‘It would honour me if you accepted the tribute,’ said Skilgannon.
Khalid’s spirits soared. He had dreaded the man’s consenting to his refusal. ‘Ah, well,’ he said, ‘if it is a matter of politeness then I do accept.
But you must come to my village. We will have a feast.’
The chieftain moved away from Skilgannon and walked towards the wagon. Druss looked down at him and grinned. ‘Good to see you, Khalid.
How is it that a rascal like you is still alive?’
‘I am beloved by the gods, Druss. That is why they have blessed me with these verdant pastures and great wealth. Ah, it does my heart good to see you. Where is the Poet?’
‘He died.’
‘Ah, that is sad. There will be sorrow among the older women when they hear of it. Too many friends have taken the swan’s path these last few years. It almost makes me feel old.’ Khalid climbed onto the wagon.
‘Tonight we will feast, my friend. We will talk and drink. Then we will bore everyone with tales of our greatness.’
For Rabalyn the evening brought a curious mix of emotions. He had been spellbound by the red-gold mountains, and the blazing sunsets in this high country. Everything here was different from what he had experienced at home. The land was harsh, the heat unforgiving. And yet he felt his heart soar as he gazed over the magnificent landscape. The nomads who followed Khalid Khan were also interesting; whip lean and hard, their skin dark, their gaze intense. At any other time Rabalyn would have thought them frightening, but such was their joy at seeing Druss they appeared almost carefree.
The camp of Khalid Khan had been a disappointment to Rabalyn. He had assumed there would be tents of silk, like in the stories. In fact they were a mixture of old hides, linens, and coarse cloth, badly patched and threadbare. The entire settlement sprawled untidily across the mountainside in a shambolic manner. The place reeked of poverty. Naked children ran through the settlement, followed by scrawny dogs, yapping and barking. There was little vegetation to be seen, and no trees. Rabalyn saw a line of women moving down the mountainside, bearing water sacks.
He guessed there must be a hidden well close by.
The tent of Khalid Khan, though bigger than all the others, was just as ramshackle. Patches covered the outer skin, and Rabalyn saw a tear just below the first of the three tall poles that supported it.
He glanced around the camp. There were some thirty women and around twenty children in view. They gathered round the company as Khalid led them into the settlement. A few old men emerged from their tents and watched. Some called out to Druss, who waved back. Younger men appeared then, and these did not watch Druss. They were staring with undisguised lust at the golden-haired Garianne, who ignored them.
Rabalyn climbed down from the wagon. His shortsword clattered against the wood of the driving platform and he half stumbled. The twins, Jared and Nian, moved alongside him. Nian was smiling at the children close by.
One of them approached him cautiously. Nian dropped to one knee and offered his hand. The youngster scampered away. Diagoras dismounted.
Khalid Khan shouted an order and several women moved forward to take care of the mounts.
Skilgannon, Druss and Diagoras followed Khalid Khan into his tent.
Garianne wandered up the mountainside, followed by the twins. Rabalyn set off after them.
‘Where are we going?’ he asked Jared. It was Nian who answered.
‘We’re going to swim in the secret lake, aren’t we, Jared?’
Jared nodded. His brother reached out, taking hold of the blue sash hanging from Jared’s belt. Nian sighed. ‘We like to swim,’ he said happily.
Rabalyn had often noticed Nian clinging to the sash, but had not mentioned it for fear of being rude. It seemed odd that the brothers were never more than a few feet from one another. Once, when they were riding, Rabalyn had seen Nian steer his mount alongside Jared’s, then reach out and grab the sash. The movement had spooked Jared’s horse, causing it to rear and break into a run. Nian had screamed and kicked his horse into a gallop, desperate to catch Jared. Once Jared had control of his horse he halted him and leapt from the saddle. Nian almost fell from his mount and rushed over to his brother, throwing his arms round him and sobbing. It was a disconcerting sight. After that Jared had cut a length of rope so that when they rode he would hold one end and Nian the other.
The brothers scrambled up the rock face, following Garianne. They came to a wide ledge, and a high fissure in the red rock. Garianne entered it, cutting down a steep slope within. Light filtered down from high above them, and glittered on the surface of a deep cave pool. Nian shouted, his voice echoing inside the mountain. Ahead of them Garianne was stripping off her clothing and folding it neatly, laying her shirt, trews and boots on a ledge. Placing the crossbow and quiver atop the garments, she turned and dived into the gleaming water.
Nian and Jared also undressed, then, hand in hand, they jumped into the pool. Rabalyn sat on the rock watching the trio swim. He wanted to join them, but was not comfortable with the thought of swimming naked.
Watching Garianne disrobe had caused an embarrassing swelling in his loins, and he had no wish to display it. Instead he sat and surreptitiously watched the woman swim, yearning for the moment she would roll in the water and expose her breasts. Nian shouted for him to join them. ‘In a little while,’ he answered. He saw Garianne staring at him, and blushed furiously.
Then Diagoras arrived. He stood close to Rabalyn and began to strip off his clothing. ‘Can you not swim?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I can. I will in a moment.’
Diagoras dived cleanly into the water, came to the surface and smoothly swam to the far side of the pool. Ducking beneath the surface he spun, kicked out with his feet and returned to where Rabalyn sat. He grinned at the lad. The water is very cold,’ he said. ‘Trust me. It will cool your ardour.’
Rabalyn blushed again. Swiftly he clambered out of his clothes and jumped into the hidden lake. The burns he had suffered during the blaze at his aunt’s house had mostly healed, save for a puckered section on his right thigh. The skin there would often split, weeping pus and blood. The cold water felt good upon it. Rabalyn swam to the centre of the small lake, then looked up. Two hundred feet above him, through a sickle-shaped opening in the rock face, he could see open sky. It was the oddest sensation. Like a bright blue crescent moon shining above him.
To his left Garianne was climbing from the water. Rabalyn found himself gazing at the curve of her hips. Despite Diagoras’s assurances the cold water proved no match for his arousal. Swinging away he swam back to where his clothes lay. Diagoras was sitting on a ledge nearby. ‘Will Druss and Skilgannon be coming?’ asked Rabalyn, without leaving the water.
‘I expect so, once they have finished questioning Khalid Khan. It seems Ironmask passed through here some ten days ago. According to Khalid Khan there were around sixty men with him. And more at the fortress.’
Diagoras frowned, then reached across to his clothes, pulling a bone-handled razor from his belt pouch. Opening it, he began to scrape at the stubble around his trident beard.
‘What will Druss do?’ asked Rabalyn.
Diagoras dipped his razor into the water. ‘He’ll go to the fortress. There was a woman and a child travelling with Ironmask. The child is Elanin, the daughter of Earl Orastes.’
‘Druss’s friend.’
‘Yes. The matter is complicated. The woman with the child is Elanin’s mother. She is now Ironmask’s lover. Druss intends to kill Ironmask to avenge Orastes. He is concerned that the mother will not allow her daughter to be returned to Drenan.’
‘Can’t he take her anyway?’
Diagoras laughed. ‘We’re talking about Druss the Legend, lad. Snatch a child from its mother? Not in a hundred years. Anyway, there’s the question of a hundred and fifty warriors to consider before we reach that problem. Then there’s the Nadir shaman who travels with Ironmask. The man knows magic and may summon demons, f
or all I know. Then there’s Ironmask himself. He carries two swords, like Skilgannon, and is said to be a master. No, I shan’t concern myself for a little while over the child’s destiny.’
‘Will you go into the fortress with Druss?’
‘Aye, I will. The man is my friend.’
‘I will go too,’ said Rabalyn.
‘We’ll see, lad. I appreciate your courage, but your skills are lacking at present.’
Garianne, dressed now, her crossbow in her hand, walked past them without a word.
More comfortable, Rabalyn eased himself from the water and sat next to Diagoras. ‘She is very beautiful, isn’t she?’ he said.
‘She is that. And then some,’ agreed Diagoras. The twins had emerged on the far side of the lake and were talking quietly. Rabalyn gazed across at them. Nian rose and Rabalyn saw a long and jagged scar down his right side, the skin around it pinched and puckered. Jared stood. He too had the same awful scar, but on his left side.
Druss and Skilgannon arrived. The axeman sat with Diagoras and Rabalyn, while Skilgannon stripped and dived into the lake. Druss removed his boots and dangled his feet in the water. Rabalyn glanced back at the twins on the other ledge. Nian was asleep, Jared sitting up, lost in thought.
‘Have you seen their scars?’ Rabalyn asked Druss.
The axeman nodded. ‘Are you looking forward to the feast?’ he asked, ignoring the question.
‘I don’t think it will be much of a feast,’ said Rabalyn. ‘They don’t seem to have a lot.’
‘True. It’s been a bad few years for Khalid. I’ve given them some of our supplies. Whatever they prepare, be suitably grateful. But don’t eat much.
Whatever we leave will be shared around the camp later.’
Diagoras chuckled. ‘Are you suggesting the boy lie, Druss?’ he asked.
Druss scratched at his black and silver beard, then grinned.
‘You’re like a dog with an old bone,’ he said. ‘Do you never let up?’
‘No,’ replied Diagoras cheerfully. ‘Not ever. And I too have been wondering about the scars the brothers carry. They are almost identical.’
‘Then ask them,’ said Druss.
‘Is it some dark secret?’ pressed Diagoras.
Druss shook his head, then stripped off his jerkin, boots and leggings.
Without another word he leapt into the water, making a mighty splash.
Diagoras leaned towards Rabalyn. ‘Swim over and ask them?’ he said.
Rabalyn shook his head. ‘I think that would be rude.’
‘You’re right,’ said Diagoras. ‘Damn, but I shall lie awake tonight wondering about it.’
Dry now, Rabalyn dressed and climbed from the cave. The sun was setting, the temperature becoming more bearable. He wandered through the camp and sat in the shade of an overhanging rock, staring out over the red land. As darkness began to fall he rose to his feet. As he did so he saw something move across the crest of a distant hill. As he tried to focus it vanished behind a towering rock. Then another figure flitted across the hilltop. The movement was so fast Rabalyn had no chance to identify the creature. It could have been a running man, or even a deer. For a while he stood still, seeking out movement. Whatever it had been it was large.
Rabalyn wondered if bears travelled in these high, dry lands.
Then a horn sounded. Glancing down into the settlement he saw people gathering round the large patchwork tent of Khalid Khan.
Hungry now, Rabalyn pushed the thoughts of the figures on the hillside from his mind, and loped down towards the chieftain’s tent.
The feast was a poor affair. Two scrawny cattle roasted on a firepit, some salt bread, one keg of thin ale, and some flat baked sweet cake that, as Rabalyn discovered, seemed to have been flavoured with more rock dust than sugar. Khalid Khan was embarrassed, and apologized to Druss, who was sitting beside him on a rug at the rear of the tent.
Druss clamped his huge hand on the nomad’s shoulder. ‘Times are hard, my friend. But when a man gives me the best he has I feel honoured. No king could have offered me more than you have tonight.’
‘I have saved the best till last,’ said Khalid, clapping his hands. Two young women moved out through the throng of men seated close in the centre of the tent, and returned carrying a wooden cask. Placing it on a table they bowed respectfully to Khalid, then backed away. Khalid Khan took an empty goblet, and twisted the spigot of the cask. In the lantern light the spirit flowed like pale gold. Khalid handed the full goblet to Druss. The warrior sipped it, then drank deeply. ‘By Missael, this is Lentrian Fire… and very fine, my friend.’
‘Twenty-five years old,’ said Khalid happily. ‘I have saved it for a special feast.’
The young men of the clan gathered round and Khalid filled their cups, jugs and goblets. The mood within the tent lightened considerably, and two of the Khan’s warriors produced clumsily fashioned stringed instruments, and began to make music.
Within a short time there was a great deal of singing and clapping from the fifty men crowded into the tent of Khalid Khan. Rabalyn tried a sip of the drink, and understood instantly why it was called Lentrian Fire. He gagged and choked, and handed his goblet to a nearby clansman. ‘It’s like swallowing a cat with its claws out,’ he complained to Diagoras.
‘The Lentrians call it Immortal Water,’ said the Drenai. ‘To drink it is to know how the gods feel.’ He drained his own cup, then moved away, seeking another. Rabalyn saw Skilgannon ease his way through the revellers and walk out into the night. Tired of the noise, and the press of people within the tent, Rabalyn followed him.
‘I see you do not like the brew either,’ he said. Skilgannon shrugged.
‘I liked it in another life. What are your plans now, Rabalyn?’
‘I will go with Druss and Diagoras and rescue the princess.’
‘In Drenai culture the daughter of an earl is a lady.’ He smiled. ‘This is, however, no time to be pedantic. I think you should choose another path.’
‘I am not frightened. I mean to live by the code.’
‘There is nothing wrong with fear, Rabalyn. Yet it is not fear for yourself that should make you reconsider. Druss is a great warrior, and Diagoras a soldier who has fought in many battles. They are hard, resolute men. Their chances of success in this venture are slim. They will be even less if they have to worry about keeping alive a courageous youngster who does not yet have the skill to survive.’
‘You could help us. You are a great warrior too.’
‘The girl is no princess of mine, and I have no reason to make war on Ironmask. All I require is to find the temple.’
‘But Druss is your friend, isn’t he?’
‘I have no friends, Rabalyn. I have only a quest, that may yet prove impossible. Druss has made his choices. He seeks to avenge the death of a friend. He was not my friend. His quest, therefore, is not my concern.’
‘That isn’t true,’ objected Rabalyn. ‘Not according to the code. Protect the weak against the evil strong. The princess — lady, whatever you call her — is a child, and therefore weak. Ironmask is evil.’
‘I could argue with almost all of that,’ said Skilgannon. The child is with her mother, who is Ironmask’s lover. For all we know Ironmask loves the child as his own. Secondly, evil is often a matter of perspective. And, more important, even if both criteria you offer are true, the code is not mine. I am not a knight in some childish romance. I do not criss-cross the world seeking serpents to slay. I am merely a man seeking a miracle.’
The noise from the tent suddenly subsided, and, within moments, a voice of almost unbearable sweetness began to sing. Skilgannon shivered.
‘That’s Garianne,’ said Rabalyn. ‘Have you ever heard anything more beautiful?’
‘No,’ admitted Skilgannon. ‘I think I will go and swim in the moonlight.
Why don’t you go in and listen?’
‘I will,’ said Rabalyn. He watched the tall warrior stride away up the mountainside, then r
eturned to the open flap of the tent. Every man inside was sitting silently, entranced by the magic. Garianne was standing on a chair, her arms outstretched, her eyes closed. The song was about a hunter, who stumbled upon a golden goddess bathing in a stream. The goddess fell in love with the hunter, and they lay together under the stars.
But in the morning the hunter desired to go. Angry at being rejected the goddess turned him into a white stag, then took a bow to kill him. The hunter sprang away, leaping high over the treetops, and vanishing among the stars. The goddess gave chase. This was the beginning of day and night over the earth. The white stag became the moon, the goddess the sun. And ever and ever she hunted her lover, throughout time.
When the song finished the silence was total. Then thunderous applause broke out. Garianne stepped down from the chair, and cast her gaze around the tent. She took a few steps towards the entrance and half staggered. Rabalyn realized she was drunk, and stepped forward to assist her. She brushed his hand away.
‘Where is he?’ she asked, her voice slurring.
‘Who?’
The Damned?’
‘He went to the hidden lake to swim.’
‘I will find him,’ she said.
Rabalyn accompanied her outside and watched her climb the steep slope, then turned away. As he did so the brothers Jared and Nian emerged from the tent. Nian saw him and walked over. ‘And who is this?’
he asked his brother. ‘I feel I should know him.’
‘That is Rabalyn,’ said Jared.
‘Rabalyn,’ repeated Nian, nodding. Rabalyn was shocked. Gone was the slack-jawed simpleton with the innocent smile. This man was sharp of eye, and faintly daunting. He looked at Rabalyn. ‘You must forgive me, young man. I have not been well. My memory fades in and out. Was that Garianne I saw climbing the slope?’
‘Yes… sir,’ said Rabalyn. He glanced at Jared, who was standing close to his brother.
‘Gods, Jared!’ Nian snapped. ‘Give me room to breathe.’
‘I am sorry, brother. Perhaps you should rest for a while. Does your head hurt?’
‘No, it doesn’t damn well hurt.’ He sat down, then looked up at his brother and smiled apologetically. ‘I am sorry. It is frightening when you can’t remember anything. Am I going mad?’
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