White Wolf: A Novel of Druss the Legend

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

DIAGORAS HAD PLOTTED THE ROUTE WITH CARE, AND CARRIED

COPIES of maps that showed the mountains, rivers and passes north of Mellicane. By the third day of travel he had begun to enjoy himself. In his saddlebag were copious notes on the positions of villages where they could obtain supplies, the names of headmen to be offered gifts, and details of areas of likely danger. These mostly lay in the mountainous regions close to Pelucid where bands of robbers were known to have hideouts. Diagoras had gathered all known information on the man Shakusan Ironmask. This did not amount to much, though one piece of news interested Skilgannon.

Three years before, when Ironmask had first appeared in Mellicane, he had fought a duel. According to the report he used curved swords, which were contained in a single scabbard. The report also said he was a man of prodigious strength, noting that one blow cut through his opponent’s breastplate and the chain mail beneath. A second cut had beheaded the victim.

The first day of travel had been taken at leisure. The horses Skilgannon had acquired had indeed been undernourished and, though of good stock, were weak. They needed resting often. In the few days they had been kept at the Drenai compound Diagoras had ordered them grain-fed and gently exercised, but they were still far from fit. By the third day of travel they were already growing stronger.

The twins, Jared and Nian, had met them on the road on the morning of the second day. Both were riding shaggy hill ponies, tough beasts and surly. They would snap at the taller cavalry horses if any rider was foolish enough to come close to them. The brothers took to riding close to the two-wheeled supply wagon, driven by Druss.

As he rode Diagoras would often glance at Garianne. She rode a grey mare, and kept herself a little apart from the company, even at night when they camped. She would sit alone, and occasionally be seen talking to herself. The youth Rabalyn often rode alongside Diagoras, asking constant questions. His joy at being invited on the journey was untainted by any fear of the consequences. He loved to ride, and in the evenings would spend an hour tending to his horse, brushing its back, or stroking its neck.

Rabalyn was a natural rider, and would one day be a fine swordsman, Diagoras mused. He had good balance and fast hands. He was also a quick learner.

By the fourth day the land began to rise as they neared the foothills of a western range of peaks. These were the iron-rich Blood Mountains. The landscape was rugged and beautiful, with shimmering, ever changing colours. The morning sunlight glistened upon the red mountains, causing them to glow like old gold. Towards noon dark shadows appeared on the slopes, jagged and sharp. By dusk, with the sun setting behind them, the mountains lost their richness, becoming grey and forbidding.

As they camped that night Druss rose from the campfire and walked back to the wagon, stretching himself out on the ground and falling asleep.

Diagoras sat with Skilgannon and the others. ‘There is a tribal chieftain who controls the passes here,’ he said. ‘His name is Khalid. Apparently he is part Nadir, and has around fifty fighting men. My understanding is that the charge he levies is a small one. However, that was when the King and his soldiers were an ever present threat to his authority. It is impossible to say how he will react now.’

‘How soon before we reach the pass?’ asked Skilgannon.

‘By noon tomorrow, I would think,’ Diagoras told him.

‘I will ride ahead and negotiate with him,’ said Skilgannon.

‘Be careful,’ Diagoras warned him, ‘the people here are very poor, but very proud.’

‘Good advice,’ said Skilgannon. ‘I thank you. What else is known of Khalid?’

Diagoras looked back to his notes. ‘Very little. He is around sixty years of age, and has no sons still living. He has outlived them all. He pays no taxes. Apparently, some twenty years ago, he and his men joined with the King’s forces and defeated an invading force from Sherak in the north. For that he was awarded these lands, free of tribute. It was no more than a gesture, since these mountains would provide little in the way of tax revenue.’

‘What is the toll?’

‘Two copper coins a head, and one copper for all pack animals or horses.’

They talked on for a while. The twins said little, and Garianne nothing at all. Eventually Diagoras rose from the campfire and strolled to the top of a hill where he sat staring out over the mountains. Rabalyn joined him there. ‘Would you like to fence for a while?’ the lad asked.

‘No, it is too dark. There would be a risk of accidental injury. Tomorrow morning, before we set off, we’ll practise a little.’

‘What was it like at the battle of Skein?’

‘Brutal, Rabalyn. I do not wish to speak of it. Many of my friends died there.’

‘Were you honoured when you got home?’

‘Yes, we were honoured. We were the heroes of the hour. It is a phrase that has real meaning, Rabalyn. For a few days we were the toast of the capital. Then life returned to normal and people found other things to amuse them. Those soldiers who survived Skein, but were crippled, were promised twenty gold raq each, and a handsome pension for life. They never received the gold. Now they struggle to survive on six copper coins a month. Some are even beggars now. Druss helped many of them. He turned over lands he owns to house some of them, and the profits from his farms go to feed veterans.’

‘Is he rich then? He doesn’t look rich.’

Diagoras laughed. ‘His wife Rowena was a shrewd woman. When Druss returned from his wars he was usually laden with gifts from grateful princes. She used the gold he won to acquire property, and to invest in merchant enterprises. If he chose, our friend Druss could build a palace and live in luxury.’

‘Why doesn’t he?’

‘I can’t answer that, lad. Save to say that he has no use for wealth. He is lonely, though. That I can see.’

‘I like him,’ said Rabalyn. ‘He gave me his code. I shall live by it. I gave my promise.’

‘I know that code. It is a good one. It is dangerous, though, Rabalyn. A man like Druss can live by it, because he’s like a tempest, raw, fierce and unstoppable. We mortals, though, may need to be more circumspect.

Holding too firmly to Druss’s code would kill us.’

Khalid Khan sat in the shade of an overhanging rock and watched the rider upon the road below. The sun was high and hot, the sky cloudless and blue. Yet it was not a good day. This morning Khalid had watched two eagles nesting on the high peaks. It was a long time since eagles had been seen in the Blood Mountains. Normally this would have been a good omen.

Not today. Today he knew they were just birds, and they meant nothing.

Khalid was worried.

There had been few merchants on the roads since the start of the stupid war, and Khalid’s people had been forced to tighten their belts against hunger. This was not good, and left them morose and complaining. As the leader Khalid would survive only as long as they believed in his power to bring them coin. Last week one Vishinas had led a raid on a northern village, capturing five scrawny cattle and a few sheep. It was pitiful. But Khalid’s people, hungry and discontented, had hailed it as a victory, and Vishinas was now more popular among the young warriors. Khalid sighed and scratched his thin black beard. Of late the old wound in his right shoulder had been plaguing him. If Vishinas was to challenge his authority there was no way he could defeat him, sword to sword. Happily Vishinas did not know of the weakness. Khalid’s reputation had been built on his prowess with the blade, and the youngster remained wary of him. Not for much longer, thought Khalid bitterly.

This threat alone, though worrying, would have caused him no sleepless nights. But there was something in the air that did not taste right.

Khalid’s mother had been gifted with the Sight. She was a fine seer. Khalid had not fully inherited that gift, but his instincts were sharper than those of most men. For the last two nights he had woken sweat-drenched and frightened. Not given to dreaming, he had experienced nightmares which left him trembling. He had seen beasts that walked like men, huge and powerful, creeping through the darkness of the mountainside. Disoriented, he had rolled from his blankets, grabbed his sword and run from his tent, standing in the moonlight, his breathing harsh and ragged. Outside everything was silent. There was no threat. No demons.

Just a dream then? Khalid doubted it. Something was coming.

Something dreadful.

Pushing aside such dark thoughts, he glanced across to where Vishinas was squatting on a rock. The warrior was also gazing keenly at the oncoming rider.

The man rode well, studying the trail and the rock faces on either side.

Vishinas signalled to Khalid, then slipped his bow from his shoulder.

Pulling an arrow from his quiver, he cast a questioning look at his chieftain, who shook his head. Vishinas looked disappointed as he returned the arrow to the quiver. Rising from his hiding place, Khalid moved out into the open, and walked down the slope to meet the advancing rider. Vishinas ran out alongside him, and seven other tribesmen emerged from their hiding places.

The rider approached them, and dismounted. Leaving the reins trailing he walked forward and offered a bow to Khalid.

‘I am Skilgannon. My friends and I seek to pass through the territory of the renowned Khalid Khan. Will you take me to him?’

‘You are not Tantrian,’ said Khalid. ‘Nor, I think, from Datia. Your accent is from the south.’

‘I am Naashanite.’

‘How is it then that you have heard of the renowned Khalid Khan?’

‘I travel with a Drenai officer who spoke of him with high praise. He said it was fitting to offer tribute to the Khan when crossing his lands.’

‘A wise man, your friend. I am Khalid Khan.’

The man bowed again. As he did so Khalid saw the ivory hilts of his swords. ‘Two blades in a single scabbard,’ said Khalid. ‘Most unusual. How many men are in your party?’

‘Five men and a woman.’

‘These are hard times, Skilgannon. War and death are everywhere. Are you prepared for war and death?’

The warrior smiled, and his cold blue eyes glittered in the sunlight. ‘As prepared as any man can be, Khalid Khan. What tribute do you deem fair for crossing your land?’

‘Everything you have,’ said Vishinas, stepping forward. Several young men moved with him. Khalid fought to remain calm. He had not expected a challenge to his authority so soon.

Skilgannon turned to Vishinas. ‘I was speaking to the wolf, boy. When I want to hear the yapping of a puppy I will signal you forward.’ The words were softly spoken. Vishinas reddened, then reached for his sword. ‘If that blade clears the scabbard,’ continued the man, ‘you will die here.’ He stepped in close to Vishinas. ‘Look into my eyes and tell me if you think that is not true.’ Vishinas backed away a step, but Skilgannon followed him. Trying to create enough distance to draw his sword Vishinas stumbled against a jutting rock and fell. With a cry of rage and humiliation he surged to his feet and lunged. Curiously the lunge missed and he sprawled to the stones once more, his head thumping against a rock as he fell. Half dazed, he struggled to rise, then slumped back.

Skilgannon strolled back to Khalid. ‘My apologies, lord,’ he said. ‘We were speaking of the tribute.’

‘Indeed so,’ said Khalid Khan. ‘You must forgive the boy. He is callow and inexperienced. It seems to me that I have heard the name Skilgannon before.’

‘That is possible, lord.’

‘I seem to recall a warlord by that name. The Destroyer of Armies. The victor of five great battles. There are many stories of the warrior Skilgannon. Not all of them good.’

‘The good ones are exaggerated,’ said Skilgannon softly.

‘And the bad also?’

‘Sadly no.’

Khalid looked at the young man for a moment. ‘Guilt is a burden like no other. It drags upon the soul. I know this. You may pass through my lands, Skilgannon. The tribute is whatever you choose.’

Skilgannon opened the pouch at his side and drew out three gold coins, which he dropped into Khalid Khan’s outstretched hand.

Khalid showed no emotion at receiving such a prodigious sum, but he left his hand open so that the men around him could see the bright glint of the yellow metal.

Just then the rest of the party came into sight. One of the tribesmen yelled, then the others surged forward past the dazed figure of Vishinas.

Khalid narrowed his eyes against the sunlight, then turned to Skilgannon.

‘Why did you not say you travelled with the Silver Slayer?’ he asked. He swallowed hard, and offered the gold coins back to Skilgannon. ‘There can be no toll for Druss the Legend.’

‘It would honour me if you accepted the tribute,’ said Skilgannon.

Khalid’s spirits soared. He had dreaded the man’s consenting to his refusal. ‘Ah, well,’ he said, ‘if it is a matter of politeness then I do accept.

But you must come to my village. We will have a feast.’

The chieftain moved away from Skilgannon and walked towards the wagon. Druss looked down at him and grinned. ‘Good to see you, Khalid.

How is it that a rascal like you is still alive?’

‘I am beloved by the gods, Druss. That is why they have blessed me with these verdant pastures and great wealth. Ah, it does my heart good to see you. Where is the Poet?’

‘He died.’

‘Ah, that is sad. There will be sorrow among the older women when they hear of it. Too many friends have taken the swan’s path these last few years. It almost makes me feel old.’ Khalid climbed onto the wagon.

‘Tonight we will feast, my friend. We will talk and drink. Then we will bore everyone with tales of our greatness.’

For Rabalyn the evening brought a curious mix of emotions. He had been spellbound by the red-gold mountains, and the blazing sunsets in this high country. Everything here was different from what he had experienced at home. The land was harsh, the heat unforgiving. And yet he felt his heart soar as he gazed over the magnificent landscape. The nomads who followed Khalid Khan were also interesting; whip lean and hard, their skin dark, their gaze intense. At any other time Rabalyn would have thought them frightening, but such was their joy at seeing Druss they appeared almost carefree.

The camp of Khalid Khan had been a disappointment to Rabalyn. He had assumed there would be tents of silk, like in the stories. In fact they were a mixture of old hides, linens, and coarse cloth, badly patched and threadbare. The entire settlement sprawled untidily across the mountainside in a shambolic manner. The place reeked of poverty. Naked children ran through the settlement, followed by scrawny dogs, yapping and barking. There was little vegetation to be seen, and no trees. Rabalyn saw a line of women moving down the mountainside, bearing water sacks.

He guessed there must be a hidden well close by.

The tent of Khalid Khan, though bigger than all the others, was just as ramshackle. Patches covered the outer skin, and Rabalyn saw a tear just below the first of the three tall poles that supported it.

He glanced around the camp. There were some thirty women and around twenty children in view. They gathered round the company as Khalid led them into the settlement. A few old men emerged from their tents and watched. Some called out to Druss, who waved back. Younger men appeared then, and these did not watch Druss. They were staring with undisguised lust at the golden-haired Garianne, who ignored them.

Rabalyn climbed down from the wagon. His shortsword clattered against the wood of the driving platform and he half stumbled. The twins, Jared and Nian, moved alongside him. Nian was smiling at the children close by.

One of them approached him cautiously. Nian dropped to one knee and offered his hand. The youngster scampered away. Diagoras dismounted.

Khalid Khan shouted an order and several women moved forward to take care of the mounts.

Skilgannon, Druss and Diagoras followed Khalid Khan into his tent.

Garianne wandered up the mountainside, followed by the twins. Rabalyn set off after them.

‘Where are we going?’ he asked Jared. It was Nian who answered.

‘We’re going to swim in the secret lake, aren’t we, Jared?’

Jared nodded. His brother reached out, taking hold of the blue sash hanging from Jared’s belt. Nian sighed. ‘We like to swim,’ he said happily.

Rabalyn had often noticed Nian clinging to the sash, but had not mentioned it for fear of being rude. It seemed odd that the brothers were never more than a few feet from one another. Once, when they were riding, Rabalyn had seen Nian steer his mount alongside Jared’s, then reach out and grab the sash. The movement had spooked Jared’s horse, causing it to rear and break into a run. Nian had screamed and kicked his horse into a gallop, desperate to catch Jared. Once Jared had control of his horse he halted him and leapt from the saddle. Nian almost fell from his mount and rushed over to his brother, throwing his arms round him and sobbing. It was a disconcerting sight. After that Jared had cut a length of rope so that when they rode he would hold one end and Nian the other.

The brothers scrambled up the rock face, following Garianne. They came to a wide ledge, and a high fissure in the red rock. Garianne entered it, cutting down a steep slope within. Light filtered down from high above them, and glittered on the surface of a deep cave pool. Nian shouted, his voice echoing inside the mountain. Ahead of them Garianne was stripping off her clothing and folding it neatly, laying her shirt, trews and boots on a ledge. Placing the crossbow and quiver atop the garments, she turned and dived into the gleaming water.

Nian and Jared also undressed, then, hand in hand, they jumped into the pool. Rabalyn sat on the rock watching the trio swim. He wanted to join them, but was not comfortable with the thought of swimming naked.

Watching Garianne disrobe had caused an embarrassing swelling in his loins, and he had no wish to display it. Instead he sat and surreptitiously watched the woman swim, yearning for the moment she would roll in the water and expose her breasts. Nian shouted for him to join them. ‘In a little while,’ he answered. He saw Garianne staring at him, and blushed furiously.

Then Diagoras arrived. He stood close to Rabalyn and began to strip off his clothing. ‘Can you not swim?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I can. I will in a moment.’

Diagoras dived cleanly into the water, came to the surface and smoothly swam to the far side of the pool. Ducking beneath the surface he spun, kicked out with his feet and returned to where Rabalyn sat. He grinned at the lad. The water is very cold,’ he said. ‘Trust me. It will cool your ardour.’

Rabalyn blushed again. Swiftly he clambered out of his clothes and jumped into the hidden lake. The burns he had suffered during the blaze at his aunt’s house had mostly healed, save for a puckered section on his right thigh. The skin there would often split, weeping pus and blood. The cold water felt good upon it. Rabalyn swam to the centre of the small lake, then looked up. Two hundred feet above him, through a sickle-shaped opening in the rock face, he could see open sky. It was the oddest sensation. Like a bright blue crescent moon shining above him.

To his left Garianne was climbing from the water. Rabalyn found himself gazing at the curve of her hips. Despite Diagoras’s assurances the cold water proved no match for his arousal. Swinging away he swam back to where his clothes lay. Diagoras was sitting on a ledge nearby. ‘Will Druss and Skilgannon be coming?’ asked Rabalyn, without leaving the water.

‘I expect so, once they have finished questioning Khalid Khan. It seems Ironmask passed through here some ten days ago. According to Khalid Khan there were around sixty men with him. And more at the fortress.’

Diagoras frowned, then reached across to his clothes, pulling a bone-handled razor from his belt pouch. Opening it, he began to scrape at the stubble around his trident beard.

‘What will Druss do?’ asked Rabalyn.

Diagoras dipped his razor into the water. ‘He’ll go to the fortress. There was a woman and a child travelling with Ironmask. The child is Elanin, the daughter of Earl Orastes.’

‘Druss’s friend.’

‘Yes. The matter is complicated. The woman with the child is Elanin’s mother. She is now Ironmask’s lover. Druss intends to kill Ironmask to avenge Orastes. He is concerned that the mother will not allow her daughter to be returned to Drenan.’

‘Can’t he take her anyway?’

Diagoras laughed. ‘We’re talking about Druss the Legend, lad. Snatch a child from its mother? Not in a hundred years. Anyway, there’s the question of a hundred and fifty warriors to consider before we reach that problem. Then there’s the Nadir shaman who travels with Ironmask. The man knows magic and may summon demons, for all I know. Then there’s Ironmask himself. He carries two swords, like Skilgannon, and is said to be a master. No, I shan’t concern myself for a little while over the child’s destiny.’

‘Will you go into the fortress with Druss?’

‘Aye, I will. The man is my friend.’

‘I will go too,’ said Rabalyn.

‘We’ll see, lad. I appreciate your courage, but your skills are lacking at present.’

Garianne, dressed now, her crossbow in her hand, walked past them without a word.

More comfortable, Rabalyn eased himself from the water and sat next to Diagoras. ‘She is very beautiful, isn’t she?’ he said.

‘She is that. And then some,’ agreed Diagoras. The twins had emerged on the far side of the lake and were talking quietly. Rabalyn gazed across at them. Nian rose and Rabalyn saw a long and jagged scar down his right side, the skin around it pinched and puckered. Jared stood. He too had the same awful scar, but on his left side.

Druss and Skilgannon arrived. The axeman sat with Diagoras and Rabalyn, while Skilgannon stripped and dived into the lake. Druss removed his boots and dangled his feet in the water. Rabalyn glanced back at the twins on the other ledge. Nian was asleep, Jared sitting up, lost in thought.

‘Have you seen their scars?’ Rabalyn asked Druss.

The axeman nodded. ‘Are you looking forward to the feast?’ he asked, ignoring the question.

‘I don’t think it will be much of a feast,’ said Rabalyn. ‘They don’t seem to have a lot.’

‘True. It’s been a bad few years for Khalid. I’ve given them some of our supplies. Whatever they prepare, be suitably grateful. But don’t eat much.

Whatever we leave will be shared around the camp later.’

Diagoras chuckled. ‘Are you suggesting the boy lie, Druss?’ he asked.

Druss scratched at his black and silver beard, then grinned.

‘You’re like a dog with an old bone,’ he said. ‘Do you never let up?’

‘No,’ replied Diagoras cheerfully. ‘Not ever. And I too have been wondering about the scars the brothers carry. They are almost identical.’

‘Then ask them,’ said Druss.

‘Is it some dark secret?’ pressed Diagoras.

Druss shook his head, then stripped off his jerkin, boots and leggings.

Without another word he leapt into the water, making a mighty splash.

Diagoras leaned towards Rabalyn. ‘Swim over and ask them?’ he said.

Rabalyn shook his head. ‘I think that would be rude.’

‘You’re right,’ said Diagoras. ‘Damn, but I shall lie awake tonight wondering about it.’

Dry now, Rabalyn dressed and climbed from the cave. The sun was setting, the temperature becoming more bearable. He wandered through the camp and sat in the shade of an overhanging rock, staring out over the red land. As darkness began to fall he rose to his feet. As he did so he saw something move across the crest of a distant hill. As he tried to focus it vanished behind a towering rock. Then another figure flitted across the hilltop. The movement was so fast Rabalyn had no chance to identify the creature. It could have been a running man, or even a deer. For a while he stood still, seeking out movement. Whatever it had been it was large.

Rabalyn wondered if bears travelled in these high, dry lands.

Then a horn sounded. Glancing down into the settlement he saw people gathering round the large patchwork tent of Khalid Khan.

Hungry now, Rabalyn pushed the thoughts of the figures on the hillside from his mind, and loped down towards the chieftain’s tent.

The feast was a poor affair. Two scrawny cattle roasted on a firepit, some salt bread, one keg of thin ale, and some flat baked sweet cake that, as Rabalyn discovered, seemed to have been flavoured with more rock dust than sugar. Khalid Khan was embarrassed, and apologized to Druss, who was sitting beside him on a rug at the rear of the tent.

Druss clamped his huge hand on the nomad’s shoulder. ‘Times are hard, my friend. But when a man gives me the best he has I feel honoured. No king could have offered me more than you have tonight.’

‘I have saved the best till last,’ said Khalid, clapping his hands. Two young women moved out through the throng of men seated close in the centre of the tent, and returned carrying a wooden cask. Placing it on a table they bowed respectfully to Khalid, then backed away. Khalid Khan took an empty goblet, and twisted the spigot of the cask. In the lantern light the spirit flowed like pale gold. Khalid handed the full goblet to Druss. The warrior sipped it, then drank deeply. ‘By Missael, this is Lentrian Fire… and very fine, my friend.’

‘Twenty-five years old,’ said Khalid happily. ‘I have saved it for a special feast.’

The young men of the clan gathered round and Khalid filled their cups, jugs and goblets. The mood within the tent lightened considerably, and two of the Khan’s warriors produced clumsily fashioned stringed instruments, and began to make music.

Within a short time there was a great deal of singing and clapping from the fifty men crowded into the tent of Khalid Khan. Rabalyn tried a sip of the drink, and understood instantly why it was called Lentrian Fire. He gagged and choked, and handed his goblet to a nearby clansman. ‘It’s like swallowing a cat with its claws out,’ he complained to Diagoras.

‘The Lentrians call it Immortal Water,’ said the Drenai. ‘To drink it is to know how the gods feel.’ He drained his own cup, then moved away, seeking another. Rabalyn saw Skilgannon ease his way through the revellers and walk out into the night. Tired of the noise, and the press of people within the tent, Rabalyn followed him.

‘I see you do not like the brew either,’ he said. Skilgannon shrugged.

‘I liked it in another life. What are your plans now, Rabalyn?’

‘I will go with Druss and Diagoras and rescue the princess.’

‘In Drenai culture the daughter of an earl is a lady.’ He smiled. ‘This is, however, no time to be pedantic. I think you should choose another path.’

‘I am not frightened. I mean to live by the code.’

‘There is nothing wrong with fear, Rabalyn. Yet it is not fear for yourself that should make you reconsider. Druss is a great warrior, and Diagoras a soldier who has fought in many battles. They are hard, resolute men. Their chances of success in this venture are slim. They will be even less if they have to worry about keeping alive a courageous youngster who does not yet have the skill to survive.’

‘You could help us. You are a great warrior too.’

‘The girl is no princess of mine, and I have no reason to make war on Ironmask. All I require is to find the temple.’

‘But Druss is your friend, isn’t he?’

‘I have no friends, Rabalyn. I have only a quest, that may yet prove impossible. Druss has made his choices. He seeks to avenge the death of a friend. He was not my friend. His quest, therefore, is not my concern.’

‘That isn’t true,’ objected Rabalyn. ‘Not according to the code. Protect the weak against the evil strong. The princess — lady, whatever you call her — is a child, and therefore weak. Ironmask is evil.’

‘I could argue with almost all of that,’ said Skilgannon. The child is with her mother, who is Ironmask’s lover. For all we know Ironmask loves the child as his own. Secondly, evil is often a matter of perspective. And, more important, even if both criteria you offer are true, the code is not mine. I am not a knight in some childish romance. I do not criss-cross the world seeking serpents to slay. I am merely a man seeking a miracle.’

The noise from the tent suddenly subsided, and, within moments, a voice of almost unbearable sweetness began to sing. Skilgannon shivered.

‘That’s Garianne,’ said Rabalyn. ‘Have you ever heard anything more beautiful?’

‘No,’ admitted Skilgannon. ‘I think I will go and swim in the moonlight.

Why don’t you go in and listen?’

‘I will,’ said Rabalyn. He watched the tall warrior stride away up the mountainside, then returned to the open flap of the tent. Every man inside was sitting silently, entranced by the magic. Garianne was standing on a chair, her arms outstretched, her eyes closed. The song was about a hunter, who stumbled upon a golden goddess bathing in a stream. The goddess fell in love with the hunter, and they lay together under the stars.

But in the morning the hunter desired to go. Angry at being rejected the goddess turned him into a white stag, then took a bow to kill him. The hunter sprang away, leaping high over the treetops, and vanishing among the stars. The goddess gave chase. This was the beginning of day and night over the earth. The white stag became the moon, the goddess the sun. And ever and ever she hunted her lover, throughout time.

When the song finished the silence was total. Then thunderous applause broke out. Garianne stepped down from the chair, and cast her gaze around the tent. She took a few steps towards the entrance and half staggered. Rabalyn realized she was drunk, and stepped forward to assist her. She brushed his hand away.

‘Where is he?’ she asked, her voice slurring.

‘Who?’

The Damned?’

‘He went to the hidden lake to swim.’

‘I will find him,’ she said.

Rabalyn accompanied her outside and watched her climb the steep slope, then turned away. As he did so the brothers Jared and Nian emerged from the tent. Nian saw him and walked over. ‘And who is this?’

he asked his brother. ‘I feel I should know him.’

‘That is Rabalyn,’ said Jared.

‘Rabalyn,’ repeated Nian, nodding. Rabalyn was shocked. Gone was the slack-jawed simpleton with the innocent smile. This man was sharp of eye, and faintly daunting. He looked at Rabalyn. ‘You must forgive me, young man. I have not been well. My memory fades in and out. Was that Garianne I saw climbing the slope?’

‘Yes… sir,’ said Rabalyn. He glanced at Jared, who was standing close to his brother.

‘Gods, Jared!’ Nian snapped. ‘Give me room to breathe.’

‘I am sorry, brother. Perhaps you should rest for a while. Does your head hurt?’

‘No, it doesn’t damn well hurt.’ He sat down, then looked up at his brother and smiled apologetically. ‘I am sorry. It is frightening when you can’t remember anything. Am I going mad?’

‘No, Nian. We’re heading for the temple. They’ll know what to do. I am sure they’ll bring your memory back.’

‘Who was that big old man in the tent? His face looked familiar too.’

That was Druss. He’s a friend.’

‘Well, thank the Source I am all right now. It is a beautiful night, isn’t it?’

‘Indeed it is,’ agreed Jared.

‘I could do with some water. Is there a well close by?’

‘I’ll fetch you some. You sit there for a while.’ Jared walked back to Khalid Khan’s tent.

Nian looked at Rabalyn. ‘Are we friends, young man?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you interested in the stars?’

‘I have never thought about it.’

‘Ah, you should. Look up there. You see the three stars in a line? They are called the Sword Belt. They are so far away from us that the light we see has taken a million years to reach us. It could even be that they don’t exist any more, and all we are seeing is ancient light.’

‘How could we see them if they didn’t exist?’ asked Rabalyn.

‘It is about distance. When the sun first rises the sky is still dark. Did you know that?’

‘That makes no sense.’

‘Ah, but it does. The sun is more than ninety million miles from the earth. That is a colossal distance. The light that blazes from it has to travel ninety million miles before it touches our eyes. Only when it touches our eyes are we aware of it. An ancient scholar estimated that it takes a few minutes for the light to travel that distance. In those minutes the sky would still appear dark to our eyes.’

Rabalyn didn’t believe a word of it, but he smiled and nodded. ‘Oh, I see,’ he said, confused and even a little frightened by this strange new man inhabiting Nian’s body.

Nian laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘You think I am mad.

Perhaps I am. I have always been curious, though, about how things work.

What makes the wind blow, and the tides flow? How does rainwater get into a cloud? Why does it fall out again?’

‘Why does it?’ asked Rabalyn.

‘You see? Now you are getting curious too. A good trait in the young.’

He winced suddenly. ‘My head is beginning to ache,’ he said.

Jared returned with a goblet of water. Nian drank it swiftly, then rubbed at his eyes. ‘I think I will sleep,’ he said. ‘I will see you in the morning, Rabalyn.’

The two brothers walked away. Rabalyn sat for a while, staring at the Sword Belt, and the glittering stars around it. Then he heard Nian cry out, and saw Jared sitting beside him, his arm round his brother’s shoulder.

Nian lay down, and Jared covered him with a blanket. Rabalyn went over to them.

‘Is he all right?’ he asked.

‘No. The cancer is destroying him,’ said Jared, with a sigh. Nian was sleeping now, lying on his back, his arm over his face.

‘He talked about the stars and clouds.’

‘Yes. He is… was… a man of great intelligence. He was an architect once. A long time ago. When he wakes he will be the Nian you know.

Slow-witted.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘No more do I, boy,’ said Jared sadly. ‘The Old Woman says it is to do with the pressure inside his head. Sometimes it shifts or subsides, and for a few minutes he is the Nian he always was. The Nian he was meant to be.

It doesn’t last. And the moments of clarity are fewer now. The last time he returned was a year ago. The temple will cure him, though. I am sure of it.’

Nian moaned in his sleep. Jared leaned over and stroked his brow.

‘I think I’ll get some sleep too,’ said Rabalyn. Jared was staring down at his brother’s face and did not hear him.

As the night wore on many of Khalid’s men drifted back to their tents.

Others too drunk to move fell asleep on the threadbare rugs. Druss rose from his place, took one look at the sleeping Khalid, then half stumbled as he made his way towards the outside. Diagoras, his mouth dry, his head pounding, followed him out into the night.

Druss stood and stretched out his arms. ‘Damn, but I’m tired,’ he said, as Diagoras came up to him.

‘Did you learn anything worthwhile?’

‘Nothing we didn’t know about Ironmask. Khalid has never seen the fortress. It’s a long way from here. He has heard of the temple Skilgannon seeks. Apparently there was a warrior who went there when Khalid was a child. He said the man had lost his right hand in a battle. He went seeking the temple and when he returned his hand had regrown.’

‘Impossible,’ said Diagoras. ‘Just a myth.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Druss. ‘One interesting detail, though. He said the man’s hand was a different colour. It was deeper red, as if scalded. Khalid says he saw it himself, and has never forgotten it.’

‘And that makes you believe the story?’

‘It tells me there’s at least a grain of truth to it. Perhaps the man did not lose the hand, but had it mutilated. I don’t know, laddie. But Khalid says the temple cannot be found unless the priestess there wants to be found.

He told me he travelled over the area himself, and saw no sign of a building. Not until he was leaving. He had climbed towards a high pass leading home, and he glanced back. And there it was, shining in the moonlight. He swears he walked every inch of the valley floor. There was no way he could have missed it.’

‘So, did he go back?’ asked Diagoras.

‘No. He decided he didn’t want to risk entering a building that appeared and disappeared.’

A slender figure moved down the mountainside from the direction of the hidden lake. Diagoras saw that it was Garianne. As she passed them she waved. ‘Goodnight, Uncle,’ she called.

‘Goodnight, lass,’ he said. ‘Sleep well.’

‘Have I too become invisible?’ asked Diagoras. Druss chuckled.

‘It must be hard for a ladies’ man like you, boy, to be so disregarded.’

‘I’ll admit to that. She never talks to me at all.’

‘That’s because she knows you are interested in her. And she wants no friends.’

‘I’ll wager she’s just come from Skilgannon,’ said Diagoras sourly.

‘I expect so, laddie. That’s because he has no interest in her whatsoever.

What they need from each other is simple and primal. It creates no ties, and therefore no dangers.’

Diagoras looked at the older man. ‘Be careful, Druss. Your image as a simple soldier will be ruined if you continue to display such insights.’

Druss was silent, and Diagoras saw that he was staring up into the shadow-haunted hills. ‘You see something?’

Druss ignored the question and walked across to the wagon. Reaching in, he drew out Snaga. ‘Where is the boy?’

Diagoras shrugged. ‘I think he got bored with the revelling and went off to find somewhere to sleep.’

‘Find him. I’m going to have a look up that slope.’

‘What did you see?’ persisted Diagoras.

‘Just a shadow. But I have an uneasy feeling.’

With that Druss walked away. Diagoras gazed around at the camp, and the jagged black silhouettes of the rocky hills. The night was quiet and calm. No breeze whispered across the campsite. Bright stars decorated the sky, like diamonds on sable. Diagoras had not felt uneasy before Druss spoke. He did now. The old man had spent most of his life in situations of danger. He had acquired a sixth sense for it.

Diagoras loosened his sabre, then began to scout for sign of Rabalyn.

On the mountainside to the west Skilgannon emerged from the lake tunnel, and out into the moonlight. He took a deep breath. His body, released from tensions by the lovemaking with Garianne, was relaxed, his thoughts untroubled. The woman was a mystery, fey and aloof when sober, passionate and vulnerable when drunk. They had not spoken when she came into the lake cavern. She had walked unsteadily towards him, then looped her arms round his neck. The kiss fired his blood. Garianne was not Jianna, but the touch of soft lips upon his own had brought back the memories of that one, unforgettable night in the woods, after his rescue of her. It was the only time he and Jianna had given in to their passion. He remembered every detail: the whisper of the night breeze in the branches above them, the scent of lemon grass in the air, the feel of her skin pressing against his own. And afterwards the way she cuddled in close to him, slipping her right thigh across him, her arm draped over his chest, her hand stroking his cheek. The memory was almost unbearably sweet. It filled him with both longing and regret.

With Garianne there was no affection. She did not stroke his face, or cuddle in close. Her passion exhausted she pulled away, dressed swiftly and left without a word. He made no effort to stop her. They had both taken all they needed from one another. There was no point in prolonging the moment.

Skilgannon stepped from the cave entrance and gazed down at the settlement. He was about to walk down towards the tents when he stopped. His relaxed mood evaporated. The night was silent, and there was no threat in sight. Even so he remained where he was, scanning the hillsides. He saw Druss walking purposefully towards the east, axe in hand. Below he spotted Diagoras moving through the tents. A breath of breeze blew across him. There was a slight scent upon it, musky and rank.

Reaching up with his right hand Skilgannon drew one of his swords.

Glancing to his left he saw a jumble of boulders, the tallest over ten feet high. He closed his eyes, concentrating his hearing. There was nothing.

Yet he did not relax. Reaching back he drew his second sword, and stood, statue still. The breeze blew again, caressing the back of his neck. This time the scent was stronger.

Skilgannon spun.

A massive beast rose up behind him and leapt. Its eyes glittered red, and its jaws spread, showing rows of gleaming fangs.

The Swords of Night and Day flashed out, the first slashing through the huge neck, the second piercing the shaggy chest and cleaving the heart.

The weight of the charging beast bore him backwards, and they hit the slope together and rolled. Releasing his hold on the Sword of Day Skilgannon kicked himself clear of the thrashing beast and came to his feet. Screams began from the settlement below. Skilgannon ignored them, fastening his gaze on the cave mouth.

No other creatures came into sight. He glanced back at the beast he had stabbed. It was no longer moving. Warily he approached it. The Joining was lying on its back, dead eyes open to the sky. Grabbing the hilt of the blade jutting from its chest Skilgannon drew it clear.

From the camp below came more sounds of screaming.

Skilgannon could see three beasts. One had torn through a tent wall and emerged back into the settlement, the cloth of the tent clinging to its back like a trailing cloak. It crouched over a fallen tribesman. Fangs crunched down on the man’s skull. A little to the left Diagoras was vainly trying to battle a huge, hunchbacked Joining. The cavalry sabre was having little effect. Skilgannon began to run down the slope towards the fight. As he did so he saw Rabalyn emerge behind the Joining, slamming his shortsword into the beast’s back.

Other creatures emerged. Jared and Nian came into view, and charged them. Their longswords were more effective than the sabre of Diagoras, and they drove the Joinings back. Khalid Khan appeared, and began shouting orders to his men. His voice cut through the panic, and some of the warriors ran to gather bows and spears. Skilgannon saw Diagoras attempt a thrust into the chest of an oncoming Joining. The blade failed to penetrate. Diagoras was thrown through the air by a backhanded blow from the creature.

Skilgannon ran in. The beast swerved towards him, its fangs lunging for his throat. He dropped to one knee and sent the golden Sword of Day ripping through the beast’s neck. Blood sprayed out and the creature staggered to its right. Nian leapt in, bringing his longsword down in a double-handed chop that split the Joining’s skull.

Another beast hurled itself at Skilgannon. A crossbow bolt materialized in its right eye. Its great head jerked, and a terrifying roar burst from its throat. A second bolt thudded into its chest, but did not penetrate deeply.

Skilgannon ran in, plunging his blade into the beast’s belly, and ripping the blade upwards. Diagoras was back on his feet. Skilgannon saw him bending over the limp form of Rabalyn.

Garianne, reloading her crossbow, strode past Skilgannon, sending a bolt into the back of another creature. The Joining reared up then charged at the woman. Garianne stood her ground. As the beast was almost upon her she raised her arm, sending the second bolt into its snarling mouth.

The iron point punched through the cartilage and bone, skewering the brain. In its death throes it lashed out. Garianne was punched from her feet. Then the creature toppled. Skilgannon hurdled the falling body and ran at the Joining still ensnared in the ruined tent. It reared up from the mutilated body upon which it was feeding and sprang away.

Another Joining leapt to the wagon, and let out a roar. Three other beasts ran in. Skilgannon swung to face them.

Then, with a bellowing war cry, Druss the Legend came out of the darkness, Snaga crunching through a first creature’s skull. Skilgannon raced in to aid the axeman. Jared and Nian followed him. Druss killed a second, and Skilgannon a third, before the surviving Joining turned and fled into the night. Glancing around the settlement Skilgannon saw the Joining with the tent-cloak was surrounded by tribesmen with bows. Its hide bristled with arrows. It tried to charge, but caught its front paw in the remains of the tent and tumbled over. Khalid Khan leapt towards it, driving his curved sword into the creature’s neck. It reared up, throwing the old leader through the air. More arrows thudded into it. The Joining tottered, then pitched to the ground. Tribesmen swarmed over the beast, plunging knives and swords into its flesh.

For a while there was silence. Then some of the women, identifying dead loved ones, began to wail, the sound echoing through the hills.

Skilgannon cleaned his blades and sheathed them. Druss walked back to where Diagoras was kneeling beside the unconscious Rabalyn. ‘Does he live?’ asked the axeman.

‘Aye. His nose is broken. He’s lucky. The talons missed him. I think it was the beast’s forearm that struck him.’

‘That’s because he was attacking the Joining,’ said Druss. ‘Pushing forward. If he’d backed away the talons would have ripped his throat out.

Courage kept him alive.’

‘He’s a brave lad,’ agreed Diagoras. ‘He’s too young and callow, though, Druss. He shouldn’t be with us.’

‘He’ll learn,’ argued Druss.

‘You’ve a wound on your back,’ said Skilgannon, approaching the axeman.

‘It’s not deep.’ Druss patted the silver steel shoulder guards on his black jerkin. ‘These took most of the hit.’

The brothers, Jared and Nian, strolled over. ‘You think they’ll come back?’ asked Jared.

Druss shook his head, and gazed up into the hills. ‘Too few of them now.

I killed two before coming back here. I think they’ll move on, seeking easier prey/ He seemed distracted.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Diagoras, getting to his feet.

‘Damnedest thing,’ said Druss. ‘I walked up into the hills. Then three of them rushed at me. I killed the first quick, but the second threw me to the ground.’ He fell silent, remembering the scene. ‘They had me. No question.

Then a fourth beast attacked them. Big and grey. He just ripped in, scattering them. I managed to get to my feet. Killed a second. The grey one tore the throat out of the third. Then it just stood there. I knew it wasn’t going to attack me. No idea how I knew. We stared at one another, then it gave a cry of pure anguish and ran. Then I heard what was going on here, so I returned.’

‘You think it was Orastes?’ asked Diagoras.

‘I don’t know. I can’t think of any other reason why it would have saved me. I’m going to find him.’

‘Find him?’ echoed Diagoras. ‘Are you insane? You can’t be sure it even intended to rescue you. These are not thinking creatures, Druss. They’ll lash out and kill at the slightest provocation. Maybe they were just fighting over who got to eat your liver.’

‘Maybe,’ agreed the axeman. ‘I need to know.’

Diagoras swore. Then he took a deep breath. ‘Listen to me, my friend. If it is Orastes there’s nothing we can do for him. You said the Old Woman made that clear. Once these poor devils are melded it cannot be undone.

So what will you do? Keep him as a pet? Shem’s balls, Druss! This is not something you take for a walk and throw a stick for.’

‘I’ll take him to the temple. Maybe they can… bring Orastes back.’

‘Oh, I see. That’s all right then,’ said Diagoras, his voice angry. ‘So, let me get this clear. Our new plan is to capture a werebeast, find a temple which may or may not exist, then ask the priests to heal a tumour, and unmeld a wolf and a man? And all this before the two of us attack a fortress and despatch a couple of hundred warriors and rescue a child?

Have I left anything out?’

‘I am hoping they can raise the dead,’ said Skilgannon. Diagoras looked at him and blinked.

‘Is this a jest of some kind?’

‘Not to me.’

‘Ah, well then… I shall ask for a winged horse and a golden helm that makes me invisible. I’ll fly over the fortress and rescue the child without anyone seeing me.’

‘They can do amazing things,’ said Jared, stepping forward. Nian moved alongside him, taking hold of the sash at Jared’s belt. ‘I know this.

We have been there before.’

‘You’ve seen the temple?’ put in Skilgannon.

‘I don’t remember much of it,’ said Jared. ‘Our father took us there when we were very young. No more than three years old.’

‘Were you sick?’ asked Diagoras.

‘No, we were healthy enough. But we were joined at the waist. Born that way. Our mother died in childbirth. The surgeon cut us from her dead body. We were freaks. I don’t remember much of those early years. But I do remember being stared at, laughed at, pointed at. All I recall of the temple was a woman with a shaved skull. She had a kind face. Her name was Ustarte. One morning I awoke, and Nian was no longer joined to me.

He was lying beside me, and we were both bandaged. I recall the pain from the wound.’

For a moment there was silence, then Diagoras spoke. ‘I have seen your scars, and they tell me the priests at the temple must have cut your flesh in order to separate you. That was an incredible feat.’ He swung back towards Druss. ‘But they cannot cut Orastes clear of the wolf. They have become one. If they could separate one from the other without slicing flesh they would have done that with the brothers.’

‘On the other hand,’ put in Skilgannon, ‘Orastes and the wolf were joined magically. Perhaps that magic can be reversed. We won’t know until we get the beast to the temple.’

Diagoras looked around the group. He saw Garianne sitting on a rock close by. ‘You haven’t offered anything,’ he said, careful to avoid framing a question.

‘We would like to see Ustarte again,’ she said.

At that moment Rabalyn groaned. Druss knelt beside him. ‘How are you feeling, laddie?’

‘Can’t breathe through my nose, and it hurts.’

‘It’s broken. Can you stand?’ Druss helped the boy to his feet.

Rabalyn swayed slightly, then righted himself. He looked around. ‘Did we beat them off?’

‘Aye, we did,’ said Druss. ‘Stand still and lean your head back.’ Reaching up, Druss clamped his fingers to the boy’s misshapen nose, then gave a sharp twist. There was a loud crack. Rabalyn cried out. ‘There, it’s straight now,’ said Druss, patting Rabalyn on the back. Rabalyn groaned and staggered away, falling to his knees and vomiting.

‘Always good to see the gentle touch,’ observed Diagoras. ‘So how do we capture Orastes?’

‘I’ll go and find him,’ said Druss. ‘The rest of you wait for me here.’

‘It would be folly to go alone, axeman,’ said Skilgannon.

‘Maybe so, but if we go in a group Orastes will avoid us. I think some part of him still recognizes me as a friend. I might be able to reach him.’

‘There is sense in that. However, there are still more of the beasts out there, Druss. The group can remain behind, but I’ll go with you.’

Druss stood quietly, thinking. Then he nodded.

‘You want me to stitch that cut in your back before you go?’ asked Diagoras.

‘No, the blood will help draw Orastes to me.’

‘Oh, good plan,’ said Diagoras.