He smiled then. ‘Sometimes. In the depths of despair. If I could go back I would change many things. But meeting you? I would never change that.
You might as well ask a man with sunstroke if he wished he had never, ever seen the sun.’
‘So what will you do?’
He touched the locket round his neck. ‘I’ll travel on.’
‘You still think you can bring her back?’
He shrugged. ‘I won’t know unless I try.’
‘And what then? Will you live with her on some arid farm?’
He shook his head. ‘I have not thought that far ahead.’
‘Such a quest is a waste of life, Olek.’
‘My life is already a wasteland. This at least gives me some purpose.’
A soldier appeared alongside Jianna. He bowed. ‘The rebels have gathered together in the courtyard, Majesty. They have plundered the warehouses and are seeking to leave. They say the man Druss promised them their lives. Should we kill them?’
‘Let them go.’
‘Yes, Majesty. Also our scouts report a large contingent of Datian cavalry are less than two hours from here. We should be gone before they arrive.’
Malanek stepped forward, and also began to speak to her. Jianna saw Skilgannon move away towards the Old Woman, who was beckoning him.
Malanek was also urging swift departure.
‘Very well. There is no more to achieve here.’
Glancing towards Skilgannon she saw him walk through the small doorway at the rear of the hall, followed by the Old Woman. Before the door closed she saw that there were stairs leading upwards towards the battlements.
‘Is he coming with us, Majesty?’ asked Malanek, presenting her with the scabbarded Swords of Blood and Fire. Jianna shook her head and saw the old swordsman was disappointed. He sighed. ‘He’s a good man. I didn’t believe he could defeat Boranius. Nice to find that life can still surprise me.’
There is no-one he cannot beat. He is Skilgannon.’
She glanced again towards the small door. Beside it lay the body of a man who seemed familiar to her. ‘You recognize him?’ she asked Malanek.
‘Yes, Majesty. It is Morcha, one of Boranius’s officers.’
‘I cannot place him. Ah well, no matter.’ Curling her hand round the ivory hilt of one of the swords she slowly pulled it from the ebony scabbard. The blade was etched with swirls of red flame, the hilt beautifully carved, showing intertwined demonic figures. The sword was light in her hands, and she felt a thrill pass through her. Jianna shivered.
‘You believe these blades could be possessed?’
Malanek looked at her and smiled. ‘Time will tell, Majesty,’ he said, with a shrug.
As the Old Woman reached the top of the stairs she turned to Skilgannon. ‘Are you not curious as to why I asked you to join me here?’
she asked him.
‘I already know,’ he said.
‘Ah, you have spoken with the beast-woman, Ustarte. Well, now you intrigue me, Olek. Have you come to kill me?’
‘I think your death is long overdue, hag. But, no, I have come to help Garianne.’
The Old Woman’s laughter rang out. ‘Oh, how sweet! I was hoping you would try to kill me with one of my own swords. I would have enjoyed watching your reaction when the blades failed to pierce my flesh. I may be old, but I am not foolish. I do not make weapons which can be used against me. So,’ she said, leaning on her staff, ‘how will you help poor Garianne? Will you promise her love and affection?’
Skilgannon eased past her and moved out onto the circular battlements.
Garianne was standing on the high wall, balancing on a crenellation and staring out over the land. Her crossbow was in her hand, and Skilgannon saw that it was loaded.
She glanced back at him, her face expressionless. Skilgannon leapt lightly to stand on another crenellation some ten feet from her. ‘I have never liked heights,’ he said.
‘I am not comfortable with them, either,’ she said. He noted that she was speaking in the first person. This was something she never did unless drunk. He decided to risk a question.
‘Why did you come up here, Garianne?’
‘This is where it ends,’ she said. ‘This is where the voices leave me. I will be free.’
The bright moonlight upon her pale skin made her seem almost childlike. She gazed down at the bow in her hand.
‘If it will free you, then do it,’ he said, facing her.
‘Is the child well again?’
‘Yes. As well as anyone can be who has suffered so much. Her mother was killed, her father is dead. She will have to live with those memories all her life. As you have, Garianne. What happened at Perapolis was evil. It was monstrous. For my actions there I am known — will always be known -
as the Damned. My guilt is certain. Do what you must.’
‘We… I… cannot live like this any more.’
‘Then don’t,’ he said. ‘Aim your bow. Find your freedom.’
The crossbow came up. Skilgannon took a deep breath and prepared for the bolt to strike. Yet she did not release the shaft. ‘I don’t know what to do. There is a voice I have not heard before.’ Turning away from him she looked down at the stone courtyard far below. Skilgannon guessed her intention.
‘Don’t!’ he called, his voice commanding. ‘Look at me, Garianne. Look at me!’ Her head came up, but she was still perched on the very edge of the battlements. ‘Your death would only make the horror of Perapolis complete. You survived. Your parents would have joyed in the thought of you living on. Their lives, their blood, are in you. You are their gift to the future. You leap from here, and their line has ended. Your father did not hide you so that you could end in this way. He loved you, and he wanted you to have a life. To find love as he perhaps found love. To have children of your own. In that way he lives on. I would sooner you sent a bolt into my heart than watch you do this to yourself.’
‘He is right, child,’ said the Old Woman. ‘Kill him and be free. Call it punishment, call it justice, call it what you will. But do what you are here for.’
‘I can’t,’ she said.
‘You stupid coward!’ shouted the Old Woman. ‘Must I do everything myself?’ She extended a bony hand towards Garianne. The girl screamed in pain and jerked upright. Her arm spasmed, and the crossbow once more rose.
Skilgannon swung towards the Old Woman. She was chanting now, the words in a tongue he had never heard.
Suddenly a figure appeared in the doorway behind her. A silver blade burst from the Old Woman’s chest, then slid back. The crone staggered forward, and fell, her staff clattering across the stone. She struggled to her knees, a large blood stain spreading across her breast. Slowly she turned, and saw Jianna standing in the doorway, the Sword of Fire in her hand.
The Old Woman’s head dipped and she tugged the black veil from her face. Skilgannon saw blood upon her lips. Then she spoke. ‘Love… blinds us… to peril,’ she said. And slumped dead to the battlement floor.
On the ramparts Garianne cried out and began to fall. Skilgannon spun, took two running steps and hurled himself at her. His left hand grabbed at her tunic, his right hit a stone crenellation. His fingers slipped clear and he began to fall. Desperately he scrabbled at the stone, ripping the skin from his fingers. His hand hooked onto an inch-wide ledge some three feet below the battlements. Garianne was a dead weight, and the muscles of his arms were stretched to the point of tearing.
Jianna appeared above him. ‘Let the girl go. I’ll haul you up.’
‘I cannot.’
‘Damn you, Olek! You’ll both die!’
