The First Chronicles of Druss the Legend (48 page)

Delnar nodded and rubbed his chin. The situation had gone as far as he could allow it. He had hoped Druss would leave, but he could not force him. What could be more ludicrous than the Earl of the North ordering Drenai warriors to attack Druss the Legend? Especially since the man had been invited to the camp by the Lord of Hosts. Delnar did not fear Druss, because he did not fear death. His life had been ended for him six years before. Since then his wife, Vashti, had shamed him with many more affairs. Three years ago she had delivered to him a daughter, a delightful child he adored, even if he doubted his part in her conception. Vashti had run away to the capital soon after, leaving the child at Delnoch. The Earl had heard his wife was now living with a Ventrian merchant in the rich western quarter. Taking a deep, calming breath, he met Druss’s eyes.

“Stay then,” he said. “But keep him from my sight.”

Druss nodded. He glanced down at Sieben. The poet was asleep.

“This should never have come between us,” said Delnar.

“These things happen,” said Druss. “Sieben always had a weakness for beautiful women.”

“I shouldn’t hate him. But he was the first I knew about. He was the man who destroyed my dreams. You understand?”

“We will leave tomorrow,” said Druss wearily. “But for now let’s walk in the pass. I need some air in my lungs.”

The Earl rose and donned his helm and red cape, and together the two warriors walked through the camp and on up the steep rocky slope to the mouth of the pass. It ran for almost a mile, narrowing at the center to less than fifty paces, where the ground dropped away gently in a rolling slope down to a stream that flowed across the valley floor, angling toward the sea some three miles distant. From the mouth of the pass, through the jagged peaks, the sea glittered in the fragmented sunlight, glowing gold and blue. A fresh easterly wind cooled Druss’s face.

“Good place for a defensive battle,” said the axeman, scanning the pass. “At the center any attacking force would be funneled in and numbers would be useless.”

“And they would have to charge uphill,” said Delnar. “I think Abalayn was hoping Gorben would land here. We could have sealed him in the bay. Left his army to starve, and brought the fleet round to harry his ships.”

“He’s too canny for that,” said Druss. “A more wily warrior you will not find.”

“You liked him?”

“He was always fair with me,” said Druss, keeping his tone neutral.

Delnar nodded. “They say he’s become a tyrant.”

Druss shrugged. “He once told me it was the curse of kings.”

“He was right,” said Delnar. “You know your friend Bodasen is still one of his top generals?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it. He’s a loyal man, with a good eye for strategy.”

“I should think you are relieved to miss this battle, my friend,” commented the Earl.

Druss nodded. “The years I served with the Immortals were happy ones, I’ll grant that. And I have other friends among them. But you are right, I would hate to come up against Bodasen. We were brothers in battle, and I love the man dearly.”

“Let’s go back. I’ll arrange some food for you.”

The Earl saluted the sentry at the mouth of the pass and the two men made their way up the slope to the camp. Delnar took him to a square white tent, lifting the flap for Druss to enter first. Within were four men. They leaped to their feet as the Earl followed Druss inside.

“Stand easy,” said Delnar. “This is Druss, an old friend of mine. He’ll be staying with us for a while. I’d like you to make him welcome.” He turned to Druss. “I believe you know Certak and Archytas. Well, this black-bearded reprobate is Diagoras.” Druss liked the look of the man; his smile was quick and friendly, and the gleam in his dark eyes bespoke humor. But more than this he had what soldiers call “the look of eagles,” and Druss knew instantly he was a warrior born.

“Nice to meet you, sir. We’ve heard a lot about you.”

“And this is Orases,” said Certak. “He’s new with us. From Drenan.”

Druss shook hands with the young man, noting the fat around his middle and the softness of his grip. He seemed pleasant enough, but beside Diagoras and Certak he seemed boyish and clumsy.

“Would you like some food?” asked Diagoras, after the Earl had departed.

“I certainly would,” muttered Druss. “My stomach thinks my throat’s been sliced.”

“I’ll get it,” said Orases swiftly.

“I think he’s a little in awe of you, Druss,” said Diagoras as Orases raced from the tent.

“It happens,” said Druss. “Why don’t you ask me to sit down?”

Diagoras chuckled and pulled up a chair. Druss reversed it and sat. The others followed suit and the atmosphere eased. The world is getting younger, thought Druss, wishing he had never come.

“May I see your axe, sir?” asked Certak.

“Certainly,” said Druss, pulling Snaga smoothly from the oiled sheath. In the older man’s hands the weapon seemed almost weightless, but as it passed to Certak the officer grunted.

“The blade that smote the Chaos Hound,” whispered Certak, turning it over in his hands, then returning it to Druss.

“Do you believe everything you hear?” said Archytas, sneering.

“Did it happen, Druss?” said Diagoras, before Certak could answer.

“Yes. A long time ago. But it scarce pierced its hide.”

“Was it true they were sacrificing a princess?” asked Certak.

“No. Two small children. But tell me about yourselves,” said Druss. “Wherever I go people ask me the same questions and I get very bored.”

“If you’re that bored,” said Archytas, “why do you take the poet with you on all your adventures?”

“What does that mean?”

“Quite simply that it seems strange for a man as modest as you seem to be to take a saga-master with him. Although it proved very convenient.”

“Convenient?”

“Well, he created you, didn’t he? Druss the Legend. Fame and fortune. Surely any wandering warrior with such a companion could have been boosted into legend?”

“I suppose that’s true,” said Druss. “I’ve known a lot of men in my time whose deeds are forgotten, but who were worthy of remembrance in song or tale. I never really thought of it before.”

“How much of Sieben’s great saga is exaggerated?” asked Archytas.

“Oh, do shut up,” snapped Diagoras.

“No,” said Druss, lifting his hand. “You’ve no idea how good
this is. Always people ask me about the stories, and whenever I tell them they are—shall we say—rounded, they disbelieve me. But it’s true. The stories are not about me. They are based on the truth, but they have grown. I was the seed; they have become the tree. I never met a princess in my life. But to answer your first question, I never took Sieben on my quest. He just came. I think he was bored and wanted to see the world.”

“But did you slay the werebeast in the mountains of Pelucid?” said Certak.

“No. I just killed a lot of men in a lot of battles.”

“Then why do you allow the poems to be sung?” asked Archytas.

“If I could have stopped them I would have,” Druss told him. “The first few years of my return were a nightmare. But I’ve got used to it since. People believe what they want to believe. The truth rarely makes a difference. People need heroes, and if they don’t have any, they invent them.”

Orases returned with a bowl of stew and a loaf of black bread. “Have I missed anything?” he asked.

“Not really,” said Druss. “We were just chatting.”

“Druss has been telling us that his legend is all lies,” said Archytas. “It’s been most revealing.”

Druss chuckled with genuine humor and shook his head. “You see,” he told Diagoras and Dertak, “people believe what they want to believe, and hear only what they wish to hear.” He glanced across at the tight-lipped Archytas. “Boy, there was a time when your blood would now be staining the walls of this tent. But I was younger then, and headstrong. Now I get no delight from killing puppies. But I am still Druss, so I tell you this, walk softly around me from now on.”

Archytas forced a laugh. “You cause me no concern, old man,” he said. “I don’t think …”

Druss rose swiftly and backhanded him across the face. Archytas hurtled backwards over his chair to lie groaning on the tent floor, his nose smashed and leaking blood.

“No, you don’t think,” said Druss. “Now give me that stew, Orases. It must be getting cold.”

“Welcome to Skeln, Druss,” said Diagoras, grinning.

For three days Druss remained at the camp. Sieben had woken in Delnar’s trent, complaining of chest pains. The regimental surgeon
examined him and ordered him to rest, explaining to Druss and Delnar that the poet had suffered a serious spasm of the heart.

“How bad is it?” asked Druss.

The surgeon’s eyes were bleak. “If he rests for a week or two he could be fine. The danger is that the heart might cramp suddenly—and fail. He’s not a young man, and the journey here was hard for him.”

“I see,” said Druss. “Thank you.” He turned to Delnar. “I am sorry, but we must stay.”

“Do not concern yourself, my friend,” responded the Earl, waving his hand. “Despite what I said when you arrived, you are welcome. But, tell me, what happened between you and Archytas? It looks like a mountain fell on his face.”

“His nose tapped my hand,” grunted Druss.

Delnar smiled. “He’s a somewhat loathsome character. But you had better watch out for him. He’s stupid enough to challenge you.”

“No, he won’t,” said Druss. “He may be foolish, but he’s not in love with death. Even a puppy knows to hide from a wolf.”

On the morning of the fourth day, as Druss sat with Sieben, one of the lookout sentries came running headlong into the camp. Within minutes chaos reigned, as men raced for their armor. Hearing the commotion, Druss walked from the tent. A young soldier ran by. Druss’s arm snaked out, catching the man’s cloak and wrenching him to a stop.

“What’s going on?” asked Druss.

“The Ventrians are here!” shouted the soldier, tearing himself loose and running toward the pass. Druss swore and strode after him. At the mouth of the pass he halted, staring out over the stream.

Standing in armored line upon line, their lances gleaming, were the warriors of Gorben, filling the valley from mountainside to mountainside. At the center of the mass was the tent of the Emperor, and around it were massed the black and silver ranks of the Immortals.

Drenai warriors scurried past him as Druss made his slow way to Delnar’s side.

“I told you he was cunning,” said Druss. “He must have sent a token force to Penrac, knowing it would draw our army south.”

“Yes. But what now?”

“You’re not left with many choices,” said Druss.

“True.”

The Drenai warriors spread out across the narrow center of the pass in three ranks, their round shields glinting in the morning sun, their white horsehair-crested helms flowing in the breeze.

“How many here are veterans?” asked Druss.

“About half. I’ve placed them at the front.”

“How long will it take a rider to reach Penrac?”

“I’ve sent a man. The army should be back in about ten days.”

“You think we’ve got ten days?” asked Druss.

“No. But, as you say, there aren’t too many choices. What do you think Gorben will do?”

“First he’ll talk. He’ll ask you to surrender. You’d better request a few hours to make up your mind. Then he’ll send the Panthians in. They’re an undisciplined bunch but they fight like devils. We should see them off. Their wicker shields and stabbing spears are no match for Drenai armor. After that he’ll test all his troops on us …”

“The Immortals?”

“Not until the end, when we’re weary and finished.”

“It’s a gloomy picture,” said Delnar.

“It’s a bitch,” agreed Druss.

“Will you stand with us, axeman?”

“Did you expect me to leave?”

Delnar chuckled suddenly. “Why shouldn’t you? I wish I could.”

In the first Drenai line Diagoras sheathed his sword, wiping his sweating palm on his red cloak.

“There are enough of them,” he said.

Beside him Certak nodded. “Masterly understatement. They look like they could run right over us.”

“We’ll have to surrender, won’t we?” whispered Orases from behind them, blinking sweat from his eyes.

“Somehow I don’t think that’s likely,” said Certak. “Though I admit it’s a welcome thought.”

A rider on a black stallion forded the stream and galloped toward the Drenai line. Delnar walked through the ranks, Druss beside him, and waited.

The rider wore the black and silver armor of a general of the Immortals. Reining in before the two men, he leaned forward on the pommel of his saddle.

“Druss?” he said. “Is that you?”

Druss studied the gaunt features, the silver-streaked dark hair hanging in two braids.

“Welcome to Skeln, Bodasen,” answered the axeman.

“I’m sorry to find you here. I was meaning to ride for Skoda as soon as we took Drenan. Is Rowena well?”

“Yes. And you?”

“As you see me. Fit and well. Yourself?”

“I’m not complaining.”

“And Sieben?”

“He’s asleep in a tent.”

“He always knew when to avoid battles,” said Bodasen, forcing a smile. “And that’s what this is looking like unless common sense prevails. Are you the leader?” he asked Delnar.

“I am. What message do you bring?”

“Merely this. Tomorrow morning my Emperor will ride through this pass. He would consider it a courtesy if you could remove your men from his path.”

“We will think on it,” said Delnar.

“I would advise you to think well,” said Bodasen, turning his mount. “I’ll be seeing you, Druss. Take care!”

“You too.”

Bodasen spurred the stallion back toward the stream and on through the Panthian ranks.

Druss beckoned Delnar aside, away from the men. “It’s pointless standing here all day staring at them,” he said. “Why don’t you order them to stand down and we’ll send half of them back to bring up some blankets and fuel?”

“You don’t think they’ll attack today?”

“No. Why should they? They know we’ll not be reinforced tonight. Tomorrow will come soon enough.” Druss tramped back to the camp, stopping in to see the poet. Sieben was asleep. Druss pulled up a chair and stared down at the poet’s lined face. Uncharacteristically he stroked the balding head. Sieben opened his eyes.