The Swords of Night and Day

The Swords of Night and Day by David Gemmell Page A

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Authors: David Gemmell
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tall young man. Both men turned as the guests arrived.
    “Welcome once again, dear Unwallis. And to you also, Decado. It is good to have guests from Outside. I fear we are so cut off here that I long for news from the city.” Unwallis looked at the young man with Landis. His eyes were an astonishing blue. “My nephew, Callan,” said Landis. “He is visiting from Usa.”
    “A troubled land,” said Unwallis, shaking the man’s hand. “You are a soldier?”
    “A farmer,” said Landis, swiftly.
    “You have the look of a soldier,” said Unwallis.
    “Looks can be deceiving,” put in Decado. “He looks to me like a farmer.”
    Callan laughed aloud, the sound full of genuine good humor, which was a relief to Unwallis, but seemed to irritate Decado further. “What is so amusing?” asked the young swordsman.
    “The choice of words. If
looks
can be deceiving and yet I
look
like a farmer, does this suggest I am—or am not—a farmer?” Before Decado could consider a response the young man pointed to the black scabbard hanging from Decado’s back. “Is it the custom here to come armed for dinner?” he asked.
    “They are always with me,” said Decado, staring hard at the man.
    “Well, put your fears to rest. There are no enemies here.”
    “Fears? I have no fears.”
    “Might I see one of the swords?” inquired the man. Unwallis saw Decado hesitate. There was sweat on his face, and the statesman guessed the exchange was increasing the intensity of his head pain. Unwallis thought he would refuse the request. Instead he pressed a jeweled stud on the hilt of the lower sword and drew it, passing it to Callan. Landis Khan’s nephew hefted the blade, then stepped back and swung it expertly several times. Then he flicked his wrist and released his grip on the hilt. As the weapon rose from his hand he slapped the hilt. The sword spun viciously, the razor-sharp blade slicing through the air. Unwallis flinched. Callan’s left hand snapped forward, smoothly grasping the ivory hilt. Unwallis could scarcely believe what he had seen. One tiny mistake and the blade would have slashed through his fingers, or his wrist, or ricocheted across the room, spearing through one of the watching men. “Beautiful balance,” said Callan, reversing the blade and offering it to Decado.
    “Where did you learn that?” asked Unwallis. “It was incredible.”
    “We farmers learn a lot of things,” said Callan. He glanced at Decado. “You do not look well, boy.”
    Decado tensed. “Call me
boy
one more time, you whoreson, and I’ll show you how a sword
should
be used.”
    “This has gone quite far enough,” said Unwallis, trying to sound stern. “We are guests here, Decado. And you, sir,” he said, addressing Callan, “should not seek to provoke a soldier of the Eternal.”
    “I accept your rebuke, sir,” said Callan, with an easy smile. “I, too, am a guest in this house and should have known better.” He bowed gracefully, then turned to Landis Khan. “Perhaps we should eat, Uncle.”
    The meal was conducted in near silence. Unwallis was relieved once it was over and Decado rose, offered cursory thanks to Landis Khan, and stalked from the room.
    “Believe me, sir, that was very unwise of you,” Unwallis told Callan. “Decado is a deadly swordsman, and not a man to forgive an insult. I suggest you return across the sea as soon as is convenient to you.”
    “I intend to. It is my hope to explore the old kingdom of Naashan.”
    “You are a historian?”
    “Of a kind.”
    “Naashan, eh? One of your favorite places of excavation, Landis, was it not?”
    “Yes indeed,” said Landis Khan. “A great many artifacts were discovered there. And now, I think, it is time for you and I to sit down and talk.” Turning to Callan, he said: “I fear our conversation would bore you, nephew.”
    “Then I shall leave you,” said Callan, rising from the table. Bowing once more to Unwallis, he left the room.
    “By the Blessed!”

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