The First Chronicles of Druss the Legend (8 page)

“His name is Druss. He is my husband.”

“We killed all the men in the village.”

“No. He was in the woods, felling timbers for the palisade.”

“I sent six men there.”

“But they have not returned,” Rowena pointed out.

“You are saying he killed them all?”

“He did,” she told him, softly, “and now he is coming for you.”

“You make him sound like a warrior of legend,” said Harib uneasily. “I could send men back to kill him.”

“I hope you do not.”

“You fear for his life?”

“No, I would mourn for theirs.” She sighed.

“Tell me of him. Is he a swordsman? A soldier?”

“No, he is the son of a carpenter. But once I dreamt I saw him on a mountainside. He was black-bearded and his axe was smeared with blood. And before him were hundreds of souls. They stood mourning their lives. More flowed from his axe, and they wailed. Men of many nations, billowing like smoke until broken by the breeze. All slain by Druss. Mighty Druss. The Captain of the Axe. The
Deathwalker
.”

“And this is your husband?”

“No, not yet. This is the man he will become if you do not free me. This is the man you created when you slew his father and took me prisoner. You will not stop him, Harib Ka.”

He sent her away then, and ordered the guards to let her remain unmolested.

Collan had come to him and had laughed at his misery. “By Missael, Harib, she is just a village wench and now a slave. She is property.
Our
property. And her gift makes her worth ten times the price we will receive for any of the others. She is attractive and young—I’d say around a thousand gold pieces’ worth. There is that Ventrian merchant, Kabuchek; he’s always looking for seers and fortune-tellers. I’ll wager he’d pay a thousand.”

Harib sighed. “Aye, you are right, my friend. Take her. We’ll need coin upon our arrival. But don’t touch her, Collan,” he warned the handsome swordsman. “She really does have the Gift, and she will see into your soul.”

“There is nothing to see,” answered Collan, with a harsh, forced smile.

Druss edged his way along the riverbank, keeping close to the undergrowth and pausing to listen. There were no sounds save the rustling of autumn leaves in the branches above, no movement apart from the occasional swooping flight of bat or owl. His mouth was dry, but he felt no fear.

Across the narrow river he saw a white jutting boulder, cracked down the center. According to Shadak, the first of the sentries was positioned almost opposite. Moving carefully, Druss crept back into the woods, then angled toward the riverbank, timing his approach by the wind which stirred the leaves above him, the rustling in the trees masking the sound of his movements.

The sentry was sitting on a rock no more than ten feet to Druss’s right, and he had stretched out his right leg. Taking
Snaga in his left hand, Druss wiped his sweating palm on his trews, his eyes scanning the undergrowth for the second sentry. He could see no one.

Druss waited, his back against a broad tree. From a little distance to the left came a harsh, gurgling sound. The sentry heard it too, and rose.

“Bushin! What are you doing there, you fool?”

Druss stepped out behind the man. “He is dying,” he said.

The man spun, hand snaking down for the sword at his hip. Snaga flashed up and across, the silver blade entering the neck just below the ear and shearing through sinew and bone. The head toppled to the right, the body to the left.

Shadak stepped down from the undergrowth. “Well done,” he whispered. “Now, when I send the women down to you, get them to wade across by the boulder, then head north up into the canyon to the cave.”

“We’ve been over this many times,” Druss pointed out.

Ignoring the comment, Shadak laid a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Now, whatever happens, do not come back into the camp. Stay with the women. There is only one path up to the cave, but several leading from it to the north. Get the women moving on the northwest route. You hold the path.”

Shadak faded back into the undergrowth and Druss settled down to wait.

Shadak moved carefully to the edge of the camp. Most of the women were asleep, and a guard was sitting by them; his head was resting against a wagon wheel, and Shadak guessed he was dozing. Unbuckling his swordbelt, he moved forward on his belly, drawing himself on his elbows until he reached the wagon. Slipping his hunting-knife from the sheath at his hip, Shadak came up behind the man—his left hand reached through the wheel, fingers closing on the sentry’s throat. The knife rammed home into the man’s back; his leg jerked once, then he was still.

Moving back from beneath the wagon, Shadak came to the first girl. She was sleeping close to several other women, huddled together for warmth. He clamped a hand over her mouth and shook her. She awoke in a panic and started to struggle.

“I am here to rescue you!” hissed Shadak. “One of your villagers is by the riverbank and he will lead you to safety. You understand? When I release you, slowly wake the others. Head
south to the river. Druss, the son of Bress, is waiting there. Nod if you understand me.”

He felt her head move against his hand. “Good. Make sure none of the others make a noise. You must move slowly. Which one is Rowena?”

“She is not with us,” whispered the girl. “They took her away.”

“Where?”

“One of the leaders, a man with a scarred cheek, he rode out with her just after dusk.”

Shadak swore softly. There was no time for a second plan. “What is your name?”

“Mari.”

“Well, Mari, get the others moving—and tell Druss to follow the original plan.”

Shadak moved away from the girl, gathered his swords, and belted them to his waist. Then he stepped out into the open and strolled casually toward the tent. Only a few men were awake, and they paid little heed to the figure moving through the shadows so confidently.

Lifting the tent flap, he swiftly entered, drawing his right-hand sword as he did so. Harib Ka was sitting on a canvas chair with a goblet of wine in his left hand, a saber in his right. “Welcome to my hearth, Wolf-man,” he said, with a smile. He drained the goblet and stood. Wine had run into his dark, forked beard, making it shine in the lantern light as if oiled. “May I offer you a drink?”

“Why not?” answered Shadak, aware that if they began to fight too soon the noise of clashing steel would wake the other raiders and they would see the women fleeing.

“You are far from home,” remarked Harib Ka.

“These days I have no home,” Shadak told him.

Harib Ka filled a second goblet and passed it to the hunter. “You are here to kill me?”

“I came for Collan. I understand he has gone?”

“Why Collan?” asked Harib Ka, his dark eyes glittering in the golden light.

“He killed my son in Corialis.”

“Ah, the blond boy. Fine swordsman, but too reckless.”

“A vice of the young.” Shadak sipped his wine, his anger controlled like an armorer’s fire, hot but contained.

“That vice killed him,” observed Harib Ka. “Collan is very
skilled. Where did you leave the young villager, the one with the axe?”

“You are well informed.”

“Only a few hours ago his wife stood where you now stand; she told me he was coming. She’s a witch—did you know that?”

“No. Where is she?”

“On her way to Mashrapur with Collan. When do you want the fight to begin?”

“As soon as …” began Shadak, but even as he was speaking Harib attacked, his saber slashing for Shadak’s throat. The hunter ducked, leaned to the left, and kicked out at Harib’s knee. The Ventrian crashed to the floor and Shadak’s sword touched the skin of Harib’s throat. “Never fight drunk,” he said softly.

“I’ll remember that. What now?”

“Now tell me where Collan stays in Mashrapur.”

“The White Bear Inn. It’s in the western quarter.”

“I know that. Now, what is your life worth, Harib Ka?”

“To the Drenai authorities? Around a thousand gold pieces. To me? I have nothing to offer—until I sell my slaves.”

“You have no slaves.”

“I can find them again. Thirty women on foot in the mountains will pose me no problem.”

“Hunting is not easy with a slit throat,” pointed out Shadak, adding an extra ounce of pressure to the sword-blade, which pricked the skin of Harib’s neck.

“True,” agreed the Ventrian, glancing up. “What do you suggest?” Just as Shadak was about to answer, he caught the gleam of triumph in Harib’s eyes and he swung round. But too late.

Something cold, hard, and metallic crashed against his skull.

And the world spun into darkness.

Pain brought Shadak back to consciousness, harsh slaps to his face that jarred his teeth. His eyes opened. His arms were being held by two men who had hauled him to his knees, and Harib Ka was squatting before him.

“Did you think me so stupid that I would allow an assassin to enter my tent unobserved? I knew someone was following us. And when the four men I left in the pass did not return, I guessed it had to be you. Now I have questions for you, Shadak. Firstly, where is the young farmer with the axe; and secondly, where are my women?”

Shadak said nothing. One of the men holding him crashed a fist against the hunter’s ear; lights blazed before Shadak’s eyes and he sagged to his right. He watched Harib Ka rise and move to the brazier, where the coals had burned low. “Get him outside to a fire,” ordered the leader. Shadak was hauled to his feet and half carried out into the camp. Most of the men were still asleep. His captors pushed him to his knees beside a campfire and Harib Ka drew his dagger, pushing the blade into the flames. “You will tell me what I wish to know,” he said, “or I will burn out your eyes and then set you free in the mountains.”

Shadak tasted blood on his tongue, and fear in his belly. But still he said nothing.

An unearthly scream tore through the silence of the night, followed by the thunder of hooves. Harib swung to see forty terrified horses galloping toward the camp. One of the men holding the hunter turned also, his grip slackening. Shadak surged upright, head-butting the raider, who staggered back. The second man, seeing the stampeding horses closing fast, released his hold and ran for the safety of the wagons. Harib Ka drew his saber and leapt at Shadak, but the first of the horses cannoned into him, spinning him from his feet. Shadak spun on his heel to face the terrified beasts and began to wave his arms. The maddened horses swerved around him and galloped on through the camp. Some men, still wrapped in their blankets, were trampled underfoot. Others tried to halt the charging beasts. Shadak ran back to Harib’s tent and found his swords. Then he stepped out into the night. All was chaos.

The fires had been scattered by pounding hooves, and several corpses were lying on the open ground. Some twenty of the horses had been halted and calmed; the others were running on through the woods, pursued by many of the warriors.

A second scream sounded, and despite his years of experience in warfare and battle, Shadak was astonished by what followed.

Alone, the young woodsman had attacked the camp. The awesome axe shone silver in the moonlight, slashing and cleaving into the surprised warriors. Several took up swords and ran at him; they died in moments.

But he could not survive. Shadak saw the raiders group together, a dozen men spread out in a semicircle around the black-garbed giant, Harib Ka among them. The hunter, his two short swords drawn, ran toward them yelling the battle cry of the
Lancers. “Ayiaa! Ayiaa!” At that moment arrows flashed from the woods. One took a raider in the throat, a second glanced from a helm to plunge home into an unprotected shoulder. Combined with the sudden battle cry, the attack made the raiders pause, many of them backing away and scanning the tree line. At that moment, Druss charged the enemy center, cutting to left and right. The raiders fell back before him, several tumbling to the ground, tripping over their fellows. The mighty blood-smeared axe cleaved into them, rising and falling with a merciless rhythm.

Just as Shadak reached them, the raiders broke and fled. More arrows sailed after them.

Harib Ka ran for one of the horses, grabbing its mane and vaulting to its bare back. The animal reared, but he held on. Shadak hurled his right-hand sword, which lanced into Harib’s shoulder. The Ventrian sagged, then fell to the ground as the horse galloped away.

“Druss!” shouted Shadak. “Druss!” The axeman was pursuing the fleeing raiders, but he stopped at the edge of the trees and swung back. Harib Ka was on his knees, trying to pull the brasshilted sword from his body.

The axeman stalked back to where Shadak was waiting. He was blood-drenched and his eyes glittered. “Where is she?” he asked the hunter.

“Collan took her to Mashrapur; they left at dusk.”

Two women emerged from the trees, carrying bows and quivers of arrows. “Who are they?” asked Shadak.

“The tanner’s daughters. They did a lot of hunting for the village. I gave them the bows the sentries had with them.”

The tallest of the women approached Druss. “They are fleeing into the night. I don’t think they’ll come back now. You want us to follow them?”

“No, bring the others down and gather the horses.” The axeman turned toward the kneeling figure of Harib Ka. “Who is this?” Druss asked Shadak.

“One of the leaders.”

Without a word, Druss cleaved the axe through Harib’s neck. “Not any more,” he observed.

“Indeed not,” agreed Shadak, stepping to the still quivering corpse and pulling free his sword. He gazed around the clearing and counted the bodies. “Nineteen. By all the gods, Druss, I can’t believe you did that!”

“Some were trampled by the horses I stampeded, others were killed by the girls.” Druss turned and stared out over the campsite. Somewhere to his left a man groaned and the tallest of the girls ran to him, plunging a dagger into his throat. Druss turned back to Shadak. “Will you see the women get safely to Padia?”

“You’re going on to Mashrapur?”

“I’m going to find her.”

Shadak laid his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “I hope that you do, Druss. Seek out the White Bear Inn—that’s where Collan will stay. But be warned, my friend. In Mashrapur, Rowena is his property. That is their law.”