'I have funds in Balacris,' said Nu, 'but the Lord wants me to stay and continue to warn the people.'
'You gave me the secret of the Great One,' Bali told him, 'and I accept His will overrides any wishes of our own. But similarly you have done as He commanded. You gave your warnings, but their ears were closed to you. Added to this, Nu my friend, I prayed for a way in which I might help you, and now this Stone has come into my possession. And yes, I wanted to keep it, but the Great One touched me and let me know it was for you.'
'How did you come by it?'
'An Achean trader brought it to my shop. He thought it was a gold nugget and wished to sell it to me in return for the money to buy a new sail.'
'A sail? With this you could buy a thousand sails, perhaps more.'
'I told him it was worth half the price of a sail, and he sold it to me for sixty pieces of silver.' Bali shrugged. 'It was with such dealings that I first became rich. You must go now. The Daggers surely know we are friends.'
'Come with me, Bali,' Nu urged. 'With this Stone we could reach my new ship. We could sail far from the reach of the King and his Daggers.'
'No. My place is here. My life is here. My death will be here.' Bali rose and led the way to the gate. 'One thing, more,' he told his friend as they stood in the moonlight. 'Last night, as I held the Stone I had a strange dream. I saw a man in golden armour. He came to me and sat beside me. He gave me a message for you; he said you must seek the Sword of God. Does it mean anything to you?'
'Nothing. Did you recognise him?'
'No. His face shone like the sun, and I could not look at him.'
'The Great One will make it plain to me,' said Nu as he reached out to embrace the smaller man.
'May He watch over you, Bali.'
'And you, my friend.'
Bali silently opened the gate and peered out into the shadows. 'It is clear,' he whispered. 'Go quickly.'
Nu embraced him once more, then stepped into the shadows and was gone. Bali re-bolted the gate and returned to his room, where he sank into his chair and tried to repress his regrets. With the Stone he could have rebuilt his empire and enjoyed eternal youth. Without it? Penury and death.
He moved back into the main house, stepping over the body of the Achean sailor who had brought him the Stone. Ball had not even possessed the sixty silver pieces the man had requested, but he still owned a knife with a sharp blade.
The sound of crashing timber caused him to spin and run back towards the garden. He arrived to see the gate on its hinges and three dark-armoured Daggers moving towards him, their reptilian eyes gleaming in the moonlight, their scaled skin glistening.
'What… what do you want?' asked Bali, trembling.
'Where iss hee?'
'Who?'
Two of the Daggers moved around the garden, sucking the air through their slitted nostrils.
'He wass here,' hissed one of them and Bali backed away. One of the Daggers lifted a strangely shaped club from a scabbard at his side, pointing it at the little trader.
'Lasst chance. Where iss he?'
'Where you will never find him,' said Bali, and drawing his knife he leapt at the Dagger. A sound like thunder came from the small club in the reptile's hand, and a hammer smote Bali in the chest.
The little man was hurled on his back to the path where he lay sprawled, staring sightlessly up at the stars.
A second shot sounded and the Dagger pitched to the ground, a black hole in his wedge-shaped head. The other creatures spun to see the golden-haired woman, Sharazad. 'I wanted Bali alive,'
she said softly. 'And my orders will be obeyed.'
Behind her a dozen more Daggers crowded into the garden.
'Search the house,' she ordered. 'Rip it apart. If Nu-Khasisatra escapes, I will see you all flayed alive.'
CHAPTER SEVEN
Of all the seasons God had granted it was the Spring that Shannow loved above others, with its heady music of life and growth, its chorus of bird-song and richly coloured flowers pushing back the snow. The air too was clean and a man could drink it in like wine, filling his lungs with the essence of life itself.
Shannow dismounted before the crest of a hill and walked to the summit, gazing out over the rippling grass of the plain. Then he squatted on the ground and scanned the rolling lands before him. In the far distance he could see a wandering herd of cattle, and to the west several mountain sheep grazing on a hillside. He moved back from the skyline and studied the back-trail through the mountain valley, memorising the jagged peaks and the narrow ways he had passed. He did not expect to return this way, but if he did he needed to be sure of his bearings. He unbuckled the thick belt which carried his gun scabbards and removed his heavy topcoat, then swung the guns around his hips once more and buckled the belt in place before rolling his coat and tying it behind his saddle. The stallion was contentedly cropping grass and Shannow loosened the saddle cinch.
Taking his Bible he sat with his back to a boulder, slowly reading the story of King Saul. He always found it hard to avoid sympathising with the first King of Israel. The man had fought hard and well to make the nation strong, only to have a usurper preparing to steal his crown. Even at the end, when God deserted him, Saul still fought'gallantly against the enemy and died alongside his sons in a great battle.
Shannow closed the book and took a long cool drink from his canteen. His wounds were almost healed now, and last night he had cut the stitches with the blade of his hunting-knife. Although he could not yet move his right arm with customary speed, his strength was returning.
He tightened the saddle and rode out on to the plain. Here and there were the tracks of horses, cattle and deer. He rode warily, watching the horizon, constantly hitching himself in the saddle to study the trail behind.
The plain stretched on endlessly and the far blue mountains to the south seemed small and insubstantial. A bird suddenly flew up to Shannow's left. His eyes fastened to it and he realised that he was following its flight with the barrel of his pistol; the weapon was cocked and ready. He eased the hammer back into place and sheathed the gun.
A long time ago he would have been delighted with the speed at which he reacted to possible danger, but bitter experience had long since corroded his pride. He had been attacked outside Allion by several men and had killed them all; then a sound from behind had caused him to swivel and fire… and he had killed a child who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
That child would have been a grown man by now, with children of his own. A farmer, a builder, a preacher? No one would ever know. Shannow tried to push the memory from his mind, but it clung to him with talons of fire.
Who would want to be you, Shannow} he asked himself. Who would want to be the Jerusalem Man?
The children of Allion had followed him during his nightly tours, copying the smooth straight-backed walk. They carried wooden guns thrust in their belts and they worshipped him; they thought it wonderful to be so respected and feared, to have a name that travelled the land ahead of you.
Is it wonderful, Shannow?
The people of Allion had been grateful when Jon Shannow put the brigands to flight — or buried them. But when the town was clean they had paid him and asked him to move on. And the brigands returned, as they always did. And perhaps the children followed them around, copying their walks and fighting pretend battles with their wooden guns.
How far to Jerusalem, Shannow?
'Over the next mountain,' he answered aloud. The stallion's ears pricked up and he snorted.
Shannow chuckled as he patted the beast's neck and urged him into a run over the level ground. It was not a sensible move, he knew; a rabbit-hole or a loose rock could cause the horse to stumble and break a leg, or throw a shoe. But the wind in his face felt good and life was never without perils.