The Damned 02 - The Swords Of Night and Day by David Gemmell Page A

genuine good humour, 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?’ Callan enquired. 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 jewelled stud on the hilt of the lower sword and drew it, passing it to Callan. Landis Kan’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 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 Kan. ‘Perhaps we should eat, uncle.’
    The meal was conducted in near silence and Unwallis was relieved once it was over and Decado rose, offered cursory thanks to Landis Kan, 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 favourite places of excavation, Landis, was it not?’
    ‘Yes indeed,’ said Landis Kan. ‘A great many artefacts 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!’ whispered Unwallis. ‘Does the man have a death wish? Or has Decado’s reputation not reached the east?’
    ‘He knows his reputation, my friend. Callan is not a man who scares easily.’
    ‘He has an odd accent. I have travelled in Naashan and never heard one quite like it.’
    ‘East coast,’ said Landis, with a smile. ‘I had immense trouble understanding any of them.’
    Unwallis sighed. ‘I shall try to keep Decado from killing him. Though I cannot guarantee it. The man is somewhat inhuman when he is sick. If his head pain clears he may be in a more forgiving mood.’
    ‘Why is he with you?’ asked Landis, as he filled two goblets with wine.
    ‘I have asked myself the