The Old Woman lifted the heart and showed it to Anindais. “Here it is,” she said, “the secret of life. Four chambers and a number of valves, arteries and veins. Just a pump. No emotions, no secret storehouse for the soul.” She seemed disappointed. Anindais said nothing. “Blood,” she went on, “is pumped into the lungs to pick up oxygen, then distributed through the atria and the ventricles. Just a pump. Now, where were we? Ah yes, the Kalith.”
She sniffed loudly and threw the heart back towards the table; it hit the cadaver, then fell to the dusty floor. Swiftly she rummaged through the books on a high shelf, pulling one clear and flicking through the yellowed pages. Then she sat at a second desk and laid the book on the table. The left-hand page bore a neat script, the letters tiny. Anindais could not read, but he could see the picture painted on the right-hand page. It showed a huge bear, with claws of steel, its eyes of fire, its fangs dripping venom.
“It is a creature of earth and fire,” said the Old Woman, “and it will take great energy to summon it. That is why I need your assistance.”
“I know no sorcery,” said Anindais.
“You need to know none,” she snapped. “I will say the words, you will repeat them. Follow me.”
She led him further back into the cave, to an altar stone surrounded by gold wire fastened to a series of stalagmites. The stone sat at the centre of a circle of gold, and she bade Anindais step over the wires and approach the altar, upon which was a silver bowl full of water.
“Look into the water,” she said, “and repeat the words I speak.”
“Why do you stay outside the wire?” he asked.
“There is a seat here and my old legs are tired,” she told him. “Now let us begin.”
Drenai 6 - The First Chronicles of Druss The Legend
Chapter Five
Oliquar was the first of the Immortals to see Druss striding down the hill. The soldier was sitting on an upturned barrel darning the heel of a sock when the axeman appeared. Laying the worn garment aside, Oliquar stood and called out Druss’s name. Several of the soldiers sitting nearby looked up as Oliquar ran to meet him, throwing his brawny arms around Druss’s neck.
Hundreds of other warriors gathered round, craning to see the Emperor’s champion, the famed axeman who fought like ten tigers. Druss grinned at his old comrade. “There are more grey hairs in that beard than I remember,” he said.
Oliquar laughed. “I earned every one. By the Holy Hands, it is good to see you, friend!”
“Life has been dull without me?”
“Not exactly,” answered Oliquar, gesturing towards the walls of Resha. “They fight well, these Naashanites. And they have a champion too: Michanek, a great warrior.”
The smile left Druss’s face. “We’ll see how great he is,” he promised.
Oliquar turned to Sieben and Eskodas. “We hear that you did not need to rescue our friend. It is said he slew the great killer Cajivak, and half the men of his fortress. Is it true?”
“Wait until you hear the song,” Sieben advised.
“Aye, there are dragons in it,” put in Eskodas.
Oliquar led the trio through the silent ranks of warriors to a tent set up near the river’s edge. Producing a jug of wine and several clay goblets, he sat down and looked at his friend. “You are a little thinner,” he said, “and your eyes are tired.”
“Pour me a drink and you’ll see them shine again. Why the black cloaks and helms?”
“We are the new Immortals, Druss.”
“You don’t look immortal, judging by that,” said Druss, pointing to the bloodstained bandage on Oliquar’s right bicep.
“It is a title - a great title. For two centuries the Immortals were the Emperor’s hand-picked honour guard. The finest soldiers, Druss: the elite. But twenty or so years ago the Immortal general, Vuspash, led a revolt, and the regiment was disbanded. Now the Emperor has re-formed them - us! It is a wondrous honour to be an Immortal.” He leaned forward and winked. “And the pay is better - double, in fact!”
Filling the goblets, he passed one to each of the newcomers. Druss drained his in a single swallow and Oliquar refilled it. “And how goes the siege?” asked the axeman.
Oliquar shrugged. “This Michanek holds them together. He is a lion, Druss, tireless and deadly. He fought Bodasen in single combat. We thought the war would be over. The Emperor offered two hundred wagons of food, for there is starvation in the city. The wager was that if Bodasen lost, the food would be delivered, but if he won then the city gates would be opened and the Naashanites allowed to march free.”
“He killed Bodasen?” put in Eskodas. “He was a great swordsman.”
“He didn’t kill him; he put him down with a chest wound, then stepped back. The first fifty wagons were delivered an hour ago and the rest go in tonight. It will leave us on short rations for a while.”
“Why didn’t he strike the killing blow?” asked Sieben. “Gorben could have refused to send the food. Duels are supposed to be to the death, aren’t they?”
“Aye, they are. But this Michanek, as I said, is special.”
“You sound as if you like the man,” snapped Druss, finishing the second goblet.
“Gods, Druss, it’s hard not to like him. I keep hoping they’ll surrender; I don’t relish the thought of slaughtering such bonny fighters. I mean, the war’s over - this is just the last skirmish. What point is there in more killing and dying?”
“Michanek has my wife,” said Druss, his voice low and cold. “He tricked her into marrying him, stole her memory. She does not know me at all.”
“I find that hard to believe,” said Oliquar.
“Are you calling me a liar?” hissed Druss, his hand snaking round the haft of his axe.
“And I find this hard to believe,” said Oliquar. “What is the matter with you, my friend?”
Druss’s hand trembled on the haft, and he snatched it clear and robbed at his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he forced a smile. “Ah, Oliquar! I am tired, and the wine has made me stupid. But what I said was true; it was told to me by a priest of Pashtar Sen. And tomorrow I will scale those walls, and I will find Michanek. Then we will see how special he is.”
Druss levered himself to his feet and entered the tent. For a while the three men sat in silence, then Oliquar spoke, keeping his voice low. “Michanek’s wife is called Pahtai. Some of the refugees from the city spoke of her. She is a gentle soul, and when plague struck the city she went to the homes of the sick and dying, comforting them, bringing them medicines. Michanek adores her, and she him. This is well known. And I say again, he is not the man to take a woman by trickery.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Eskodas. “It is like fate carved into stone. Two men and one woman; there must be blood. Isn’t that right, poet?”
“Sadly you are correct,” agreed Sieben. “But I can’t help wondering how she will feel when Druss marches in to her, drenched in the blood of the man she loves. What then?”
Lying on a blanket within the tent, Druss heard every word. They cut his soul with knives of fire.
Michanek shielded his eyes against the setting sun and watched the distant figure of the axeman walk down towards the Ventrian camp, saw the soldiers gather round him, heard them cheer.
“Who is it, do you think?” asked his cousin, Shurpac.
Michanek took a deep breath. “I’d say it was the Emperor’s champion, Druss.”
“Will you fight him?”
“I don’t think Gorben will offer us the chance,” answered Michanek. “There’s no need - we can’t hold for long now.”
“Long enough for Narin to return with reinforcements,” put in Shurpac, but Michanek did not reply. He had sent his brother out of the city with a written request for aid, though he knew there would be no help from Naashan; his one purpose had been to save his brother.
And yourself. The thought leapt unbidden from deep within him. Tomorrow was the first anniversary of his marriage, the day Rowena had predicted h
e would die with Narin on one side of him, Shurpac on the other. With Narin gone, perhaps the prophecy could be thwarted. Michanek squeezed shut his tired eyes. It felt as if sand was lodged under the lids.
The mining under the walls had stopped now and soon, when the winds permitted, the Ventrians would fire the timbers in the tunnel. He gazed out over the Ventrian camp. At least eleven thousand warriors were now gathered before Resha, and the defenders numbered only eight hundred. Glancing to left and right, Michanek saw the Naashanite soldiers sitting slumped by the battlements. There was little conversation, and much of the food that had just been carried up from the city was left untouched.
Michanek moved to the nearest soldier, a young man who was sitting with his head resting on his knees. His helm was beside him; it was split across the crown, dislodging the white horsehair plume.
“Not hungry, lad?” asked Michanek.
The boy looked up. His eyes were dark brown, his face beardless and feminine. “Too tired to eat, general,” he said.
“The food will give you strength. Trust me.”
The boy lifted a hunk of salted beef and stared down at it. “I’m going to die,” he said, and Michanek saw a tear spill to his dust-stained cheek.
The general laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Death is merely another journey, lad. But you won’t be walking that road alone - I’ll be with you. And who knows what adventures wait?”
“I used to believe that,” said the soldier sadly, “but I’ve seen so much death. I saw my brother die yesterday, his guts spilling out. His screams were terrible. Are you frightened of dying, sir?”
“Of course. But we are soldiers of the Emperor. We knew the risks when we first strapped on the breastplate and greaves. And what is better, lad, to live until we are toothless and mewling, our muscles like rotted string, or to face down our enemies in the fullness of our strength? We are all destined to die one day.”
“I don’t want to die; I want to get out of here. I want to marry and father children. I want to watch them grow.” The boy was openly weeping now and Michanek sat beside him, taking him in his arms and stroking his hair.
“So do I,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
After a while the sobbing ceased and the boy drew himself up. “I’m sorry, general. I won’t let you down, you know.”
“I knew that anyway. I’ve watched you, and you’re a brave lad: one of the best. Now eat your ration and get some sleep.”
Michanek rose and walked back to Shurpac. “Let’s go home,” he said. “I’d like to sit in the garden with Pahtai and watch the stars.”
Druss lay still, his eyes closed, allowing the buzz of conversation to drift over him. He could not remember feeling so low - not even when Rowena was taken. On that dreadful day his anger had been all-consuming, and since then his desire to find her had fuelled his spirit, giving him a strength of purpose that bound his emotions in chains of steel. Even in the dungeon he had found a way to fend off despair. But now his stomach was knotted, his emotions unravelling.
She was in love with another man. He formed the words in his mind, and they ground into his heart like broken glass in a wound.
He tried to hate Michanek, but even that was denied him. Rowena would never love a worthless or an evil man. Druss sat up and stared down at his hands. He had crossed the ocean to find his love, and these hands had killed, and killed, and killed in order that Rowena could be his once more.
He closed his eyes. Where should I be? he asked himself. In the front rank as they storm the walls? On the walls defending Rowena’s city? Or should I just walk away?
Walk away.
The tent entrance flapped as Sieben ducked under it. “How are you faring, old horse?” asked the poet.
“She loves him,” said Druss, his voice thick, the words choking him.
Sieben sat alongside the axeman. He took a deep breath. “If her memories were taken, then what she has done is no betrayal. She does not know you.”
“I understand that. I bear her no ill-will - how could I? She is the most… beautiful… I can’t explain it, poet. She doesn’t understand hatred, or greed, or envy. Soft but not weak, caring but not stupid.” He swore and shook his head. “As I said, I can’t explain it.”
“You’re doing fine,” said Sieben softly.
“When I’m with her there is no… no fire in my mind. No anger. When I was a child I hated to be laughed at. I was big and clumsy - I’d knock over pots, trip over my own big feet. But when people laughed at my clumsiness I wanted to… I don’t know… crush them. But I was with Rowena one day on the mountainside, and it had been raining. I lost my footing and fell headlong into a muddy pool. Her laughter was bright and fresh; I sat up, and I just laughed with her. And it was so good, poet, it was so good.”
“She’s still there, Druss. Just across the wall.”
The axeman nodded. “I know. What do I do - scale the wall, kill the man she loves and then march up to her and say, “Remember me?” I cannot win here.”
“One step at a time, my friend. Resha will fall. From what I gathered from Oliquar, Michanek will fight to the end, to the death. You don’t have to kill him, his fate is already sealed. And then Rowena will need someone. I can’t advise you, Druss, I have never truly been in love and I envy you that. But let us see what tomorrow brings, eh?”
Druss nodded and took a deep breath. “Tomorrow,” he whispered.
“Gorben has asked to see you, Druss. Why not come with me? Bodasen is with him - and there’ll be wine and good food.”
Druss stood and gathered Snaga to him. The blades guttered in the light from the brazier burning at the centre of the tent. “A man’s best friend is said to be a dog,” said Sieben, stepping back as Druss lifted the axe.
The axeman ignored him and stepped out into the night.
Rowena stood by with a long robe as Michanek stepped from the bath. Smiling, she brushed two rose petals from his shoulder, then held the robe open. Michanek slid his arms into the sleeves, then tied the satin belt and turned towards her. Taking her hand he led her into the garden. Rowena leaned in towards him and he stopped and took her into his arms, kissing the top of her head. His body was rich with the smell of rose oil and she put her arms around him, snuggling in to the soft robe. Tilting back her head, she looked up into his dark brown eyes. “I love you,” she said.
Cupping her chin he kissed her, lingeringly. His mouth tasted of the peaches he had eaten while lazing in the bath. But there was no passion in the kiss and he drew away from her.
“What is wrong?” she asked. He shrugged and forced a smile.
“Nothing.”
“Why do you say that?” she chided. “I hate it when you lie to me.”
“The siege is almost over,” he said, leading her to a small circular bench beneath a flowering tree.
“When will you surrender?” she asked.
He shrugged. “When I receive orders to do so.”
“But the battle is unnecessary. The war is over. If you negotiate with Gorben he will allow us to leave. You can show me your home in Naashan. You always promised to take me to your estates near the Lakes; you said the gardens there would dazzle me with their beauty.”
“So they would,” he told her. Slipping his hands around her waist he stood and lifted her swiftly, lightly kissing her lips.
“Put me down. You’ll tear the stitches - you know what the surgeon said.”
He chuckled. “Aye, I listened to him. But the wound is almost healed.” Kissing her twice more, he lowered her to the ground and they walked on. “There are matters we must discuss,” he said, but when she waited for him to continue he merely glanced up at the stars and the silence grew.
“What matters?”
“You,” he said at last. “Your life.” Rowena looked at him, saw the lines of tension on his moonlit face, the tightening of the muscle in his jaw.
“My life is with you,” she said. “That’s all I want.”
&nb
sp; “Sometimes we want more than we can have.”
“Don’t say that!”
“You used to be a seer - a good one. Kabuchek charged two hundred silver pieces for a single reading from you. You were never wrong.”
“I know all this, you have told me before. What difference does it make now?”
“All the difference in the world. You were born in the lands of the Drenai, you were taken by slavers. But there was a man…”
“I don’t want to hear this,” she said, pulling away from him and walking to the edge of the tiny lake. He did not follow, but his words did.
“The man was your husband.” Rowena sat down by the water’s edge, trailing her fingers across the surface, sending ripples through the moon’s reflection.
“The man with the axe,” she said dully.
“You remember?” he asked, walking forward and sitting beside her.
“No. But I saw him once - at the house of Kabuchek. And also in a dream, when he lay in a dungeon.”
“Well, he is not in a dungeon now, Pahtai. He is outside the city. He is Druss the Axeman, Gorben’s champion.”
“Why are you telling me this?” she asked him, turning to face him in the bright moonlight.
His white robe shimmered, and he looked ghostly, almost ethereal. “Do you think I want to?” he countered. “I’d sooner fight a lion with my hands than have this conversation. But I love you, Pahtai. I have loved you since our first meeting. You were standing with Pudri in the main corridor of Kabuchek’s home, and you told my future.”
“What did I tell you?”
He smiled. “You told me I would wed the woman I loved. But that is not important now. I think soon you will meet your… first… husband.”
The First Chronicles Of Druss The Legend dt-6 Page 30
