After a while they came to an area of older buildings and narrow streets. The people here wore shabby clothes. Children with filthy faces were playing outside derelict houses, and scrawny dogs delved among piles of discarded garbage, seeking scraps of food.
Garianne led the way, moving across an old market square and down a set of cracked and broken steps, coming at last to an abandoned tavern.
The windows were boarded, but the main door had been hastily repaired and rehung with leather hinges. Garianne opened it and stepped inside.
Part of the roof had given way, and sunlight filled the interior. Several rats scurried across the rubble inside. One ran over Rabalyn’s foot. He kicked at it and missed. Garianne climbed over the fallen roof and made her way to the rear of the building, where she tapped her knuckles on the door that once led to the tavern kitchens.
‘Come in, child,’ came a familiar voice. Skilgannon felt his stomach tighten, and his flesh crawl.
‘Is she really a sorceress?’ whispered Rabalyn.
Skilgannon ignored him, and followed Druss across the rubble.
The old kitchen area was gloomy, the windows boarded. The only light came from two lanterns, one set on the warped worktop, the other hanging from a hook on the far wall. The Old Woman was sitting in a wide chair by the rusting ovens, a filthy blanket covering her knees. Her face was partly hidden by a veil of black gauze. Her head came up as the men entered. ‘Welcome, Druss the Legend,’ she said, with a dry laugh. ‘I see the years are beginning to tell on you.’
‘They tell on everyone,’ he answered. Garianne moved alongside the Old Woman, and crouched down at her feet.
‘Indeed they do.’ She shook her head and the gauze veil trembled. Then she transferred her gaze to Rabalyn. ‘You remember when you were that young, axeman? The world was enormous and filled with mystery. Life was enchanting, and immortality beckoned. The passing of the years meant nothing. We stared at the old with undisguised contempt. How could they have allowed themselves to become so decrepit? How could they choose to be so repulsive? Time is the great evil, the slavemaster who strips us of our youth, then discards us.’
‘I can live with it,’ said the axeman.
‘Of course you can. You are a man. It is different for a woman, Druss.
The first grey hair is like a betrayal. You can read that betrayal in the eyes of your lover. Tell me, are you a different man now that you have grey hairs?’
‘I am the same. Hopefully a little wiser.’
‘I too am the same,’ she told him. ‘I no longer look in mirrors, but I cannot avoid seeing the dried, wrinkled skin on my hands and arms. I cannot ignore the pains in my swollen joints. Yet in my heart I am still the young Hewla, who dazzled the men of her village, and the noblemen who came riding through.’
‘Why did you summon us here?’ put in Skilgannon. ‘I have no time for such maudlin conversations.’
‘No time? You are young yet, Olek. You have all the time in the world. I am the one who is dying.’
‘Then die,’ he said. ‘As it is you have lived too long.’
‘I always liked a man who would speak his mind. Lived too long? Aye, I have. Twenty times your lifetime, child. And I have paid for my longevity with blood and pain.’
‘Most of that was not yours, I’ll warrant,’ said Skilgannon, his voice angry.
‘I paid my share, Olek. But, yes, I have killed. I have taken innocent life.
I have poisoned, I have stabbed, I have throttled. I have summoned demons to rip the hearts from men. I did this for wealth, or for vengeance.
I have not, however, taken an army into a city and slaughtered all the inhabitants. I have not killed children. I have not cut the hands and eyes from a helpless man. So save your indignation. I am Hewla, the Old Woman. You are the Damned. You have no right to judge me.’
‘And yet I do,’ said Skilgannon softly. ‘So speak your piece, and let me be free of your foul company.’
She sat silently for a moment, then returned her attention to Druss.
‘The man you seek is no longer in the city, axeman. He left some days ago.’
‘Why would he do such a thing?’ asked Druss.
‘To feed, Druss. Simply that.’
‘This makes no sense.’
‘It will. He came to Mellicane in search of his former wife. She had earlier travelled to Dros Purdol, ostensibly to see her daughter, Elanin.
You remember Elanin, Druss. Orastes brought her to see you at your farm.
You carried her on your shoulders, and sat beside a stream. She made a crown of daisies, and placed them on your head.’
‘I remember,’ said Druss. ‘A sweet child. And a gentle father. So where is Orastes?’
‘Be patient,’ she said. ‘While Orastes was away from the city his former wife snatched the child and fled from Dros Purdol. She came to Mellicane where she joined her lover. Orastes followed them as soon as he could.
Once in the city he sought news of her. He did not know the identity of her lover, and the search proved fruitless. News of the search, however, reached the wife. One afternoon, Orastes and his servant were arrested as they sought information. They were taken to the Rikar cells below the arena. The Rikar cells held prisoners who would be melded into Joinings.
That was the fate of Orastes. He was merged with a timber wolf, and the beast that he became fled with the others when the city fell.’
‘No!’ roared Druss. Skilgannon saw the axeman’s face twist into a mask of pain and grief. ‘This cannot be!’
‘It can and it is,’ said the Old Woman. Skilgannon detected something in her voice, a note of malicious glee. In his grief this was lost on the axeman. Skilgannon’s anger swelled, but he stood quietly, watching the scene. The huge Drenai warrior turned away, and stood, head bowed, his fists clenching and unclenching.
‘How could his wife wield such power in Mellicane?’ asked Skilgannon.
‘Through her lover,’ answered the Old Woman, still facing Druss. ‘You met him, axeman, after you arrived in Mellicane. At the banquet held in your honour. Shakusan Ironmask, the Lord of the Arbiters, the Captain of the King’s Warhounds. While you drank with him your friend was in chains in the dungeons below.’
For a few moments there was silence. Then Druss took a deep breath. ‘If we could find Orastes could he become human again?’
‘No, axeman. When the Nadir cast the melding spell they first cut the throats of the human victims, then lay them alongside dogs or captured wolves. Even if the meld could be reversed — which the Nadir say is impossible — I would imagine that only the wolf or dog would survive. The man was, after all, already dead when the meld took place.’
‘Then Orastes is lost.’
‘He may already be dead. Did you not slay several of the beasts yourself?
Perhaps you have already killed your friend.’
‘Oh, how you are enjoying this, you hag!’ said Skilgannon. ‘Does your malice have no ending?’ The atmosphere in the room chilled. Garianne looked shocked, and even Druss seemed uneasy. For a moment no-one moved, then the Old Woman spoke.
‘The facts are what they are,’ she said softly. ‘My enjoyment of them changes nothing. I never liked fat Orastes. So stiff and pompous. One of the heroes of Skein! Pah! The man almost wet himself with fear throughout the battle. You know this, Druss.’
‘Aye, I know it. He stood though. He did not run. Yes, he was pompous.
We all have our faults. But he never harmed anyone. Why would you hate him?’
There are very few men I do not hate in this world of violence and pain.
So, yes, I laughed when Orastes was melded. As I will laugh when you meet your doom, Druss. At this moment, however, it is not your death I seek.
We now share a common enemy. Shakusan Ironmask destroyed your friend. He also caused the death of someone close to me.’
Druss’s face was set, and his eyes blazed with cold fire. ‘Where do I find this Ironmask now?’ he asked.
‘Ah, this is better,’ said the Old Woman. ‘Rage and revenge are such sweet siblings. It does my heart good to feel such purity of emotion.
Ironmask is heading into the Pelucid mountains. There is a stronghold there. Be warned, though, axeman. Ironmask has seventy riders with him, hard men and ruthless. At the stronghold there will be a hundred more Nadir warriors.’
‘The numbers do not interest me. How far is this place?’
‘Two hundred miles northwest. I shall furnish you with maps. Pelucid is an ancient realm, containing many mysteries, and many perils. There are places where all the natural laws are bent and twisted. Your journey will not be without incident.’
‘Just give me the maps. I will find Ironmask.’
The Old Woman rose from her chair, and slowly straightened. Taking a long staff she leaned upon it. Her breathing was harsh, and caused the black veil to billow gently. ‘You also need to travel northwest, Olek Skilgannon. 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. By its light you will find what you seek.’
‘Can they accomplish what I desire?’ asked Skilgannon.
‘I have been there only once. I do not know all they are capable of. The priestess you will need to convince is called Ustarte. If she cannot help you, then there is no-one I know of who can.’
‘Why are you doing this for me?’ he asked. ‘What trick is there? What evil lurks behind this apparent goodwill?’
‘My reasons are my own,’ said the Old Woman. ‘You will travel with Garianne and the twins.’
‘And why would I do that?’
‘Because it would be kind of you,’ she snapped. ‘Jared also needs to find the temple. His brother has a cancer inside his head. I have held it at bay with herbs and potions, and even a spell or two. It is now beyond my skills.’
‘And why Garianne?’ asked Skilgannon.
‘Because I ask it. You have reason to both hate and fear me, Olek Skilgannon. But you also owe me the life of the woman you love. If you succeed in Pelucid you will also owe me the life of the woman who loved you.’
Skilgannon sighed. ‘There is truth in that. Although I doubt you wish me to succeed. Be that as it may, I shall take Garianne.’
‘I think she will surprise you,’ said the Old Woman. ‘And now let me fetch you the maps.’ Leaning heavily on her staff she made several steps towards an open door. Then her head turned and she stared at the silent Rabalyn. ‘What a handsome young man,’ she said. ‘Can you recite the code, Rabalyn?’
‘Yes, mistress,’ he answered. ‘I think so.’
‘Say it.’
Rabalyn glanced at Druss, then drew himself up. He licked his lips and took a deep breath. ‘Never violate a woman, nor harm a child. Do not lie, cheat or steal. These things are for lesser men. Protect the weak… I don’t remember the rest exactly, but it’s something like don’t allow money to make you evil?
The Old Woman nodded. Protect the weak against the evil strong. And never allow thoughts of gain to lead you into the pursuit of evil. The iron code of Shadak. The simplistic philosophy of Druss the Legend. And now it is yours, Rabalyn. Do you intend to live by it?’
‘I do,’ said Rabalyn.
‘We will see.’ Then she moved away.
At first Rabalyn was pleased to be outside the ruined tavern, and back on open streets under a clear sky. The atmosphere inside had been sinister and more than a little frightening. When the ghastly face under the gauze veil had turned towards him Rabalyn had felt sick with dread.
Now, however, as the small group moved through the crowded streets, Rabalyn was less happy to be outside. He cast nervous glances at the hostile faces of the citizens as they passed. Skilgannon and Druss seemed unconcerned, and chatted quietly. The youth looked at Garianne. She was muttering to herself, and nodding and shaking her head.
They moved on, more slowly now through the mass of people, coming at last to a wider square. Here several men were standing on the back of a wagon and addressing the crowd. The words were angry, and, every so often, the crowd would cheer loudly. The speaker was railing against the iniquities suffered by the populace, and demonstrating how the rich were to blame for the shortage of food, and the anguish of the citizens.
No-one accosted the group, and they eased their way through, and out onto a wider avenue. Rabalyn moved alongside Skilgannon. ‘There is so much anger,’ said the youth.
‘Hunger and fear,’ said Skilgannon. ‘It is a potent mix.’
‘That man back there was saying the rights of the citizens had been taken away.’
‘I heard him. A few weeks ago that same man would have been blaming foreigners for their plight. In a few months’ time it might be people with green eyes, or red hats. It is all a nonsense. They suffer because they are sheep in a world ruled by wolves. That is the truth of it.’
Skilgannon sounded angry, and Rabalyn fell silent. They walked on, coming at last to the gates of the embassy quarter. Crowds had gathered here too, and they had to force their way through to the front. The gates were locked, and beyond them stood around forty soldiers, some in the red cloaks of the Drenai, others in the thigh-length chain mail and horned helms of Vagria. Beyond the soldiers were bowmen, arrows notched. The gates were tall, and tipped with iron points. On each side were high walls, but already some in the crowd had scaled them and were sitting on the top, shouting down at the soldiers.
Skilgannon tapped Druss on the shoulder. They won’t open the gates for us,’ he said. ‘If they did the crowd would storm them.’ Druss nodded agreement, and the small group eased their way back through the mob, moving off to the side to a jetty overlooking a canal. Stone steps led down to the water’s edge. Skilgannon led them down to the waterside. The angry shouting from above was more muted here, and Rabalyn sat down with his back to the stone wall, and stared out over the water. In the distance he could see more ships anchored in the harbour, awaiting their turn to be unloaded.
‘They are going to storm the gates,’ said Garianne.
‘I don’t believe they will during daylight,’ Skilgannon replied. ‘They may be angry, but no-one wants to die. They will shout and curse for a while.
That is all. Tonight may be different.’
Druss stood silently by. Skilgannon approached him. ‘You seem deep in thought, my friend.’
‘I do not like that woman.’
‘Who could? She is a malevolent crone.’
‘What did you make of what she said?’ The older man’s eyes locked to Skilgannon’s gaze.
‘Probably the same as you.’
‘Say it.’
Skilgannon shrugged. ‘She knew too much about what your friend was seeking. How? My guess would be that Orastes went to her, seeking her help, and that she then betrayed him to this Ironmask.’
‘Aye, that would be my reading also,’ said Druss. ‘Though I cannot work out why. If she hates Ironmask, why would she deliver a potential enemy to him?’
‘She is a subtle creature, Druss. She wants Ironmask dead. How better to do that than to make him an enemy of Druss the Legend?’
‘There could be truth in that. However, this is a woman who once sent a demon to kill a king. I fought that demon, and, by Missael, it almost had me. Why does she not simply send another after Ironmask? She has the power.’
‘The answer to that,’ replied Skilgannon, ‘probably lies in what she did not say. Tell me about this Ironmask. She said you met him.’
‘Yes, when I came here three months ago. As she said it was at a banquet. The King did not attend, and Ironmask greeted the guests. He is a big man, but he moves well. There is an arrogance in him — a physical arrogance. I’d say he was a fighting man and a good one.’
‘What was his role here?’
‘He led the King’s bodyguards, and also supervised the creation of the Joinin
gs. The plan was to use them in war, but they could not tame them sufficiently. Ironmask was also the lord of some group calling themselves Arbiters. Strange bunch. Every one of them I met looked at me as if I was a demon. They have a hatred of foreigners. Diagoras thinks it ironic -
since Ironmask is also a foreigner.’
‘Where is he from?’
‘No-one seems to know. Probably Pelucid.’
‘Why do they call him Ironmask?’ asked Skilgannon.
‘He wears a metal mask, which covers his face. Did I not mention that?’
‘No.’
‘It is a close-fitting and well-made piece, beautifully crafted.’
‘He is disfigured then?’
‘Not really. I saw him remove it at the feast. It was hot in the hall and he wiped his face with a cloth. He bore no scars. The skin on his nose and the right side of his face is discoloured, dark, almost purple. Like a large birthmark. The mask is just vanity.’
‘You say he supervised the creation of the Joinings. Is he a sorcerer himself?’ Skilgannon asked. Druss shrugged.
‘No-one knows. Diagoras thinks not. He says Ironmask brought a Nadir shaman to the city. From what the Old Woman said I would guess he is from this stronghold in Pelucid.’
Skilgannon turned away and gazed out over the harbour for a while.
Then he swung back. ‘I too know little of magic, Druss, but I would think it is this shaman who prevents the Old Woman sending demons after Ironmask. A summoned demon must be paid in death. If the attack is repulsed the demon will return to the sender and take their life. If this shaman is powerful — and judging by his creation of Joinings he is — then the Old Woman dare not attack Ironmask directly with sorcery. If the shaman repulsed her spell she would die. Therefore she needs a mortal weapon.’
From above them the shouting increased. Then someone screamed.
People began running down the steps to the waterside. Others fled along the quayside. Datian soldiers in full battle garb of breastplate and shining helm appeared, swords in their hands. As they marched down the steps the milling city dwellers below panicked and began to hurl themselves into the water. One man put his hands in the air. ‘I meant no harm,’ he shouted. A shortsword plunged into his belly. A second soldier slashed a blade through the man’s neck as he fell.
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