White Wolf: A Novel of Druss the Legend

CHAPTER TEN

THE CRIMSON STAG TAVERN WAS AN OLD BUILDING, L-SHAPED

AND double-storeyed, constructed close to the west quay, overlooking the harbour and the sea beyond. It had long been the haunt of Drenai officials and soldiers stationed in the embassy quarter of the city. Such was its reputation for food, wine and ale that even Vagrian officers used it.

Normally the antipathy between soldiers of Vagria and Drenan would have precluded any such common ground. Though none now living could recall the Vagrian-Drenai wars the ancient enmity between the peoples continued. Occasionally there were even border skirmishes.

There were, however, no fights at the Crimson Stag. Not one man from either camp would risk being barred by Shivas, the sour-faced owner. His cooking was as sublime as his temper was dark. Added to which his memory was known to be long indeed, and a man refused custom once would never be forgiven.

Druss and Skilgannon sat at a table overlooking the moonlit harbour.

Despite the coming of night, ships were still being unloaded at the quayside, and wagons were drawn up to ferry food back out into the hungry city.

Skilgannon sat quietly watching the dockers. His heart was heavy. He had not expected to miss the little priest. Yet he did.

Braygan was the last link to a gentle life Skilgannon had tried so hard to embrace.

‘ We are what we are, my son. And wolves is what we are.’

The tavern was filling up. By the far wall a group of Vagrian soldiers were drinking and laughing. Skilgannon glanced across at them. Many still wore their tunic-length mailshirts, and one still had on his horned helm of reinforced brass. Elsewhere soldiers and officials of other races were sitting quietly, some already eating, others enjoying a goblet of wine or a tankard of ale. ‘How many nations are stationed in the embassy quarter?’ he asked the axeman. Druss shrugged.

‘Never counted them.’ He glanced around the tavern. ‘Mostly I only know those from Lentria and Drenan. There must be more than twenty embassies. Even one from Chiatze.’

Druss lifted his wine goblet and drained it. Skilgannon looked at him.

Without his helm and steel-reinforced jerkin the axeman looked what he was — a powerful fifty-year-old man. He could have been a farmer, or a stonemason. Save for the eyes. There was something deadly in that iron gaze. This was a man — as the Naashanites would say — who had looked into the eyes of the Dragon. ‘Are you the Damned, laddie?’ asked Druss suddenly.

Skilgannon took a deep breath, and met Druss’s gaze. ‘I am,’ he replied.

‘Do they lie when they talk of Perapolis?’

‘No. There is not a lie which could make it any worse.’

Druss signalled a serving maid. The menu was not extensive and the axeman ordered eggs and salt beef. He glanced at Skilgannon. ‘What are you eating?’

‘The same will be fine.’

When the serving maid had departed Druss refilled his goblet from a flagon and sat quietly, staring out of the window. ‘What are you thinking?’

asked Skilgannon.

‘I was thinking of old friends,’ said Druss. ‘One in particular. Bodasen.

Great swordsman. We fought side by side all across this land. No give in the man. A fine soldier and a true friend. I think of him often.’

‘What happened to him?’

‘I killed him at Skein. Can’t change it. Can’t help regretting it. The boy tells me you were a priest for a while. Brother Lantern, I think he said.’

‘A man should always try new things,’ said Skilgannon.

‘Don’t make light of it, laddie. Were you touched by faith, or haunted by guilt?’

‘Probably more guilt than faith,’ admitted Skilgannon. ‘Are you intending some subtle lecture at this point?’

Druss laughed, the sound unforced and full of genuine humour. ‘In all my long life no-one has ever accused me of that, boy. A man who uses an axe doesn’t generally build a reputation for subtlety. You want me to lecture you?’

‘No. There is nothing anyone could say to me that I haven’t already told myself.’

‘Are you still with the Naashanite army?’

Skilgannon shook his head. ‘The Queen wishes me dead. I am outlawed in Naashan. I’m told there is a large price on my head.’

‘Then you are not here as a spy?’

‘No.’

‘Good enough.’ Druss topped up his goblet. Skilgannon smiled.

‘Rabalyn tells me you are to be involved in a drinking contest later.

Shouldn’t you hold off on that wine?’

‘A few sips to prepare the belly. This is Lentrian red. I’ve not tasted a drop for two months. Are you not a drinker?’

Skilgannon shook his head. ‘It tends to make me argumentative.’

Druss nodded. ‘And a man with your skills can’t afford meaningless arguments. I understand that. I have heard tales of you and the Witch Queen. It is said you were her champion.’

‘I was. We were friends once — in the days when she was hunted.’

‘It is said you loved her.’

Skilgannon shook his head. ‘That doesn’t come close. Thoughts of her fill my waking hours, and haunt my dreams. She is an extraordinary woman, Druss; courageous, clever, witty.’ He fell silent for a moment.

‘Compliments like this fall so far short of the actuality that they seem like insults. I say she was courageous, but it does not paint the reality. I never met anyone more brave. At the battle of Carsis, with the left in rout and the centre crumbling, her generals advised her to flee the field. Instead she donned her armour and rode to the centre where all could see her. She won the day, Druss. Against all the odds.’

‘Sounds like you should have married her. Or did she not feel the same way towards you?’

Skilgannon shrugged. ‘She said she did. Who can know? But it was politics, Druss. Back in those dangerous days she needed allies. The only treasure she possessed then was her blood line. Had we been wed she could never have gathered enough troops to win back her father’s throne.

The princes and earls who fought under her banner all hoped to win her heart. She played them all.’

The meal arrived and the two men ate in silence. Finally Druss pushed away his plate.

‘You did not mention your own actions at Carsis. The story I heard was that you rallied the broken left flank and led a counter charge. It was that which turned the battle.’

‘Yes, I’ve heard that story,’ said Skilgannon. ‘It came about because men write the histories. They find it hard to praise a woman in a man’s world. I am a soldier, Druss. It is in my blood. Had Jianna not ridden to the front and given the men fresh courage, no action of mine would have made a jot of difference. Bokram’s forces had broken the left. Men were fleeing through the forest. When the Queen arrived Bokram saw her, and pulled back half the cavalry giving chase on the left flank. He turned them back towards the centre. It wasn’t a foolish move. Had he succeeded in killing Jianna he could have hunted down the deserting warriors at his leisure. As it was I had a little time to regroup some of the fleeing men. And, yes, it was the counter attack that sundered Bokram’s army. Had the Usurper had more courage he would still have won the day. Such is the way of history, though. Ultimately the coward rarely succeeds.’

‘The same is true in life,’ said Druss. ‘So why does she now want you dead?’

Skilgannon spread his hands. ‘She is a hard woman, Druss.’ He suddenly smiled and shook his head. ‘She doesn’t take well to disappointment. I left her service without her permission. She sent her lover to find me, to seek the return of a gift she made me. He came with a group of killers. I don’t know whether she ordered him to kill me. Perhaps not. In the end, though, it was her lover who lay dead. After that there was a price on my head.’

‘Well, laddie, you’ve been a soldier and a priest. What now?’

‘Have you ever heard of the Temple of the Resurrectionists?’

‘Can’t say as I have.’

‘I mean to find it. It is said they can work miracles. I need such a miracle.’

‘Where is it?’

‘I do not know, Druss. It could be in Namib, or the Nadir lands, or Sherak. It could be nowhere. Just a legend from the past. I shall find out.’

The far door opened. Skilgannon glanced round. ‘Ah, your drinking opponent has arrived,’ he said, as the tall young soldier with the trident beard strolled over to the table. ‘I’ll leave you to talk. I shall take a stroll and breathe in the sea air.’

Diagoras moved into the seat vacated by the Naashanite killer and glanced at the half-empty flagon of Lentrian red. ‘I do believe you started without me, old fellow,’ he said, lifting it and filling a goblet.

‘You need all the help you can get, boy.’

Diagoras watched as the Naashanite left the tavern. ‘You are mixing with dark company, Druss. He is a butchering madman.’

‘I have been called that myself,’ Druss pointed out. ‘Anyway, I like him.

He came to my aid a few days ago. An evil man would not have risked himself. And he helped a group of refugees against the arena beasts.

There’s more to Skilgannon than tales of butchery. Did you report his presence?’

‘Yes. Gan Sentrin is unconcerned. It seems the Damned is no longer an officer of Naashan. The Witch Queen has put a price on his head. He is an outlaw.’

‘Aye, he told me.’ Druss settled back in his chair, then rubbed at his eyes. Diagoras thought he looked tired. There was more silver in his beard than there had been at Skein. Time, as the poet once said, was a never ending river of cruelty. Diagoras sipped his wine. He wanted to say more about the vile Skilgannon. He wanted to ask how a hero like Druss could find anything to like about him, but he knew Druss well enough to recognize when the older man was finished with a conversation. His grey eyes would become bleak, and his face harden. Diagoras understood this aspect of him well. In a world of shifting shades of grey Druss the Legend struggled to see everything in black or white. A man was good or evil in Druss’s eyes. It was, however, hard to comprehend how he could hold to that view in this case. Druss was no fool. Diagoras sat quietly. The wine was good, and he always enjoyed the company of the older axeman. He might be naïve in his view of life, thought Diagoras, but there was always a sense of certainty around him. It was reassuring. After a while he spoke again.

‘Did you hear that Manahin is now serving in Abalayn’s government?’

he asked. ‘One of the heroes of Skein. He always has his campaign medal on his cloak.’

‘He earned it,’ replied Druss. ‘Where is yours?’

‘Lost it in a dice game a couple of years ago. To be honest, Druss, I lost too many friends there to want to be reminded of it. And I’m sick of people telling me they wish they could have been there with me. Damn, but I’d give a sack of gold not to have been there.’

‘You’ll get no argument from me, laddie. I lost friends on both sides. It would be good to think it was all worthwhile.’

The comment shocked Diagoras. ‘Worthwhile? It kept us free.’

‘Aye, it did. But because of it these eastern lands were plunged into war.

It never ends, does it?’ Druss drank deeply, then refilled his goblet. ‘Ah, don’t mind me, Diagoras. Sometimes the wine brings a darkness to my mind. What news of Orastes’s servant?’

‘The surgeon gave him something to help him sleep. He was hard used, Druss, and greatly terrified. As far as we can ascertain he was in that dungeon around two months. It is likely Orastes was with him.’

‘Imprisoned? It makes no sense. Why?’

‘I can’t answer that. The situation here has been chaotic. No-one knew what was going on. For the last few weeks we’ve kept all the embassy quarter gates locked. There have been riots, and murders, and hangings.

The King went insane, Druss. Utterly. Word is that he ran around his own palace attacking his guards with a ceremonial sword, shouting that he was the God of War. He was cut down by his own general, Ironmask. That’s when the Tantrians surrendered and opened the gates to the Datians. Just as well, in the end. You know what would have happened had the city fallen by storm?’

‘Rape, plunder and butchery,’ said Druss. ‘I know. Skilgannon said it earlier. If the Tantrians had been better led they’d have suffered more. So, why would Orastes have been imprisoned?’

‘We can make little sense of it, Druss. All I have been able to learn is that his reasons for coming to Mellicane were personal and not official.

Every day he went out into the city, sometimes with his servant, sometimes without. You’ll need to speak to the man, but be aware, my friend, that Orastes is probably dead.’

‘If he is,’ said Druss coldly, ‘I’ll find the men who did it, and the men who ordered it.’

‘Well, if you’re still here in four days I’ll join you,’ said Diagoras. ‘My commission runs out then and I’m leaving the army. I’ll help you find out what happened, then I’ll head back to Drenan. Time I got married and sired a few sons to look after me when I’m in my dotage.’

‘I’ll be glad to have you, laddie. Put enemies in front of me and I know just how to deal with them. But this search has me foxed.’

‘There was a rumour Orastes was seen heading southeast about a month ago. It must have been put out by those who had him imprisoned.

Is that where you’ve been?’

‘Aye. He was said to be riding his white gelding, and accompanied by a group of soldiers. It turned out to be a merchant who bore a passing resemblance to Orastes, tall, plump and fair-haired. The soldiers were his bodyguards. I caught up with them in a market village sixty miles from here. The gelding had belonged to Orastes. The merchant had a bill of sale, signed by the earl. I know his handwriting. It was genuine.’

‘Well, tomorrow — hopefully — we’ll be able to speak with the servant.

Now, are you ready for that drinking contest?’

‘No, laddie,’ said Druss, ‘tonight the meal and the drinks are on me.

We’ll sit and do what old soldiers are renowned for. We’ll talk about past days and old glories. We’ll discuss the problems of the world, and — as the wine flows — we’ll come up with a hundred grand ideas to put everything to rights.’ He chuckled. ‘And when we wake tomorrow with aching heads we’ll have forgotten all of them.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ said Diagoras, raising his hand and summoning the tavern girl. ‘Two flagons of Lentrian red, my dear, and some larger goblets, if you please.’

Skilgannon wandered along the dock, skirting the quays where weary men were still unloading cargo. The sounds of the sea lapping against the harbour walls was soothing, as was the smell of seaweed and salt air.

Mellicane had been lucky this time. They had surrendered early. There had been little time for simmering angers to build into blind hatreds among the besieging troops. The longer a siege went on, the more the darkness swelled in the hearts of the besiegers. Men would lose friends, or brothers, to sniper fire or accident. They would stare at the ramparts, anger building, and dream of revenge. Once the walls were breached the invaders would swarm through the city like avenging demons, hacking and killing until the insanity of rage was purged from their hearts.

He shivered, recalling the horrors of Perapolis. The people of Mellicane probably felt themselves safe now, with this small war at an end.

Skilgannon wondered how they would feel when the armies of Naashan descended upon them.

I will be long gone by then, he decided.

Walking out to a deserted jetty he stood and watched the reflected moon, lying broken upon the waves. Jianna would probably already have men searching for him. One day they would find him. They would step from a darkened alleyway, or emerge from the shadows of the trees. Or they would come upon him as he was sitting quietly in a tavern, his mind on other matters. It was unlikely they would announce their presence, or seek to fight him, man to man. Even without the Swords of Night and Day Skilgannon was deadly. With them he was almost invincible.

He heard stealthy footfalls on the planks behind him and turned. Two men were moving towards him. They were dressed in ragged clothes, which were wet through. Both carried knives in their hands. He guessed they had entered the water below the embassy quarter gates and had swum through to the docks. Both were thin, haggard and middle-aged.

Skilgannon watched them as they approached. ‘Give us your coin,’

demanded the first, ‘and you’ll not get hurt.’

‘I will not be hurt anyway,’ said Skilgannon. ‘Now best you be on your way, for I have no wish to kill you.’ The man’s shoulders sagged, but his comrade pushed past him and rushed at Skilgannon. The warrior blocked the knife thrust with his forearm, hooked his foot behind the man’s leg and sent him crashing to the deck. As his assailant struggled to rise Skilgannon trod on his knife hand. The attacker cried out in pain, the knife slipping from his fingers. Skilgannon scooped it up. ‘Stay where you are,’ he told the fallen man, then turned to his comrade. ‘This is not an enterprise to which you are suited,’ he said. ‘What do you think you are doing here?’

‘There’s no food,’ said the man. ‘My children are crying with hunger. All of this,’ he added, waving his arm at the food ships being unloaded in the distance, ‘is going to the homes of the rich. I’ll not watch my children starve. I’d sooner die myself.’

‘And that is what you will do,’ said Skilgannon. ‘You will die.’ With a sigh he tossed the knife to the deck, then dipped his hand into his money pouch, producing a heavy golden coin. ‘Take this to the tavern and purchase some food. Then go home and forget this foolishness.’

The second man lurched to his feet, knife in hand. ‘No need to take crumbs from this bastard’s table, Garak,’ he said. ‘Look at his money pouch. It’s bulging. We can have it all. Let’s take him!’

‘You have a decision to make, Garak,’ said Skilgannon. ‘Here is a coin honestly offered. With it you can feed your family for a month. The alternative is never to see them again in this world. I am not a forgiving man, and I offer no second chances.’

The knifemen exchanged glances. In that moment Skilgannon knew they would attack, and he would kill them. Two more lives would be wasted. Garak’s children would lose their father, and Skilgannon would have two more souls upon his conscience. Then, as always, his mind cleared. He could feel the weight of the scabbard on his back, the need to draw the Swords of Night and Day, to feel his fingers curl round the ornate ivory handles, to see the blades slice through flesh, and blood gushing from severed arteries. Skilgannon made no effort now to quell the growing hunger.

‘Brother Lantern!’ came the voice of Rabalyn. Skilgannon did not turn, but kept his eyes on the two men. He heard the youth walking along the jetty, and saw Garak’s gaze flick towards him.

As the deadly moment passed Skilgannon’s anger rose. He fought for control.

‘I’ll take the coin, master,’ said Garak, sheathing his knife. The haggard man sighed. These are terrible times. I am a furniture maker. Just a furniture maker.’

Skilgannon stood stock still, then drew in a deep breath. It took every effort of his will not to cut the man down. Silently he handed him the coin.

Garak gestured to his comrade, who stood for a moment, staring malevolently at Skilgannon. Then both men walked along the jetty, past Rabalyn.

Skilgannon moved to the jetty rail and gripped it with trembling hands.

‘Druss told me you had gone for a walk. I am sorry if I disturbed you,’

said Rabalyn.

‘The disturbance was a blessing.’ The blood lust began to fade.

Skilgannon glanced at the lad. ‘So, what are your plans, Rabalyn?’

The youth shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I wish I could go home. Perhaps I shall stay in the city and seek work.’

Skilgannon saw the boy staring at him, and knew that he was waiting for an invitation. ‘You cannot come with me, Rabalyn. Not because I do not like your company. You are fine and brave. I like you greatly. But there are people hunting me. One day they will find me. I have enough death on my conscience without adding you to the list. Why don’t you take Braygan’s advice, and join him at the temple?’

The youth’s disappointment showed. ‘Maybe I will. May I keep the shirt? I have no other clothes.’

‘Of course you may.’ Skilgannon fished another coin from his pouch.

‘Take this. Ask the priests to exchange it for silver and copper coins. Then you can purchase another tunic and some leggings that fit more closely.

What is left will allow you to pay the priests for your lodgings.’

Rabalyn took the coin and stared at it. ‘This is gold,’ he said.

‘Aye, it is.’

‘I have never held gold. One day I will pay you back. I promise.’ He stared hard at Skilgannon. ‘Are you all right? Your hands are trembling.’

‘I am just tired, Rabalyn.’

‘I thought you were going to fight those men.’

‘It would not have been a fight. Your arrival saved their lives.’

‘Who were they?’

‘Just men, seeking to find food for their families.’ A cool breeze whispered across the water.

‘Do you have a family?’ asked Rabalyn.

‘I did once. Not now.’

‘Doesn’t it make you lonely? I have felt lonely ever since Aunt Athyla died.’

Skilgannon took a deep, calming breath. He felt his body relax, and the trembling in his hands ceased. ‘Yes, I suppose it does.’

Rabalyn moved alongside Skilgannon and rested his arms on the jetty rail. The moon shone broken on the lapping sea. ‘I never thought about it before. I used to get really annoyed with Aunt Athyla. She’d fuss over me constantly. Once she had… gone I realized there wasn’t anyone who’d fuss over me again. Not in the same way, if you know what I mean?’

‘I know. After my father died I was raised by two kindly people, Sperian and Molaire. Molaire would worry constantly about whether I had eaten enough, or was getting enough sleep, or wearing warm enough clothes in the winter to fend off the chill.’

‘Yes, exactly,’ said Rabalyn, smiling at the memories. ‘Aunt Athyla was like that.’ His smile faded. ‘She deserved better than to die in that fire. I wish I could have done something more for her while she was alive.

Bought her a nice gift, or a… I don’t know. A house with a real garden.

Even a silk scarf. She always said she liked silk.’

‘She sounds a good woman,’ said Skilgannon softly, seeing the youth’s distress. ‘I expect you gave her more than you think.’

‘I gave her nothing,’ said Rabalyn, an edge of bitterness in his voice. ‘If only I had killed Todhe earlier she would still be alive.’

‘That may be so, Rabalyn, but there is no more futile phrase than if only

. If only we could go back and live our lives again. If only we hadn’t said the unkind words. If only we had turned left instead of right. If only is useless. We make our mistakes and we move on. In my life I have made decisions that cost the lives of thousands. Worse than that, through my actions those who loved me died horribly. If I allowed myself to walk the path of if only I would go mad. You are a fine, strong young man. Your aunt raised you well. She gave you love, and you will repay that love by loving others. A wife, sons, daughters, friends. That is the greatest gift you can give her.’

They stood in silence for a while, listening to the water lapping against the jetty.

‘Why are people hunting you?’ asked Rabalyn, after a while.

‘They have been sent by someone who wants me dead.’

‘He must hate you very much.’

‘No, she loves me. Now I need to be alone, my friend. I have much to think on. You go back to the tavern. I will join you there later.’

It still seemed strange to Skilgannon that of all the moments he had shared with Jianna, through all of the violence, fear and excitement, he should recall so vividly their walk home together from the bathhouse.

Having fooled the men sent to spy on him they strolled together, her arm hooked in his. He had glanced at her, his eyes drawn to the flimsy yellow tunic dress she wore. Her breasts were small and firm, her nipples pushing at the fabric. She was wearing a cheap scent that dazzled his senses. He found himself wishing with all his heart that she could have been what she pretended to be. Skilgannon had discovered the joys of sex at the bathhouse the previous summer, but never had he wanted anyone the way he desired the girl holding his arm.

‘What is your plan now?’ she asked, as they walked together. He could not. think clearly, aware of an uncomfortable tightness in his belly. ‘Well?’

she persisted.

‘We will go to my home. We will talk there,’ he said, trying to buy time.

‘What will you tell your servants?’

This was a good question. Sperian was close-mouthed and spoke to few people. He was a solitary man, who could be trusted. Molaire, on the other hand, was a chatterbox. ‘Where was Greavas intending to take you?’ he asked. ‘Once he got you from the city.’

‘East, into the mountains. There are tribes there who are still loyal. Will you stop looking at my breasts? It is making me uncomfortable.’

He jerked his gaze from her. ‘My apologies, princess.’

‘Probably best if you don’t call me that,’ she pointed out.

He paused, and turned towards her. ‘I am not usually this much of a dullard,’ he told her. ‘Forgive me. You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. It is muddling my senses.’

‘My name will be Sashan,’ she said, ignoring his comment. ‘Try it. Say it.’

‘Sashan.’

‘Good. Now about your servants?’

‘I shall tell them both I met you at the bathhouse, and that your name is Sashan, and you will be staying with me for a while. I will get Sperian to give you an allowance. Thirty silver pieces a week. That should help allay suspicion. You should take the money, and go to the market. Buy yourself.

. whatever you like.’

‘I see that you know the going price for whores, young Olek.’

‘Indeed I do, Sashan. And so should you.’

She laughed, the sound rich and throaty. ‘Were I a whore, you could not afford me.’

‘If you were a whore I’d sell everything I had for a night with you.’

She took his arm again. ‘And you would not regret it. Not a copper coin of it. However, I am not a whore. What sleeping arrangements do you have in mind?’

‘Oh, we have many spare rooms.’

‘And how will that look to your servants? You bring a whore home and then do not sleep with her? No, Olek, we must share a room. But that is all we will share.’

Back at the house he introduced Sashan to Sperian and Molaire. The gardener said nothing, but Molaire was outraged. She swung to Sperian.

‘Are you going to allow this?’

‘The boy is three weeks from his majority. It is his choice.’

‘I think it disgraceful,’ said Molaire, ignoring Jianna, and storming from the entrance hall. As the princess wandered through to the living room Sperian looked hard at Skilgannon.

‘Is that who I think it is?’ he whispered.

‘Yes. Say nothing to Molaire.’

‘She is very convincing in that yellow tunic.’

‘Aye, she is.’

Jianna came back into the hallway and smiled at Sperian. ‘I fear your wife does not like me.’

‘More a problem for me than you, Sashan,’ Sperian told her. ‘It will be like having a wasp in my ear tonight. I doubt I’ll get any rest. Why don’t you and Olek go out into the garden. I’ll bring a little food and drink.’

After the servant had gone Skilgannon led Jianna through to the garden. The sun was setting beyond the western wall, and it was cool in the shade. She sat down in a deep chair, her long legs stretched out.

Skilgannon tore his gaze from her thighs, and stared hard at the blooms in the garden. ‘He knows, doesn’t he?’ said Jianna.

‘Yes. But then he already knew that Greavas was hiding you — and he sent me to Greavas. I guessed we wouldn’t fool Sperian. He will say nothing. Not even to Molaire.’

‘He would be wise not to. Trusting that fat sow with a secret would be like trying to carry water in a fish net.’

‘She is a good woman,’ said Skilgannon sharply. ‘You will not speak ill of her.’

A look of surprise touched the girl’s face, immediately followed by a flash of anger that made her grey eyes glint with a cold light. ‘You forget who you are talking to.’

‘I am talking to Sashan the whore, who is living in my house for thirty silvers a week.’

She looked away, and he studied her profile. It seemed to him that her face was beautiful from any angle. Even with the badly dyed yellow hair, and the red ringlets at the temple, she was stunning. ‘How long must I stay here?’ she asked.

‘At this moment soldiers are scouring the city, and all the gates are manned. In three weeks the Festival of Harvest begins. Farmers and merchants will be coming here from all over Naashan. Once the festival is over they will return. There will be huge numbers leaving the city. That will be the time, I think.’

‘A month then?’

‘At least.’

‘It will be a long month.’

Skilgannon had not known just how long a time a month could be. He began to realize it that first night, as he and Jianna retired to his west-facing room above the garden. The bed was wide, and made for two.

Even so he lay awake, feeling the warmth emanating from her. The scent from her hair wafted to him every time the night breeze blew. In the night she awoke and moved silently from the bed. He saw her naked body silhouetted against the window. His arousal was swift and painful. She stretched her arms above her head, and ran her fingers through her hair.

Skilgannon drank in the lines of her, the sleekness of her waist, and the long perfection of her legs. She padded across the room and poured herself a goblet of water. Skilgannon closed his eyes, and tried to force the image of her from his mind. It was a useless exercise. He felt her slide in alongside him once more.

‘Are you awake?’ she asked.

He thought of ignoring her and pretending sleep. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I am awake. Is the bed uncomfortable? Is it stopping you sleeping?’

‘No. I was thinking of my mother. I was wondering if I will ever see her again.’

‘Greavas is a clever man. I am sure he will succeed.’

‘She carries poison, you know. Hidden in a ring. If they come for her she will swallow it.’

‘Do you have poison?’

‘No. I shall escape. I will avenge my father, and I will see Bokram dragged down.’

‘No easy task, Sashan. He has the support of the Emperor. Even if you raised an army to match Bokram, you would still have to face the Immortals. They have never been beaten.’

‘Gorben will fall,’ she said. ‘His ambition is too great, his pride colossal.

My father understood this, but his timing was wrong. Gorben will not stop. He will continue to enlarge his empire. One day he will take a step too far. Against the Gothir perhaps, or the Drenai.’

‘What if he doesn’t fall?’

She rolled towards him. ‘Then I shall find a way to woo him. None of his wives have given him sons. I shall give him sons. Then I will drag Bokram down.’

‘You do not lack confidence,’ he said. ‘I do not believe, though, that Bokram is quaking in his boots at this moment.’

‘I hope that he is not,’ said Jianna. ‘He seeks two women who are, at worst, a nuisance. His only fear is that I will escape and be wedded to a prince with power. Even that will not worry him unduly, for there is no single prince with the fortune or the army to overthrow him.’

‘Then how can you succeed?’

‘There are at least fifty princes and chieftains who would like to wed me.

Combine them and we have an army to sweep across the land.’

‘You plan to wed fifty princes? I think playing the whore has gone to your head.’

‘Malanek said you were intelligent, and quick-witted. Was he wrong?’

‘Strangely my wits are not enhanced by lying so close to a naked woman.’

She laughed. ‘The story of men everywhere. And now I shall sleep.’ She rolled away from him.

Somewhere in the night he managed to doze a little, but every time she moved he would awake and feel restless. Once she turned and her arm fell across his chest, her head close to his shoulder.

Just after the dawn he awoke, bleary-eyed and weary. Jianna still slept.

Dressing in a simple grey tunic and sandals he went downstairs. Molaire was already in the kitchen, cleaning vegetables for a broth. She gave him a look which was meant to be scornful. Crossing to her he kissed her cheek.

‘Your father would not approve of this,’ she said, blushing.

He gazed at her round, honest face. ‘Perhaps he would not,’ he admitted.

‘And you look dreadful this morning. Totally debauched.’

Skilgannon laughed and left the room, wandering through to the garden. Sperian was already there, kneeling in one of the flower beds, dead-heading blooms and clearing away weeds. For a while Skilgannon helped him, then both men walked back to the house, scrubbed the dirt from their hands and sat down to breakfast. Molaire left them and moved off to the laundry room. Skilgannon told Sperian about the thirty silvers that would need to be paid to Sashan.

‘Aye, that’s wise. Though I am not sure about her going to the market. I doubt she’s done any haggling in her life.’

‘I think she’ll do well enough. Are there watchers outside the house?’

‘Aye. Two men. They were here most of the night. They’ve been replaced this morning. Have you thought what you’ll say if Boranius returns? Has he ever met her?’

The question caused a tightness in Skilgannon’s stomach. ‘I don’t know.

I’ll ask her.’

Sperian cut some fresh bread and several thick slices of cheese, which he placed on a tray. ‘You want to take this up to her?’

Skilgannon returned to the bedroom. Jianna was awake, but still lying in the bed. ‘I brought you some breakfast,’ he said. She sat up, the sheets falling away and exposing her breasts. Skilgannon swore. ‘Could you at least dress?’ he snapped.

‘My, you are feeling tetchy this morning, Olek. Did you not sleep well?’

Reaching out, she took the food, then sat and quietly ate. Pushing the tray aside she rose from the bed. Skilgannon turned his back, and heard her laughter. ‘You may look at me now, my prudish friend,’ she said. She had slipped on the yellow tunic dress and was sitting in a wicker chair by the window.

‘Have you ever met Boranius?’ he asked.

She shrugged. The name means nothing.’

‘Tall and handsome, with golden hair. He was a student of Malanek’s.’

‘Ah, yes, now I recall him. Eyes the colour of emeralds, and an arrogant mouth. Why do you ask?’

‘He may come here. It would be best if he did not see you.’

‘Ah, Olek, you worry too much. The only time we met I was dressed in silks and satins. My hair was dark and I wore a tiara with seventy diamonds upon it. My face was painted, and he merely bowed his head to kiss my hand, then turned his attention to my father — whom he was desperate to impress.’

‘Even so. Boranius is no fool. He has men still watching the house.’

‘Then I should let them see me. I shall go to the market. You will give me coin. I shall buy a necklace, and a new dress.’

‘You seem to be enjoying yourself,’ he said.

Her smile faded. ‘What would you prefer, Olek? That I simpered and trembled in this room, waiting for strong men to save me? I will succeed -

or I will be captured and killed. No man on this earth will ever terrify me. I will not allow it. Yes, I shall enjoy going to the market. It is something I have never done. I will walk in the sunshine and I will revel in my freedom.

I am Sashan, the whore. And Sashan the whore has nothing to fear from Boranius or anyone else.’

He stood watching her for a moment. Then he nodded and bowed. ‘You are an exceptional woman,’ he said.

‘Yes, I am. Tell me about the market.’

They sat and talked for some time about the art of haggling, and how no-one ever paid the first price mentioned. He also warned her against the places women were not allowed to enter: gambling halls, private taverns, and public temples.

‘A woman cannot enter a temple?’ she queried.

‘Not by the main door. At the side there are entrances leading to galleries. Women cannot approach the altar, or sit in the altar hall.’

‘Ridiculous!’ she stormed.

‘Nor once inside the building are they allowed to speak,’ he told her, with a smile.

Her grey eyes narrowed. ‘I shall change that once I have my throne.’

Skilgannon recalled with great fondness watching her walk away from the house. The sun was shining on her bleached hair, and turning the cheap yellow tunic to glowing gold. She had subtly exaggerated the sway of her hips, and had smiled broadly at the men passing by. It was a fine performance, born of arrogance and courage.

Alone on the jetty Skilgannon glanced up at the moon. ‘There never was a woman like you, Jianna,’ he whispered.,

The day had been long and tense for Jianna, Queen of Naashan. It had begun just after dawn, reading lengthy reports from the various southeastern war fronts in Matapesh, Panthia and Opal. Casualties had been heavy, especially in the jungles of Opal, but her forces had captured the three main diamond mines. Shipments of these precious stones would enable Jianna to purchase more iron from Ventria, and weapons from established Gothir armourers. She had breakfasted with four princes from northern Naashan, who had promised men for the coming battles in Tantria. After that she had met councillors and advisers, checking reports on tax incomes and the condition of the treasury.

It was now after dusk, and she was not yet tired as she strode with her bodyguard through the royal gardens, lit now by lanterns on tall iron poles. Behind her walked the Captain of Horse, Askelus, a tall, forbidding man, and alongside him the wiry figure of Malanek the former swordmaster. Both men had their hands on their sword hilts as they came into the open. Jianna laughed. ‘They say lightning does not strike twice in the same place,’ she said.

‘You take too many risks, Highness,’ offered Malanek. Moonlight cast shadows on his face, making the lines of age seem even deeper. No longer a fighting swordsman he had grown his hair, though he still sported the elaborate raised crest and pony tail that had marked him as the King’s champion. His hair was dyed black — a small conceit, which the Queen did not mind. She was fond of the old warrior.

‘I cannot avoid all risks, Malanek,’ she said. ‘And look, am I not wearing the mail rings you had made for me?’

‘Aye, and they look very fine on you, Highness,’ he said. ‘Which is, I think, why you wear them.’

Jianna did not reply, but walked on. He was right, of course. The thigh-length silver mail tunic, with its backing of soft lambskin, and its wide embossed belt, emphasized the slimness of her waist. It shimmered as she moved. Jianna strode on, sensing the tension in the two men as they approached the Lake of Dreams, a large marble pool on which sat a statue of a fabulously attractive woman. Her arm was raised towards the sky, and entwined around it was a snake. The statue was of Jianna. Often the Queen would wander her gardens, always stopping to gaze upon her own image.

Ten days ago two assassins had leapt from the undergrowth close by.

Both were dressed as palace servants. Only Malanek had been with her on that night. Despite his age he had acted with great speed, drawing his sabre and darting in to block their assault. He had killed the first, but the second barged past him and ran at Jianna, knife raised. Leaping high she had hammered her booted foot into his face, hurling him back. Malanek had stabbed him through the lower back. The man screamed and fell.

Unhappily the wound was deep and mortal, and he had died under questioning without revealing who had sent him.

It was the fourth assassination attempt in two years.

Jianna gazed at the statue. ‘She will be beautiful when I am ancient and a crone,’ she said wistfully.

‘Aye,’ agreed Malanek, ‘but she will never ride a horse, nor see a sunset.

Nor will she ever know the adoration of a people.’

‘Adoration comes and goes,’ said Jianna. ‘The people threw flowers at the Ventrians and garlanded Bokram’s horse. They are fickle.’

They came at last to the new gates and the high walls of Jianna’s private quarters. The two guards, both handpicked by Askelus, saluted and bowed. ‘Who is within?’ Askelus asked one of them.

‘Four of the Queen’s councillors, five royal handmaidens, the blind harpist, and a rider from Mellicane. The Ventrian ambassador has requested an audience. His messenger is waiting outside the gallery.’

The guards pushed open the gates and Jianna walked through. ‘Shall I send them all away?’ asked Malanek.

‘Ask Emparo to stay. I would like to hear his harp later. The Ventrian ambassador I will see tomorrow morning, before the council meeting.

Have him brought here. We will breakfast together.’ She arrived at the door to her chambers. ‘I’ll see the rider from Mellicane now. Askelus, you will stay with me.’

The tall warrior nodded, and opened the doors to the Queen’s apartments. Lanterns had been lit within, the light shimmering on silk-covered couches and ornately fashioned chairs. The five handmaidens, all dressed in gowns of white silk, stepped forward and curtsied as the Queen entered. ‘You may all go to your beds,’ said Jianna, with a wave of her hand. The women curtsied once more, and departed. Malanek strode off after them, returning with a round-shouldered officer. Jianna looked at the man. He had tired eyes. He bowed to her and waited.

‘You have ridden far, sir?’ she asked.

‘I have, Majesty. Eight hundred miles in fifteen days. Mellicane is on the verge of collapse.’

‘What else did you discover?’

‘I have brought back all my papers, Majesty; reports on those loyal to your cause, and those we must… deal with. I have given them all to Malanek.’

‘I shall read them and call for you again,’ she said, unable to remember the man’s name. ‘But why have you waited for me this evening?’

‘News of Skilgannon, Majesty.’

‘Is he dead?’

‘No, Majesty. He had left the church before the riders arrived. He is heading, we think, for Mellicane.’

‘Does he have the swords?’

‘He killed some men who were seeking to attack the church, Majesty.

Our information is that he took sabres from the attackers.’

‘He will have them,’ she said.

‘Hard to believe he became a priest,’ said Askelus.

‘Why?’ countered Malanek. ‘Skilgannon brought passion to everything he tackled. And passion is a gift of the Source.’

Askelus shrugged. ‘He is a fighting man. Hard to see him mouthing spiritual inanities. Love will conquer all. Forgive those who torment you.

Nonsense. Soldiers conquer all, and if you kill those who torment you then you are free of torment.’

‘Be silent, the pair of you,’ said Jianna, returning her attention to the messenger. ‘Who do we have following him?’

‘I have sent word to our embassy in Mellicane to watch out for him, Majesty. We also have the original twenty riders in Skepthia, and one skilled assassin we can contact. What orders shall I send?’

‘I will think on it tonight,’ she told him. ‘Come to me in the morning.’

With that she waved the man away. When he had gone Jianna sat down on one of the silk-covered couches, lost in thought.

Askelus and Malanek waited silently. At last she glanced up at them.

‘Well?’ she said. ‘Speak your minds.’ Neither man said a word. Jianna’s heart sank. ‘Am I so terrifying, even to old friends?’ she asked. ‘Come, Malanek, speak.’

The old swordsman sighed, then took a deep breath. ‘You are rather hard on those who speak their minds, Majesty.’

‘Peshel Bar was a traitor. I did not have him killed because he spoke his mind. I had him killed because he tried to turn others against me.’

‘Aye, by speaking his mind,’ said Malanek. ‘He thought you were wrong, and he said so to your face. Now no-one with any sense will tell you what they really think. They will just mouth the words they think you want to hear. But maybe I’m too old to care. So I will answer you, Majesty. I liked Skilgannon. Still do. That man — more than any other — fought to win you this throne. I say leave him alone. Let him be.’

‘He murdered Damalon. Have you forgotten that?’

Malanek glanced at Askelus. The tall warrior said nothing. Malanek gave a wry laugh and shook his head. ‘I had not forgotten, Majesty.

Forgive me if I do not grieve for him. I never liked him.’

Jianna rose from her couch, her expression tense, her grey eyes angry.

When she spoke, however, her voice was controlled, almost soft.

‘Skilgannon betrayed me. He left without the permission of the Queen. He deserted my army. He stole a priceless artefact. You believe he should escape punishment for those crimes?’

‘I have said my piece, Majesty,’ said Malanek.

‘And what of you, Askelus?’ she asked.

‘You are the Queen, Majesty. Those who obey your orders are loyal, those who do not are traitors. It is simple. Skilgannon did not obey your orders. It is for you to judge him — or forgive him. It is not for me to offer advice. I am merely a soldier.’

‘You would kill him if I ordered it?’

‘In a heartbeat.’

‘Would it sadden you?’

‘Yes, Majesty. It would sadden me greatly.’

Dismissing both men, Jianna saw the councillors who had been waiting, listened to their advice, made judgements, signed royal decrees, then called for Emparo, the blind harpist.

He was an old man, but if she closed her eyes and listened to his music, his soft singing voice, she could imagine what he must have been in his youth, golden-haired and sweetly handsome. She wished he could be young now, and that she could take him to her bed, and banish for a while all thoughts of the man whose face filled her mind, and whose form walked through her dreams.

Lying back on her couch, the sweet music filling the room, she remembered Skilgannon’s look as she left the house that day to walk to the market. He had been so young then — a few weeks from sixteen. His handsome features were serious, his expression stern. She had wanted to lean in close and plant a kiss on that grim mouth. Instead she had walked away down the avenue, knowing that his eyes would not leave her until she turned the corner.

Jianna sighed. Tomorrow she would order him killed. Perhaps, when he was dead, she would stop dreaming of him.