Free The Swords of Night and Day by David Gemmell

Motionless he stood, in perfect balance. A long time ago this exercise would have brought with it a sense of peace. He could not find it now.
    I should not be here,
he thought.
    I lived and I died. My journey was complete.
    A beast leapt at him from behind a jumble of boulders. It was scaled like a snake, but the face was human. A sword lashed toward his neck. Swaying back, he drew the Swords of Night and Day and slew the demon. Others were gathering.
    The memory was sudden and jarring.
    His journey had
not
been complete. He had wandered the Void for what Gamal told him was a thousand years. He shuddered as more memories of that cold, gray soulless place filled his mind. Then he smiled grimly. Soulless? It was exactly the opposite. It was full of souls—souls like his own. Skilgannon the Damned, in a world of the Damned.
    The sun was shining brightly in a clear blue sky. Skilgannon moved to the balcony wall and drew in a deep breath. He could almost taste the sweetness of life upon the breeze as his lungs filled with cold, crisp air.
    Why am I here?
he thought. If the Void had been a punishment, was this some kind of reward? If so for what? It made no sense.
    He heard a knocking at his door and went back into the apartment. It was Landis Khan. He smiled as he entered, but Skilgannon sensed nervousness in him. “How are you feeling, my friend?”
    “I am well, Landis. And do not use the word
friend
so lightly. Friendship is either bestowed or earned.”
    “Yes, of course. My apologies.”
    “There is nothing to apologize for. Gamal says there is someone I should meet. Something about a mystery.”
    “Indeed so. I have horses being prepared.”
    “Is it far?”
    “About an hour’s ride.”
    “Would you prefer to walk?”
    Landis grinned. It made him look younger. “You noticed my lack of skill? Yes, I would prefer to walk, but I have many duties today. So I must bounce upon the saddle and endure more bruises.”
    Half an hour later they were riding over the hills toward the upper timberland. “Who is this mysterious person?” asked Skilgannon as they reached a long level stretch and the horses slowed.
    “Forgive me, Skilgannon, but I would prefer it if you waited until we get there. Then I will answer all questions. Might I ask a favor of you?”
    “There is no harm in asking, Landis.”
    “We have visitors coming in tomorrow from Outside. I would like you to be with me when I meet them. It will be vital, however, for your name not to be mentioned. I will, by your leave, introduce you as my nephew, Callan.”
    “Who are they, these people?”
    Landis sighed. “They serve the Eternal. May we walk for a while?” he said, suddenly. “I feel as if my spine is a foot shorter than when we began.” Drawing rein, he climbed clumsily from the saddle. Skilgannon joined him, and they walked on, leading their mounts.
    “This world is suffering, Skilgannon, in a way that is unnatural and perverse. We had the chance, I think, to make it a garden, a place of infinite beauty, without threat of famine or disease. Even death could be held back. Instead we have the grotesque violence of a terrible war, fought by unnatural beast against unnatural beast, and by men against men. The suffering Outside is prodigious. Disease, pestilence, and starvation, murder and horror abound. How one man was supposed to put an end to this I do not know. As I said, I was swept up in the prophecy. I truly believed—
believe,
” he added, hastily, “that the Blessed Priestess
did
know the role you would play.”
    “And this prophecy promised I would overthrow the Eternal?”
    “Yes.”
    “What
exactly
did it say?”
    “It was written in an archaic tongue, and in a form of verse. There have been several translations, all subtly different, in that they sought to create rhyme in the modern tongue. The one I prefer begins:
Hero Reborn, torn from the gray, reunited with blades, of Night and of Day.
The rest of it is deliberately obscure and