'No,' said Sieben, with a laugh, 'you are now in altogether too good a mood. It is only amusing when your face is dark as thunder and your knuckles are clenched white.'
'There is truth in that,' muttered Druss. 'I think you only invent these tales to annoy me.'
Eskodas lifted the spit and turned the roasting meat. 'I rather liked the tale, Druss. And it had the ring of truth. If the Chaos Spirit did drag your soul into Hell, I'm sure you'd twist his tail for him.'
Conversation ceased as they heard movement from the woods. Sieben drew one of his knives; Eskodas took up his bow and notched a shaft to the string; Druss merely sat silently, waiting. A man appeared. He was wearing long flowing robes of dusty grey, though they shone like silver in the bright moonlight.
'I was waiting for you in the village,' said the priest of Pashtar Sen, sitting down alongside the axeman.
'I prefer it here,' said Druss, his voice cold and unwelcoming.
'I am sorry, my son, for your suffering, and I feel a weight of shame for asking you to take up the burden of the axe. But Cajivak was laying waste to the countryside, and his power would have grown. What you did . . .'
'I did what I did,' snarled Druss. 'Now live up to your side of the bargain.'
'Rowena is in Resha. She . . . lives . . . with a soldier named Michanek. He is a Naashanite general, and the Emperor's champion.'
'Lives with?'
The priest hesitated. 'She is married to him,' he said swiftly.
Druss's eyes narrowed. 'That is a lie. They might force her to do many things, but she would never marry another man.'
'Let me tell this in my own way,' pleaded the priest. 'As you know I searched long and hard for her, but there was nothing. It was as if she had ceased to exist. When I did find her it was by chance - I saw her in Resha just before the siege and I touched her mind. She had no memory of the lands of the Drenai, none whatever. I followed her home and saw Michanek greet her. Then I entered his mind. He had a friend, a mystic, and he employed him to take away Rowena's Talent as a seeress. In doing this they also robbed her of her memories. Michanek is now all she has ever known.'
'They tricked her with sorcery. By the gods, I'll make them pay for that! Resha, eh?' Reaching out Druss curled his hand around the haft of the axe, drawing the weapon to him.
'No, you still don't understand,' said the priest. 'Michanek is a fine man. What he . . .'
'Enough!' thundered Druss. 'Because of you I have spent more than a year in a hole in the ground, with only rats for company. Now get out of my sight - and never, ever cross my path again.'
The priest slowly rose.and backed away from the axeman. He seemed about to speak, but Druss turned his pale eyes upon the man and the priest stumbled away into the darkness.
Sieben and Eskodas said nothing.
*
High in the cliffs, far to the east, the Naashanite Emperor sat, his woollen cloak wrapped tightly around him. He was fifty-four years of age and looked seventy, his hair white and wispy, his eyes sunken. Beside him sat his staff officer, Anindais; he was unshaven, and the pain of defeat was etched into his face.
Behind them, down the long pass, the rearguard had halted the advancing Ventrians. They were safe . . . for the moment.
Nazhreen Connitopa, Lord of the Eyries, Prince of the Highlands, Emperor of Naashan, tasted bile in his mouth and his heart was sick with frustration. He had planned the invasion of Ventria for almost eleven years, and the Empire had been his for the taking. Gorben was beaten - everyone knew it, from the lowliest peasant to the highest Satraps in the land. Everyone, that is, except Gorben.
Nazhreen silently cursed the gods for snatching away his prize. The only reason he was still alive was because Michanek was holding Resha and tying down two Ventrian armies. Nazhreen rubbed at his face and saw, in the firelight, that his hands were grubby, the paint on his nails cracked and peeling.
'We must kill Gorben,' said Anindais suddenly, his voice harsh and cold as the winds that hissed through the peaks.
Nazhreen gazed sullenly at his cousin. 'And how do we do that?' he countered. 'His armies have vanquished ours. His Immortals are even now harrying our rearguard.'
'We should do now what I urged two years ago, cousin. Use the Darklight. Send for the Old Woman.'
'No! I will not use sorcery.'
'Ah, you have so many other choices then, cousin?' The tone was derisive, contempt dripping from every word. Nazhreen swallowed hard. Anindais was a dangerous man, and Nazhreen's position as a losing Emperor left him exposed.
'Sorcery has a way of rebounding on those who use it,' he said softly. 'When you summon demons they require payment in blood.'
Anindais leaned forward, his pale eyes glittering in the firelight. 'Once Resha falls, you can expect Gorben to march into Naashan. Then there'll be blood aplenty. Who will defend you, Nazhreen? Our troops have been cut to pieces, and the best of our men are trapped in Resha and will be butchered. Our only hope is for Gorben to die; then the Ventrians can fight amongst themselves to choose a successor and that will give us time to rebuild, to negotiate. Who else can guarantee his death? The Old Woman has never failed, they say.'
'They say,' mocked the Emperor. 'Have you used her yourself then? Is that why your brother died in so timely a fashion?' As soon as the words were spoken he regretted them, for Anindais was not a man to offend, not even in the best of times. And these were certainly not the best of times.
Nazhreen was relieved to see his cousin smile broadly, as Anindais leaned in and placed his arm around the Emperor's shoulder. 'Ah, cousin, you came so close to victory. It was a brave gamble and I honour you for it. But times change, needs change.'
Nazhreen was about to answer when he saw the firelight glint from the dagger blade. There was no time to struggle or to scream, and the blade plunged in between his ribs, cutting through his heart.
There was no pain, only release as he slumped sideways, his head resting on Anindais' shoulder. The last feeling he experienced was of Anindais stroking his hair.
It was soothing . . .
Anindais pushed the body from him and stood. A figure shuffled from the shadows, an old woman in a wolfskin cloak. Kneeling by the body, she dipped her skeletal fingers into the blood and licked them. 'Ah, the blood of kings,' she said. 'Sweeter than wine.'
'Is that enough of a sacrifice?' Anindais asked.
'No - but it will suffice as a beginning,' she said. She shivered. 'It is cold here. Not like Mashrapur. I think I shall return there when this is over. I miss my house.'
'How will you kill him?' asked Anindais.
She glanced up at the general. 'We shall make it poetic. He is a Ventrian nobleman, and the sign of his house is the Bear. I shall send Kalith.'
Anindais licked his dry lips. 'Kalith is just a dark legend, surely?'
'If you want to see him for yourself I can arrange it,' hissed the Old Woman.
Anindais fell back. 'No, I believe you.'
'I like you, Anindais,' she said softly. 'You do not have a single redeeming virtue - that is rare. So I will give you a gift, and charge nothing for it. Stay by me and you will see the Kalith kill the Ventrian.' She stood and walked to the cliff-face. 'Come,' she called and Anindais followed. The Old Woman gestured at the grey rock and the wall became smoke. Taking the general's hand, she led him through.
A long dark tunnel beckoned and Anindais shrank back. 'Not a single redeeming feature,' she repeated, 'not even courage. Stay by me, general, and no harm will befall you.'
The walk was not long, but to Anindais it stretched on for an eternity. He knew they were passing through a world that was not his own, and in the distance he could hear screams and cries that were not human. Great bats flew in a sky of dark ash, and not a living plant could be seen. The Old Woman followed a slender path, and took him across a narrow bridge that spanned an awesome chasm. At last she came to a fork in the path, and moved to the left towards a small cave. A three-headed dog guarded the entrance, but it
backed away from her and they passed through. Within was a circular room stacked with tomes and scrolls. Two skeletons were hanging from hooks in the ceiling, their joints bound with golden wire. A cadaver lay across a long table, its chest and belly cut open, the heart lying beside the body like a grey stone about the size of a human fist.
The Old Woman lifted the heart and showed it to Anindais. 'Here it is,' she said, 'the secret of life. Four chambers and a number of valves, arteries and veins. Just a pump. No emotions, no secret storehouse for the soul.' She seemed disappointed. Anindais said nothing. 'Blood,' she went on, 'is pumped into the lungs to pick up oxygen, then distributed through the atria and the ventricles. Just a pump. Now, where were we? Ah yes, the Kalith.'
She sniffed loudly and threw the heart back towards the table; it hit the cadaver, then fell to the dusty floor. Swiftly she rummaged through the books on a high shelf, pulling one clear and flicking through the yellowed pages. Then she sat at a second desk and laid the book on the table. The left-hand page bore a neat script, the letters tiny. Anindais could not read, but he could see the picture painted on the right-hand page. It showed a huge bear, with claws of steel, its eyes of fire, its fangs dripping venom.
'It is a creature of earth and fire,' said the Old Woman, 'and it will take great energy to summon it. That is why I need your assistance.'
'I know no sorcery,' said Anindais.
'You need to know none,' she snapped. 'I will say the words, you will repeat them. Follow me.'
She led him further back into the cave, to an altar stone surrounded by gold wire fastened to a series of stalagmites. The stone sat at the centre of a circle of gold, and she bade Anindais step over the wires and approach the altar, upon which was a silver bowl full of water.
'Look into the water,' she said, 'and repeat the words I speak.'
'Why do you stay outside the wire?' he asked.
'There is a seat here and my old legs are tired,' she told him. 'Now let us begin.'
Chapter Five
Oliquar was the first of the Immortals to see Druss striding down the hill. The soldier was sitting on an upturned barrel darning the heel of a sock when the axeman appeared. Laying the worn garment aside, Oliquar stood and called out Druss's name. Several of the soldiers sitting nearby looked up as Oliquar ran to meet him, throwing his brawny arms around Druss's neck.
Hundreds of other warriors gathered round, craning to see the Emperor's champion, the famed axeman who fought like ten tigers. Druss grinned at his old comrade. 'There are more grey hairs in that beard than I remember,' he said.
Oliquar laughed. 'I earned every one. By the Holy Hands, it is good to see you, friend!'
'Life has been dull without me?'
'Not exactly,' answered Oliquar, gesturing towards the walls of Resha. 'They fight well, these Naashanites. And they have a champion too: Michanek, a great warrior.'
The smile left Druss's face. 'We'll see how great he is,' he promised.
Oliquar turned to Sieben and Eskodas. 'We hear that you did not need to rescue our friend. It is said he slew the great killer Cajivak, and half the men of his fortress. Is it true?'
'Wait until you hear the song,' Sieben advised.
'Aye, there are dragons in it,' put in Eskodas.
Oliquar led the trio through the silent ranks of warriors to a tent set up near the river's edge. Producing a jug of wine and several clay goblets, he sat down and looked at his friend. 'You are a little thinner,' he said, 'and your eyes are tired.'
'Pour me a drink and you'll see them shine again. Why the black cloaks and helms?'
'We are the new Immortals, Druss.'
'You don't look immortal, judging by that,' said Druss, pointing to the bloodstained bandage on Oliquar's right bicep.
'It is a title - a great title. For two centuries the Immortals were the Emperor's hand-picked honour guard. The finest soldiers, Druss: the elite. But twenty or so years ago the Immortal general, Vuspash, led a revolt, and the regiment was disbanded. Now the Emperor has re-formed them - us! It is a wondrous honour to be an Immortal.' He leaned forward and winked. 'And the pay is better - double, in fact!'
Filling the goblets, he passed one to each of the newcomers. Druss drained his in a single swallow and Oliquar refilled it. 'And how goes the siege?' asked the axeman.
Oliquar shrugged. 'This Michanek holds them together. He is a lion, Druss, tireless and deadly. He fought Bodasen in single combat. We thought the war would be over. The Emperor offered two hundred wagons of food, for there is starvation in the city. The wager was that if Bodasen lost, the food would be delivered, but if he won then the city gates would be opened and the Naashanites allowed to march free.'
'He killed Bodasen?' put in Eskodas. 'He was a great swordsman.'
'He didn't kill him; he put him down with a chest wound, then stepped back. The first fifty wagons were delivered an hour ago and the rest go in tonight. It will leave us on short rations for a while.'
'Why didn't he strike the killing blow?' asked Sieben. 'Gorben could have refused to send the food. Duels are supposed to be to the death, aren't they?'
'Aye, they are. But this Michanek, as I said, is special.'
'You sound as if you like the man,' snapped Druss, finishing the second goblet.
'Gods, Druss, it's hard not to like him. I keep hoping they'll surrender; I don't relish the thought of slaughtering such bonny fighters. I mean, the war's over - this is just the last skirmish. What point is there in more killing and dying?'
'Michanek has my wife,' said Druss, his voice low and cold. 'He tricked her into marrying him, stole her memory. She does not know me at all.'
'I find that hard to believe,' said Oliquar.
'Are you calling me a liar?' hissed Druss, his hand snaking round the haft of his axe.
'And I find this hard to believe,' said Oliquar. 'What is the matter with you, my friend?'
Druss's hand trembled on the haft, and he snatched it clear and robbed at his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he forced a smile. 'Ah, Oliquar! I am tired, and the wine has made me stupid. But what I said was true; it was told to me by a priest of Pashtar Sen. And tomorrow I will scale those walls, and I will find Michanek. Then we will see how special he is.'
Druss levered himself to his feet and entered the tent. For a while the three men sat in silence, then Oliquar spoke, keeping his voice low. 'Michanek's wife is called Pahtai. Some of the refugees from the city spoke of her. She is a gentle soul, and when plague struck the city she went to the homes of the sick and dying, comforting them, bringing them medicines. Michanek adores her, and she him. This is well known. And I say again, he is not the man to take a woman by trickery.'
'It doesn't matter,' said Eskodas. 'It is like fate carved into stone. Two men and one woman; there must be blood. Isn't that right, poet?'
'Sadly you are correct,' agreed Sieben. 'But I can't help wondering how she will feel when Druss marches in to her, drenched in the blood of the man she loves. What then?'
Lying on a blanket within the tent, Druss heard every word. They cut his soul with knives of fire.
*
Michanek shielded his eyes against the setting sun and watched the distant figure of the axeman walk down towards the Ventrian camp, saw the soldiers gather round him, heard them cheer.
'Who is it, do you think?' asked his cousin, Shurpac.
Michanek took a deep breath. 'I'd say it was the Emperor's champion, Druss.'
'Will you fight him?'
'I don't think Gorben will offer us the chance,' answered Michanek. 'There's no need - we can't hold for long now.'
'Long enough for Narin to return with reinforcements,' put in Shurpac, but Michanek did not reply. He had sent his brother out of the city with a written request for aid, though he knew there would be no help from Naashan; his one purpose had been to save his brother.
And yourself. The thought leapt unbidden from deep within him. Tomorrow was the first anniversary of his marriage, the day Rowena had pred
icted he would die with Narin on one side of him, Shurpac on the other. With Narin gone, perhaps the prophecy could be thwarted. Michanek squeezed shut his tired eyes. It felt as if sand was lodged under the lids.
The mining under the walls had stopped now and soon, when the winds permitted, the Ventrians would fire the timbers in the tunnel. He gazed out over the Ventrian camp. At least eleven thousand warriors were now gathered before Resha, and the defenders numbered only eight hundred. Glancing to left and right, Michanek saw the Naashanite soldiers sitting slumped by the battlements. There was little conversation, and much of the food that had just been carried up from the city was left untouched.
Michanek moved to the nearest soldier, a young man who was sitting with his head resting on his knees. His helm was beside him; it was split across the crown, dislodging the white horsehair plume.
'Not hungry, lad?' asked Michanek.
The boy looked up. His eyes were dark brown, his face beardless and feminine. 'Too tired to eat, general,' he said.
'The food will give you strength. Trust me.'
The boy lifted a hunk of salted beef and stared down at it. 'I'm going to die,' he said, and Michanek saw a tear spill to his dust-stained cheek.
The general laid his hand on the boy's shoulder. 'Death is merely another journey, lad. But you won't be walking that road alone - I'll be with you. And who knows what adventures wait?'
'I used to believe that,' said the soldier sadly, 'but I've seen so much death. I saw my brother die yesterday, his guts spilling out. His screams were terrible. Are you frightened of dying, sir?'
'Of course. But we are soldiers of the Emperor. We knew the risks when we first strapped on the breastplate and greaves. And what is better, lad, to live until we are toothless and mewling, our muscles like rotted string, or to face down our enemies in the fullness of our strength? We are all destined to die one day.'
'I don't want to die; I want to get out of here. I want to marry and father children. I want to watch them grow.' The boy was openly weeping now and Michanek sat beside him, taking him in his arms and stroking his hair.