Authors: David Gemmell
’Indeed it is - by your lights. By the way, did you know that Donna Taybard is now living on the edge of my lands?’
Shannow sat very still.
’She and her husband - a worthy man by the name of Griffin - have settled on the lands to the west. Good farmland. They could even prosper.’
’Why do you lie?’ asked Shannow. ‘Is it because your master is unable to face truth?’
’I do not need to lie, Mr Shannow. Donna Taybard, believing you dead, bedded down with Con Griffin. She is now pregnant, though she will not live to see her daughter born.’
’I do not believe you.’
’Of course you do, Mr Shannow. I gain no advantage by lying to you. Far from it. Had I left her as your white lady you would have raced to her side . . . and into my lands. Now you may decide to leave her be, and then I would have a merry job tracking you down.’
Then why tell me?’
To cause you pain.’
’I have been hurt before.’
’Of course you have, Mr Shannow. You are a loser and they always suffer. It is their lot in this world, as it was in mine. Your god does not bring you many gifts, does he? Have you not realized, Mr Shannow, that you follow a dead deity? That despite his propaganda and his awful book, he lost?’
Shannow raised his head and their eyes met. ‘You are a fool, Abaddon, and I will not debate with you. You were right; Donna’s betrayal hurts me. Deeply. Despite it I wish her only happiness, and if she has found it with Griffin then so be it.’
’Happiness?’ sneered Abaddon. ‘I am going to kill her, and her unborn child. She will be my sacrifice in two months. Her blood will flow on the Sipstrassi. How does that sit with you, Jerusalem Man?’
’As I said, you are a fool. Look into my eyes, Abaddon, and read the truth. As of this moment you are dead. Send your Zealots, send your demons, send your God - they will avail you nothing, for I will find you.’
’Just words,’ said Abaddon, but the smile left his face. ‘Come to me as soon as you can.’
’Count on it,’ Shannow assured him.
Shannow awoke once more, and this time he was back at the camp-site by the stream. The fire had died to glowing ash and Batik and Selah were still asleep. Shannow rose and added sticks to the embers, blowing the fire to life. Then he sat, staring into the flames and seeing only Donna.
Vile as Abaddon undoubtedly was, there was no doubt in Shannow’s mind that he had spoken the truth about Donna Taybard and Con Griffin. But he underestimated the Jerusalem Man’s capacity for pain. His love for Donna had been too good; too joyful. Nothing in Shannow’s life had ever been that easy. Other men mined pleasure as if it were an everlasting seam, their lives filled with smiles and easy happiness. Shannow panned in a pebble stream that yielded little and vanished swiftly.
And yet he was torn. A part of him wanted to ride swiftly to her, to kill Griffin and take her by force. An even darker thought was to ride, guns in hand, towards the Hellborn and die in a furious battle.
The sky lightened and the bird-song began in the trees. Batik stirred but did not wake. Shannow stood and wandered up a steep slope to scan the nearing northern mountains. Jagged they were and tall - piercing the clouds, like pillars supporting the sky.
Shannow could never have settled for farm life while the far mountains called him - while the lure of Jerusalem was hooked into his heart.
’I love you, Donna,’ he whispered.
’It looks to be a fine day,’ said Batik.
’I did not hear you approach.’
’It is a skill, Shannow. What are your plans?’
’I'm not sure. I saw Abaddon last night; he has threatened someone close to me.’
’Your woman?’
’No, not mine.’
Then it is not your concern.’
’Not in the Hellborn philosophy,’ said Shannow.
Batik sat down as Shannow outlined his conversation with the Hellborn king, and the background to it. He listened intently, seeing far more than Shannow intended.
’You cannot get to Abaddon, Shannow,’ he said. ‘I myself have rarely seen him. He is guarded by the Zealots and only occasionally ventures among the people. And anyway you say the caravan headed north-west, which puts the lands of the Hellborn between you and “she. They are preparing for war, Shannow. The Hellborn army will not be turned aside by wagoners and farmers.’
’I cannot save her,’ said Shannow, ‘but I am pledged to destroy Abaddon.’
’It is not possible.’
’It may not be possible to succeed, it is certainly possible to try.’
’For what purpose? Are you the soul of the world?’
’I cannot explain it to you. Nor to any man. I cannot suffer evil, nor watch the wicked strong destroy the weak.’
’But the strong will always dominate the weak, Shannow. It is the nature of man and beast. You can be either the hunter or the hunted; there is no other choice, there is no neutrality. I doubt there ever was, even before the Fall.’
’I told you I could not explain it,’ said Shannow, shrugging, but Batik was not to be diverted.
’Nonsense! At some time in your life you made a decision and weighed up the reasons for your actions. Be honest, man!’
’Honest? To a Hellborn? What do you know of honesty? Or love, or compassion? You were raised under Satan and you have drunk the blood of innocence. Reasons? Why does a fanner weed his land, or hunt wolves and lions? I hunt the wolves among men.’
’God’s gardener?’ sneered Batik. ‘A sorry mess he must be in if you are all the force he can muster in this broken world.’
Shannow’s hand flashed down and up and Batik found himself staring into the black, unwavering muzzle of a Hellborn revolver. He looked up into Shannow’s eyes and saw the edge of madness lurking there.
’Insult me if you will,’ hissed Shannow, ‘but you will not denigrate my God. This is the only warning I give. Your next foulness will be your last.’
Batik grinned wolfishly. ‘That’s good, Shannow. That’s very Hellborn - those who disagree with you die!’
Shannow blinked and uncocked the pistol. ‘That is not the way I am,’ he whispered, slumping down to sit beside Batik. ‘I am not good in debate. My tongue stumbles into my teeth, and then I get angry. I am trapped, Batik, in a religion I can scarcely comprehend. In the Bible there are many passages I can follow, yet I am not a Christian. My Bible teaches me to smite the enemy hip and thigh, destroy him with fire and sword … it also teaches me to love my enemy and do good to him who hates me.’
’No wonder you are confused,’ said Batik. ‘But then I have long considered the possibility that Man is essentially insane. I believe in no god, and I am happier for it. I don’t want eternal life. I want a little joy, a large amount of pleasure and a swift death once I lose the appetite for either.’
Shannow chuckled and his tension passed. ‘I wish I could share that philosophy.’
’You can, Shannow; there is no charge.’
Shannow shook his head and looked towards the mountains.
’I shall go there,’ he said, ‘and then head west.’
’I'll stay with you as far as the mountains, then I head east.’
’You think that will take you out of reach of the Zealots?’
Before Batik could answer, the bushes to their left parted and a huge brown bear moved into the open. He saw the men sitting there and rose up on his hind legs, towering to almost eight feet. For some seconds he stood there, then he dropped to all fours and ambled away.
The two men sheathed their pistols.
’You are never out of reach of the Zealots, Shannow,’ said Batik. Shannow let out a long juddering breath.
’I felt sure that they had possessed it.’
’Next time they probably will,’ Batik assured him.
Con Griffin was troubled. For most of the day he had worked hard on the new house, laying the foundation wall with care and measuring logs to interlace at the corners. Yet all the while he worked his eyes would flick to the skyline and the eternal watchers.
Since the first attack there had been no fresh violence -far from it, in fact. The following day six riders had approached the settlement. Once more Griffin had walked to meet them, covered by Madden and Burke, Mahler and five other men sporting rifles and guns taken from the dead raiders. The bodies had been removed to a field in the east and hastily buried.
The riders had entered the settlement without apparent fear and their leader, a slim young man with bright grey eyes, had approached Griffin smiling warmly.
’Good morning, my name is Zedeki.’ He extended a hand. Griffin took it and engaged in a short perfunctory handshake.
’Griffin.’
’You are the leader here?’
Griffin shrugged. ‘We don’t think of ourselves as needing leaders. We are a group of farming men.’
Zedeki nodded and smiled. ‘Yes, I understand. However, you do speak for the community, yes?’
’Yes.’
’Good. You were attacked last night by a group of renegades from our lands and this grieves us greatly. We apprehended the survivors, who were put to death immediately. We have come to offer our apologies for the incident.’
’No need for that,’ Griffin told him. ‘We dealt with it at no loss to ourselves, and gained greatly by it.’
’You speak of the weapons,’ said Zedeki. ‘In fact they were stolen from our city and we would like them returned.’
That is understandable,’ said Griffin smoothly.
Then you agree?’
’With the principle, yes. Stolen property should be returned to its owners.’
Then we may take them?’
’Unfortunately there are other principles that must also be considered,’ stated Griffin. ‘But perhaps we could sit down and take refreshment?’
Thank you.’
Griffin sat down on a felled tree and beckoned Zedeki to join him. The two men sat in silence for some minutes as Donna and two other women brought copper mugs filled with honey-sweetened herb tea. The other riders did not dismount, and looked to Zedeki before accepting refreshment.
’You mentioned other principles?’ said Zedeki.
’Indeed I did, old lad. You see, where we come from there is a custom which says the spoils of war belong to the victor. Therefore most of the men here feel they have earned their new weapons. Secondly, there is the question of reparation. These raiders were your people - unless they also stole the clothes they were wearing. Therefore my people might feel entitled to some compensation for the terror inflicted on their wives and children, not to mention the cost of the operation in terms of spent ammunition and hard work preparing the tripwires and other devices which happily were not needed.’
’So, you are saying that our property will not be returned?’
’No, not at all, Zedeki. I am merely outlining possible objections to such a move. Not being the leader, I can make no prediction as to their individual reaction.’
Then what are you saying?’
’I am saying that life is rarely simple. We like to be good neighbours, and we are hoping that we can trade with people living nearby. However, so far we have had few dealings with your people, so perhaps we should both sit back and study each other’s customs for a while.’ ‘And then the weapons will be returned?’ ‘And then we will talk some more,’ said Griffin, smiling. ‘Mr Griffin, my people outnumber yours by perhaps a thousand to one. We are unaccustomed to being refused our desires.’
’But then I have not refused, Mr Zedeki. That would be presumptuous.’
Zedeki drained his tea and looked around the settlement. His soldier’s eye took in the placements of some twenty felled trees which scattered the open ground. Each was positioned to provide cover for marksmen and planned in such a way that any raiding force, no matter from which direction they attacked, would come under a murderous cross-fire while their enemy would be firing from good cover.
’Did you organize these defensive positions?’ asked Zedeki.
’No,’ said Griffin. ‘I’m just a humble wagon-master. We have several men here skilled in such matters, having dealt with all kinds of Brigands.’
’Well, let me thank you for your hospitality, Mr Griffin. I . wonder if you would care to join me at my home? It is not a long ride, and perhaps we could discuss further the principles involved?’
Griffin’s eyes narrowed, but he smiled with apparent warmth. ‘That is indeed kind of you, and I am pleased to accept - but not at the moment. As you can see, we are currently building our own homes and it would be impolite of me to accept your hospitality without being able to respond in kind. You see, it is one of our customs - we always respond in kind.’
Zedeki nodded and stood. ‘Very well. I will return when you are more . . . settled.’
’You will be welcome.’
Zedeki stepped into the saddle. ‘When I return, I will be demanding our property.’
’New friends should not speak in terms of demands,’ replied Griffin. ‘If you return peacefully, we can negotiate. If not, then some of your property will be returned to you at a speed you might not appreciate.’
’I think that we understand one another, Mr Griffin, but I do not believe you understand the strength of the Hellborn. We are not a few raiding Brigands, as you call them. We are a nation.’
As he rode away Madden, Burke and a score of the other men clustered around Griffin.
’What did you make of it, Griff?’ asked Mahler, a short balding farmer whom Griffin had known for twenty years. ‘It is trouble whichever way we look at it. I think we should move on to the west.’
’But this is good land,’ argued Mahler. ‘Just what we always wanted.’
’We wanted a home without Brigands,’ said Griffin. ‘What we have could be a hundred times worse. That man was right; we are outnumbered. You saw their armour -they are an army. They call themselves the Hellborn. Now I am not a religious man, but I don’t like the name and I dread to think what it implies.’
’Well, I’m not running,’ said Madden. ‘I have put my roots here.’
’Nor I,’ said Mahler. Griffin glanced around the faces of the other men to see all were nodding in agreement.
That night, as he sat with Donna Taybard under a bright moon, he felt despair settle on him like a cloak.
’I wanted Avalon to be a land of peace and plenty. I had a dream, Donna. And it is so close to being true. The Plague Lands - empty and open, rich and verdant. But now I’m beginning to see that the Plague Lands could earn their title.’
’You fought them off before, Griff.’ ‘I have a feeling they could return with a thousand men -should they choose.’
Donna moved closer and sat on his lap, draping her arm around his neck. Absently he rested his hand on her swollen belly and she kissed him lightly on the forehead. ‘You’ll think of something.’
He chuckled. ‘You have great faith in . . .’
’. . . a humble wagon-master,’ she finished for him.
’Exactly.’
But the attack he feared did not come to pass, and as the weeks drew by their homes neared completion. Yet every day the Hellborn riders crested the hills, sitting their dark mounts and watching the settlers. At first it was nerve-racking, but soon the families became used to the skylined riders.
A month had gone by before another incident alarmed the settlement. A young man named Carver had headed into the hills to hunt for fresh meat, but he did not return.
Madden found his body two days later. His eyes had been put out and his horse slain; all of his belongings were left untouched, but his Hellborn rifle was missing.
The following day Zedeki had returned, this time alone.
’I understand one of your men was killed,’ he said.
’Yes.’
’There are some raiders in the hills and we are looking for them. It is best if your people stay in the valley for a time.’
’That will not be necessary,’ stated Griffin.
’I should not like to see other deaths,’ Zedeki said.
’Nor I.’
’I see your house is nearing completion. It is a fine dwelling.’
Griffin had built in the lee of a hill on a wall foundation of stone, topped by timbers snugly fitted under a steep roof.
’You are welcome to join us for our midday meal,’ invited Griffin.
’Thank you, but no.’
He had left soon after, and Griffin was concerned that he had not repeated his request for the weapons.
Three days later Griffin himself rode from the settlement, a rifle across his saddle and a pistol in his belt. He made for the high ground to the west, where big-horn sheep had been sighted. As he rode, he examined the rifle loaned to him by Madden. It was a Hellborn weapon, short-barrelled and heavy; the stock was spring-stressed and Madden had explained that after each shot, when the stock was pulled back, a fresh shell would be slipped into the breech. Griffin disliked the feel and the look of the weapon, preferring the clean graceful lines of his flintlock. But he could not argue with the practical applications of a repeating rifle and had accepted the loan readily.
He headed north-west and dismounted in a clearing on a wide ledge that overlooked the valley. Left and right of him the undergrowth was thick around the base of tall pines, but here - out of the bright sunlight - Griffin looked out over the land and felt like a king. After a little while he heard horses approaching from the north. Picking up his rifle, he levered the stock, then placed the weapon against a rock and sat down.
Four Hellborn riders advanced into the clearing, pistols in their hands.
’Hunting raiders?’ asked Griffin, pleasantly.
’Move away from the weapon,’ said a rider. Griffin remained where he was and met the man’s eyes; he was black-bearded and powerfully built, and there was nothing of warmth or friendship in his expression.
’I take it,’ said Griffin, ‘that you mean to kill me, as you killed young Carver?’
The man smiled grimly. ‘He talked tough at the start, but he begged and pleaded at the end. So will you.’
’Possibly,’ said Griffin. ‘But, since I am to die anyway, would you mind telling me why?’
’Why what?’
’Why you are operating in this way. Zedeki told me you had an army. Could it be that my settlers frighten you?’
’I would like to tell you,’ replied the man, ‘because I’d like to know myself. But the answer is that we are ordered not to attack . . . not yet. But any one of you that strays is fair game. You strayed.’
’Ah well,’ said Griffin, remaining seated. ‘It looks like it’s time to die.’
Shots exploded from the undergrowth and two riders pitched from their saddles. Griffin snatched up the rifle and pumped three shots into the bearded rider’s chest. A shell ricocheted from the rock beside him and he swung the rifle to cover the fourth rider, but another shot from the undergrowth punched a hole in his temple. His horse reared and he toppled from the saddle. Griffin’s ears rang in the silence that followed; then Madden, Burke and Mahler rose from the undergrowth and joined him.
’You were right, Griff, we’re in a lot of trouble,’ said Burke. ‘Maybe it’s time to leave?’
’I am not sure they would let us go,’ said’Griffin. ‘We’re caught between a rock and a hard place. The settlement is well-positioned and easier to defend than moving wagons. Yet, ultimately, we can’t hold it.’
Then what do you suggest?’ asked Mahler.
’I'm sorry, old lad, but at the moment I’m bereft of ideas. Let us take one day at a time. Strip the ammunition and weapons from the bodies and hide them in the undergrowth. Lead the horses in and kill them too. I don’t want the Hellborn knowing that we are aware of our danger.’
’We won’t fool them for long, Griff,’ said Burke.
’I know.’
It was after midnight when Griffin slipped silently into the cabin. The fire was dead, but the large room retained the memory of the flames and he removed his heavy woollen jacket. Moving across the timbered floor, he opened the door to Eric’s room; the boy was sleeping peacefully. Griffin returned to the hearth and sat back in the old leather chair he had carried across half the continent. He was tired, and his back ached. He tugged off his boots and stared at the dead fire; it was not cold in the room, but he knelt, prepared kindling and lit the fire afresh.
You will think of something, Donna had told him.
But he couldn’t. And it galled him.
Con Griffin, the humble wagon-master. He wore the tide like a cloak, for it served many purposes. All his life he had seen leaders of men, and he had learned early to judge their strengths. Many relied on wit and charisma, which always seemed to link heavily with luck. He had never been blessed with charisma and had turned his considerable intellect to creating a different kind of leader. Men who did not know Griffin would see a ponderous, powerful, slow-moving man: a humble wagon-master. As the days passed they would, if observant, notice that few problems troubled the big man, seeming to disappear of their own volition as his plans progressed. They would see other men taking problems to Griffin, and watch their troubles shrink away like mist in a morning breeze. The truly intuitive watcher would then see that Griffin, unlike the dashing leaders of golden oratory, commanded respect by being the still centre, an oasis of calm amid the storms of the world. Rarely provocative, never loud, always authoritative. It was a creation of which Con Griffin was very proud.
Yet now, when he needed it most, he could think of nothing.
He added fuel to the fire and leaned back in the chair.
Donna Taybard awoke from a troubled sleep to hear the cracking of the unseasoned wood on the fire. Swinging her legs from the broad bed, she covered herself in a woollen gown and moved silently into the main room. Griffin did not hear her and she stopped for a moment, staring at him by the fire, his red hair highlighted by the flames.
’Con!’
’I am sorry, did I wake you?’