"David Gemmell - The Damned 02 - The Swords Of Night And Day" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gemmel David)

‘The Zharn faded from history long ago. Only shreds of legend remain. One such legend tells of a great
warrior who stood against them. He and his men led a desperate charge against the centre of a huge
Zharn army. It was said to have been magnificent. They charged to their deaths, in order to slay the
Zharn king.’

‘How would I recall an event that happened long ago?’

Landis Kan rose. ‘Find yourself some footwear and let me show you the palace and its grounds.’

‘I would appreciate some answers,’ said the man, an edge creeping into his voice.

‘And I would like nothing more than to sit down now and supply them all. It would not be wise,
however. You need to arrive at your own answers. Believe me, they will come. It is important for you
that we do this in a careful manner. Will you trust me?’
 ‘I am not a trusting man. When I asked you why I had no memory you said I had been asleep for a
long time. More accurately, you said shall we say you have been asleep. Answer this one question and
I will consider trusting you: how long have I been asleep?’

‘A thousand years,’ said Landis Kan.

At first the man laughed, but then he realized there was no trace of amusement to be found on Landis
Kan’s face. ‘I may have lost my memory, but not my intelligence. No-one sleeps for a thousand years.’

‘I used the word sleep, because that is the closest to the actuality. Your . . . soul, if you like, has been
wandering the Void for the past ten centuries. Your first body was slain in that battle with the Zharn. This
is your new body - fashioned from the bones we discovered in your hidden tomb.’ Landis Kan reached
into a small pouch hanging from his belt. From it he took a small, golden locket, and a long slender chain.
‘What does this mean to you?’ he asked.

The man took the locket, his fingers closing gently around it. ‘It is mine,’ he said softly. ‘I cannot say
how I know this to be true.’

‘Say a name - if you can.’

The man hesitated and closed his eyes. ‘Dayan,’ he said, at last.

‘Can you describe him?’

‘Him?’

‘The man, Dayan.’

‘It is no man. Dayan was a woman . . .’ A brief flash of memory flowed through his mind, causing him
to wince, as if in pain. ‘She was my wife. She died.’

‘And you carried a lock of her hair?’

The man looked closely at Landis Kan. ‘You seem surprised. What were you expecting?’

‘It is not important. An error occurred somewhere. You are quite right. Our earliest tales of . . . of you