White Wolf

by David Gemmell

  By the fourth day the land began to rise as they neared the foothills of a western range of peaks. These were the iron-rich Blood Mountains. The landscape was rugged and beautiful, with shimmering, ever-changing colors. The morning sunlight glistened upon the red mountains, causing them to glow like old gold. Toward noon dark shadows appeared on the slopes, jagged and sharp. By dusk, with the sun setting behind them, the mountains lost their richness, becoming gray and forbidding.

  As they camped that night Druss rose from the campfire and walked back to the wagon, stretching himself out on the ground and falling asleep. Diagoras sat with Skilgannon and the others. “There is a tribal chieftain who controls the passes here,” he said. “His name is Khalid. Apparently he is part Nadir, and has around fifty fighting men. My understanding is that the charge he levies is a small one. However, that was when the king and his soldiers were an ever-present threat to his authority. It is impossible to say how he will react now.”

  “How soon before we reach the pass?” asked Skilgannon.

  “By noon tomorrow, I would think,” Diagoras told him.

  “I will ride ahead and negotiate with him,” said Skilgannon.

  “Be careful,” Diagoras warned him, “the people here are very poor, but very proud.”

  “Good advice,” said Skilgannon. “I thank you. What else is known of Khalid?”

  Diagoras looked back to his notes. “Very little. He is around sixty years of age, and has no sons still living. He has outlived them all. He pays no taxes. Apparently, some twenty years ago, he and his men joined with the king’s forces and defeated an invading force from Sherak in the north. For that he was awarded these lands, free of tribute. It was no more than a gesture, since these mountains would provide little in the way of tax revenue.”

  “What is the toll?”

  “Two copper coins a head, and one copper for all pack animals or horses.”

  They talked on for a while. The twins said little, and Garianne nothing at all.

  Diagoras rose from the campfire and strolled to the top of a hill where he sat, staring out over the mountains. Rabalyn joined him there. “Would you like to fence for a while?” the lad asked.

  “No, it is too dark. There would be a risk of accidental injury. Tomorrow morning, before we set off, we’ll practice a little.”

  “What was it like at the Battle of Skeln?”

  “Brutal, Rabalyn. I do not wish to speak of it. Many of my friends died there.”

  “Were you honored when you got home?”

  “Yes, we were honored. We were the heroes of the hour. It is a phrase that has real meaning, Rabalyn. For a few days we were the toast of the capital. Then life returned to normal and people found other things to amuse them. Those soldiers who survived Skeln, but were crippled, were promised twenty gold Raq each, and a handsome pension for life. They never received the gold. Now they struggle to survive on six copper coins a month. Some are even beggars now. Druss helped many of them. He turned over lands he owns to house some of them, and the profits from his farms go to feed veterans.”

  “Is he rich then? He doesn’t look rich.”

  Diagoras laughed. “His wife Rowena was a shrewd woman. When Druss returned from his wars he was usually laden with gifts from grateful princes. She used the gold he won to acquire property and to invest in merchant enterprises. If he chose, our friend Druss could build a palace and live in luxury.”

  “Why doesn’t he?”

  “I can’t answer that, lad. Save to say that he has no use for wealth. He is lonely, though. That I can see.”

  “I like him,” said Rabalyn. “He gave me his code. I shall live by it. I gave my promise.”

  “I know that code. It is a good one. It is dangerous, though, Rabalyn. A man like Druss can live by it, because he’s like a tempest, raw, fierce, and unstoppable. We mortals, though, may need to be more circumspect. Holding too firmly to Druss’s code would kill us.”

  Khalid Khan sat in the shade of an overhanging rock and watched the rider upon the road below. The sun was high and hot, the sky cloudless and blue. Yet it was not a good day. This morning Khalid had watched two eagles nesting on the high peaks. It was a long time since eagles had been seen in the Blood Mountains. Normally this would have been a good omen. Not today. Today he knew they were just birds, and they meant nothing.

  Khalid was worried.

  There had been few merchants on the roads since the start of the stupid war, and Khalid’s people had been forced to tighten their belts against hunger. This was not good, and left them morose and complaining. As the leader Khalid would survive only as long as they believed in his power to bring them coin. Last week the young warrior, Vishinas, had led a raid on a northern village, capturing five scrawny cattle and a few sheep. It was pitiful. But Khalid’s people, hungry and discontented, had hailed it as a victory, and Vishinas was now more popular among the young warriors. Khalid sighed and scratched his thin, black beard. Of late the old wound in his right shoulder had been plaguing him. If Vishinas was to challenge his authority there was no way he could defeat him, sword to sword. Happily Vishinas did not know of the weakness. Khalid’s reputation had been built on his prowess with the blade, and the youngster remained wary of him. Not for much longer, thought Khalid, bitterly.

  This threat alone, though worrying, would have caused him no sleepless nights. But there was something in the air that did not taste right. Khalid’s mother had been gifted with the Sight. She was a fine seer. Khalid had not fully inherited that gift, but his instincts were sharper than those of most men. For the last two nights he had woken, sweat drenched and frightened. Not given to dreaming, he had experienced nightmares, which left him trembling. He had seen beasts that walked like men, huge and powerful, creeping through the darkness of the mountainside. Disoriented he had rolled from his blankets, grabbed his sword, and run from his tent, standing in the moonlight, his breathing harsh and ragged. Outside everything was silent. There was no threat. No demons.

  Just a dream then? Khalid doubted it. Something was coming. Something dreadful.

  Pushing aside such dark thoughts, he glanced across to where Vishinas was squatting on a rock. The warrior was also gazing keenly at the oncoming rider.

  The man rode well, studying the trail and the rock faces on either side. Vishinas signaled to Khalid, then slipped his bow from his shoulder. Pulling an arrow from his quiver, he cast a questioning look at Khalid. The chieftain shook his head. Vishinas looked disappointed as he returned the arrow to the quiver. Rising from his hiding place, Khalid moved out into the open and walked down the slope to meet the advancing rider. Vishinas ran out alongside him, and seven other tribesmen emerged from their hiding places.

  The rider approached them, and dismounted. Leaving the reins trailing, he walked forward and offered a bow to Khalid.

  “I am Skilgannon. My friends and I seek to pass through the territory of the renowned Khalid Khan. Will you take me to him?”

  “You are not Tantrian,” said Khalid. “Nor, I think, from Datia. Your accent is from the south.”

  “I am Naashanite.”

  “How is it then that you have heard of the renowned Khalid Khan?”

  “I travel with a Drenai officer who spoke of him with high praise. He said it was fitting to offer tribute to the Khan when crossing his lands.”

  “A wise man, your friend. I am Khalid Khan.”

  Skilgannon bowed again. As he did so, Khalid saw the ivory hilts of his swords. “Two blades in a single scabbard,” said Khalid. “Most unusual. How many men are in your party?”

  “Five men and a woman.”

  “These are hard times, Skilgannon. War and death are everywhere. Are you prepared for war and death?”

  The warrior smiled, and his cold blue eyes glittered in the sunlight. “As prepared as any man can be, Khalid Khan. What tribute do you deem fair for crossing your land?”

  “Everything you have,” said Vishinas, stepping forward. Several young men moved
alongside him. Khalid fought to remain calm. He had not expected a challenge to his authority so soon.

  Skilgannon turned to Vishinas. “I was speaking to the wolf, boy. When I want to hear the yapping of a puppy I will signal you forward.” The words were softly spoken. Vishinas reddened, then reached for his sword. “If that blade clears the scabbard,” continued Skilgannon, “you will die here.” He stepped in close to Vishinas. “Look into my eyes and tell me if you think this is not true.” Vishinas backed away a step, but Skilgannon followed him. Trying to create enough distance to draw his sword, Vishinas stumbled against a jutting rock and fell. With a cry of rage and humiliation he surged to his feet and lunged. Curiously the lunge missed and he sprawled to the stones once more, his head thumping against a rock as he fell. Half-dazed, he struggled to rise, then slumped back. Skilgannon strolled back to Khalid. “My apologies, lord,” he said. “We were speaking of the tribute.”

  “Indeed so,” said Khalid Khan. “You must forgive the boy. He is callow and inexperienced. It seems to me that I have heard the name Skilgannon before.”

  “That is possible, lord.”

  “I seem to recall a warlord by that name. The Destroyer of Armies. The victor of five great battles. There are many stories of the warrior, Skilgannon. Not all of them good.”

  “The good ones are exaggerated,” said Skilgannon, softly.

  “And the bad also?”

  “Sadly, no.”

  Khalid looked at the young man for a moment. “Guilt is a burden like no other. It drags upon the soul. I know this. You may pass through my lands, Skilgannon. The tribute is whatever you choose.”

  Skilgannon opened the pouch at his side and drew out three gold coins, which he dropped into Khalid Khan’s outstretched hand.

  Khalid showed no emotion at receiving such a prodigious sum, but he left his hand open so that the men around him could see the bright glint of the yellow metal.

  Just then the rest of the party came into sight. One of the tribesmen yelled, then the others surged forward past the dazed figure of Vishinas. Khalid narrowed his eyes against the sunlight, then turned to Skilgannon. “Why did you not say you traveled with the Silver Slayer?” he asked. He swallowed hard, and offered the gold coins back to Skilgannon. “There can be no toll for Druss the Legend.”

  “It would honor me for you to accept the tribute,” said Skilgannon.

  Khalid’s spirit soared. He had dreaded the man accepting his refusal. “Ah well,” he said, “if it is a matter of politeness then I accept. But you must come to my village. We will have a feast.”

  The chieftain moved away from Skilgannon and walked toward 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 to 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. 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 around 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 short sword 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 each other. 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 around 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, troos, 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, exposing 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 alongside Rabalyn and began to strip off his clothing. “Can you not swim?” asked the Drenai officer.

  “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 c
old,” he said. “Trust me. It will cool your ardor.” 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, safe for a puckered section on his right thigh. The skin would often split, weeping pus and blood. The cold water felt good upon it. Rabalyn swam to the center 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 traveling with Ironmask. The child is Elanin, the daughter of Earl Orastes.”

  “Druss’s friend.”