mother,’ she said.
The dagger came up slowly, the tip moving towards his eye.
Boranius screamed as the cold steel slowly, so slowly, pushed its way into his brain.
Skilgannon did not watch the tortured finish to Boranius’s life. Instead he moved to where Morcha was sitting by the wall, his hands trying to stem the flow of blood from the wound to his lower chest.
‘You were too good a man to follow such a wretch,’ said Skilgannon.
‘Why did you do it?’
‘I wish I could answer that,’ said Morcha. ‘I’m glad you beat him. Didn’t think you could. Didn’t think anyone could.’
‘There’s always someone better,’ said Skilgannon. Wearily he rose and walked back to where Druss was sitting with the child.
‘You did fine, laddie,’ said the old warrior. ‘You think Elanin will ever recover?’
Skilgannon lifted her from Druss’s arms and carried her to where the Joining lay. The golden eyes were still open, but its breathing was harsh now, and ragged. Kneeling down he laid the child alongside its huge head.
A low moan came from the beast, and it pressed its muzzle against her face.
‘I don’t know if you can hear me, Orastes,’ said Skilgannon. ‘But your daughter is safe now.’ Druss came and squatted down by the beast. He laid a huge hand upon its brow, stroking it as if it were a dog. The golden eyes remained fixed on the delicate features of the child for a while. Then they closed, and the breathing ceased.
For a while no-one moved. Then the child’s eyes flickered, and she took a deep, shuddering breath. She blinked and sat up. Druss reached for her, drawing her into his arms.
‘It is good to see you, pretty one,’ he said.
‘Daddy came for me,’ she told him. ‘He told me you were here.’
Jianna stood back, gazing down at the man who had haunted her dreams for what seemed almost half a lifetime. Her thoughts fled back to those early, perilous days when she had posed as a prostitute, and had lived with the youth Skilgannon. The memories were sharp and vivid, tinged with many sadnesses. Yet they were also golden, and bright. Her dreams then had been simple. First there was survival, and then revenge.
Nothing complicated. Arid always by her side was the swordsman Skilgannon.
He was kneeling now beside a golden-haired child, his hand gently brushing back her long fringe. She remembered when his hand was upon her face. She felt the first warning signs of tears, and angrily shut off the memories. Turning away from the scene she saw the Old Woman leaning upon her staff by the far wall. She wore a heavy black veil, and there was no way to read her expression.
She had appeared by the quayside as Jianna was leading her personal bodyguard onto the ship that would bear them up the coast to Sherak, on the first leg of the journey to the Citadel.
‘Are you travelling to kill Boranius or to rescue Skilgannon?’ she had asked, as they stood on the aft deck.
‘Perhaps both,’ she had replied.
‘He is wrong for you, Jianna. He will destroy you.’
Jianna had laughed then. ‘He loves me. He would do nothing to harm me.’
‘It is love which is dangerous, my Queen. Love blinds us to peril. Love leads to foolishness and sorrow.’
‘And what if I love him?’
‘You do love him, Jianna. I have known this since first we met. And that is the peril of which I speak. You are wise now, and ruthless as a leader must be. You are loved and you are feared. You can achieve greatness. It is there… just ahead… beckoning you.’
‘Why do you hate him so?’
‘I do not hate him. He is a fine, courageous man. I wish him dead because he is a threat to you. No more than that. Have you not also tried to have him killed? Can you not understand why? Your secret self, the true you, the centre of your soul, knows he must be dealt with. Thoughts of him torment your mind.’
Jianna watched as the ship’s sails were unfurled, and sailors ran along the quay, letting slip the ropes. ‘Perhaps it is my true self telling me that I need him,’ she countered.
‘Pah! You need no-one. I have lived long, Jianna. I know what you are experiencing. I was there myself once. You love him too much and too little. Too much ever to love another, and too little to change for his sake.
He wants a wife and a mother to his children. You want an empire and a place in history. Do you believe these ambitions can be linked? He feels the same, my Queen. He cannot love another, and your image is constantly in his mind. Yet he will not change either. He will not become your general again — even if it means sharing your bed and your life. As long as he lives he will be a rock in your heart.’
‘I will think on what you have said,’ Jianna had told her.
Now, in this crumbling citadel, she realized more than ever before how much she had missed this tall man, and the joy of his company. She longed to walk across to him, and lay her hand upon his shoulder. To take a cloth and wipe away the blood that ran from the cut on his face.
A movement came from behind her. She turned to see the Drenai warrior she had first noticed in the courtyard below. His face was grey, and blood was drenching his tunic and leggings. He paused before her.
‘What are you doing climbing stairs, idiot?’ she asked him. ‘I told you to wait until our surgeon attended you.’
‘Thought I might die before seeing you again,’ he told her.
‘You fool. You could have died climbing those stairs.’
‘Worth it, though.’ The man swayed. Malanek stepped forward, taking his arm.
‘Make sure his wounds are seen to,’ she said. The soldier leaned in to Malanek and gave a crooked, boyish grin.
‘Oh, I’ll not die now,’ he said. As Malanek led him away, he swung his head. ‘Are you married?’ he called back. Jianna ignored him.
A young, golden-haired female came into the hall, and spoke in low tones to the Old Woman. She was carrying an ornate, small double-winged crossbow. The Old Woman waved an arm at her, pointing to a door across the hall. The young woman walked across to it, glancing back once. Then she was gone.
Skilgannon rose to his feet, and turned. His sapphire blue eyes held to her own. Jianna allowed no expression to show. She merely waited. He strode towards her, and bowed deeply. Then he looked up, saying nothing.
‘No words for me, Olek?’ she asked him.
‘None could do justice,’ he said. ‘In this moment, standing here, I am complete.’
‘Then come home with me.’
A spasm of pain crossed his features. ‘For more wars and death? For more destroyed cities and orphaned children? No, Jianna. I cannot.’
‘I am a queen, Olek. I cannot promise no more wars.’
‘I know.’
‘Do you wish you had never met me?’
