“Virae? Virae? I waited for you … just one more time. See you. So much … So much wanted …” The frail body trembled, then lay still. Druss closed the dead man’s eyes and wiped a hand across his own.
“He should never have sent her away,” said Calvar Syn. “He loved that girl; she was all he lived for.”
“Maybe that’s why he sent her,” said Hogun.
Druss pulled the silk sheet up and over the earl’s face and walked to the window. Now he was alone, the last survivor of Skeln. He leaned on the windowsill and sucked in the night air.
Outside the moon bathed the Dros in eldritch light, gray and ghostly, and the old man gazed toward the north. Overhead a fluttering pigeon flew in and circled a loft beneath the keep. It had come out of the north.
He turned from the window.
“Bury him quietly tomorrow,” he said. “We will not interrupt training for a full funeral.”
“But Druss, this is Earl Delnar!” said Hogun, eyes blazing.
“That,” said Druss, pointing at the bed, “is a cancer-ridden corpse. It isn’t anyone. Just do as I say.”
“You coldhearted bastard,” said Dun Mendar.
Druss turned his icy gaze on the officer.
“And just you remember that, laddie, the day you—or any of you—go against me.”
12
Rek leaned on the starboard rail with one arm about Virae’s shoulders and stared at the sea. Strange, he thought, how night changed the mood of the ocean. A vast semisolid mirror reflecting the stars, while the moon’s twin floated, fragmented and ethereal, a mile or so away. Always a mile or so away. A gentle breeze billowed the triangular sail as the Wastrel cut a white path through the waves, gently dipping and rising with the swell. Aft stood the mate at the spoked wheel, his silver eye patch glinting in the moonlight. Forward a young seaman cast his lead into the waves, calling out the changes in depth as they passed over the hidden reef.
All was tranquility, peace, and harmony. The steady lapping of the waves added to the feeling of isolation that enveloped Rek as he stared out to sea. With stars above and below them they could be floating on the tides of the galaxy, far from the all too human struggle that awaited them.
This is contentment, thought Rek.
“What are you thinking?” asked Virae, slipping an arm around his waist.
“I love you,” he said. A dolphin surfaced below them, calling out a musical welcome before again seeking the depths. Rek watched his lithe form swimming among the stars.
“I know you love me,” said Virae, “but I was asking you what you were thinking.”
“That’s what I was thinking. I am content. At peace.”
“Of course you are. We’re on a ship, and it’s a lovely night.”
“Woman, you have no soul,” he said, kissing her brow.
She looked up at him and smiled. “If you think that, you are a fool! I’m just not as practiced as you at telling pretty lies.”
“Hard words, my lady. Would I lie to you? You would cut my throat.”
“I would, too. How many women have heard you say you love them?”
“Hundreds,” said Rek, watching her eyes and seeing the smile fade from them.
“So why should I believe you?”
“Because you do.”
“That’s no answer.”
“Of course it is. You’re not some dim-witted milkmaid fooled by an easy smile. You know the truth when you hear it. Why do you suddenly doubt it?”
“I don’t doubt you, you oaf! I just wanted to know how many women you’ve loved.”
“Slept with, you mean?”
“If you want to be coarse.”
“I don’t know,” he lied. “It’s not my habit to keep count. And if your next question is, ‘How do I compare?’ you will find yourself alone, because I shall go below.”
It was. But he did not.
The mate by the tiller watched them, listened to their easy laughter, and smiled with them, although he could not hear the cause of their good humor. At home he had a wife and seven children, and it made him feel good to watch the young man and his woman. He waved as they went below deck, but they did not see him.
“Nice to be young and in love,” said the captain, moving silently from the shadows by his cabin door to stand beside the mate.
“Nice to be old and in love,” answered the mate, grinning.
“A calm night, but the breeze is picking up. I don’t like the look of the clouds to the west.”
“They will pass us by,” said the mate. “But we’ll have bad weather for sure. It will be behind us, pushing us on. We may pick up a couple of days. Did you know they are headed for Delnoch?”
“Yes,” said the captain, scratching his red beard and checking their course by the stars.
“Sad,” said the mate with real feeling. “They say Ulric has promised to raze it to the ground. You heard what he did at Gulgothir? Killed every second defender and a third of the women and children. Just lined them up and had his warriors cut them down.”
“I heard. It’s not my business. We’ve traded with the Nadir for years; they’re all right as people, much the same as anyone else.”
“I agree. I had a Nadir woman once. A real hellion—ran off with a tinker. Later I heard she cut his throat and stole his wagon.”
“Most likely she only wanted the horse,” said the captain. “She could buy herself a real Nadir man for a good horse.” Both men chuckled, then stood in silence for a while enjoying the night air.
“Why are they going to Delnoch?” asked the mate.
“She’s the earl’s daughter. I don’t know about him. If she was my daughter, I would have made sure she didn’t come back. I’d have sent her to the farthest southern point of the empire.”
“The Nadir will reach there—and beyond—before long. It’s only a matter of time.”
“Well, a lot can happen in that time. The Drenai are sure to surrender long before then. Look! That damned albino and his friend. They make my flesh creep.”
The mate glanced along the deck to where Serbitar and Vintar stood at the port rail.
“I know what you mean—they never say anything. I’ll be glad to see the back of them,” said the mate, making the sign of the claw above his heart.
“That won’t ward off their kind of demons,” said the captain.
Serbitar smiled as Vintar pulsed: “We are less than popular, my boy.”
“Yes. Always it is thus. It is hard to hold back contempt.”
“But you must.”
“I said hard, not impossible.”
“Wordplay. Even to notice that it is hard is an admission of defeat,” said Vintar.
“Always the scholar, Father Abbot.”
“As long as the world has pupils, Master Priest.”
Serbitar grinned, a rare sight. A gull wheeled and circled above the ship; the albino casually mind-touched it as it arced above the mast.
Within its mind was nothing of joy or sorrow or hope. Only hunger and need. And frustration that the ship offered no sustenance.
A feeling of fierce exultation suddenly swept over the young priest in a mind pulse of incredible power, a sense of ecstasy and fulfillment flooding his body. He gripped the rail hard and reached back along the path, shutting off his probe as it neared the door of Rek’s cabin.
“Their emotions are very strong,” pulsed Vintar.
“It is unseemly to dwell on it,” replied Serbitar primly, a blush apparent even in the moonlight.
“Not so, Serbitar, my friend. This world has few redeeming features, and one is the capacity of the people upon it to love one another with great and enduring passion. I rejoice in their lovemaking. It is a beautiful thing for them.”
“You are a voyeur, Father Abbot,” said Serbitar, smiling now. Vintar laughed aloud.
“It is true. They have such energy, the young.”
Suddenly Arbedark’s slim, serious face appeared in both men’s minds, his feature
s set hard.
“I am sorry,” he pulsed. “There is grave news from Dros Delnoch.”
“Speak,” said Serbitar.
“The earl is dead. And there are traitors within the Dros. Ulric has ordered Druss killed.”
“Form a circle around me,” shouted Druss as the exhausted men staggered from the wall. “Now sit down before you fall down.”
His blue eyes scanned the circle, then he snorted with contempt. “You dregs! Call yourselves soldiers? Finished after a few runs. How the hell do you think you’re going to feel after three days fighting, day and night, against a Nadir force that outnumbers you fifty to one? Eh?”
No one answered him. The question was all too obviously rhetorical. Indeed, most of the men were delighted to be berated thus; it meant a further respite from the interminable training.
Druss pointed at Gilad. “You! Which four groups are represented here?”
Gilad swung around checking the faces. “Karnak, Bild, and Gorbadac … er … I don’t know the other one.”
“Well!” bellowed the old man. “Will not one of you beggars own up? Which is the other damned group?”
“Falcon,” piped a voice from the back.
“Good! Group officers step forward,” said Druss. “The rest of you take a breather.” He walked a little distance from the men, beckoning the officers to follow.
“Right, before I tell you what I want, will the officer from Group Falcon make himself known?”
“I am the officer, sir. Dun Hedes,” said a young man who was short but well built.
“Then why did you not announce your group when I asked. Why was it some spotty farm boy?”
“I am partially deaf, sir, and when I am tired and the blood is pounding, I can hardly hear.”
“Then, Dun Hedes, consider yourself relieved of Group Falcon.”
“You can’t do that to me! I have always served well. You cannot disgrace me!” said the young man, his voice rising.
“Listen to me, you young fool. There is no disgrace in being deaf. And you can feel free to walk with me on the battlements, if you will, when the Nadir arrive. But how well can you serve me as a leader if you can’t hear my damned instructions?”
“I will manage,” said Dun Hedes.
“And how well will your men manage when they try to ask for advice? What happens if we sound the retreat and you don’t hear it? No! The decision’s made. Stand down.”
“I request the right to see Gan Orrin!”
“As you will. But at the end of today I will have a new dun for Falcon. Now to business. I want each of you—you included, Hedes—to pick your two strongest men. The best you have at hand-to-hand wrestling, bare-knuckle, whatever. They will have their chance to knock me from my feet. That should lighten the mood. Get to it!”
Dun Mendar called Gilad to him as he returned to his group, then squatted down among the men to outline Druss’s idea. Chuckles came from various soldiers as men volunteered swiftly. The noise grew as men clamored for the right to down the old warrior, and Druss laughed aloud as he sat apart from the men, peeling an orange. At last the pairs were selected, and he heaved himself to his feet.
“There is an object to this little exercise, but I shall explain that later on. For now, look upon it as light entertainment,” said Druss, hands on hips. “However, I find the audience is always more alert if there is something to be won, so I will offer a free afternoon to any group whose champions down me.” A cheer greeted this, and he went on. “Mind you, those that don’t down me will run an additional two miles.” Druss grinned again as the groans erupted.
“Don’t be such faint hearts. What do you have before you? Here is one old, fat man. We will start with the Bild pair.”
The men could have been twins; both were huge, black-bearded, with massively muscled arms and shoulders. Stripped of their armor, they appeared as formidable a pair of warriors as could be seen among the groups.
“Right, my lads,” said Druss, “you can wrestle, or punch, or kick, or gouge. Begin when you’re ready.” The old man doffed his jerkin as he spoke, and the Bild pair circled slowly, relaxed and smiling. Once on either side of the old man, they lunged. Druss dropped to one knee, ducking under a roundhouse right, then slammed his hand up into the man’s groin, grabbing his shirtfront with the other hand and hurling him into his comrade. Both men collapsed to the ground, arms entwined.
Curses exploded from the Bild men seated around the circle, to be drowned by jeers from the other groups.
“Next, Gorbadac!” announced Druss. The two advanced more warily than their predecessors, then the tallest one dived toward Druss’s middle with arms outstretched. The axman’s knee came up to meet him, and he sagged to the grass. The second attacked almost immediately, only to be backhanded contemptuously across the cheek. He tripped over his fallen comrade and fell heavily. The first man was unconscious and had to be carried to the back of the circle.
“Now Falcon!” said Druss. This time he watched them advance, then bellowed at the top of his voice and charged. The first man’s mouth fell open in surprise; the second took a backward step and tripped. Druss hit the first man with a straight left; he went down and lay still.
“Karnak?” said Druss. Gilad and Bregan entered the circle. Druss had seen the dark one before and liked the look of him. A born warrior, the old man had thought. He enjoyed seeing the look of hatred the boy threw at him every time he laughed at him and liked the way he had dropped back to help Orrin. Druss flicked his gaze to the second man. Surely here was an error. The chubby one was no fighter, nor would he ever be—good-natured and tough but never a warrior.
Gilad launched himself forward and checked himself as Druss raised his fists. Druss twisted to keep him in vision; then, hearing a sound from behind, he whirled to see the fat one attack, trip, and fall sprawling at his feet. Chuckling, he swung back to Gilad, turning into a flying kick that hammered into his chest. He took a backward step to brace himself, but the fat one had rolled behind him, and Druss hit the ground with a grunt.
A massive roar rose from two hundred throats. Druss smiled and rolled to his feet smoothly, holding up a hand for silence.
“I want you to think about what you’ve seen today, my lads,” said Druss, “for it wasn’t only fun. You have seen what one man can do, and you have also seen what a simple bit of teamwork can achieve.
“Now, when the Nadir are swarming over the walls, you will all be hard pressed to defend yourselves, but you’ve got to do more than that. You’ve got to protect your comrades where you can, for no warrior has a defense against a sword in the back. I want each of you to find a sword brother. You don’t have to be friends—that will come. But you need understanding, and you need to work at it. You will protect each other’s backs when the assault comes, so make your choices well. Those of you who lose a sword brother when the fighting starts, find another. Failing that, do what you can for the men around you.
“I have been a warrior for more than forty years—twice as long as most of you have lived. Bear that in mind. What I say is of value, for I have survived.
“There is only one way to survive in war, and that is by being willing to die. You will find soon that fine swordsmen can be downed by untutored savages who would slice their fingers if asked to carve meat. And how? Because the savage is willing. Worse, he may be baresark.
“The man who takes a backward step against a Nadir warrior is stepping into eternity. Meet them head to head, savage to savage.
“You have heard it said that this is a lost cause, and you will hear it again. I have heard it a thousand times in a hundred lands.
“Mostly you hear it from faint hearts and can ignore it. Often, however, you will hear it from seasoned veterans. Ultimately such prophecies are worthless.
“There are half a million Nadir warriors. An awesome figure! One to numb the mind. But the walls are only so long and so wide. They cannot all come over at once. We will kill them as they do, and we will kill hund
reds more as they climb. And day by day we will wear them down.
“You are going to lose friends, comrades, brothers. You are going to lose sleep. You are going to lose blood. Nothing about the next few months will be easy.
“I am not going to talk about patriotism, duty, liberty, and the defense of freedom because that’s all dung to a soldier.
“I want you to think about survival. And the best way you can do that is to look down on the Nadir when they arrive and think to yourselves: There are fifty men down there just for me. And one by one, by all the gods, I’ll cut them down.
“As for me … well, I’m a seasoned campaigner. I’ll take a hundred.” Druss took a deep breath, allowing time for his words to sink in.
“Now,” he said at last, “you can get back to your duties, with the exception of Group Karnak.” Turning, he saw Hogun, and as the men hauled themselves to their feet, he walked back toward the mess hall of Wall One with the young general.
“A nice speech,” said Hogun. “It sounded very similar to the one you gave this morning at Wall Three.”
“You haven’t been very attentive, laddie,” said Druss. “I have given that speech six times since yesterday. And I’ve been knocked down three times. I’m as dry as a sand lizard’s belly.”
“I will stand you a bottle of Vagrian in the mess hall,” said Hogun. “They don’t serve Lentrian at this end of the Dros—it’s too pricey.”
“It will do. I see you have regained your good humor.”
“Aye. You were right about the earl’s burial. Just too damned quick about being right, that’s all,” said Hogun.
“What does that mean?”
“Just what it says. You have a way, Druss, of turning your emotions on and off. Most men lack that. It makes you seem what Mendar called you—coldhearted.”