White Wolf: A Novel of Druss the Legend

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

FOR RABALYN THE NIGHT WAS SPENT IN A STATE OF PANIC. HE

SAT quietly as the others discussed the fight that would come tomorrow.

His hands were trembling, and he clasped them together tightly, so that Druss would not see he was frightened. The attack by the beasts on the camp had been sudden, and he had reacted well. Druss had praised him for his courage. But now, sitting waiting to be attacked, he found his stomach churning. He saw Diagoras and Skilgannon joking together by the ledge, and then watched as Druss picked up the struggling Drenai officer and dangled him over the edge. These men had no fear.

Rabalyn had no understanding of military tactics, and he had listened to Skilgannon outline the plan of attack and it seemed so perilous. Yet no-one else had pointed this out, and he felt, perhaps, that his own lack of knowledge was preventing him from seeing just what a fine plan it was. So he said nothing.

The Nadir would ride up the mountain road, past where Diagoras and the brothers were hiding in a shallow fissure. Then Skilgannon and Druss would attack them from the front. He and Garianne would shoot arrows at the riders from the shelter of a stand of boulders above the road. Once Skilgannon and Druss were engaged Diagoras and the twins would rush in from behind. Apparently these five fighters would then overpower twenty or so savage tribesmen. It made no sense to Rabalyn. Would the Nadir not ride over the men attacking them on foot? Would they not be trampled to death?

Rabalyn had been afraid to ask these questions.

All he knew now was that this might be his last night alive, and he found himself staring longingly at the beauty of the night sky, wishing that he could sprout wings and fly away from his fears.

Druss had walked back to the rock wall, stretched himself out, and fallen asleep. It was incomprehensible to Rabalyn that a man facing a battle could just sleep. He found himself thinking of Aunt Athyla, and the little house back in Skepthia. He would willingly have given ten years of his life to be back at home, worrying about nothing more than a scolding from old Labbers for not doing his homework. Instead he had a sword belted at his side, and a curved bow with a quiver of black-feathered arrows.

Time drifted by, and the fear did not subside. It swelled in his belly, causing the trembling to worsen. Skilgannon came back with Diagoras, and they woke Druss. The old man sat up and winced. Rabalyn saw him rubbing at his left arm. His face seemed sunken and grey. Then the brothers approached. Once again Nian was holding on to the sash at Jared’s belt.

‘Are we going to fight now?’ asked Nian.

‘Soon. But we must be quiet,’ answered Jared, patting his brother on the shoulder.

Diagoras and the twins left the company then, walking back down the road and out of sight. Skilgannon came and knelt beside Rabalyn. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.

‘Good,’ lied Rabalyn, not wishing to shame himself by admitting his terror. Skilgannon looked at him closely.

‘Follow me. I’ll show you where I want you to shoot from.’

Rabalyn pushed himself to his feet. His legs were unsteady. As he made to follow Skilgannon Druss called out to him. ‘You’ve forgotten the bow, lad.’ Blushing with embarrassment Rabalyn swept up the bow and the quiver and ran to catch Skilgannon. They walked to the site of a recent landslide, where several huge boulders had fallen across the road.

Skilgannon scrambled up the first, hauling Rabalyn up behind him. ‘There is good cover here, Rabalyn. Do not show yourself too often. Shoot when you can, then duck back.’

‘Where will Garianne be?’

‘She’ll be on the ground below you. She is a better shot.’ He smiled. ‘And less likely to send an arrow through one of us. Keep your shafts aimed at the centre of the riders.’

‘The centre. Yes.’

‘Are you frightened?’

‘No. I am fine.’

‘It is not a crime to be frightened, Rabalyn. I am frightened. Diagoras is frightened. Anyone with any intelligence would be frightened. Fear is necessary. It is there to keep us alive; to warn us to avoid danger. The greatest instinct we have is for self-preservation. Every ounce of that instinct is telling us that it would be safer to run than to stay.’

‘Then why don’t we run?’ asked Rabalyn, with more feeling than he intended.

‘Because it would only save us today. Tomorrow the enemy would still be coming, and the terrain would be more suitable for them than for us.

So here we stand. Here we fight.’

‘We could die here,’ said Rabalyn miserably.

‘Yes, we could die. Some of us may anyway. Keep yourself safe here. Do not venture down for any reason. You understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good.’

‘Is Druss all right?’

Skilgannon looked away. ‘I am concerned about him. Something is troubling him. I cannot worry about that now. The Nadir will be here soon, and I must ride to meet them.’

‘I thought you were going to stand with Druss.’

‘I will. Try not to shoot me as I ride back.’

Skilgannon climbed down the boulders, leaping the last few feet to the ground. Garianne was waiting at the bottom, her crossbow hanging from her belt, a Nadir bow in her hands. Rabalyn heard Skilgannon speak to her. ‘Protect Old Uncle,’ he said.

Then he was gone. Moments later he rode by them.

The dawn was breaking.

Skilgannon rode back along the rocky road, moving past the fissure in which Diagoras, Jared and Nian were hidden. As he did so Nian called out. ‘There’s Skilgannon! Hello!’ As he rode on Skilgannon heard Jared telling his brother to keep quiet. Anger flared fleetingly in his heart, and then the dark humour of the situation relaxed him. Diagoras was right. A simpleton, a mad woman and a frightened boy made up half of Skilgannon’s army. Then there was Druss. Old and weary. Somewhere the old gods were laughing.

He slowed his horse on a steep downward stretch, then halted him where the road widened. Looking down over the edge he could see the Nadir on a bend of the road far below. There were only nineteen of them.

This was a small relief. The men he wounded must have been more badly hurt than he had guessed.

Lifting the stolen Nadir bow from his saddle horn he notched an arrow.

It was unlikely that he would cause any damage from this range, but he wanted them to know he was there. Drawing back the string he let fly. The arrow flew straight, but his aim was faulty. It struck the road just ahead of the lead rider. The Nadir drew rein, and glanced up just as Skilgannon loosed a second shaft. This also missed. ‘Good morning, my children,’ he called down. Several of the riders drew their own bows, sending black shafts hissing towards him. The elevation made the range too great, the arrows falling short. ‘You need to come closer,’ he shouted. ‘Come up here.’

He sent another arrow hissing through the air. This one sliced through a warrior’s forearm. The Nadir heeled their mounts and galloped towards the sharp bend in the road that would bring them to him.

He waited calmly, another arrow notched. He was getting used to the bow now. It was far more powerful than he had first supposed. As the Nadir rounded the bend he sent a shaft at the lead warrior. The man tried to swerve his mount, but only succeeded in making it rear. The arrow sliced into the pony’s throat, and it fell.

Swinging the gelding Skilgannon rode up the road, the Nadir close behind. Arrows flew by him. Up ahead he could see Druss standing, axe in hand. Then Garianne stepped into sight. She shot an arrow that flew past Skilgannon. Then another. Coming alongside Druss he threw himself from the saddle, slapping the gelding on the rump and sending him running back along the trail.

Drawing both swords he turned and ran at the oncoming tribesmen. An arrow tore through the collar of his jerkin, slicing the skin. Druss bellowed a war cry and charged into the Nadir, his axe cleaving through a man’s chest, catapulting him from the saddle. Skilgannon plunged his sword through the belly of another. The Nadir threw aside their bows and grabbed for their swords. Skilgannon cut and thrust. A pony swung into him, hurling him from his feet, but he came up fast. Druss hammered his axe into another warrior. Skilgannon heard loud shouts coming from behind the milling Nadir horsemen, and knew that Diagoras and the others had attacked from the rear. The Nadir tried to reform, but the new attack unnerved some of the ponies, which, in trying to escape, came too close to the edge. Four Nadir horsemen plunged over the side. Some of the tribesmen jumped from their saddles and began to fight on foot.

Skilgannon killed one with a reverse cut across his throat. A second leapt in. An arrow appeared in his chest and he stopped in his tracks, before dropping to his knees. Three horsemen rode at Druss. Skilgannon saw the old warrior stagger as he waited to meet them. Then he fell to his knees.

The riders thundered past him towards Garianne.

She shot the first. Then the other two were on her. One threw himself from his mount. He and Garianne went down together. Skilgannon wanted to go to her aid, but he was himself now being attacked. Blocking wild cuts and slashes from two tribesmen he backed away — then leapt forward and to the right. The Sword of Day clove through the first Nadir’s breastbone, while the Sword of Night blocked an overhand cut from the second warrior. The first Nadir went down, his hands grabbing at the sword impaling him, trying to drag Skilgannon down with him. Releasing his grip on the hilt Skilgannon parried a fresh attack from the second man, then killed him with a riposte that opened his throat. Druss had forced himself to his feet and was staggering back towards Garianne.

Skilgannon killed another warrior then spun to follow the axeman.

Garianne was lying on the ground. Beside her was the still form of Rabalyn, his tunic covered in blood. Three dead Nadir were close by.

Skilgannon swore, then turned back to the fight.

Only there was no fight.

Diagoras and the brothers were walking towards him, past the bodies of twelve Nadir warriors. There was blood flowing from a cut on Diagoras’s brow. Jared was wounded in the arm. Nian was untouched.

Skilgannon ran back to where Druss was kneeling by the boy. The axeman’s face was grey, his eyes sunken. He looked in pain and his breathing was ragged. ‘Couldn’t… get… to them,’ he said. Skilgannon knelt by Garianne. She had a lump on her temple, but her pulse was strong. Rabalyn had been stabbed in the chest. Sheathing his sword Skilgannon pulled open the boy’s tunic. The wound was deep, and blood was bubbling from it. Diagoras came alongside.

‘Pierced his lung,’ he said. ‘Let’s get him out of the sun.’

Jared and Diagoras lifted the boy, while Nian knelt down beside Garianne. Stroking her face the simpleton called her name. ‘Is she sleeping?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ said Skilgannon. ‘Carry her back into the cave. We’ll wake her then.’ But Nian saw his brother move away carrying Rabalyn. He cried out.

‘Wait for me, Jared!’ His voice was panicky. Dropping his sword he ran to Jared and took hold of the sash at his brother’s belt. Skilgannon looked at Druss, who was now sitting on the roadside.

‘What happened?’ he asked.

‘Pain… in the chest. Like there’s a bull sitting on it. I’ll be all right. Just need to rest a while.’

‘Is there pain in your left arm?’

‘It’s been cramping lately. I’m feeling better already. Just give me a moment.’

Skilgannon lifted Garianne and carried her back to the shallow cave, laying her down in the shade. Despite the blood still flowing from the cut to his head Diagoras was working on the wound to the boy’s chest. He and Jared had hauled Rabalyn into a sitting position. The lad was still unconscious, his face ashen grey. Jared was holding him upright.

Skilgannon walked back into the sunlight, retrieving the Sword of Day from the chest of the dead Nadir. Several of the ponies were still standing on the roadside. Two of them carried saddlebags. Skilgannon walked to the ponies, speaking softly. They were still skittish. Searching the saddlebags he found that one contained an engraved silver flask.

Uncorking it, he sniffed the contents. Then he sipped it. It was fiery and hot. A spirit of some kind. He walked back to where Druss still sat. ‘This might help,’ he said, offering the flask. Druss drank deeply.

‘Long time since I’ve tasted this,’ he said. ‘It’s called lyrrd.’ He drank again. ‘I couldn’t get to the boy in time,’ he said. ‘I saw him jump down to help Garianne. He killed the first Nadir. Caught him by surprise. The second stabbed him. I got there too late. Will he live?’

‘I don’t know. The wound is a bad one.’

Druss winced and groaned. ‘Pain in the chest is getting worse.’

‘It is a heart seizure,’ said Skilgannon. ‘I have seen them before.’

‘I know what it is!’ snapped Druss. ‘It’s been coming on for weeks. I just didn’t want to accept it.’

‘Let me help you into the cave.’

Druss shrugged off Skilgannon’s hand and pushed himself to his feet.

‘I’ll rest awhile,’ he said. He took two steps, then staggered. Skilgannon came alongside him. Reluctantly Druss accepted his help into the cave.

Diagoras approached Skilgannon. ‘I have sealed the boy’s wound, but he’s still bleeding inside. I don’t have the skill to heal him.’

‘Let’s see to you,’ said Skilgannon. Together they moved out into the light. Blood had drenched Diagoras’s tunic on the right side, and was still flowing from the deep cut on his head.

‘It is not so bad,’ Diagoras told him. ‘A little blood goes a long way. Most shallow wounds look worse than they are.’

Skilgannon smiled at him. Diagoras looked suddenly sheepish. ‘But then I suppose you already knew that, general.’ He opened his pouch and removed his crescent needle and a length of twine, handing them to Skilgannon. Then he sat down, allowing Skilgannon to examine the cut.

‘It extends into the hairline. That’s where most of the blood is coming from. I’ll need to shave the area around it.’

Diagoras eased his hunting knife from its sheath. Skilgannon took it.

First he sliced away the long dark hair, leaving a stubbled area three inches long and two inches wide. The skin had split here, and there was some swelling. Skilgannon worked on the wound, needing to draw the skin tightly into place. It was not easy.

‘Pull much harder and my ear will end up on top of my head,’

complained Diagoras.

Jared walked out to join them. ‘Garianne is awake,’ he said. ‘I think she is all right.’ Then he gathered up his brother’s sword and returned to the cave.

‘What’s wrong with Druss?’ asked Diagoras, as Skilgannon completed the last stitch.

‘A seizure. His heart all but gave out. He’s been suffering for some weeks, he said.’

Diagoras rose to his feet and walked out among the dead. Skilgannon followed him. ‘With a sick heart he killed five Nadir. Damn, but he is a phenomenon.’

‘Six,’ corrected Skilgannon. ‘He made it back to kill the man who stabbed Rabalyn.’

‘That is one tough old man.’

‘He will be a dead old man if we do not find the temple. I have seen these seizures before. His heart is barely holding out. That massive body needs a healthy heart to feed it. In the condition he’s in he’ll have another attack before long. He won’t survive it.’

‘How far to this temple?’

‘Khalid Khan says two days. But that was a man travelling across rough country on foot. With a wagon? I don’t know. Three perhaps.’

‘The boy won’t last three days,’ said Diagoras.

They heard the rumble of a wagon coming down the road. Skilgannon glanced up to see Khalid Khan driving it. Several of his men and two women were following behind. Skilgannon walked to meet him.

‘These women know wounds. Does the Silver Slayer live?’ said Khalid Khan.

‘He does.’

‘That is good to hear,’ said the old man. ‘I had a bad feeling when he sent me away. Is he sick?’

‘Yes.’

Khalid Khan nodded. ‘I will guide you to where I saw the temple. We must pray to the Source of All Things that it is there this time.’

Elanin had long given up hope of rescue. Even if Uncle Druss did find this fortress in the middle of the wilds the men here were of appalling savagery, Nadir warriors in clothes of stinking goatskin, and hard-eyed soldiers who stared at her with cold indifference, their voices harsh, their eyes cruel. Uncle Druss would not be able to take her away from them. A man who could bend horseshoes would be no match for these terrible warriors.

And then there was Ironmask.

He had not struck her again, for she was careful around him. He had beaten Mother, though. He had blackened her eyes and split her lip. There were bruises on her body. And he yelled at her, calling her a ‘useless sow’

and a ‘stupid whore’.

Elanin sat in her room, high in the citadel. She had not seen Mother now for five days, nor been allowed out of the room. A cold-hearted Nadir woman brought her two meals a day, and took away the chamber pots, emptying them and replacing them. Elanin no longer dreamed of being free. In the last two weeks she had developed a trembling in her hands and arms, and would spend much of the time finding places in which to hide.

There were cupboards, and spaces behind tall chests. Once she even found her way into a wine cellar, and hid behind the barrels. Each time they found her, and now she was locked into a small room at the top of the citadel. The room was not large enough for a good hiding place. But she discovered that if she crawled into the closet and pulled shut the door, the darkness was welcoming and gave her a sense of protection. She would cower in this small place for hours. Then she began to pretend that this was all a terrible dream, and that if she tried hard enough she would wake up in her sunny room in Purdol. And Father would be sitting by the bed.

The days drifted by, and her fantasies increased. She ate mechanically, then returned to her sanctuary.

Today Ironmask had come to her room, wrenching open the closet door and dragging her out into the light. Twisting his hands in her now greasy blond hair he pulled back her head and stared into her face. ‘Not so proud now, are we?’ he said. ‘Are you going to tell me you hate me?’

Elanin began to tremble, her head twitching. Ironmask laughed at her.

‘I want my mother,’ she managed to say, tears spilling to her face.

‘Of course you do, little one,’ he said, his voice suddenly gentle. ‘That is only natural. And I am feeling generous today. So I have left a little gift by your bed. Something for you to play with. Something of your mother’s.’

He left her then, pulling the door to behind him. She heard the bolt clang shut.

Still trembling, Elanin went to her bedside. There was a pouch there.

She lifted it, and opened the drawstrings, tipping the contents onto her bed. Then she screamed and fled back to the closet.

On the bed, blood from her mother’s severed fingers began to seep through the dirty sheets.

The forest was dark and gloomy, but up ahead Skilgannon could see an angled shaft of moonlight. Slowly he made his way towards it, heart beating fast, fear swelling. Movement from his left caused him to spin, and he caught a glimpse of white fur. His hands snaked for his swords, but he stopped. The yearning to grip the ivory blades was almost overpowering. He walked on.

And there, illuminated by the shaft of moonlight, sat an enormous wolf, its fur glistening white as virgin snow. The beast stared at him. Its eyes were huge and gold. Then it rose and padded towards him. The fear roared back at him, swirling into panic. The swords were in his hands now, and he raised them. A savage exultation fired his blood. He screamed a war cry — and the swords swept down…

A hand was pulling at his shoulder, and he surged upright, pushing Diagoras away. ‘What are you doing?’ he yelled.

‘Calm yourself, man. You were shouting in your sleep.’

‘I almost had it,’ said Skilgannon. ‘I could have ended it.’

‘What are you talking about?’

Skilgannon blinked and rubbed his hand across his face. ‘It doesn’t matter. It was just a dream. I am sorry for disturbing you.’ He glanced around. Druss was still sleeping alongside the wounded Rabalyn. Garianne was awake, and staring at him, her face emotionless. On the far side of the camp the twins were sitting close together, and talking in low voices.

Khalid Khan walked across to Skilgannon, handing him a cup of cool water.

‘Are they dreams or visions, warrior?’ he asked.

‘Just dreams,’ said Skilgannon. He drained the water and took a deep, calming breath. Then he rose and walked across the rocks to a flat area, where he began to stretch. Then, with Diagoras and Khalid Khan watching him, he eased his way through a series of slow movements, like a dance.

He felt his lungs expand, and his body loosen.

Khalid Khan returned to his blanket, but Diagoras walked over and sat close by. ‘What is it that you do?’ he asked.

‘It is an ancient discipline. It brings the body back into harmony.’

Skilgannon continued for a while, but being observed prevented him from achieving complete oneness. Even so he was more relaxed as he joined Diagoras. ‘The boy is holding up well,’ he said.

‘I am more optimistic tonight,’ said Diagoras. ‘He is young, and it seems the bleeding is slowing down.’

The day had been a long one. Diagoras had driven the wagon, while Druss sat in the back, talking to the stricken Rabalyn, encouraging him, and telling him stories. Skilgannon had ridden alongside for a while, listening to the old warrior talking. His stories were not about warfare, but about different lands and cultures. He spoke of his wife, Rowena, and her talent for healing. She could lay her hands on the sick, and within days they would be up and working in the fields. Skilgannon looked at the axeman, noting the grey face and the dark, sunken eyes, and wished his wife could be here now. Soon after that Druss lay down and slept, as the wagon slowly trundled on, ever deeper into the mountains.

According to Khalid Khan they had one more day of travel. They would arrive at the temple site around dusk tomorrow.

Skilgannon walked away from the campsite, climbing a ramp of rocks and staring back over the rocky trails they had covered that day. ‘You think we will be followed?’ asked Diagoras, coming up beside him.

Skilgannon glanced round.

‘I do not know. There were fewer Nadir in the attack than I expected.’

‘It is a shame about the boy, but your plan worked well.’

‘Yes. Though it shouldn’t have,’ said Skilgannon. ‘Any plan that depends on the stupidity of the enemy is flawed. They could have attacked us in two groups. They could have dismounted, and moved in on foot. They could have sent a scout ahead. Even better, they could have held back until we were forced to leave the mountain road and enter open country.’

Diagoras shrugged. ‘But they did none of these things, and we survived.’

‘True.’

‘What were you trying to catch in your dream? You said you almost had it.’

‘A wolf. It is not important.’

Diagoras reached up to the shaved part of his skull, gingerly touching his fingers to the ragged stitches. ‘Damn thing itches,’ he said. ‘I hope the hair grows back. I knew a warrior once who had a long scar on his skull.

Hair turned white around it. Damn, but he was ugly.’

‘The scar made him ugly?’

‘Not entirely. He was mildly unattractive before. The scar tipped him into downright ugliness.’ Diagoras laughed. ‘He was a most unfortunate fellow. Always complaining about how fate hated him. He could cite a litany of bad luck that had dogged him since childhood. One night, when he was severely depressed, I got him to walk with me. I explained how important it was to have a positive outlook on life. Rather than dwell all the time on the bad things, a man should look at the blessings. For example, we were returning from fighting the Sathuli. Now they are a fighting race. We’d lost twenty men. However, as I pointed out, he was not among them. He had survived. And that was lucky. I tell you I worked hard during that walk, and by the time we got back to the camp he was much cheered. He thanked me profusely, and said that from that moment on he would look at life differently.’

‘And did he?’

‘No. We got back to our tent to sleep and he was bitten by a snake that had crawled into his blankets while we were walking.’

‘A poisonous snake?’

‘No. I think he wished it was. It bit him in the balls. He was in agony for weeks.’

‘Some men are just unlucky,’ said Skilgannon.

‘True,’ agreed Diagoras. They sat in silence for a while. Then Diagoras spoke again. ‘How did you earn the enmity of the Witch Queen?’

‘I ceased to serve her. It is that simple, Diagoras. I walked away. Men don’t walk away from Jianna. Everything but that. They flock around her, vying to catch her eye. If she smiles at them it is as if they have imbibed some narcotic.’

‘She casts spells on them?’

Skilgannon laughed. ‘Of course. The greatest spell of all. She is beautiful, Diagoras. I do not mean pretty, or attractive, or sensual. She is stunning. I mean that in the fullest sense. A man who gazes upon that beauty has his senses stunned. He cannot drink it all in. When I first knew her she was being hunted. She disguised herself as a whore, dyed her hair yellow and streaked it with crimson. She wore a cheap dress, and no paint upon her face. Even then she would turn heads.’ He took a long breath.

‘She turned mine. I have never been the same since. When you are with her you have eyes for nothing else. When you are away from her you can think of little else. In my years as a priest I thought of her almost hourly. I tried in my mind to dissect her attraction. Was it the eyes, or the mouth?

Was it the beauty of her breasts, or the curve of her hips? Was it her legs, so long and luscious? In the end I realized it was something far more simple. You cannot have her. No man can. Oh, you can sleep with her. You can touch and kiss those breasts. You can hold her close, skin on skin. But you cannot possess her. She is the unattainable.’

‘I know that feeling,’ said Diagoras.

‘You knew a woman like that?’

‘No. It was a horse. I went to an auction in Drenan, to buy a stallion.

There were some wonderful beasts there. I was hard pressed to choose one to bid for. I had almost eighty raq to spend, and that would have bought just about any horse in Drenan. Then they led out a Ventrian pure bred. It was magnificent. The crowd went silent. It was a grey, with an arching neck, and powerful shoulders. It was perfect in every line. Flawless. The bidding started at fifty raq, but it was like a joke. Within minutes it had reached two hundred raq, and was still climbing. I kept bidding, even though I could never raise the money. I managed to pull out at three hundred raq. It went for four hundred and thirty. I’ve never forgotten that stallion. Never will. The moment I saw it I knew I could never own it.’

Skilgannon looked at the Drenai officer. ‘You Drenai are an interesting people. I talk of a fabulous woman, and you speak of a horse. Now I know why all your fables and stories are about wars, and not about great love.’

‘We are a more pragmatic race,’ agreed Diagoras. ‘But then no stallion ever sent assassins to kill someone who walked away from it. No stallion ever metamorphosed from an angelic lover to a harridan. And with a good horse you get a fine ride every time you mount. The horse won’t tell you it has a headache, or is angry with you because you were late home.’

Skilgannon laughed. ‘You have no soul, Drenai.’

‘Having been raised largely in a whorehouse I am not easily captivated by mere beauty. Though I will admit I find Garianne more than a little becoming, and I have been known to feel the tiniest pang of jealousy when she seeks you out.’

‘It is hardly a compliment when a woman needs to be drunk to seek your attention,’ observed Skilgannon, rising from the rock. Diagoras joined him as they walked back to the campsite. Everyone was asleep now.

‘I’ll keep watch,’ said Skilgannon. ‘Get some sleep.’

‘Gladly,’ said the Drenai, moving off into the darkness.

For Rabalyn the journey across the mountains was difficult. He could only breathe when propped up, and there was some dull pressure pain in his chest and upper belly. It was not, however, insufferable. He’d once had a toothache that had been considerably more painful. Yet, as they moved on, faces would constantly appear above him, asking how he was, and looking grave and concerned. Diagoras, Jared and Skilgannon would check on him. Even Nian came over as Rabalyn was lifted down from the wagon for a noon stop in the shade of some high rocks.

‘Lots of blood,’ said Nian. ‘Your tunic is very wet with it.’ ‘You…

remember… the stars?’ asked Rabalyn, having to take swift shallow breaths in order to speak. Nian looked nonplussed. He sat beside Rabalyn, his head tilted on one side.

‘Don’t get stars in the daytime,’ said Nian. ‘Night time is for stars.’

Rabalyn closed his eyes, and the bearded simpleton ambled away. The most talking came from Druss. Rabalyn enjoyed it when the axeman sat beside him in the back of the wagon. It was relaxing to close his eyes and listen as Druss told him of far-off countries, and hazardous journeys by sea. On one occasion, when Rabalyn opened his eyes and looked at the Drenai, he saw his face was pale, and covered in a film of sweat.

‘You… are… in… pain?’ he asked.

‘I’ve known pain before. It usually goes away, I find.’

‘Is it your heart?’

‘Aye. I have been thinking on it. Two months ago I passed through a village that had suffered some sickness or another. Mostly I don’t get sick.

This time, though, I did. Headaches, chest pain, and an inability to hold food down. I’ve not been myself ever since.’

Rabalyn gave a weak smile.

‘What’s so funny, laddie?’

‘I saw you… kill those… werebeasts. I thought… you were the..

strongest man… ever.’

‘And so I am,’ Druss told him. ‘Don’t you forget it.’

‘Will… I… die… from this?’

‘I don’t know, Rabalyn. I’ve seen men killed by tiny wounds, and others survive when they should not have. It is often a mystery. One fact I do know is that you must desire to live.’

‘Doesn’t… everyone?’

‘Yes, of course. That desire, though, has to be focused. Some men will scream and beg for life. They exhaust themselves and die anyway. Others, though wanting to live, look at their wounds or their sickness, and just give up. The secret — if there is truly any secret — is to hold close to life, as if you were gripping it in your palm. You tell your body, quietly, firmly, to hold on. To heal. You stay calm.’

‘I… will.’

‘That was brave of you, laddie, to jump down and help Garianne like that. I am proud of you. Because of you she is still alive. You were thinking of the code, weren’t you?’

‘Yes.’

Druss laid his huge hand on Rabalyn’s arm. There’s some would say what you did was foolish. There’s many would tell you that it would have been best had you stayed on that rock and remained safe. They would tell you that it is better to live a long lifetime as a coward, rather than a short one as a hero. They are wrong. The coward dies every day. Every time he runs away from danger, and leaves others to suffer in his place. Every time he watches an injustice and tells himself: "It is nothing to do with me."

Every time a man risks himself for another, and survives, he becomes more than he was before. I have seen you do that three times. Once, back in the woods when you took up my axe. Once in the camp when the beasts attacked. But, best of all, when you leapt from that rock to help Garianne.

We none of us live for ever, Rabalyn. Better by far, then, to live well.’

Blood was flowing once more from the pressure pad strapped to Rabalyn’s chest. Druss’s fingers were too thick to untie the bandage.

Diagoras came over, and as he unwrapped the bandage Druss applied pressure to the wound. ‘I can… smell cheese,’ said Rabalyn. He saw Diagoras glance at Druss, but neither man spoke. Sitting him up they applied a new pad, and strapped the bandages tightly. Diagoras gave him a drink of water. Then they lifted him back into the wagon.

‘We need to press on,’ said Diagoras. The others were mounting their horses. Diagoras swung into the driver’s seat. Druss grunted as he eased himself alongside.

Rabalyn drifted off to sleep. It was a warm and comfortable sleep. He saw his Aunt Athyla calling to him. She was smiling. He ran to her, and she put her arms round him. It was the most wonderful feeling he had ever known. He fell into her embrace with the joy of homecoming.

‘Damn you, Druss!’ shouted Diagoras. ‘You should never have allowed him to come!’

Druss the Legend stood wearily by the wagon, gazing down at Rabalyn’s body. The lad looked smaller in death, hunched over by the wagon wheel, a blanket around his thin shoulders. Jared moved to Diagoras, trying to calm him, but the Drenai officer had lost control. Shrugging off the restraining hand he strode to stand before the axeman. ‘It was your code that killed him. Was it worth it?’

Skilgannon stepped in. ‘Leave it be, Diagoras!’

The officer swung round, his face ashen, his eyes angry. ‘Leave it be?

Why? Because you say so? A dead boy may not mean much to the man who wiped out an entire city of men and boys and women and babes. But it means something to me.’

‘Apparently it means you can behave like an idiot,’ said Skilgannon.

‘Druss didn’t kill him. A Nadir sword killed him. Yes, he could have been left behind. Mellicane will be a city under siege before long. Food will run short. How would he have survived? And if he had managed to scrape a living, who is to say what would have happened when the Naashanite army swept inside? Perhaps the Queen would once more have ordered the massacre of all within. You don’t know. None of us know. What we can be sure of is that the boy was brave, and he stood by his friends, even though he was terrified. That makes him a hero.’

‘A dead hero!’ snapped Diagoras.

‘Yes, a dead hero. And all the wailing and recriminations will not change a thing.’

Garianne moved to Druss, who was leaning against the wagon, his breathing ragged. ‘Are you all right, Uncle?’

‘Aye, lass. Don’t concern yourself.’ The old warrior glanced once more at the boy, then swung away. He moved off slowly into the rocks and sat down some distance from the group, lost in thought.

Khalid Khan approached Skilgannon. ‘This is where the temple was,’ he said. ‘My oath upon it.’

Skilgannon gazed around at the towering cliffs. There was no sign of any building. ‘I was walking back up that ridge yonder,’ said Khalid Khan, pointing back the way they had come. ‘When I glanced back I saw the temple, shimmering in the moonlight. It was nestling against the mountain. I do not lie, warrior.’

‘We will wait for the moon,’ said Skilgannon. Garianne moved across to sit with Druss, her arm round him, her head upon his shoulder. Jared and Nian walked to Rabalyn’s body. Nian knelt down and stroked the boy’s hair. Diagoras sighed.

‘I am sorry, Skilgannon,’ he said. ‘Anger and grief got the better of me.’

‘Anger will do that, if you give it a chance,’ said Skilgannon.

‘You never get angry?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘How do you control it?’

‘I kill people,’ said Skilgannon, stepping past the officer. Walking away he glanced at the sky, recalling the words of the Old Woman. ‘The temple you seek is in Pelucid, and close to the stronghold. It is not easily found.

You will not see it by daylight. Look for the deepest fork in the western mountains, and wait until the moon floats between the crags’

He could see the fork in the mountains, but the moon was not yet in sight. Just then something moved at the edge of his vision. Skilgannon did not react with any sudden movement. Slowly he turned and scanned the jagged rocks.

A gentle breeze blew. There was a scent upon it. Skilgannon walked to where Druss was sitting. ‘Can you fight?’ he asked.

‘I’m alive, aren’t I?’ grunted the axeman.

‘Fetch his axe,’ Skilgannon told Garianne. For a moment she glared at him angrily, then ran to the wagon. She could not lift the massive weapon over the side. Jared helped her. Garianne returned with the axe, and Druss took it from her. In the moment of passage between them the axe seemed to lose all weight. Druss hefted it, then stood.

‘Nadir?’ he asked.

‘No. The beasts have returned.’ Skilgannon drew his swords. Garianne notched two bolts to her bow.

Some twenty paces to the south a huge grey form rose from behind a jumble of boulders. It stood, massive head swaying from side to side.

Garianne lifted her crossbow.

‘No, girl,’ said Druss. ‘It is Orastes.’ Laying down his axe he took a deep breath, then walked slowly towards the creature. Skilgannon fell in behind him, but Druss waved him back. ‘Not this time, laddie. It doesn’t know you.’

‘What if it comes for you?’

Ignoring him, Druss continued to walk towards the creature. It gave out a ferocious roar, but remained where it was. Druss began talking to it, his voice low and soothing. ‘Long time since I’ve seen you, Orastes. You remember the day by the lake, when Elanin made me that crown of flowers? Eh? Have I ever looked more foolish in my life? I thought you would laugh fit to bust. Elanin is close to here. You know that, don’t you?

We will fetch her, you and I. We will find Elanin.’

The beast reared up and howled, the sound echoing eerily in the mountains.

‘I know you are frightened, Orastes. Everything seems strange and twisted. You don’t know where you are. You don’t know what you are. But you know Elanin, don’t you? You know you must find her. And you know me, Orastes. You know me. I am Druss. I am your friend. I will help you.

Do you trust me, Orastes?’

The watching travellers stood stock still as the axeman reached the beast. They saw him raise his hand slowly, and lay it on the creature’s shoulder, patting it. The beast slowly sagged over the face of a boulder, its great head resting on the rock. Druss scratched at the fur, still speaking.

‘You need to have the faith to come with me, Orastes,’ said Druss.

‘There is a magic temple, they say. Maybe they can… bring you back.

Then we’ll find Elanin. Come with me. Trust me.’

Druss stepped away from the beast, and began to walk back towards Skilgannon. The Joining reared up, letting out a high-pitched scream.

Druss did not look back, but he raised his hand. ‘Come on, Orastes. Come back to the world of men.’

The beast stood for a moment, then shuffled out from behind the rocks and padded after the axeman, keeping close to him, and snarling as they neared the others. Up close he was even larger than he had appeared.

Garianne approached him, and he reared up on his hind legs and roared.

He towered over Druss, who put out his hand and patted him. ‘Stay calm, Orastes,’ he said. ‘These are friends.’ Then he glanced at Garianne and the others. ‘Best stay back from him.’

‘You don’t have to tell me twice,’ said Diagoras.

As the moon cleared the western crags the spell faded away.

Skilgannon gazed in amazement at the massive building, with its windows and columns and turrets.

The gates opened, and five golden-clad priests began to run towards them over the rocky ground.

Half an hour earlier the priestess Ustarte had stood at the high tower window, gazing down over the gloomy, dusk-shrouded valley. Her heart was heavy as she saw the people there, gathered round the wagon.

They do not see us yet,’ said her aide, the slender, white-robed Weldi.

She glanced at him, noting the lines on his careworn face.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Not yet. Not until the moon is higher.’

‘You are tired, Ustarte. Rest a little.’

She laughed then, and the years vanished from her face. ‘I am not tired, Weldi. I am old.’

‘We are all getting old, priestess.’

Ustarte nodded and, gathering her red and gold silk robes in her gloved hands to raise the hem from the floor, slowly shuffled to the curiously carved chair at her reading desk. There was no flat seat, merely two angled platforms, one against which she could kneel, while the other supported her lower back. Her ancient bones would no longer bend well, and her legs were stiff and arthritic. Not all the vast range of medicines she knew, or had perfected, could fully keep the ravages of time from her body. They might have done, had her flesh not been corrupted and altered, genetically twisted and melded in those dreadful long-ago days. She sighed. Not all her bitterness had been put behind her. Some traces had escaped the vaults of memory.

‘Do you remember the Grey Man, Weldi?’ she asked, as the servant brought her a goblet of water.

‘No, Ustarte. He was in the time of Three Swords. I came later.’

‘Of course. My memory is not what it was.’

‘You have been waiting for these travellers for some time now, priestess.

Why do you make them wait for the moonlight?’

‘They are not yet complete, Weldi. Another is coming. A Joining. You know, I miss Three Swords. He made me laugh.’

‘I only knew him when he was old. He was crotchety then, and he did not make me laugh. To be honest he frightened me.’

‘Yes, he could be frightening. We went through much together, he and I.

For a while we thought we could change the world. Such is the arrogance of youth, I suspect.’

‘You have changed the world, priestess. It is a better place with you in it.’ Clumsily he took her gloved hand and kissed it.

‘We have done a little good. No more than that. Yet it is enough.’

She gazed around the room, at the scrolls and books on the shelves, and the small ornaments and keepsakes she had gathered during her three hundred and seventy years. This tower room was her favourite. She had never really known why. Perhaps it was because it was the highest room in the temple. Closer to the sky and the stars. ‘You will remember at least two of the travellers,’ she told Weldi. ‘The conjoined twins?’

‘Ah, yes. Sweet children. That was a wonderful day, when they walked in the garden, separate but hand in hand. I shall never forget that.’

‘Hard to imagine those babes with swords in their hands.’

‘I find it hard to imagine anyone who would choose to have a sword in their hands,’ said Weldi.

‘Garianne is with them too. You said she would come back one day.’

‘You never did answer my question about her affliction.’

‘What question was that? I forget.’

‘No you don’t. You are teasing me. Are the voices real, or imagined?’

‘They are real to her. They could not be more real.’

‘Yes, yes! But are they real? Are they the spirits of the dead?’

‘The truth is,’ said the elderly priestess, ‘that I do not know. Garianne survived a dreadful massacre. She lay hidden, and listened to the screams of the dying. All that she loved, all that loved her. When she emerged from the hole in which she had been concealed she felt a terrible guilt for having survived. Did that guilt unhinge her mind? Or did it open a window in her soul, allowing the spirits of the dead to flow in?’

‘Why did you let her steal the Grey Man’s crossbow? You went through many dangers to bring that here.’

‘You are full of questions today. I have one for you. Why is the priestess still hungry, when her servant promised her a meal some time ago?’

Weldi grinned and bowed low. ‘It is coming, Ustarte. I shall run all the way to the kitchen.’

Ustarte’s smile faded as soon as he had left the room. She felt terribly tired. The magic needed to maintain the cloak of confusion over the temple took a heavy toll on an ageing priestess. It had been such a simple spell two hundred years ago, using merely a fraction of her power. It was merely a matter of reshaping and blurring refracted light so that the red stone of the temple appeared to merge with the towering mountain of rock from which it had been carved. Only in the brightest moonlight did the spell fade sufficiently for men to be able to observe the vast building. Even then the gates were strengthened by spells which — when activated -

caused immense forces to build up in metal. Swords would stick to shields, battering rams could not be swung. Men in armour would feel as if they were wading through the thickest mud. Ustarte knew that no castle on earth was completely impregnable. The Temple of Kuan did, however, come close. No-one could enter uninvited.

Her legs rested, she eased herself to her feet and returned to the window. Closing her eyes she concentrated her power, reaching out until she could feel the life forces of the travellers flickering around her, gossamer moths drawn to the light. Gently she examined each of them, coming at last to the youth. His heart had failed. Poison had entered his bloodstream, carried there by the filthy sword blade and the small sections of cloth from his tunic which had been driven into his body. Staying calm and focused Ustarte sent a bolt of energy into the still heart. It flickered, then failed again. Twice more she pulsed energy into the stricken muscle.

It began to beat — but irregularly. Ustarte’s spirit flowed through Rabalyn’s lymphatic system, boosting it with her own life force. The adrenal glands, overworked and undernourished, had also failed. These too she worked upon. The eerie howling of a wolf cut through her concentration momentarily. Ignoring it she continued to replenish Rabalyn’s energy. The dead youth was alive once more, and would survive until she could work on him inside the temple.

The moon was beginning to rise.

Ustarte drew back from Rabalyn and pulsed a message to Weldi. He was climbing the lower stairs, carrying a tray of food for her.

Leaving the tray upon a step he ran back to the inner hall to summon four priests, clad in yellow robes, who were dining there. Together they made their way swiftly through the corridors and halls of the temple, pushed open the gates, and ran across the open ground towards the travellers.

The travellers — all except Druss and Khalid Khan — were taken to an antechamber on the first floor of the temple. There were chairs and leather-cushioned benches here, and a wondrously fashioned table of twisted metal, upon which had been set fruit and goblets of sweet juices.

Nian sat on the floor, running his hands over the undulating metal of the table. Jared knelt by him. Garianne lay down on a couch. Diagoras moved to a high window and leaned out, gazing down upon the valley below.

‘Druss and Khalid are still there,’ he told Skilgannon. ‘It looks like Orastes is asleep at the axeman’s feet.’

Skilgannon joined him. Priests had gathered round the giant beast and were struggling to lift it. The door behind them whispered open.

Skilgannon turned. An elderly man, with small, button eyes, bowed to the company. He shuffled forward, his long white gown rustling on the terracotta flooring.

‘The lady Ustarte will be with you presently,’ he said. ‘She is engaged at present with your companion, Rabalyn.’

‘He is dead,’ said Diagoras. ‘She can bring him back to life?’

‘He was dead, yes, but had not yet passed the portals of no return.

Ustarte’s magic is very strong.’

Garianne rolled to her feet, a wide smile on her face. ‘Ho, Weldi! It is good to see you.’

‘And you, sweet one. I told the priestess you would come back to us.’

The elderly priest moved to the table where Jared and Nian waited.

‘You will not remember me,’ he said. ‘We played in the inner gardens when you were young.’ Jared looked uncomfortable, and merely shrugged. Nian looked up at the old man.

‘There is no beginning,’ he said, running his fingers along a length of metal in the centre of the table.

‘It is one piece, interwoven again and again. Very clever.’

‘Yes,’ said Nian. ‘Very clever.’

Weldi turned to Skilgannon. ‘Please rest here for a little while. You will each be assigned rooms later, after Ustarte has spoken with you individually.’

‘And the axeman?’ asked Diagoras.

Weldi gave a crooked smile. ‘The beast would not leave him. So we have sedated it. It will remain asleep while you are guests here. Druss will be with you presently. Khalid Khan refused our invitation. He has returned to his people. Is there anything you require in the meantime?’ Skilgannon shook his head. ‘Very well then, I shall leave you. The door at the far end of the apartment leads to an ablutions chamber. Its workings are not complicated. The main door leads out into the main temple. The passages and tunnels are very much like a maze to those who do not know the paths. I would therefore request you remain here until Ustarte calls for you. That may be an hour — perhaps a little longer.’

‘We wish to go to the gardens,’ said Garianne. ‘It is very peaceful there.’

‘I am sorry, sweet one. You must remain here. I do not have happy memories of the last time you wandered free.’ Garianne looked crestfallen.

‘I still love you dearly, Garianne. We all do,’ he said.

After he had left, Garianne returned to the couch and lay down once more. ‘Found it!’ said Nian happily. He had squirmed under the table and had his hand on a section of folded iron. ‘Look, Jared! I found the join.’

Druss came in. He seemed in better spirits as he strode to a deep chair and stretched himself out in it. ‘Rabalyn is alive!’ he said.

‘We heard,’ Diagoras told him. ‘This is truly an enchanted place.’

‘Everything here is good,’ said Garianne. ‘No evil — save that which comes in from the outside,’ she added, staring at Skilgannon. ‘Ustarte can read the future here. Many futures. Many pasts. She will take you to the Vanishing Wall. There you will see. We saw. So many things.’

‘What did you see?’ asked Nian.

Garianne’s grey eyes clouded over, and her face hardened. Closing her eyes again she lay down.

‘I don’t care much for magic,’ said Druss. ‘But if it saves the boy I’ll put aside my doubts.’

‘You are looking better, old horse,’ said Diagoras. ‘You have colour in your cheeks again.’

‘I feel more like myself,’ admitted Druss. The pain in my chest is less now, and I have a little strength flowing back into my limbs. They gave me a drink of something when first I entered. Cool and thick, like winter cream. Tasted fine, I can tell you. I could do with another.’

Diagoras moved back to the window. The moon was high and bright over the mountains. Skilgannon joined him. ‘There was something odd about that Weldi,’ said Diagoras.

Skilgannon said nothing, but he nodded. ‘You saw it too?’ persisted Diagoras.

‘Yes.’

‘I can’t quite put my finger on what was wrong about him.’

‘I saw nothing threatening,’ said Skilgannon. ‘He moves oddly. But then he is old and may have crystals in his joints.’

‘For me it was the eyes, I think,’ said Diagoras. ‘You don’t often see that red-gold colour. In fact I have never seen it — save in a dog or a wolf.

Sometimes a horse.’

‘He is an odd-looking man,’ agreed Skilgannon.

‘Good news about Rabalyn, eh?’

‘Let us hope there is more good news to follow,’ said Skilgannon, idly stroking the locket round his neck.