Last Guardian

by David Gemmell

  “He is old, sire,” said Magellas. “Why are the hunters needed?”

  “Find him and see,” the king told him. “But I do not want him killed from ambush or destroyed from a distance. You will face him.”

  “It is a test, then, Father?” asked Rhodaeul.

  “It is a test,” the king agreed. “The man is a warrior, and I suspect he is—as you are—Rolynd. His disadvantage is that he was not fed with Sipstrassi strength while he was in the womb or tutored as you have been by the finest assassins in the empire. Yet still he is a warrior.”

  “Why three of us, lord?” asked Lindian. “Would not one suffice?”

  “Most probably. But your enemy is a master of the new weapons; perhaps you will acquire something from him. To that end my reward will be great. The hunter who kills him will become satrap of the northern province of Akkady; his companions will receive six talents of silver.”

  The three warriors said nothing, but the king could see their minds working. No unity of purpose now, no combined plan. Each of them was plotting to defeat not only Shannow but the other two.

  “Are there no questions, my children?”

  “None, Father,” volunteered Magellas. “It will be as you say.”

  “I will watch your progress with interest.”

  The three having bowed and left the room, the king sealed the chamber with his stone and settled back on a silk-covered divan. The wall shimmered once more, and he gazed down on the land of the wall. At last Sharazad had begun to think; she had laid the seed of division within her enemies and was moving her troops to encircle them. He looked farther, into the heavily wooded hills to the west of the refugees. Then he chuckled.

  “Oh, Sharazad, if only I could tire of your beauty. Yet again you conspire to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.” He touched the stone and viewed the lands to the south. His body arched upright as he saw the distant city. As he stood, his pale eyes widening, his mouth was dry, and for the first time in decades a lance of fear smote him.

  “What demonic trickery is this?” he whispered aloud. Leaving the image shimmering, he summoned his astrologers. There were four of them, all appearing to be in their middle twenties.

  “Look and tell me what you see,” ordered the king.

  “It is the city of Ad,” said the leader, Araksis. “Bring it closer, Majesty. Yes, it is Ad. But see the way the statues are worn and the roadways buckle. Move farther south, lord. Find the tower.” But there was no tower, only a barnacle-encrusted peak. For some time the Atlanteans stared at the Sword of God. “It is baffling, my lord,” said Araksis. “Unless someone copied the city or …”

  “Speak!” ordered the king.

  “We could be looking at the city as it will one day be.”

  “Where is the sea? Where are the ships?”

  The astrologers looked at one another. “Show us nightfall, sire, on this world.” The king touched his stone, and the astrologers grouped together to study the star-filled sky.

  “We will return to the tower, lord,” said Araksis. “We will study it more closely and report back to you.”

  “By midday, Araksis. Meanwhile, send Serpiat to me.”

  The king sat lost in thought, staring at the vision before him. He did not notice the arrival of the general Serpiat. The man was squat and powerfully built, wearing golden armor and a jet-black cloak.

  “Not good, sire,” he observed, his voice rough and grating, “to allow an armed man easy access to your chambers.”

  “What? Yes, you are right, my friend. I did not secure the chamber. But my mind was occupied with that,” said the king, pointing to the distant city.

  Serpiat removed his black-plumed helm and approached the vision. He rubbed at his beard. “Is it real?”

  “All too real. Araksis is returning here at midday, but when he left, his face was white, his eyes frightened. It frightens me also. With the Tower Stone we have opened gates to other worlds—and conquered them. But this … this is no other world, Serpiat. What have we done?”

  “I do not understand, sire. What is it you fear?”

  “I fear that!” shouted the king. “My city. I built it. But where is the ocean—and where am I?”

  “You? You are here. You are the king.”

  “Yes, yes. Forgive me, Serpiat. Gather ten legions. I want that city surrounded and taken—all its records. Everything. Capture its people. Question them.”

  “But this was to be Sharazad’s realm, was it not? Do I serve under her?”

  “Sharazad is finished. The game is over. Do as I ask and prepare your men. I will open a wide gateway three days from now.”

  The Parson listened to the reports of his scouts. The southland was wide and open; there was evidence of past cultivation, and an incredible number of lion tracks were on the plain before the city. Several prides had been seen moving in the distance. To the east, he was told, there were other tracks, bigger, showing talon marks of prodigious size.

  “Did you see any beasts?” he asked the rider.

  “No, sir. Nothing unnatural-like. But I seen some big bears—biggest I ever saw. High up in the timber country. I didn’t get too close.”

  They had camped by a lake, where the Parson ordered trees to be felled and dragged to the lakeside, forming three perimeter walls. Within the rough stockade he allowed tents to be erected and cook fires lit. The people moved through their chores like sleepwalkers. Many of the women had lost husbands in the attack on the town. Other men, who had chosen to go to church on that fateful morning, knew that their wives and children had been butchered. All had suffered losses. For some it was only a building or a tent or a wagon. For others it was loved ones. Now the survivors were in shock.

  The Parson gathered them together and prayed for the souls of the departed. Then he allocated tasks for the survivors: gathering wood for the fires, helping to erect tents, preparing food, scouting the woods for root crops, tubers, and wild onions.

  In the distance he could see the glistening towers of the whore’s city and wondered how long it would be before her satanic legions fell upon them.

  Bull’s arrival with Faird was a surprise, yet even more surprising was his news of the meeting with Szshark.

  “You spoke with one of the Devil’s minions?” he said, aghast. “I hope your soul was not burned.”

  “He seemed …” Bull shrugged. “… honest, at least, Parson. He warned us to beware of the woman.”

  “Don’t be a fool, Bull. He is a creature of darkness and knows nothing of the truth. His ways are the ways of deceit. If the woman has made us an offer, we must regard it as honest—if only because the demon says otherwise.”

  “Hold on there, Parson. You didn’t speak to him. I did. I kinda trust what he says.”

  “Then the Devil has touched you, Bull, and you are not to be trusted.”

  “That’s kinda harsh, Parson. Does that mean you’d consider giving up the healer to them creatures?”

  “What do we know of him or his connection with them? He could be a killer. He could have brought this doom upon us all. I will pray on it, and then the men will vote. You ride back and keep an eye on the enemy.”

  “Don’t I get a vote, Parson?”

  “I will make it for you, Bull. I take it you are against any … trade?”

  “You couldn’t be more damn right!”

  “I hear what you say. Go now.”

  The Parson summoned Nu to him, and the two walked together on the shores of the lake.

  “Why are these creatures hunting you, Meneer?” he asked.

  “I spoke against the king in the temple. I warned the people of coming disasters.”

  “So, then, they consider you a traitor? It is not surprising, Meneer Nu. Are we not told in the Bible to respect the power of kings, as they are ordained by God himself?”

  “I am not versed in the lore of your Bible, Parson. I follow the Law of the One. God spoke to me, and He told me to prophesy.”

  “If He
was truly with you, Meneer, He would have kept you safe from harm. As it is, you fled before the law of your king. No true prophet fears the way of kings. Elijah stood against Ahab, Moses against the Pharoahs, Jesus against the Romans.”

  “I do not know of Jesus, but I read Shannow’s Bible concerning Moses, and did he not run away to the desert before returning to save his people?”

  “I will not bandy words with you, sir. Tonight the people will decide your fate.”

  “My fate is in God’s hands, Parson. Not yours.”

  “Indeed? But which God? You know nothing of Jesus, the son of God. You do not know the Bible. How can you be a man of God? Your deceit is colossal, but it does not fool me, for the Lord has given me the gift of discernment. You will not leave this campsite. I will give orders to see that if you attempt it, you will be confined in chains. Do you understand?”

  “I understand only too well,” Nu replied.

  As the sun set, the Parson called the men together and began to address them. But Beth McAdam strode into the circle.

  “What do you want here, Beth?” the Parson asked.

  “I want to hear the arguments, Parson. So do all the women here. Or did you think to exclude us from this meeting of yours?”

  “It is written that women should be silent at religious meetings, and it is not fitting that you should question holy law.”

  “I don’t question holy law—whatever the hell it might be. But two-thirds of the people here are women, and we’ve got a point to make. Nobody lives my life or makes decisions for me, and I’ve sent the souls of men who’ve tried to hell. Now you’re deciding on the fate of a friend of mine, and by God, I’ll have a say in it. We’ll have a say in it.”

  Beyond the circle the women crowded in, and Martha stepped forward, her hair silver in the gathering dusk.

  “You weren’t there on the trail, Parson,” she said, “when Meneer Nu healed all the people. He had him a Daniel Stone, and we all know what one of them is worth. It could have made him rich, given him a life of ease. But he used it up for people he didn’t know. I don’t think it a Christian deed to hand him to a bunch of killers.”

  “Enough!” stormed the Parson, surging to his feet. “I call upon the men here to vote on this matter. It is obvious that the Devil, Satan, has once more reached into the hearts of woman, as he did on that dreadful day when man was cast from the joys of Eden. Vote, I say!”

  “No, Parson,” said Josiah Broome, pushing himself to his feet and clearing his throat. “I don’t think we should vote. I think it demeans us. I am not a man of violence, and I fear for all of us, but the facts are simple. Meneer Nu, you say, is not a true man of God. Yet the Bible says, ‘By their works shall ye judge them.’ Well, by his works I judge him. He healed our people, he carries no weapons, he speaks no evil. The woman Sharazad, whom you urge us to believe, bought guns from Meneer Scayse and then loosed the demons upon our community. By her works I judge her. To vote on such a trade would be a shame I will not carry.”

  “Spoken like the coward you are!” shouted the Parson. “Do not vote, then, Broome. Walk away. Turn your back on responsibility. Look around you! See the children and the women who will die. And for what? So that one man—whom we do not know—can escape the penalties of his treason.”

  “How dare you call the man a coward?” stormed Beth. “If you are right, he just accepted death rather than shame. I’ve got two kids, and I’d give my life to see them happy and healthy. But I’ll be damned before I give someone else’s.”

  “Very well,” said the Parson, fighting to control his anger. “Then let the vote take in all the people. And let the Lord God move in your hearts when you do so. Let all who wish the man Nu to be returned to his people walk over here and stand behind me.”

  Slowly some of the men began to shift, and Faird rose.

  “You go with him, Ezra Faird, and you don’t come back to me,” shouted a woman. Faird shifted uneasily, then sat down. In all, twenty-seven men and three women moved to stand behind the Parson.

  “Looks like that settles it,” said Beth. “Now let’s see to the cook fires.” She turned to leave, then stopped. Slowly she approached Josiah Broome.

  “We don’t always see eye to eye, Meneer, but for what it’s worth, I am sorry for the things I said to you. And I’m right proud to have heard you speak tonight.”

  He bowed and gave a nervous smile. “I am not a man of decisive action, Beth. But I, too, am proud of what the people did here tonight. It’s probably meaningless in the long run, but it shows what greatness mankind is capable of.”

  “Will you join my family and me for a meal?”

  “I would be glad to.”

  27

  SHANNOW AND SCAYSE walked to the crest of the last hill and found themselves looking down on a lake of dark beauty. The moon hung in the sky between two distant peaks, and the surface of the water shone like silver. By the shoreline the campsite was lit by fires, the wagons spread like a necklace of pearls to reinforce the perimeter walls. From where they stood all seemed peaceful.

  “This is beautiful country,” said Scayse. “Godforsaken but beautiful.”

  Shannow said nothing. He was scanning the horizon, seeking any sign of the reptiles. He and Scayse had passed through the gap in the wall and come across many tracks, but of the enemy there was no sign. Shannow was disturbed. As long as he knew where his enemy was, he could plan to defeat or avoid him. But the Daggers had vanished, the tracks seeming to indicate that they had headed for the woods to the west of the campsite.

  “Not much of a talker, are you, Shannow?”

  “When I have something to say, Scayse. There seems to be a meeting going on down there,” said Shannow, pointing to the center of the campsite.

  “Well, let’s get down there. I don’t want decisions taken without me.”

  Shannow walked ahead, leading the stallion. A sentry spotted them, recognizing Scayse, and the two men were ushered through a break in the perimeter wall. As the Parson strode to meet them, Shannow saw that his face was flushed and his eyes angry.

  “Trouble, Parson?” he asked.

  “A prophet is not without honor, save in his own land,” snapped the Parson. “Where are the other men?”

  “All dead,” replied Scayse. “What’s going on?”

  Swiftly the Parson told them of the meeting and what he described as its satanic outcome. “It might have been different had you been here,” he told Shannow, but the Jerusalem Man did not reply; he led his horse to the picket line by the lake, stripped the saddle, and brushed down the stallion for several minutes. Then he fed him grain, allowed him to drink at the lakeside, and tethered him to the line.

  Shannow wandered through the campsite seeking Beth McAdam. He found her by her wagon, sitting at a fire with Josiah Broome and Nu, her children lying asleep beside her, wrapped in blankets. “May I join you?” asked the Jerusalem Man.

  Beth made a space for him beside her, but Broome stood. “Thank you, Beth, for your company. I will leave you now.”

  “There’s no need to rush, Josiah. Where is there to go?”

  “I think I’ll get some sleep.” He nodded to Shannow and walked away.

  “The man does not like me,” said Shannow as Beth passed him a cup of Baker’s.

  “No, he doesn’t. You heard what happened?”

  “Yes. How are you faring, Nu?”

  The shipbuilder shrugged. “I am well, Shannow. But your Parson is unhappy; he feels I am a devil’s disciple. I am sorry for him. He is under great strain yet has performed wonders holding the people together. He is a good leader, but like all leaders he has a belief that only he is right.”

  A burst of gunfire came from the western woods more than a mile away. Shannow stood and gazed across the open ground, but he could see nothing and the sound faded. Returning to his seat, he finished his drink.

  “I think I know how I might get home,” said Nu. “The temple at Ad had an inner sanctuary where once a year
the Elders would heal supplicants. They had Sipstrassi. If the end came suddenly, perhaps the stones are still hidden there.”

  “A good thought,” said Shannow. “I am riding there myself. Come with me.”

  “What do you plan to do there?” asked Beth.

  “It is said—by the Parson and others—to be a city of beasts ruled by a dark queen. I shall go to her, tell her of the reptiles and the attack.”

  “But she is evil,” protested Beth. “You’ll be killed.”

  “Who is to say she is evil?” answered Shannow. “The Parson has never seen her. No one has come beyond the wall in years. I trust my own eyes, Beth McAdam.”

  “But the beast back in the town, the lion-creature. You saw it. It was terrifying.”

  “I also met such a creature when I was in need, Beth. He healed my wounds and tended me. He told me of the Dark Lady; he said she was a teacher who worked among the people of the Lion, the Bear, and the Wolf. I will not trust to rumor. I will make no judgments.”

  “But if you are wrong …”

  “So be it.”

  “I will come with you, Shannow,” Nu said. “I need a stone. I need to return home. My world is about to die, and I must be there.”

  Shannow nodded. “Let us walk a while. There are matters we must speak of.” The two men strolled to the lake and sat by the waters. “When we spoke on the hillside,” said Shannow, “you told me of the king and his evil. But you did not say his name. Tell me, is it Pendarric?”

  “Yes. The king of kings. Is it important?”

  “I owe the man my life. He saved me twice. He came to me in a dream three years ago and showed me his sword, saying that if ever I saw it in life and had need of it, I should reach for it and it would come to me. When I fought Sarento in the cavern of the Mother Stone, I saw the image of the sword carved on an altar. I stretched out my hand, and the blade appeared. Later, when the cavern flooded and I was dying, Pendarric’s face appeared beside me, leading me to safety.”