Then it struck the eastern cities, and people fled, carrying the plague with them. Strange, is it not, that the backward Kolear had, within their simplistic theological beliefs, a way to avoid the plague, yet we — more civilized and knowledgeable — gathered it and spread it?’
Skilgannon was too weary to debate the point and drifted off to sleep.
Often now, though, he thought back to the priest’s words. It was not strange at all. One of the first of the Prophets wrote:
Skilgannon sighed, and once more became Brother Lantern. He stripped off his clothing and began to exercise. Slowly he freed his mind of all tension, then smoothly ran through the repertoire of stretching and balance. Finally he began a series of swift, sudden moves, his hands lancing out, slashing the air, his body twirling and leaping, feet kicking high. Sweat-drenched, he pulled on his robes, and knelt on the stone floor.
For the first time in many days he thought of his swords, and wondered what the abbot had done with them. Had he sold them, or merely cast them in a pit? Giving up the Swords of Night and Day had been harder than he could ever have imagined. Even the act of passing them to Cethelin had caused his hands to tremble and his heart to flutter in panic.
For weeks afterwards he had struggled against a desire to retrieve them, to hold them again. He had felt physically sick for days, unable to hold down solid food. It was the opposite of the exhilaration he had experienced when the Queen gave them to him. When his hands first touched the ivory handles a sense of strength and purpose had flowed through his limbs. It seemed incomprehensible then that they had been created by the loathsome hag in the faded red gown who had stood alongside the young Queen. Mostly bald, wisps of straggly white hair clung to her skull like mist on rock. Once she would have been heavily built, but now the wrinkled skin of her face hung loose over the folds of her neck.
Her eyes were rheumy, and one was marred by a grey cataract.
‘Are they pleasing to you, Olek?’ she had asked. Her dry voice raised gooseflesh on the back of his neck, and he looked away as she smiled, showing rotted teeth.
‘They are very fine,’ he said.
‘My swords are blessed,’ she told him. ‘I made one for Gorben many years ago. With it he almost conquered the world. Now I have made more.
Mighty weapons. They enhance the strength and speed of the wielder. The blades you carry now are fit for a king.’
‘I have no wish to be a king.’
The Old Woman laughed. ‘Which is why the Queen grants them to you, Olek Skilgannon. You are loyal — and that is a quality so rare as to be priceless. You will win many battles with these swords. You will win back the lands of Naashan for your Queen.’
Later, as he sat alone with the young Queen, Skilgannon voiced his disquiet. ‘The Old Woman is evil,’ he said. ‘I do not wish to use her swords.’
The Queen had laughed. ‘Oh, Olek! You are too rigid in your thinking.’
She had sat beside him, and he had smelt the perfume of her raven hair.
‘She is everything you say — and probably more. But we must win Naashan back and I will use every weapon I can gather.’ She drew a knife from her belt and held it up to the light. It was long and curved, the blade exquisitely engraved with ancient runes. ‘She gave me this. Is it not beautiful?’
‘Aye, it is.’
‘It is the Discerning Blade. It enhances wisdom. When I hold it I can see so many things. And so clearly. The Old Woman is evil, but she has proved herself loyal. Without her you and I would have been killed on that awful night. You know that. I need her strength, Olek. I need to rebuild the kingdom. As a vassal state to Gorben we could not grow. Now he is dead we can fulfil our own destiny. Take the swords. Use them. Use them for me.’
He had bowed his head, then lifted her hand to his lips. ‘For you I would do anything, majesty.’
‘Not anything, Olek,’ she said softly.
‘No,’ he agreed.
‘Do you love her more than you love me?’
‘No. I will never love anyone that much. I did not know I was capable of loving with such intensity.’
‘You could still come to my bed, Olek,’ she whispered, sliding in close to him and kissing his cheek. ‘I could be Sashan again. Just for you.’
He rose from the couch with a groan. ‘No,’ he said. ‘If I did that it would rip away all my reasoning. We would destroy everything we have fought for. Everything your father died for. You have my heart, Jianna. You have my soul. I loved you as Sashan, and I love you now. But it cannot be! There is nothing more I can give. Dayan is my wife. She is sweet, and she is kind.
And soon she will be the mother of my child. I will be loyal to her. I owe her that.’
Then he had taken the Swords of Night and Day, and ridden back to the war.
Now alone in his small room Skilgannon placed his hand over the locket round his neck. ‘If the temple exists, Dayan,’ he whispered, ‘I will find it.
You will live again.’
He stayed for a while kneeling upon the floor, lost in thoughts of the past. Had he been a coward to refuse the demands of his heart? Was his love for Jianna so great, or not great enough? Could he have defeated the princes as well as the Ventrian overlords and their supporters? His mind told him no. He and Jianna would have been dragged down and betrayed.
His arrogance whispered the opposite. ‘You could have beaten them all, and been as one with the woman of your soul’s desire.’
Such thoughts were reinforced by what had happened following the gift of the swords. During the next two years all enemies had fallen before him.
One by one the cities held by Ventrian supporters had been taken, or had surrendered to his conquering armies without a fight. Yet, as Jianna’s power grew, she had begun to change. Their relationship cooled. She took many lovers, men of power and ambition, then leached away their strength before tossing them aside. Poor, demented Damalon had been the last. He had followed at her heels like a puppy, begging for scraps.
Jianna had sent Damalon away on that last night, after the massacre of Perapolis, and had entertained Skilgannon in her battle tent. He had arrived with the blood of the slaughtered on his clothes. Jianna, dressed in a gown of shimmering white, her black hair braided with silver wire, looked at him disdainfully. ‘Could you not have bathed before coming into my presence, general?’
‘A tidal wave could not wash this blood from me,’ he said. ‘It will be upon me all my days.’
‘Is the mighty Skilgannon growing soft?’
‘It was wrong, Jianna. It was evil on the grandest scale. Babies with their skulls smashed against walls, children with their guts torn out. What kind of a victory was this?’
‘My victory,’ she snapped. ‘My enemies are dead. Their children are dead. Now we can rebuild and grow without fear of revenge.’
‘Aye, well, you’ll have no need of a soldier now. So, with your leave, I’ll return to my home and do my best to forget this awful day.’
‘Yes, go home,’ she said, her voice cold. ‘Go to your Dayan. Rest for a few weeks. Then return. There will always be a need for good soldiers. We have retaken the cities of Naashan, but I wish to reestablish the old borders that were in place when my father was king.’
‘You will invade Matapesh and Cadia now?’
‘Not immediately — but soon. Then Datia and Dospilis.’
‘What has happened to you, Jianna? Once we talked of justice and of peace and prosperity and freedom. These are the virtues we fought for. We had only contempt for the vanity of Gorben and the desire of conquerors to build empires.’
‘I was little more than a child then,’ she snapped. ‘Now I have grown.
Children talk of silly dreams. I now deal in realities. Those who support me I reward. Those who stand against me die. Do you no longer love me, Olek?’
‘I will always love you, Sashan,’ he said simply.
Her features softened then, and for a moment she was the girl he had saved in the forest of Delian. Then the moment passed. Her dark eyes narrowed and held his gaze.
