White Wolf: A Novel of Druss the Legend dt-10

by David Gemmell

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Druss stood quietly, thinking. Then he nodded.

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

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

  ‘Oh, good plan,’ said Diagoras.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  THE MOON WAS HIGH AND BRIGHT AS THE TWO WARRIORS

  TRUDGED UP the hillside. Skilgannon glanced at the axeman. Druss looked tired and drawn, his eyes sunken. Skilgannon himself was weary, and he was half Druss’s age. They walked in silence for a while, coming at last to a rocky outcrop close to a high rock face, pitted with caves.

  ‘My guess is they are in there,’ said Druss.

  ‘You want to go in?’

  ‘Let’s see what transpires.’ Druss slumped down on a boulder, and rubbed his eyes. Skilgannon looked at him.

  This Orastes means a lot to you?’

  ‘No,’ said Druss. ‘He was just a fat boy I knew back at Skein. I liked him, though. He should never have been a soldier. I was amazed when he survived. War is a curious beast. Sometimes it will swallow the best and leave the worst alone. There were some great fighters at Skein. Cut down in their prime. I’ll give Orastes his due, though. He stood his ground.’

  ‘No more can be asked,’ said Skilgannon.

  ‘You’ll get no argument from me. I didn’t see him many times after that.

  His father died and he became Earl of Dros Purdol. Another role to which he was not suited. Poor Orastes. A failure in almost everything he ever did.’

  ‘Everyone is good at something,’ said Skilgannon.

  ‘Aye, that’s true. Orastes was a fine father. He adored Elanin. Just to see them together made the heart soar.’

  ‘And the wife?’

  ‘She left him. I’d like to say she was a bad woman, but my guess would be that Orastes was a poor husband. I suppose that she must have regretted leaving her child. Hence she stole her back while Orastes was away from Purdol. That would have torn him apart.’

  A slight breeze whispered across the rocks. Upon it Skilgannon could smell the rancid scent of fur. Druss was right. The beasts were close.

  Constantly alert, his eyes scanning the rocks, he sat beside the axeman.

  ‘So, Orastes came to Tantria and sought help from the Old Woman. And she betrayed him. Tell me, why did you not take vengeance on her?’

  ‘I don’t make war on women, laddie.’

  ‘And yet they have just as great a capacity for evil.’

  ‘True, but I’m too old to change now. Ironmask destroyed Orastes. It is Ironmask who will pay.’

  ‘So you think that Orastes is still following his daughter?’

  ‘Aye, I do. I don’t know how much of Orastes survives in the beast. He probably doesn’t even know why he is heading into Pelucid. But that’s why he’s here. The child meant everything to him.’

  The two men fell silent, each lost in his own thoughts. The sky was cloudless, the moon high and bright. Something moved upon the rocks.

  The Sword of Day slid into Skilgannon’s hand. He relaxed as he saw a small lizard scurry into the shadows.

  ‘Why are you here, laddie?’ asked Druss suddenly.

  ‘You know why. I am hoping to bring my wife back from the dead.’

  ‘I meant why are you here? With me now. In this place. I could be wrong about Orastes. There could be more of the creatures than we can handle. This is not your fight.’ Skilgannon was about to say something light when Druss spoke again. ‘And don’t be flippant, laddie. ‘Tis a serious question.’

  Skilgannon sighed. ‘You remind me of my father. I was too young to be alongside him when he needed me.’

  ‘Death always brings guilt,’ said Druss. He pushed himself to his feet. ‘I am a good judge of men, Skilgannon. You believe that?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Then believe me when I tell you that you are a better man than you know. You can’t put right the evil you have done. All you can do is ensure it never happens again.’

  ‘And how do I do that?’

  ‘You find a code, laddie.’ Druss hefted Snaga. ‘And now it’s time to enter those caves. I don’t think Orastes will be coming out to us.’

  Skilgannon stared at the nearest entrance. It seemed to him then that it resembled a gaping mouth. Fear touched him, but he drew his second sword and followed the axeman towards the cliff face.

  Beyond the cave mouth was a twisting tunnel. Moonlight did not pierce the gloom for more than a few yards. Druss took several steps towards the darkness. ‘There’ll be light further on,’ he said. ‘The whole of the cliff face is pockmarked with caves and openings.’

  ‘Let’s hope so,’ said Skilgannon, following him into the dark. Within a few paces they could see nothing, and Druss moved warily, feeling ahead with every footfall. The stench of animal fur was stronger now, and some way ahead they heard a low growl.

  Skilgannon sheathed one of his swords, and placed a hand on Druss’s shoulder. Ahead they saw a faint gleam of moonlight, shafting down at a forty-five-degree angle. Slowly they approached it. They rounded a slight bend. Several shafts of moonlight could now be seen, coming from fissures in the rock face.

  The tunnel opened out into a cavern. Stalactites hung from the domed roof. ‘You could try calling his name,’ offered Skilgannon. ‘Maybe some part of his mind still remembers it.’

  ‘Orastes!’ shouted Druss, his voice booming and echoing. ‘It is I, Druss.

  Come out, my friend. We mean you no harm.’

  A movement came from the right. Skilgannon turned towards it. A massive creature lunged from the shadows, jaws open. Skilgannon leapt aside, the golden Sword of Day slashing in a wide, glittering arc. The blade sliced into the creature’s shoulder, and down through the powerful collar bone, exiting at the chest. It did not halt its charge, and its powerful body cannoned into Skilg
annon, knocking him from his feet. Snaga swept up and down, cleaving through the Joining’s skull. It slumped to the cavern floor.

  Skilgannon rolled to his feet, drawing the Sword of Night as he did so.

  The dead beast was covered in thick, black fur. Skilgannon did not know whether to be relieved that it wasn’t Orastes, or disappointed. Had it been Orastes they could have left this grisly tomb.

  ‘Orastes!’ called out Druss. ‘Come forth. It is I, Druss.’

  Another shadow moved. Skilgannon readied himself for an attack.

  Moonlight fell on a great grey beast, with huge hunched shoulders. It was standing beside a stalactite, and staring at the two men, its golden eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

  ‘We have come to help you, Orastes,’ said Druss, laying down his axe and stepping forward. The creature gave out a low growl, and Skilgannon saw it tense for the charge.

  ‘Druss, be careful,’ he warned.

  ‘You are looking for Elanin,’ said Druss. At the sound of the girl’s name the beast seemed to shudder. Its massive head twisted, and it gave out an ear-splitting howl. ‘We know where she is,’ said Druss. ‘She has been taken to a citadel.’ Now the creature backed away a few paces. Its eyes narrowed. It was preparing to attack.

  ‘Say the girl’s name again, Druss,’ advised Skilgannon.

  ‘Elanin. Your daughter Elanin. Listen to me, Orastes. We need to rescue Elanin.’ The beast roared again, and Skilgannon almost believed he could hear anguish in the sound. Then it smashed its fist against a stalactite, shattering it to shards. The beast backed away into the shadows.

  Druss took another step away from his axe. ‘Trust me, Orastes. We know of a temple where they may be able to bring you back. Then you could come with us when we rescue Elanin.’

  The grey beast roared and charged. Its shoulder struck Druss, sending him hurtling to the ground. Then it bore down on Skilgannon, who hurled himself to his right, landing on his shoulder and rolling to his feet. The swords came up. Orastes or no he would kill it if it came for him. But it did not. The Joining ran off into the darkness. Druss made to follow, but Skilgannon stepped into his path.

  ‘No, Druss,’ he said. ‘Even a hero should know when he has lost.’

  Druss stood for a moment, then gave a deep sigh. ‘It was Orastes. I know that for sure now.’

  ‘You did all you could.’

  ‘It wasn’t enough.’ Druss walked to where Snaga lay and recovered it.

  ‘Let’s get back to where the air is clean,’ he said.

  For the next two days Druss continued to walk the mountains seeking Orastes. This time he went alone. The company remained in the settlement of Khalid Khan. Diagoras, who had some skill with wounds, helped with the injured. Seven men and three women had been killed by the beasts, and eight others carried injuries, five from bites and slashes, three from broken bones. The nomads made no attempt to skin the dead beasts. Instead they were dragged from the camp, covered in brushwood and set alight. On the morning of the third day Khalid Khan’s men began dismantling their tents.

  ‘We are moving further into the mountains,’ Khalid told Skilgannon.

  ‘This is now a place of ill omen.’

  Garianne came into the settlement, a bighorn sheep across her shoulders. She left it with several of the nomad women, then walked to a spot in the shade and sat down alongside Skilgannon.

  ‘We need to leave,’ she said. ‘The Old Woman spoke to us. She told us in a dream that enemies are coming.’

  Skilgannon glanced at the young woman. She was staring ahead, her face set. He had learned not to ask questions of her, so merely waited. ‘The Nadir shaman with Ironmask is now aware of Old Uncle. He has sent riders to waylay him. Many riders. They will be here by tomorrow morning. The Old Woman says to head northwest. To leave Old Uncle to his fate.’

  ‘She told Druss she wanted Ironmask dead,’ he said, choosing his words carefully. ‘That is… Old Uncle’s… quest. Yet now she is content to see him killed, so that we may survive. That seems strange to me.’

  ‘We do not know what she desires,’ said Garianne. ‘We only know what she told us.’

  ‘Perhaps it was just a dream, and the Old Woman did not appear to you.’

  ‘It was the Old Woman,’ said Garianne. ‘It is how she speaks with us when we are far away.’

  Skilgannon believed her, but the Old Woman’s advice made little sense.

  If she wanted Ironmask dead, as she had indicated, then why encourage the company to split up? Leaning back against the rock wall Skilgannon closed his eyes. The Old Woman was a dark mystery. She had come to the aid of Jianna, ensuring her escape from the capital. Yet never, to Skilgannon’s knowledge, had she come for the gold she had requested for the service. Perhaps Jianna had paid her secretly. In all the stories of the Old Woman that he knew there was one common factor. Betrayal. Yet Jianna had suffered no such fate. And why did the hag want Ironmask dead? What had he done to earn her hatred? There were no answers. He had insufficient information. Her request for the company to leave Druss to his fate meant that she desired them to survive. Why? Irritated now, he opened his eyes and stared out over the encampment. Most of the tents were down, and rolled. The few pack animals owned by the nomads were being loaded.

  ‘I will not leave Druss,’ he said.

  ‘We are glad,’ Garianne told him. ‘We love Old Uncle.’

  Still being careful with his words, he spoke again. ‘Yet had I gone away you would have come with me.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Not, I think, because you love me.’

  ‘No, we do not love you. We hate you.’ The words were said without passion or regret. They were merely spoken. It seemed to Skilgannon that she might as well have been talking about a change in the breeze.

  ‘You stay with me because the Old Woman requires you to.’

  ‘We do not wish to speak further,’ said Garianne, rising smoothly to her feet and walking away. He sat where he was. Her hatred was not a surprise. As the Damned he had seeded hatred across three nations. Every man or woman or child who had been killed by his troops would have had relatives or friends. Far easier for them to hate a single general than a vast, faceless army. He had heard it before. Once, on his travels, he had sat quietly in a tavern. Men were sitting close by discussing the war. ‘The Damned killed my son,’ he heard a man say. Skilgannon had listened carefully. As the conversation went on he learned that the boy had been killed in a skirmish some twenty miles from the battlefield where Skilgannon had fought. Wherever he went he heard people discussing the evils of the Damned. Some of the stories were hideously twisted, others merely ludicrous. The Damned had filed his teeth to sharp points and dined on human flesh. His eyes had become red as blood after he sold his soul to a demon. The stories grew and grew, becoming mythic. It was one of the reasons he could travel without being recognized. Who would suspect the handsome young man with the eyes of sapphire blue? He had learned that people needed evil to have an ugly face.

  Skilgannon sighed, his spirits low.

  A month ago he had been a novice priest in a quiet community, believing the days of war and death were behind him. He realized he had no longing any more for those peaceful days, and yet there was an edge of regret that they had passed. Idly he stroked the locket round his neck.

  Would anything change if he managed to restore Dayan to life? Would his guilts be lessened? Skilgannon didn’t know. ‘You deserve life, Dayan,’ he said aloud. As always thoughts of Dayan merged into memories of Jianna.

  He pushed himself to his feet. The Old Woman’s advice was good. He should leave Druss to his fate.

  Skilgannon strode up the mountainside and into the cavern of the hidden lake. Here it was cool and he swam for a while. Levering himself from the water he sat on a rock. After that one night of lovemaking with Jianna in the forest his life had changed. He had lived only for the day when he could restore her to her throne. Looking back he felt both foolish and naive. He had believed that
once she was safe, and the realm was hers, they would be together once more. Skilgannon did not care if she could not wed him. He had allowed himself to dream of being her consort, and her lover. And that’s what it was. A wishful dream.

  The truth was that — if she loved him at all — she loved power more.

  Jianna would never be content. If she became queen of all the world she would stare longingly at the stars and dream of conquering Heaven.

  The harsh reality had come home to him on the day they defeated Bokram. Skilgannon could still recall the fear he had experienced on the night before the final battle. Yet again it was the Old Woman who had given birth to it. She had walked into the battle camp, past the guards and the sentries, and entered the Queen’s tent. Skilgannon had been with Jianna, Askelus and Malanek, discussing the proposed course of the battle. Malanek had leapt to his feet, drawing a dagger. Jianna told him to sit down. Then she had stood and walked to the Old Woman, taking her hand and kissing it. The thought still made Skilgannon shudder. That those beautiful lips should have touched the skin of something so vile.

  ‘Welcome,’ said Jianna. ‘Come, join us.’

  ‘No need for that, my dear. I have no head for battle plans.’

  ‘Then why are you here?’ Skilgannon had asked, his voice harsher than he intended.

  ‘To wish you well, of course. I have read the runes. Tomorrow will be a bad day for Bokram. It may even be a bad day for you, Olek. Did you know that Boranius employed a seer? He cast the bones for him. According to his prediction Boranius will kill you tomorrow. Still, I expect you are willing to die for your Queen, Olek.’

  ‘Indeed I am.’

  ‘Boranius also has swords of power. Ancient blades given to him by Bokram. They are called the Swords of Blood and Fire. I would love to have acquired them. Much of the magic I used to create your own swords was based upon spells woven around blood and fire. The two of you will meet on the battlefield. That much I have seen.’