The First Chronicles Of Druss The Legend

Drenai 6 - The First Chronicles of Druss The Legend

Chapter Three

The wagons rolled on through the first afternoon, and on into the night. At first the captured women were silent, stunned, disbelieving. Then grief replaced shock, and there were tears. These were harshly dealt with by the men riding alongside the wagons, who ordered silence and, when it was not forthcoming, dismounted and leapt aboard the wagons dealing blows and brutal slaps, and issuing threats of whip and lash.

Rowena, her hands tied before her, sat beside the equally bound Mari. Her friend had swollen eyes, both from weeping and from a blow that had caught her on the bridge of the nose. “How are you feeling now?” Rowena whispered.

“All dead,” came the response. “They’re all dead.” Mari’s eyes gazed unseeing across the wagon, where other young women were sitting.

“We are alive,” continued Rowena, her voice low and gentle. “Do not give up hope, Mari. Druss is alive also. And there is a man with him - a great hunter. They are following us.”

“All dead,” said Mari. They’re all dead.”

“Oh, Mari!” Rowena reached out with her bound hands but Mari screamed and pulled away.

“Don’t touch me!” She swung round to face Rowena, her eyes fierce and gleaming. “This was a punishment. For you. You are a witch! It is all your fault!”

“No, I did nothing!”

“She’s a witch,” shouted Mari. The other women stared. “She has powers of Second Sight. She knew the raid was coming, but she didn’t warn us.”

“Why did you not tell us?” shouted another woman. Rowena swung and saw the daughter of Jarin the Baker. “My father is dead. My brothers are dead. Why did you not warn us?”

“I didn’t know. Not until the last moment!”

“Witch!” screamed Mari. “Stinking witch!” She lashed out with her tied hands, catching Rowena on the side of the head. Rowena fell to her left, into another woman. Fists struck as all around her in the wagon women surged upright, lashing out with hands and feet. Riders galloped alongside the wagon and Rowena felt herself lifted clear and flung to the ground. She hit hard, the breath knocked out of her.

“What is going on here?” she heard someone yell.

“Witch! Witch! Witch!” chanted the women.

Rowena was hauled to her feet, then a filthy hand caught her by the hair. She opened her eyes and looked up into a gaunt, scarred face. “Witch, are you?” grunted the man..”We’ll see about that!” He drew a knife and held it before her, the point resting against the woollen shirt she wore. “Witches have three nipples, so it’s said,” he told her.

“Leave her be!” came another voice, and a horseman rode close alongside. The man sheathed his knife.

“I wasn’t going to cut her, Harib. Witch or no, she’ll still bring a pretty price.”

“More if she is a witch,” said the horseman. “Let her ride behind you.”

Rowena gazed up at the rider. His face was swarthy, his eyes dark, his mouth part hidden by the bronze ear-flaps of his battle helm. Touching spurs to his mount the rider galloped on. The man holding her stepped into the saddle, pulling her up behind him. He smelt of stale sweat and old dirt, but Rowena scarcely noticed it. Glancing at the wagon where her former friends now sat silently, she felt afresh the terrible sense of loss.

Yesterday the world was full of hope. Their home was almost complete, her husband coming to terms with his restless spirit, her father relaxed and free from care, Mari preparing for a night of passion with Pilan.

In the space of a few hours it had all changed. Reaching up, she touched the brooch at her breast…

And saw the Axeman her husband was becoming. Deathwalker!

Tears flowed then, silently coursing down her cheeks.

Shadak rode ahead, following the trail, while Druss and Tailia travelled side by side, the girl on a bay mare, the young man on a chestnut gelding. Tailia said little for the first hour, which suited Druss, but as they topped a rise before a long valley she leaned in close and touched his arm.

“What are you planning?” she asked. “Why are we following them?”

“What do you mean?” responded Druss, nonplussed.

“Well, you obviously can’t fight them all; you’ll be killed. Why don’t we just ride for the garrison at Padia? Send troops?” He swung to look at her. Her blue eyes were red-rimmed from crying.

“That’s a four-day walk. I don’t know how long it would take to ride - two days at the least, I would think. Then, if the troop was there - and they may not be - it would take them at least three days to find the raiders. By then they will be in Vagrian territory, and close to the borders of Mashrapur. Drenai soldiers have no jurisdiction there.”

“But you can’t do anything. There is no point to this pursuit.”

Druss took a deep breath. “They have Rowena,” he said. “And Shadak has a plan.”

“Ah, a plan,” she said derisively, her full-lipped mouth twisting in a sneer. “Two men with a plan. Then I suppose I am safe?”

“You are alive - and free,” Druss told her. “If you want to ride to Padia, then do so.”

Her expression softened and she reached out, laying her hand on Druss’s forearm. “I know you are brave, Druss; I saw you kill those raiders and you were magnificent. I don’t want to see you die in some meaningless battle. Rowena wouldn’t want it either. There are many of them, and they’re all killers.”

“So am I,” he said. “And there are fewer than there were.”

“Well, what happens to me when they cut you down?” she snapped. “What chance will I have?”

He looked at her for a moment, his eyes cold. “None,” he told her.

Tailia’s eyes widened. “You never liked me, did you?” she whispered. “You never liked any of us.”

“I have no time for this nonsense,” he said, touching heels to the gelding and moving ahead. He did not look back, and was not surprised when he heard the sound of her horse galloping off towards the north.

A few minutes later Shadak rode up from the south. “Where is she?” asked the hunter, letting go of the reins of the two horses he was leading and allowing them to wander close by, cropping the long grass.

“Riding for Padia,” answered Druss. The hunter said nothing for a moment, but he gazed towards the north where Tailia could be seen as a tiny figure in the distance. “You’ll not talk her out of it,” Druss said.

“Did you send her away?”

“No. She thinks we are both dead men, and she doesn’t want to risk being taken by the slavers.”

“That’s a hard point to argue with,” agreed Shadak. Then he shrugged. “Ah well, she chose her own road. Let us hope it was a wise one.”

“What of the raiders?” asked Druss, all thoughts of Tailia gone from his mind.

“They rode through the night, and are heading due south. I think they will make camp by the Tigren, some thirty miles from here. There is a narrow valley opening on to a bowl-shaped canyon. It’s been used by slavers for years - and horse thieves, cattle stealers and renegades. It is easily defendable.”

“How long until we reach them?”

“Some time after midnight. We’ll move on for two more hours, then we’ll rest and eat before switching horses.”

“I don’t need a rest.”

“The horses do,” said Shadak, “and so do I. Be patient. It will be a long night, and fraught with peril. And I have to tell you that our chances are not good. Tailia was right to be concerned for her safety; we will need more luck than any two men have a right to ask for.”

“Why are you doing this?” asked Druss. “The women are nothing to you.” Shadak did not reply and they rode in silence until the sun was almost at noon. The hunter spotted a small grove of trees to the east and turned his horse; the two men dismounted in the shade of several spreading elms beside a rock pool.

“How many did you kill back there?” he asked Druss as they sat in the shade.

“Six,” answered the axeman, taking a strip of dried beef from the pouch at his side and tearing off a chunk.

“You ever kill men before?”

“No.”

“Six is… impressive. What did you use?” Druss chewed for a moment, then swallowed. “Felling-axe and a hatchet. Oh… and one of their daggers,” he said at last. “And my hands.”

“And you have had no training in combat?”

“No.”

Shadak shook his head. “Talk me through the fights - everything you can remember.” Druss did so, Shadak listened in silence, and when the axeman had finished his tale the hunter smiled. “You are a rare young man. You positioned yourself well, in front of the fallen tree. That was a good move - the first of many, it seems. But the most impressive is the last. How did you know the swordsman would jump to your left?”

“He saw I had an axe and that I was right-handed. In normal circumstances the axe would have been raised over my left shoulder and pulled down towards the right. Therefore he moved to his right - my left.”

“That is cool thinking for a man in combat. I think there is a great deal of your grandfather in you.”

“Don’t say that!” growled Druss. “He was insane.”

“He was also a brilliant fighting man. Yes, he was evil. But that does not lessen his courage and his skills.”

“I am my own man,” said Druss. “What I have is mine.”

“I do not doubt it. But you have great strength, good timing and a warrior’s mind. These are gifts that pass from father to son, and on through the line. But know this, laddie, there are responsibilities that you must accept.”

“Like what?”

“Burdens that separate the hero from the rogue.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“It comes back to the question you asked me, about the women. The true warrior lives by a code. He has to. For each man there are different perspectives, but at the core they are the same: Never violate a woman, nor harm a child. Do not lie, cheat or steal. These things are for lesser men. Protect the weak against the evil strong. And never allow thoughts of gain to lead you into the pursuit of evil.”

“This is your code?” asked Druss.

“It is. And there is more, but I shall not bore you with it.”

“I am not bored. Why do you need such a code to live by?”

Shadak laughed. “You will understand, Druss, as the years go by.”

“I want to understand now,” said the younger man.

“Of course you do. That is the curse of the young, they want it all now. No. Rest a while. Even your prodigious strength will fail after a time. Sleep a little. And wake refreshed. It will be a long - and bloody - night.”

The moon was high, and a quarter full in a cloudless sky. Silver light bathed the mountains, rippling on the river below, making it seem of molten metal. Three camp-fires burned and Druss could just make out the movement of men in the flickering light. The women were huddled between two wagons; there was no fire near them, but guards patrolled close by. To the north of the wagons, around thirty paces from the women, was a large tent. It gleamed yellow-gold, like a great lantern, shimmering shadows being cast on the inside walls; there was obviously a brazier within, and several lamps.

Shadak moved silently alongside the axeman, beckoning him back. Druss edged from the slope, returning to the glade where the horses were tethered.

“How many did you count?” asked Shadak, keeping his voice low.

“Thirty-four, not including those inside the tent.”

“There are two men there, Harib Ka and Collan. But I make it thirty-six outside. They have placed two men by the river-bank to prevent any of the women trying to swim to safety.”

“When do we go in?” asked Druss.

“You are very anxious to fight, laddie. But I need you to have a cool head down there. No baresark warfare.”

“Do not concern yourself about me, hunter. I merely want my wife back.”

Shadak nodded. “I understand that, but now I want you to consider something. What if she has been raped?”

Druss’s eyes gleamed, his fingers tightening on the axe haft. “Why do you ask this now?”

“It is certain that some of the women will have been violated. It is the way of men such as these to take their pleasures where they want them. How cool do you feel now?”

Druss swallowed back his rising anger. “Cool enough. I am not a baresark, Shadak. I know this. And I will follow your plan to the last detail, live or die, win or lose.”

“Good. We will move two hours before dawn. Most of them will be deeply asleep by then. Do you believe in the gods?”

“I never saw one - so no.”

Shadak grinned. “Neither do I. It puts praying for divine help out of the question, I suppose.”

Druss was silent for a moment. “Tell me now,” he said at last, “why you need a code to live by.”

Shadak’s face was ghostly in the moonlight, the expression suddenly stern and forbidding. Then he relaxed and turned to gaze down at the camp of the raiders. “Those men down there have only one code. It is simple: Do what you will is the whole of the law. Do you understand?”

“No,” admitted Druss.

“It means that whatever their strength can obtain is rightfully theirs. If another man holds something they desire they kill the other man. This is right in their minds; this is the law the world offers - the law of the wolf. But you and I are no different from them, Druss. We have the same desires, the same perceived needs. If we are attracted to a woman, why should we not have her, regardless of her opinions? If another man has wealth, why should we not take it, if we are stronger, deadlier than he? It is an easy trap to fall into.

“Collan was once an officer in the Drenai lancers. He comes from a good family; he took the Oath as we all did, and when he said the words he probably believed them. But in Drenan he met a woman he wanted desperately, and she wanted him. But she was married. Collan murdered her husband. That was his first step on the road to Perdition; after that the other steps were easy. Short of money, he became a mercenary - fighting for gold in any cause, right or wrong, good or evil. He began to see only what was good for Collan. Villages were there merely for him to raid.

“Harib Ka is a Ventrian nobleman, distantly related to the Royal House. His story is similar. Both lacked the Iron Code. I am not a good man, Druss, but the Code holds me to the Way of the Warrior.”

“I can understand,” said Druss, “that a man will seek to protect what is his, and not steal or kill for gain. But it does not explain why you risk your life tonight for women you do not know.”

“Never back away from an enemy, Druss. Either fight or surrender. It is not enough to say I will not be evil. It must be fought wherever it is found. I am hunting Collan, not just for killing my son but for being what he is. But if necessary I will put off that hunt tonight in order for the girls to be freed; they are more important.”

“Perhaps,” Druss said, unconvinced. “For me, all I want is Rowena and a home in the mountains. I care nothing about fighting evil.”

“I hope you learn to care,” said Shadak.

Harib Ka could not sleep. The ground was hard beneath the tent floor and despite the heat from the brazier he felt cold through to his bones. The girl’s face haunted him. He sat up and reached for the wine-jug. You are drinking too much, he told himself. Stretching, he poured a full goblet of red wine, draining it in two swallows. Then he pushed back his blankets and rose. His head ached. He sat down on a canvas stool and refilled his goblet.

What have you become? whispered a voice in his mind. He rubbed at his eyes, his thoughts returning to the academy and his days with Bodasen and the young Prince.

“We will change the world,” said the Prince. “We will feed the poor and ensure employment for all. And we will drive the raiders from Ventria, and establish a kingdom of peace and prosperity.”

Harib Ka gave a dry laugh and sipped his wine. Heady days, a time of youth and optimism with its talk of knights and brave deeds, great victories and the triumph of the Light over the Dark.

“There is no Light and Dark,” he said aloud. “There is only Power.”

He thought then of the first girl - what was her name, Mari? Yes. Compliant, obedient to his desires, warm, soft. She had cried out with pleasure at his touch. No. She had pretended to enjoy his coarse love-making. “I’ll do anything for you - but don’t hurt me.”

Don’t hurt me.

The chill winds of autumn rippled the tent walls. Within two hours of enjoying Mari he had felt in need of a second woman, and had chosen the hazel-eyed witch. That was a mistake. She had entered his tent, rubbing at her chafed wrists, her eyes large and sorrowful.

“You intend to rape me?” she had asked him quietly.

He had smiled. “Not necessarily. That is your choice. What is your name?”

“Rowena,” she told him. “And how can it be my choice?”

“You can give yourself to me, or you can fight me. Either way the result will be the same. So why not enjoy the love-making?”

“Why do you speak of love?”

“What?”

“There is no love in this. You have murdered those I have loved. And now you seek to pleasure yourself at the expense of what dignity I have left.”

He strode towards her, gripping her upper arms. “You are not here to debate with me, whore! You are here to do as you are told.”

“Why do you call me a whore? Does it make your actions more simple for you? Oh, Harib Ka, how would Rajica view your actions?”

He reeled back as if struck. “What do you know of Rajica?”

“Only that you loved her - and that she died in your arms.”

“You are a witch!”

“And you are a lost man, Harib Ka. Everything you once held dear has been sold - your pride, your honour, your love of life.”

“I will not be judged by you,” he said, but he made no move to silence her.

“I do not judge you,” she told him. “I pity you. And I tell you this: unless you release me and the other women, you will die.”

“You are a seer also?” he said, trying to mock. “Are the Drenai cavalry close, witch? Is there an army waiting to fall upon me and my men? No. Do not seek to threaten me, girl. Whatever else I may have lost I am still a warrior and, with the possible exception of Collan, the finest swordsman you will ever see. I do not fear death. No. Sometimes I long for it.” He felt his passion ebbing away. “So tell me, witch, what is this peril I face?”

“His name is Druss. He is my husband.”

“We killed all the men in the village.”

“No. He was in the woods, felling timbers for the palisade.”

“I sent six men there.”

“But they have not returned,” Rowena pointed out.

“You are saying he killed them all?”

“He did,” she told him softly, “and now he is coming for you.”

“You make him sound like a warrior of legend,” said Harib uneasily. “I could send men back to kill him.”

“I hope you do not.”

“You fear for his life?”

“No, I would mourn for theirs.” She sighed.

“Tell me of him. Is he a swordsman? A soldier?”

“No, he is the son of a carpenter. But once I dreamt I saw him on a mountainside. He was black-bearded and his axe was smeared with blood. And before him were hundreds of souls. They stood mourning their lives. More flowed from his axe, and they wailed. Men of many nations, billowing like smoke until broken by the breeze. All slain by Druss. Mighty Druss. The Captain of the Axe. The Deathwalker.”

“And this is your husband?”

“No, not yet. This is the man he will become if you do not free me. This is the man you created when you slew his father and took me prisoner. You will not stop him, Harib Ka.”

He sent her away then, and ordered the guards to let her remain unmolested.

Collan had come to him and had laughed at his misery. “By Missael, Harib, she is just a village wench and now a slave. She is property. Our property. And her gift makes her worth ten times the price we will receive for any of the others. She is attractive and young - I’d say around a thousand gold pieces’ worth. There is that Ventrian merchant, Kabuchek; he’s always looking for seers and fortune-tellers. I’ll wager he’d pay a thousand.”

Harib sighed. “Aye, you are right, my friend. Take her. We’ll need coin upon our arrival. But don’t touch her, Collan,” he warned the handsome swordsman. “She really does have the Gift, and she will see into your soul.”

“There is nothing to see,” answered Collah, with a harsh, forced smile.

Druss edged his way along the river-bank, keeping close to the undergrowth and pausing to listen. There were no sounds save the rustling of autumn leaves in the branches above, no movement apart from the occasional swooping flight of bat or owl. His mouth was dry, but he felt no fear.

Across the narrow river he saw a white jutting boulder, cracked down the centre. According to Shadak, the first of the sentries was positioned almost opposite. Moving carefully Druss crept back into the woods, then angled towards the river-bank, timing his approach by the wind which stirred the leaves above him, the rustling in the trees masking the sound of his movements.

The sentry was sitting on a rock no more than ten feet to Druss’s right, and he had stretched out his right leg. Taking Snaga in his left hand, Druss wiped his sweating palm on his trews, his eyes scanning the undergrowth for the second sentry. He could see no one.

Druss waited, his back against a broad tree. From a little distance to the left came a harsh, gurgling sound. The sentry heard it too, and rose.

“Bushin! What are you doing there, you fool?”

Druss stepped out behind the man. “He is dying,” he said.

The man spun, hand snaking down for the sword at his hip. Snaga flashed up and across, the silver blade entering the neck just below the ear and shearing through sinew and bone. The head toppled to the right, the body to the left.

Shadak stepped from the undergrowth. “Well done,” he whispered. “Now, when I send the women down to you, get them to wade across by the boulder, then head north up into the canyon to the cave.”

“We’ve been over this many times,” Druss pointed out.

Ignoring the comment, Shadak laid a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Now, whatever happens, do not come back into the camp. Stay with the women. There is only one path up to the cave, but several leading from it to the north. Get the women moving on the north-west route. You hold the path.”

Shadak faded back into the undergrowth and Druss settled down to wait.

Shadak moved carefully to the edge of the camp. Most of the women were asleep, and a guard was sitting by them; his head was resting against a wagon wheel, and Shadak guessed he was dozing. Unbuckling his sword-belt, he moved forward on his belly, drawing himself on his elbows until he reached the wagon. Slipping his hunting-knife from the sheath at his hip, Shadak came up behind the man - his left hand reached through the wheel, fingers closing on the sentry’s throat. The knife rammed home into the man’s back; his leg jerked once, then he was still.

Moving back from beneath the wagon, Shadak came to the first girl. She was sleeping close to several other women, huddled together for warmth. He clamped a hand over her mouth and shook her. She awoke in a panic and started to struggle.

“I am here to rescue you!” hissed Shadak. “One of your villagers is by the river-bank and he will lead you to safety. You understand? When I release you, slowly wake the others. Head south to the river. Druss, the son of Bress, is waiting there. Nod if you understand me.”

He felt her head move against his hand. “Good. Make sure none of the others make a noise. You must move slowly. Which one is Rowena?”

“She is not with us,” whispered the girl. They took her away.”

“Where?”

“One of the leaders, a man with a scarred cheek, he rode out with her just after dusk.”

Shadak swore softly. There was no time for a second plan. “What is your name?”

“Mari.”

“Well, Mari, get the others moving - and tell Druss to follow the original plan,”

Shadak moved away from the girl, gathered his swords and belted them to his waist. Then he stepped out into the open and strolled casually towards the tent. Only a few men were awake, and they paid little heed to the figure moving through the shadows so confidently.

Lifting the tent-flap he swiftly entered, drawing his right-hand sword as he did so. Harib Ka was sitting on a canvas chair with a goblet of wine in his left hand, a sabre in his right. “Welcome to my hearth, Wolf-man,” he said, with a smile. He drained the goblet and stood. Wine had run into his dark, forked beard, making it shine in the lantern light as if oiled. “May I offer you a drink?”

“Why not?” answered Shadak, aware that if they began to fight too soon the noise of clashing steel would wake the other raiders and they would see the women fleeing.

“You are far from home,” remarked Harib Ka.

“These days I have no home,” Shadak told him.

Harib Ka filled a second goblet and passed it to the hunter. “You are here to kill me?”

“I came for Collan. I understand he has gone?”

“Why Collan?” asked Harib Ka, his dark eyes glittering in the golden light.

“He killed my son in Corialis.”

“Ah, the blond boy. Fine swordsman, but too reckless.”

“A vice of the young.” Shadak sipped his wine, his anger controlled like an armourer’s fire, hot but contained.

“That vice killed him,” observed Shadak. “Collan is very skilled. Where did you leave the young villager, the one with the axe?”

“You are well informed.”

“Only a few hours ago his wife stood where you now stand; she told me he was coming. She’s a witch - did you know that?”

“No. Where is she?”

“On her way to Mashrapur with Collan. When do you want the fight to begin?”

“As soon as…” began Shadak, but even as he was speaking Harib attacked, his sabre slashing for Shadak’s throat. The hunter ducked, leaned to the left and kicked out at Harib’s knee. The Ventrian crashed to the floor and Shadak’s sword touched the skin of Harib’s throat. “Never fight drunk,” he said softly.

“I’ll remember that. What now?”

“Now tell me where Collan stays in Mashrapur.”

“The White Bear Inn. It’s in the western quarter.”

“I know that. Now, what is your life worth, Harib Ka?”

“To the Drenai authorities? Around a thousand gold pieces. To me? I have nothing to offer - until I sell my slaves.”

“You have no slaves.”

“I can find them again. Thirty women on foot in the mountains will pose me no problem.”

“Hunting is not easy with a slit throat,” pointed out Shadak, adding an extra ounce of pressure to the sword-blade, which pricked the skin of Harib’s neck.

“True,” agreed the Ventrian, glancing up. “What do you suggest?” Just as Shadak was about to answer he caught the gleam of triumph in Harib’s eyes and he swung round. But too late.

Something cold, hard and metallic crashed against his skull.

And the world spun into darkness.

Pain brought Shadak back to consciousness, harsh slaps to his face that jarred his teeth. His eyes opened. His arms were being held by two men who had hauled him to his knees, and Harib Ka was squatting before him.

“Did you think me so stupid that I would allow an assassin to enter my tent unobserved? I knew someone was following us. And when the four men I left in the pass did not return I guessed it had to be you. Now I have questions for you, Shadak. Firstly, where is the young farmer with the axe; and secondly, where are my women?”

Shadak said nothing. One of the men holding him crashed a fist against the hunter’s ear; lights blazed before Shadak’s eyes and he sagged to his right. He watched Harib Ka rise and move to the brazier where the coals had burned low. “Get him outside to a fire,” ordered the leader. Shadak was hauled to his feet and half carried out into the camp. Most of the men were still asleep. His captors pushed him to his knees beside a camp-fire and Harib Ka drew his dagger, pushing the blade into the flames. “You will tell me what I wish to know,” he said, “or I will burn out your eyes and then set you free in the mountains.”

Shadak tasted blood on his tongue, and fear in his belly. But still he said nothing.

An unearthly scream tore through the silence of the night, followed by the thunder of hooves. Harib swung to see forty terrified horses galloping towards the camp. One of the men holding the hunter turned also, his grip slackening. Shadak surged upright, head butting the raider who staggered back. The second man, seeing the stampeding horses closing fast, released his hold and ran for the safety of the wagons. Harib Ka drew his sabre and leapt at Shadak, but the first of the horses cannoned into him, spinning him from his feet. Shadak spun on his heel to face the terrified beasts and began to wave his arms. The maddened horses swerved around him and galloped on through the camp. Some men, still wrapped in their blankets, were trampled underfoot. Others tried to halt the charging beasts. Shadak ran back to Harib’s tent and found his swords. Then he stepped out into the night. All was chaos.

The fires had been scattered by pounding hooves and several corpses were lying on the open ground. Some twenty of the horses had been halted and calmed; the others were running on through the woods, pursued by many of the warriors.

A second scream sounded and despite his years of experience in warfare and battle, Shadak was astonished by what followed.

Alone, the young woodsman had attacked the camp. The awesome axe shone silver in the moonlight, slashing and cleaving into the surprised warriors. Several took up swords and ran at him; they died in moments.

But he could not survive. Shadak saw the raiders group together, a dozen men spread out in a semi-circle around the black-garbed giant, Harib Ka among them. The hunter, his two short swords drawn, ran towards them yelling the battle-cry of the Lancers. “Ayiaa! Ayiaa!” At that moment arrows flashed from the woods. One took a raider in the throat, a second glanced from a helm to plunge home into an unprotected shoulder. Combined with the sudden battle-cry, the attack made the raiders pause, many of them backing away and scanning the tree line. At that moment Druss charged the enemy centre, cutting to left and right. The raiders fell back before him, several tumbling to the ground, tripping over their fellows. The mighty blood-smeared axe clove into them, rising and falling with a merciless rhythm.

Just as Shadak reached them, the raiders broke and fled. More arrows sailed after them.

Harib Ka ran for one of the horses, grabbing its mane and vaulting to its bare back. The animal reared, but he held on. Shadak hurled his right-hand sword, which lanced into Harib’s shoulder. The Ventrian sagged, then fell to the ground as the horse galloped away

“Druss!” shouted Shadak. “Druss!” The axeman was pursuing the fleeing raiders, but he stopped at the edge of the trees and swung back. Harib Ka was on his knees, trying to pull the brass-hilted sword from his body.

The axeman stalked back to where Shadak was waiting. He was blood-drenched and his eyes glittered. “Where is she?” he asked the hunter.

“Collan took her to Mashrapur; they left at dusk.”

Two women emerged from the trees, carrying bows and quivers of arrows. “Who are they?” asked Shadak.

“The Tanner’s daughters. They did a lot of hunting for the village. I gave them the bows the sentries had with them.”

The tallest of the women approached Druss. “They are fleeing into the night. I don’t think they’ll come back now. You want us to follow them?”

“No, bring the others down and gather the horses.” The axeman turned towards the kneeling figure of Harib Ka. “Who is this?” Druss asked Shadak.

“One of the leaders.”

Without a word Druss clove the axe through Harib’s neck. “Not any more,” he observed.

“Indeed not,” agreed Shadak, stepping to the still quivering corpse and pulling free his sword. He gazed around the clearing and counted the bodies. “Nineteen. By all the gods, Druss, I can’t believe you did that!”

“Some were trampled by the horses I stampeded, others were killed by the girls.” Druss turned and stared out over the campsite. Somewhere to his left a man groaned and the tallest of the girls ran to him, plunging a dagger into his throat. Druss turned back to Shadak. “Will you see the women get safely to Padia?”

“You’re going on to Mashrapur?”

“I’m going to find her.”

Shadak laid his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “I hope that you do, Druss. Seek out the White Bear Inn - that’s where Collan will stay. But be warned, my friend. In Mashrapur, Rowena is his property. That is their law.”

“This is mine,” answered Druss, raising the double-headed axe.

Shadak took the young man’s arm and led him back to Harib’s tent where he poured himself a goblet of wine and drained it. One of Harib’s linen tunics was draped over a small chest and Shadak threw it to Druss. “Wipe off the blood. You look like a demon.” Druss smiled grimly and wiped his face and arms, then cleaned the double blades.

“What do you know of Mashrapur?” asked Shadak.

The axeman shrugged. “It is an independent state, ruled by an exiled Ventrian Prince. That’s all.”

“It is a haven for thieves and slavers,” said Shadak. The laws are simple: those with gold to offer bribes are considered fine citizens. It matters not where the gold comes from. Collan is respected there; he owns property and dines with the Emir.”

“So?”

“So if you march in and kill him, you will be taken and executed. It is that simple.”

“What do you suggest?”

“There is a small town around twenty miles from here, due south. There is a man there, a friend of mine. Go to him, tell him I sent you. He is young and talented. You won’t like him, Druss; he is a fop and a pleasure-seeker. He has no morals. But it will make him invaluable in Mashrapur.”

“Who is this man?”

“His name is Sieben. He’s a poet, a saga-teller, and he performs at palaces; he’s very good as a matter of fact. He could have been rich. But he spends most of his time trying to bed every pretty young woman who comes into his line of vision. He never concerns himself whether they are married or single - that has brought him many enemies.”

“Already I don’t like the sound of him.”

Shadak chuckled. “He has good qualities. He is a loyal friend, and he is ridiculously fearless. A good man with a knife. And he knows Mashrapur. Trust him.”

“Why should he help me?”

“He owes me a favour.” Shadak poured a second goblet of wine and passed it to the young man.

Druss sipped it, then drained the goblet. “This is good. What is it?”

“Lentrian Red. Around five years old, I’d say. Not the best, but good enough on a night like this.”

“I can see that a man could get a taste for it,” Druss agreed.