White Wolf: A Novel of Druss the Legend

CHAPTER NINETEEN

MORCHA SAT OUTSIDE THE BEDROOM. THE GROANS OF PAIN

WERE easing now as the surgeon applied narcotic salves to Boranius’s ruined face. The burns were severe, and yet strangely had only affected the discoloured skin. The rest of his face and his eyes were completely untouched. After a while the surgeon Morcha had brought from the market town emerged from the bedroom. ‘He is sleeping now,’ he said. ‘I have never seen a wound like it.’

‘Nor I,’ said Morcha. The sandy-haired officer rose from his seat. ‘I thank you for coming,’ he said. The surgeon, a thin-faced man with rounded shoulders, looked at him curiously. Morcha felt embarrassed suddenly. The man had had no choice. When Ironmask issued a command you either obeyed or died. Sometimes you did both.

‘I will need a room close by. When he awakes the pain will return. I need to be here.’

‘Of course,’ said Morcha.

‘I am amazed his sight is not affected. There are no burns to the skin around the eyes. How did this accident occur?’

‘I was not present, sir. The Nadir was burned to ashes. Not a bone remained. My lord was mutilated as you saw. Some of the men heard screams from the roof chamber and ran to the room. The door was barred.

They heard voices from within — one of them a woman’s. When they finally broke in the woman was gone.’

‘Were there other exits?’

‘No.’

The surgeon shivered. ‘I need to know no more about this,’ he said, making the sign of the Protective Horn. ‘Show me where I may sleep.’

Morcha took him to a small room on the ground floor. ‘I shall send you some food and drink,’ he said. ‘I hope you will be comfortable.’ Once again the surgeon looked at him strangely.

‘If you don’t mind my asking, young man, how is it that you are here?’

‘I do mind your asking,’ said Morcha, giving a short bow and leaving the surgeon.

As he walked out into the night the question continued to burn in his mind. He strolled across the open ground then wandered past the warehouses and storage areas, coming at last to the low barracks which housed the soldiers who still followed Boranius. Alongside the barracks was the Long Tavern, where the men relaxed at day’s end. The sounds from within were raucous. Morcha did not feel like joining them. He walked on, coming to the now near deserted Nadir area. The death of Nygor had been seen by most of the warriors as an evil omen — especially coming so soon after the killing of the men sent after Deathwalker. Of the hundred Nadir warriors who had inhabited this section only four scouts now remained. The rest had saddled their ponies and ridden off towards the north.

Morcha made his way to the outer defensive wall, and climbed to the ramparts. He found the two sentries on this section in deep conversation.

One of them saw him, and leapt to his feet. The other merely stared at Morcha, and remained where he was. ‘There are still enemies out there,’

said Morcha. ‘We need to be alert.’

‘Sorry, sir,’ said the standing soldier. ‘We were just talking about the attack on Ironmask.’

‘And the fact that we’re all out of luck,’ said the second. ‘We should be quitting this place, Morcha. If we don’t we’ll die here.’

‘There are merely a handful of warriors out there, Codis. Druss may be a legend, but even he cannot defeat us all.’

‘No, he can’t,’ agreed the man, rising to his feet. ‘But what next?

A few years back we were soldiers of the King. Shem’s balls, man, we were the elite. Then we lost, and barely got out with our lives. What have we been since then? Truth to tell, Morcha, I wish you had never come to me and said Boranius was still alive. I wish with all my heart that I’d stayed quietly in Dospilis. Not one of the promises has been met.’

Morcha sat down on the crenellated battlement. ‘You weren’t saying that, Codis, while we were gathering riches in Mellicane.’

‘Does this look like Mellicane to you?’ sneered Codis. ‘This is a crumbling ruin. What is the point of having sentries on the walls, when there are at least ten full breaches, and other areas where a man could just walk in unobserved? We have trees which come almost to the edge of the walls. When the enemy get here they will just walk in. We’ll see them only when the bloodletting starts. I say we take off and head into the hills. We can plunder a few caravans, make some money, and then strike east towards Sherak. They are hiring mercenaries. We could do well there.’

‘Aye, we could. Perhaps you would like to put that view to Boranius?’

‘Perhaps we all should,’ said Codis. ‘Perhaps we should go to him now and put him out of his misery.’ Codis fell silent, and the words hung in the air. He looked into Morcha’s eyes. ‘He’s never going to win back power, Morcha. He had a chance in Mellicane, but not now. What are we? A band of robbers. Sooner rather than later the Datians will come for us. We used to be part of an army of thousands. Now there are seventy of us. We’re out of gold, out of opportunities, and out of luck.’

‘Luck can change,’ said Morcha.

‘Aye, it can. For us, though, it’s likely to move from bad to worse. I spoke to the three Nadir who survived the attack on Druss. Have you heard?’

‘I heard they were massacred.’

Codis suddenly chuckled. ‘Ah yes, you’ve been in the north. You haven’t heard the best news then?’

‘Just tell me.’

‘Well, the Nadir made camp the night before the attack. A lone swordsman walked in, killed a bunch of them, then rode out on one of their ponies. The swordsman had two curved blades, with white ivory hilts. One of the Nadir recalled he had a tattoo of a spider on his forearm.’

‘So?’

‘So?’ echoed Codis. ‘Who do you think that is likely to be? We’re not just facing Druss the Legend. Skilgannon is coming.’ He stared intently at Morcha, then his expression hardened. ‘You knew. You damned well knew!’

‘He is one man. As you said yourself, we are seventy.’

‘Oh yes, one man! If he was to walk in here now how many of us would he take down before we stopped him. Five? Ten? I don’t want to be one of those ten.’

‘You won’t be, Codis,’ said Morcha, with a smile. Easing himself off the battlements he suddenly laughed. ‘I can guarantee that.’

‘Oh yes, and how exac—’ Codis grunted. His knees buckled. Morcha powered the dagger further into his chest. The soldier sagged against his killer. Morcha stepped back. Codis fell face first to the stone. The other soldier stood by silently. Morcha rolled the body onto its back and retrieved his dagger.

‘Keep watch,’ said Morcha. ‘I’ll send another sentry to join you. Best you don’t fall into conversation again.’

‘I won’t, sir.’

‘I believe you.’

Morcha wiped his dagger clean on the dead man’s tunic, then sheathed it. Descending the rampart steps he walked back to the tavern, where he located an officer and ordered him to send some men to retrieve Codis’s body.

Then he returned to the Citadel. Remembering the surgeon he ordered one of the cooks to take the man some food, and sat alone in the deserted dining hall. The cook returned after a while, and brought Morcha a tankard of cold beer. Morcha thanked the man.

His mind flowed back over the years, recalling the day that he and Casensis had followed the youth, Skilgannon. He still remembered fondly the time at the bathhouse. How neatly the boy had fooled them, and how priceless had been the disguise the princess had adopted. The whole city had been searching for Jianna, and there she was, dressed as a whore, and standing before two of the men charged with capturing her. Morcha smiled at the memory.

How cool the young Skilgannon had been. Morcha admired him. More than that, he had liked him. He had even been secretly pleased when the lad escaped the city with the girl. With luck they would have kept on moving, and drifted out of the pages of history. But no. The rebellion had begun. Boranius had been delighted. The prospect of battles and glory had thrilled him. Thoughts of defeat had entered no-one’s head. The forces of the princess had been small, offering mere pinpricks and irritation to Bokram. A few outlying forts were taken, a few caravans seized. The attacks were hit and run and small in scale. The first year had seen little more than bee stings against the body of Bokram’s army. The second year much the same. Then two more tribal leaders had joined Jianna’s army.

They had blocked the high passes in the west of Naashan, effectively liberating a region containing two cities and a score of silver mines.

Looking back that was the beginning of the end for Bokram. Though none of us saw it at the time, recalled Morcha.

Even up to the last battle we believed we would conquer. A sudden shiver rippled through him. The day, begun in high spirits, had ended with Morcha and five others carrying the mutilated Boranius from the field.

Now, years later, Boranius was mutilated again, and once more Skilgannon was coming. Codis had been right. The only sensible course was to ride away now.

And yet he could not.

In a world of shifting values Morcha believed in loyalty. He had pledged himself to Boranius, and he would stand by him.

‘Have you seen enough?’ asked Ustarte. Skilgannon struggled to open his eyes. His body felt as if it had been without sleep for a month. Every muscle ached. He could not raise himself from the chair. Ustarte’s gloved hand stroked his face. ‘Humans without training find the journey of the spirit exhausting,’ she said. ‘Water will help.’ It was all Skilgannon could do to raise the goblet to his lips. His hand trembled. He drank, then fell back into the chair and closed his eyes.

‘I feel I have aged twenty years,’ he said.

‘It will pass when you have rested. Sleep a little. I will come back in a while.’

Skilgannon needed no urging. He fell asleep immediately, deep and dreamlessly. When he awoke the new dawn was breaking. Ustarte was standing by the balcony’s edge, the sunlight glinting on her red and gold gown.

‘Do you feel better?’

‘I do, lady. It was the best sleep I have had in years.’

‘You did not see the White Wolf?’

He smiled. ‘It seems my curse to meet people who know my dreams.

But, no, the wolf did not come to me. I almost slew it the last time.’

‘It is as well that you did not.’

He sat up, and drank some more water. ‘I feel it would stop it disturbing my sleep.’

‘Indeed it would. Which is why you must not.’

‘You think I need troubled dreams?’

‘I think you need to understand the nature of the wolf. Has it ever attacked you?’

‘No.’

‘It is you who hunt the wolf, yes?’

‘That is true. Whenever I see it I draw my swords. Usually it disappears.

The last time, though, it padded towards me.’

‘It did not charge? Its fangs were not bared?’

‘No. It just walked towards me. I raised my swords to kill it, but Diagoras woke me.’

‘The swords again. Did you know that the Old Woman conjured demons and trapped them within the blades?’ Skilgannon shook his head. ‘The demons give them power. It is a trade, however. Slowly the demons will exert an influence over you. They will corrupt you, increasing your angers and your hatreds. It is they who wish to kill the White Wolf. That is why whenever you see it in your dreams they leap to your hands.’

‘Why do they need to kill the wolf?’

‘That is for you to answer, Olek. The White Wolf is usually driven from the pack. He is different, and the other wolves fear him. So this wolf stands alone. He has no mate, no pack to follow or to lead. Does he remind you of anyone?’

‘The wolf is me.’

‘Yes — or rather your soul. He is all that is good in you. The swords need him dead before they can overcome you. Did the journey to the Citadel help you?’

‘I believe that it did. The troops there are demoralized. The Nadir have fled. More will desert as the days pass. They fear Druss. Merely knowing he is coming is filling the soldiers with terror.’

‘And you, Olek Skilgannon. They fear you mightily.’

‘Yes, that is true.’

‘I sense you knew one of those we saw. You even have affection for him.’

‘I knew him years ago. And, yes, I liked him then. Strange to see a man like him following a monster like Boranius.’

She laughed then. ‘You humans amuse me. When someone is evil you need to demonize them. He is a monster, you say. No, Olek, he is merely a man who has given in to the evils of his nature. All of you have a potential for evil, and for good. Much depends on the stimuli applied. The soldiers you led into Perapolis butchered and raped, mutilated and destroyed other humans. Then they went home to their wives and their sweethearts, and raised children and loved them. You are all monsters, Olek. Massively complex and uniquely insane. You teach your children that to lie is wrong.

But your lives are governed by small lies. The peasant does not tell the lord what he truly thinks of him. The wife does not tell the husband she saw a man in the marketplace who made her loins burn. The husband does not tell his wife he went to the whorehouse. You follow a god of love and forgiveness, and yet you rush into war bellowing, "The Source is with us."

Need I go on? Boranius is evil. That is true. Yet in all his life he has not ordered as many innocents slain as you.’

‘I cannot argue with you, lady,’ said Skilgannon sadly. ‘I cannot undo the past. I cannot bring them back.’

‘You can give them peace,’ she said softly.

He looked at her, meeting her gaze. ‘By letting Garianne kill me? You said yourself that she is probably unhinged, and that there are no ghosts inside her head.’

‘I could be wrong.’

He laughed then. ‘One problem at a time, lady. First we need to rescue the child. After that I will consider the problem of Garianne, Where is Druss?’

‘He is with Rabalyn. The boy is recovering well.’

‘And Diagoras?’

‘He and the twins are in the lower gardens with Garianne. Diagoras has discovered much in common with Nian. They argue wonderfully about the nature of the stars.’ Ustarte turned and stared out over the red mountains.

‘There is something else you should know, Olek. The Old Woman has cast a concealing spell over the lands to the northeast of the Citadel. I cannot penetrate it.’

‘The northeast?’ he repeated. The lands of Sherak?’

‘Not all of Sherak. Even she is not that powerful. No, it is merely a…

mist, if you like… over a small area.’

‘Her purposes are a mystery to me,’ he said, ‘save that she wants Boranius dead.’

‘There is something more,’ said Ustarte. ‘I know that she hates Druss.

Twice he has thwarted her.’

‘She is none too fond of me,’ said Skilgannon, ‘though, to my knowledge, I have done nothing to cause her harm.’

‘She has sent Garianne to kill you. Of that I have no doubt. So, at the very least, she requires three deaths. Boranius is obviously the most important. Otherwise Garianne would already have tried to slay you. The Old Woman’s actions are most odd. She slew the Nadir shaman with a fire spell. His body became a living candle. This is powerful magic, Olek. To achieve it, while in spiritual form, is awesome indeed. What it means, though, is that, if she desired it, she could kill you and Druss in precisely the same manner. Or indeed Boranius. The question then is: why does she not? Why this elaborate quest?’

‘Our deaths alone are not sufficient,’ said Skilgannon.

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Take Boranius, for example. You might ask why, when he kills, he does it so slowly. He takes pleasure in torture and pain. The Old Woman is no different. To merely kill us holds no attraction for her. Druss is a proud man. He wants to rescue the child. Imagine how he would feel if that rescue were to fail. Worse, if he were to arrive and watch her die.’

Ustarte shuddered. ‘I do not want to understand such depths of evil. If what you say is true, then what is it she requires of you?’

‘That is more simple, I think. I fear Boranius, more than I fear death. It would please her to see Boranius cut me to pieces.’

‘And the concealment spell she has cast?’

He fell silent for a while, thinking the problem through. ‘Someone else is coming,’ he said at last. ‘If she wants Boranius to kill Druss and myself, then she will need another weapon to dispose of Boranius. More warriors drawn into her web.’

‘And knowing this you will proceed against the Citadel?’

‘The child is the key to it all,’ he said. ‘That is the beauty of her plan. We cannot now walk away. This she would have known. Even if we survive -

which is doubtful — the child will be slain before our eyes.’

Ustarte took a deep breath. ‘We do not usually take part in the affairs of this world,’ she said. ‘I shall make an exception now. I will help you, Olek.’

Diagoras was enjoying the conversation with Nian. They had moved from the nature of the stars and the planets to the fundamental complexities of nature. So engrossed did the Drenai officer become that he quite forgot, for a while, that Nian was under sentence of death. Jared, meanwhile, sat back, taking little part in the discussion. He watched his brother, his expression showing a mixture of admiration and sadness.

Garianne was sitting by the banks of a stream that flowed through the indoor garden. She was staring at the water as it bubbled over a bed of glistening white rocks.

Nian walked over and kissed her golden hair. ‘It is good to see you again, my friend,’ he said.

‘We are happy that you have come back,’ she told him. Nian looked over her shoulder at the stream, then walked to the edge of the water, squatting down and pushing his hand into the pool at the base of the stream. Then he rose and examined the five foot high waterfall that bubbled from the rocks by the north wall.

‘What do you find so fascinating?’ asked Diagoras, moving to join him.

‘Do you not see? Watch the waterfall.’ Diagoras did so.

‘What am I supposed to be seeing?’

‘The pink rose petals swirling on the water’s surface.’

‘What about them? They are coming from the rose bushes on the other side of the stream,’ said Diagoras, indicating the small floribunda bushes.

‘Yes, they are. How then are they also falling from the waterfall, which appears to be coming from the rock wall?’

‘Obviously there are more rose bushes above us somewhere.’

Nian shook his head. ‘I think the water just comes down the waterfall, and then is drawn back from the pool to go round again and again.

Intriguing.’

‘Water does not flow uphill, Master Nian,’ Diagoras pointed out. ‘It is impossible.’

Nian chuckled. ‘Master Diagoras, you are sitting in a temple that magic has made invisible, which is run by creatures half human and half beast, who have brought Rabalyn back from the dead, and have brought me back to the living. And you speak of the impossibility of water flowing uphill?’

Diagoras gave an embarrassed laugh. Tut that way I can only agree with you.’

Garianne rose lithely to her feet. ‘Hello, Uncle,’ she called. Diagoras saw Druss striding across the garden. The Drenai grinned.

‘Ah, that is better, Druss. Now you look like the man I knew.’ It was true. Druss’s grey eyes were sparkling and his skin glowed with health.

‘And I feel it, laddie. The water here is almost as good as Lentrian red -

and that is saying something. Have you seen Skilgannon?’

‘No. He went off with the priestess last night. I’ve not seen him since.’

‘They are making a journey of the spirit,’ said Nian. ‘It is called soaring by some. It is a feat said to have been first mastered by the Chiatze thousands of years ago. The spirit is loosed from the body and can travel vast distances. I believe Ustarte is using her powers to allow your friend Skilgannon to examine the Citadel.’

Diagoras looked doubtful. Nian laughed. ‘Truly, my friend. I would not lie to you.’

‘I believe you, laddie,’ said Druss. ‘My own wife had that talent. It is good to see you looking well.’

‘You have no idea how good it is to be myself. All I have had for these past few years are snatches of coherence, and odd memories of foolishness, or downright stupidity. It embarrasses me to think of what I became.’

‘You shouldn’t be embarrassed,’ said Druss. ‘You were a good companion, and a faithful friend. That counts for much.’

Nian smiled, and reached out to shake Druss by the hand. ‘I thank you for that,’ he said, ‘though, truth to tell, I would sooner be dead than live as I did. And, though Jared has not admitted it thus far, I fear that death is waiting for me rather sooner than I would like.’ He glanced at his twin.

‘Not so, brother?’

Jared said nothing, and looked away. Nian returned his gaze to Druss.

‘You will tell me the truth, axeman. I am a good judge of men, and you are no liar.’

Druss nodded. ‘They couldn’t remove your cancers. That is the truth of it.’

‘How long do they give me?’

‘A month. Maybe less.’

‘As I thought. Jared’s long face was proof enough. You will understand, I hope, why I will not be travelling with you on your quest? I would like to stay here. There are books in the library that are filled with wonders. I’d like to read as many of them as I can before I die.’

‘Of course,’ said Druss. ‘I wish they could have helped you, Nian. You’re a good man. You deserved better.’

‘It has always been my belief that this stage of our existence is merely the beginning of a great journey. I am saddened — and a little frightened -

to be facing the second stage so early. But I am also excited by the prospect. I wish you well, Druss. I hope you rescue the child.’

‘I usually do what I set out to do.’

‘I don’t doubt it.’ Nian turned to Diagoras and Garianne. ‘Excuse me, my friends. I have a little reading to catch up on.’

As he walked away Jared rose to follow him. Nian placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder. ‘No, brother. Stay here with your friends. I need a little solitude.’ With that he left the gardens.

The following morning the travellers assembled outside the temple. The beast that was Orastes was awake now, and clambered up on the back of the wagon, staying close to Druss who was in the driving seat. Skilgannon, Diagoras and Garianne were all mounted, and the priestess Ustarte was standing beside Skilgannon’s gelding.

‘I will watch over you all,’ she said. ‘When the enemy is close I will lay a spell over you. It will confuse those who gaze upon you, in much the same way as the temple deceives the eye. I will not be able to hold the spell for more than a few minutes. But it should suffice. When you are stopped say you are travellers bound for the market town. Say you are looking for work.’

‘I thank you, lady, for all you have done for us,’ said Skilgannon.

‘It was little enough. We will meet again, I think, Olek. Perhaps then I can do more.’

As Skilgannon swung his horse the gate of the temple opened. Jared came out, leading his horse, followed closely by Nian. Diagoras rode back to them.

‘I’m glad you changed your mind, Nian,’ he said. ‘I would have missed your company.’

‘Going to Citadel,’ said Nian happily. ‘Chop up the bad people.’ Seeing that Jared had mounted, Nian scrambled onto his own mount.

Reaching out, he took hold of the sash at his brother’s belt.

Morcha had slept for no more than three hours of the last forty-eight.

Everything was falling apart. Eighteen men had deserted, and morale among those remaining was low. Boranius himself seemed unconcerned.

He spent most of his time in the roof hall, high in the Citadel, his bandaged face now permanently covered by the ornate black mask.

Morcha had tried to interest him in the scouting reports, and the slow erosion of their fighting force. Boranius just shrugged.

‘Let them all go. I care not,’ he said, his voice muffled by the mask.

This morning Morcha had found Boranius stripped to the waist and practising with his swords. He had stood and watched. The man was extraordinarily lithe, his movements lightning fast. At the rear of the hall sat the Nadir woman. On the floor before her was the Drenai child, Elanin.

She was crouched down, hugging her knees and swaying slightly, her head cocked to one side, her blue eyes staring sightlessly into the distance.

Morcha and the rest of the men had been told the child was being held for ransom. Morcha was beginning to doubt it. No message had been sent to Earl Orastes at Dros Purdol. It was mystifying.

Boranius saw Morcha and paused, sheathing the Swords of Blood and Fire. They were handsome blades, the ivory hilts superbly crafted.

‘Well?’ asked Boranius, draping a towel over his sweat-drenched shoulders. ‘Are our guests close?’

Morcha strode forward, then began to refer to the sheaf of notes he carried. ‘It is most odd, lord. The enemy has been sighted in several places, some of them thirty miles apart. Our best Nadir scout sent word he saw Druss in the mountains, at the camp of Khalid Khan. I sent out twenty men to set up an ambush.’ Morcha shuffled through the notes. ‘Now I have had word he and the others have been sighted far to the west. I have sent two more riders to scout the high pass, and have another ten bowmen positioned at the only entrance to the lowlands. An hour ago a rider came in saying he had seen them going in to the Temple of Ustarte.’

‘They will come, regardless of your efforts, Morcha. I know this in my soul.’

‘With respect, lord, there are only four routes to the Citadel. All of them are now watched. We will have word when they approach.’

‘They will come,’ repeated Boranius. ‘I shall kill Skilgannon. It is my destiny.’

‘Are your wounds still troubling you?’

‘The surgeon has done well. My face is numb to pain. See that his body is removed from my quarters. I don’t want it starting to stink.’

‘You killed him? Why?’

‘Why not? I had no further need of him.’ Boranius strode to a window and gazed down at the land below. ‘At dusk bring twenty of our best swordsmen into the Citadel. The rest can man the walls. Their screams will alert us when the enemy attack. Go now. I need to practise.’

Morcha bowed and left him. In his own office on the ground floor he sat by a window and went through the reports. There was increased movement into the market towns, but this was to be expected at this time of year. Many of the poorer hill people travelled down seeking work. No armed men had been reported travelling the roads. There were no reports from the east. This was hardly surprising, since it was the one direction that the enemy could not have taken. Having been with Khalid Khan it would have been impossible for them to cross the high peaks. They would first have to travel past the Citadel. Even so, Morcha made a mental note to send a rider to find out why the daily report had not been made. Maybe the eastern scouts have also deserted, he thought. He swore softly, and returned to studying the reports.

A wagon had been seen on the road above the town. It was driven by a large old woman. Five children had been riding alongside. Their mounts were described as shaggy hill ponies. The wagon had contained a large bundle of furs. Morcha flicked through the reports. They should have been reported twice, once on the High Road, and once when they approached the town below the Citadel. Yet the only other wagon noted was driven by a crippled old man, travelling with four women and a simpleton. This wagon had three wolfhounds in the back.

Noting the names on both reports Morcha strode from the office and walked back to the buildings being used as a barracks. He found the first of the men eating a meal in the tavern, and asked him if he recalled the wagon with the furs.

‘Yes, sir. Strange bunch. They had no weapons. Just the furs.’

‘What do you mean by strange?’

‘Hard to say. Just odd, really. The sun was very bright. Hurt the eyes.

Then this family rode through. No problem at all. Called for them to stop, and they did. Didn’t say anything. We checked the wagon, saw they weren’t armed, and let them through.’

‘So what was strange?’

‘I feel foolish saying it, sir. One of the children said something as they went by. And just for a moment everything blurred. I think it was just the sunlight being so bright. I thought I saw two eyes staring at me from the furs. I ran up to the wagon, but there weren’t any eyes. See what I mean?

Just odd. Strange moment.’

‘But you saw no other wagons?’

‘Just that one, sir, during my watch. It came in around noon yesterday.’

The second of the men named on the report sheets rode in an hour before dusk. Morcha had left word for him to report to his office. He stepped into the room and saluted. Morcha questioned him about his report.

‘Nothing special, sir. Crippled old man and four women. Oh yes, and a simpleton. Thought he was a woman at first, and when he spoke it was quite a shock. Don’t know how I could have missed the beard.’

‘What did he say that made you realize he was a simpleton?’

The soldier shrugged. ‘Just his manner of speaking, sir. You know how they sound. Don’t recall what he said.’

‘And there were dogs in the back of the wagon?’

‘Yes, sir. Thought they were furs at first. I poked at them and then one of the dogs snarled at me. I jumped like a startled rabbit.’

‘You walked up to the wagon and did not recognize three dogs?’

‘Yes. Odd, isn’t it? The sun was very bright about then. Could hardly see.’

‘And this was when?’

‘A little after noon yesterday.’

Morcha shuffled through the reports, coming at last to the note concerning Skilgannon and the others reaching the temple. The Nadir scout said he had seen a large arena beast, a Joining. It was crouched down alongside the old axeman.

‘Are you finished with me, sir? I could do with a meal.’

‘Did you see all three dogs in the wagon?’

‘Of course.’

‘Think for a moment. You heard a snarl and jumped back. What happened then?’

‘I saw the first dog snarling. The others were behind it.’

‘You saw all their heads?’

‘Yes.’ The man hesitated. ‘Well… no. But there must have been at least three.’

‘Forget the meal,’ said Morcha, rising. ‘Saddle a fast horse, and take a spare. Find Naklian. He is with twenty men, guarding the nomad road.

Tell him to bring his men back here as soon as possible. What you saw was not three dogs. Nor was it a bale of fur, as the other report stated. It was a Joining. It is travelling with Druss and Skilgannon. The enemy is here.’

‘With respect, you are wrong, sir. There were no fighting men. Just the old cripple.’

‘They came from the temple. There was a spell put upon you. That is why the sun seemed so bright. Trust me. The enemy is close.’

The soldier looked bemused. He was one of the newer recruits, from the Naashanite community in Mellicane. ‘Am I wrong, sir?’ he asked. ‘There are only a handful of men coming after us, aren’t there?’

‘Yes. Though two of them are more deadly than I could make you understand.’

‘I appreciate that, sir. I have listened to the men talking about Skilgannon and Druss. But even so, they can’t attack the Citadel, can they?

If they are hunting Lord Ironmask, they’ll have to wait until he leaves the fortress. They’ll be looking for an ambush, surely?’

‘I cannot anticipate what they’ll do,’ admitted Morcha. ‘I fought against Skilgannon for years. What I learned was that he always found a way to attack. In every battle we were always, somehow, reacting to him. You understand? Action and reaction. Action is what usually wins battles and wars. Reaction is almost always defensive. You think six men cannot attack a fortress? I agree with you. But what I think does not matter. The question is this: does Skilgannon think he can attack the Citadel.’

‘It would be madness. They couldn’t survive.’

‘Perhaps survival is not uppermost in their minds. There is no more time to debate, soldier. Find Naklian, and get him and his men back here as soon as possible.’

Survival was uppermost in the mind of Diagoras, as he waited for the sun to drop behind the mountains. The Drenai officer was standing in a grove of trees no more than a quarter of a mile from the Citadel. From here the fortress looked impressive. True, the walls around it were crumbling and in disrepair, but the tall, round Citadel itself, with its murder holes, through which archers could shoot barbed shafts down at attackers, and its ramparts, from which defenders could hurl down rocks and hot oil, seemed particularly daunting.

Diagoras had listened as Skilgannon outlined his plan. It was a good plan — if you were talking of it theoretically. It was a dreadful plan if you actually had to carry it out. There was no way they could accomplish what was required and escape unscathed. Diagoras gazed at the others. Jared and Nian were sitting apart from the rest. Nian’s head was causing him pain, and Jared had given him some powder, and was sitting alongside his brother, his arm round his shoulder. Garianne was lying down, apparently asleep, and Druss and Skilgannon were talking in low voices. Diagoras stared at the huge, grey beast crouched down at Druss’s side. He kept trying to tell himself that this was Orastes, but it was almost impossible to hold on to this thought. Fat Orastes was a jolly and timid fellow, the butt of many jokes when they had soldiered together. He never seemed to take offence. This massive beast, with its slavering jaws and its coldly glittering, golden eyes, made Diagoras’s blood run cold. It amazed him that Druss could be so calm around it. Diagoras believed that at any moment it might rend and rip at them.

Returning his gaze to the Citadel he shuddered. I might be looking at my tomb, he thought. A rider emerged through the gateway. Diagoras ducked further back into the trees. The horseman galloped past the stand of trees, heading back towards Khalid Khan’s mountains.

One less, thought Diagoras, trying to force himself to be cheerful. You survived Skein, he reminded himself. Surely this can’t be any worse. No, of course it can’t. All you have to do is walk into an enemy fortress, and defend the Citadel entrance against around seventy swordsmen. Diagoras glanced across at the brothers. Nian had said he would sooner die than live as a simpleton. Now Jared was aiming to grant him that wish. They weren’t here to rescue Elanin. They were here to die together.

Dusk was less than an hour away.

Diagoras strolled over to where Skilgannon and Druss were talking.

Carefully he skirted the beast. ‘Would it not be better to wait until full nightfall?’ he asked Skilgannon. ‘At least some of them will be sleeping then.’

‘Dusk will be better,’ said Druss.

‘Why?’

‘Less traditional,’ said the axeman.

‘What does that mean?’

Skilgannon stepped in. ‘Night attacks are standard. They know we are coming. Because we are so few they will expect either that we stay close to the Citadel and ambush them, or that we attack at night and seek to surprise them. Therefore night is when they will be ready for us.’

‘I don’t wish to sound critical at this late juncture,’ said Diagoras, ‘but how many of us do you expect to survive this plan?’

‘I would be amazed if any of us did,’ said Skilgannon.

‘That’s what I thought.’

‘I intend to survive,’ said Druss. ‘That little girl needs to be taken home.

I think it a good plan.’

‘If we are still discussing its merits tomorrow I will agree with you,’ said Diagoras.

‘Cheer up, laddie. Nobody lives for ever.’

‘Oh, I expect you will, Druss, old horse. It’s the mortals around you who always seem to kiss the granite.’

‘Once Boranius is dead his men will be less likely to want to go on fighting,’ said Druss. ‘Simple fact of life among mercenaries. No-one to pay them, then they don’t fight. We just need to get to him fast. Anyhow, there won’t be seventy men inside. They’ve got men in the hills scouting for us. I’d say there were around forty inside. Maybe less.’

‘I am hugely comforted,’ muttered Diagoras sarcastically.

Druss grinned at him. ‘You can always wait here, laddie.’

‘Don’t tempt me!’ He glanced at the setting sun. Just under an hour to wait. Diagoras guessed the time would race by.