Free The Swords of Night and Day by David Gemmell Page A

allegorical. Almost whimsical. The Hero Reborn will steal or destroy the magical egg of a vain silver eagle, battle a mountain giant bearing the golden shield of the gods, and bring about the death of an Immortal, restoring the world to balance and harmony.”
    “A vain eagle?” asked Skilgannon.
    “In love with its own reflection,” said Landis. “As I said, some of the ancient texts were expanded, or exaggerated. In full, however, the story indicates that Ustarte knew the nature of the evil we now face. In some of the ancient texts she talks of an undead queen and armies of Joinings. By her reckoning the world of men would face ruin. The Blessed Priestess predicted that only you, and the Swords of Night and Day, could defeat them. I believe she had truly seen the future, Skilgannon.”
    “I knew her, Landis. She spoke of many futures. Every decision we make, or refuse to make, creates a different future. None of them is carved in stone. She knew this.”
    “I accept that. Gamal has made similar points. But she predicted the Eternal, and the monsters that now serve her. So perhaps she was also right in naming you as the savior.”
    Skilgannon saw the hope flicker in the man’s face and said nothing. He walked on. Landis hurried alongside. “What was she like? Was she beautiful, as the legends say?”
    “Aye, she was beautiful. She was also—to use your own description—a Jiamad.”
    Landis stopped abruptly. “No! How was that possible?”
    “I can give you no answers. When we went to her we had a Joining with us. He had once been a friend of one of our company. We were hoping that Ustarte could separate him from the beast he had become. She said it was not possible. If it were she would have done it for herself. She showed me then her arm, which was covered in fur. She was part tiger, part wolf, as I recall.”
    Skilgannon saw that Landis Khan had grown pale. The older man walked on in silence for a while. Then he turned to Skilgannon. “Do not mention this to anyone else, I beseech you. The Priestess is venerated now. People pray to her, worship her.”
    “Why should it make a difference? She was who she was. Nothing is changed except her form.”
    “Nothing and everything,” said Landis, sadly. “Let us ride on. We are almost there.”
             
    S kilgannon had little experience with lumber camps, but it seemed to him that this one was well organized, teams of men felling trees, others stripping away branches. He saw one long trunk being dragged by two shaggy ponies toward an area where wagons were waiting. Here there were loggers wielding two-man bow saws. The trunks were shortened before being lifted by pulleys to the backs of wagons. The work was swift and efficient, and there was a sweet smell in the air, the perfume of pine.
    Landis Khan drew rein a little way back from the workmen and waited. A tall, round-shouldered man made his way through the workers and bowed to him. “Welcome, Lord. The work, as you see, is going well.”
    “I am sure that it is, Balish. This is my nephew, Callan. He is visiting for a while.”
    Balish bowed to Skilgannon. “Where will we find Harad?” asked Landis Khan.
    The man looked suddenly frightened. “There was little I could do to stop the fight, Lord,” he said. “It happened so swiftly. No one was seriously hurt. I have spoken to Harad and warned him about his behavior.”
    “Yes, yes, but where is he?”
    Balish pointed toward the west. “Shall I have him brought here?”
    “Yes. We will be a little way down the slope there. Where the stream forks.”
    So saying, Landis Khan swung his horse and rode away from the camp. Skilgannon followed him, and the two men dismounted by the stream. “Balish is a good organizer,” said Landis Khan, “but weak and mean spirited. He does not like Harad.”
    Skilgannon said nothing. He stared at the mountains and watched two eagles soaring on the thermals. For some reason the sight of the birds filled him with