White Wolf (31 page)

“Who attacked you?”

“Robbers,” said Jianna, swiftly.

“How awful!” said Samias. “What happened? Did your lover fight them off?”

“Yes, he fought. He was a fine fighter. I must go now. My . . . husband will be waiting for me.” Jianna rose from her seat.

“Try not to dwell upon the past, dear,” said Samias. “We can’t change it, you know. We can only live with what we have now. Once I loved a man with all my heart. He was the sun and moon of all my desires. He was a soldier of the king. You know, the old king, Bokram. He was sent out into the forest of Delian after a murderer. We were due to be wed within the month. He was killed there. And that was it for me. My life all but ended.”

“I am so sorry,” said Jianna, surprised that she meant it.

“A long time ago now, Sashan. And my husband is a good man. Oh yes. Very kind.”

“Did they catch the murderer?”

“No. He was an awful man. He murdered the people who raised him after his father died. Cut them up, he did. Tortured them. Can you believe that? Then he fled the city with a young whore. My Jeranon and a group of soldiers almost caught them. That’s what I was told. There was a fight and Jeranon was killed. Some others too. And the evil pair escaped. They were never found.”

Jianna felt a sudden chill touch her heart. “Did he have a name, this murderer?”

“Aye. His name was Skilgannon. I never heard the whore’s name.” Samias shrugged. “The Source will punish them, though. If there is any justice.”

“Perhaps the Source already has,” said Jianna.

As Jianna made her way back to the Royal Park she thought of how Askelus would have enjoyed listening to her conversation with Samias. Never before had Jianna considered the lives of those soldiers who had almost trapped her in the forest of Delian. They had just been men with swords, ordered to capture her. She tried to remember their faces, but only one came to mind, a bearded man with florid features and savage eyes. He had wanted to rape her, but was overruled by the others.

Skilgannon and she had parted an hour earlier, after harsh words. It was difficult now to recall exactly what the argument had been about. Once they left the city, and were traveling together, they seemed to grate on each other. Looking back with the full wisdom of her twenty-five years, Jianna could see now that the tension was sexual. She had longed to be intimate with the young warrior. She smiled. Abstinence had never been agreeable to her. It was much the same for Skilgannon. So they bickered and argued. Finally, two days after escaping the city, they had agreed to separate, Jianna striking out north toward a tribal settlement where she believed she would be safe.

An hour later she had been surrounded and chased down by soldiers. Fleet of foot, she had almost escaped them. She had been scrambling up a steep slope when she grabbed hold of a jutting tree root for purchase. The root snapped off, and she tumbled back down the muddy slope. They grabbed her then.

“Got to be her,” said the soldier with the florid face. “Look at her.” Grabbing her by the neck, he dragged her head down and ran his hand over her shorn hair. “See, there’s still traces of the blond dye.”

“What’s your name, girl?” asked another man. Jianna couldn’t remember his face now, except that he was thin. She didn’t answer him.

There were five soldiers in the group and they gathered around her. “What did she do?” someone asked.

“Who cares?” answered the florid man. “Boranius said she was important. That’s all that matters. Beautiful legs and arse, hasn’t she?” he continued, running a callused hand over her thighs. “Reckon we ought to sample this one.”

“No, we don’t,” said someone else. Jianna wondered now if this was the young man Samias had spoken of. “We just take her back.”

“I am Princess Jianna,” she said. “The tyrant wants me dead. He has already killed my mother and father. Take me north and I shall see you rewarded.”

“Oh yes, you look like a princess, right enough,” said Florid Face. “Stupid bitch! You need a better story than that.”

“It is the truth. Why do you think you were sent out? What whore would be worth that trouble? I’ll wager you are not the only troops out here.”

“Suppose she’s right?” said someone else.

“What if she is?” demanded Florid Face. “Nothing to do with us. There’s a new king now. New kings always kill their rivals. And how would she reward us, eh? There’s nowhere safe for her. The only reward she can offer is between her legs. And we can have that now. I never drilled a princess before. Think it’s any different?”

“You’ll never know,” came the voice of Skilgannon. Jianna still remembered the leap in her heart. It was not because she thought she was rescued. In that instant she believed them both to be ruined. It was merely the sound of his voice, and the knowledge he had come back for her.

The soldiers turned to see the young man. He was standing some ten feet from them. In his right hand he held a short, stabbing sword, in his left a wickedly sharp hunting knife. Sunlight gleamed upon the blades.

“Would you look at that?” said Florid Face, contemptuously. “Be careful with those blades, boy. You might cut yourself.”

“Let her go or die,” said Skilgannon, calmly. “There are no other choices.”

“Will someone take those swords away from him?” said Florid Face. “He is beginning to annoy me.”

Two men drew their sabers and advanced on Skilgannon. He stood very still for a moment, and when he moved the effect was startling. One man fell back, his throat gouting blood. The second cried out as the hunting knife plunged into his chest, spearing his heart. Before the other soldiers could react he leapt forward, the short sword cleaving into the belly of another soldier, even as the man struggled to draw his saber. Jianna’s hand reached out, pulling a knife from a scabbard at Florid Face’s side. He was too surprised at the sudden violence to notice. He was even more surprised when the blade lanced into his chest just below the sternum. It went deep. He gave a groan and, releasing Jianna, staggered back. The fifth soldier ran for his life. Florid Face clumsily dragged his saber from its scabbard and tried to attack Skilgannon. But his legs buckled and he fell to his knees, blood pumping from his chest. Weakly he lashed out with his saber, but Skilgannon stepped back from the swing.

“Time to go,” he told Jianna. She looked into his face. His sapphire eyes were cold, like ice crystals. She shivered.

“I agree,” she told him.

The story of the rescue in the forest grew in the years that followed. Jianna had heard many versions. In some she had been dressed in armor and had fought and killed three men herself. In others the Damned had defeated six swordmasters. The reality was that the action had been short, bloody, and brutal. Jianna had stayed free, and Samias had lost the love of her life.

This was what Askelus had meant when he spoke of a compassionate society. The concentration on individual loss and grief, rather than the effect of an action on society as a whole.

Back at the park Jianna sat on a bench close to the undergrowth that hid the entrance to the secret passageway. She was forced to wait for some time as people were constantly moving along the pathways, or sitting by the fountains.

Finally she stood and eased her way back into the undergrowth, squatting down and lifting the grille.

The lantern was still burning at the lower doorway. Holding it high she locked the door and moved back along the passageway. She had left instructions that she was not to be disturbed until two hours after noon, but the time was close.

Almost too close.

In the hidden chamber behind the paneling she stripped off her ordinary clothes, then entered the apartment, strolling naked through to her bedroom. Just then two servant girls entered, bowed, and told her that Malanek was waiting outside. She ordered them to prepare her bath, then swung a pale blue satin robe around her shoulders.

One of the servants ushered Malanek into the main room. He looked tired, his face drawn. “I am glad you got some extra rest, Majesty,” he said.

“You should take your own advice, Malanek. You look exhausted.”

He gave a weary smile. “I keep forgetting I am no longer a youngster.” He sighed. “There is news from Mellicane, Majesty. Did you have a change of heart about Skilgannon?”

“No. Why would I?”

“There was an assassination attempt upon him. Led by a Naashanite named Servaj Das.”

“It was not by my order, Malanek. Skilgannon is free to go where he wishes.”

Malanek nodded. “That pleases me, Majesty. But it leaves me wondering who else would want Skilgannon dead.”

She looked at him closely. “I do not need to lie to you, my friend. When I took your advice to let him go, I did so freely. Had I wanted him killed I would have told you.”

“I know that, Jianna,” he said, forgetting himself for a moment. “Do you mind if I sit?”

Gesturing him to a couch, she sat beside him. “What is worrying you?”

“I have been studying the reports on Mellicane. The man Ironmask made a great many contacts within the Naashanite community. Many of his men are also former soldiers of ours. Most were rebels, though not all. According to our sources in Mellicane, Servaj Das worked for him. We have little information on Ironmask, save that he is not from Tantria. His accent showed that he was not Ventrian. It seems he is not known either in Datia or Dospilis. He could be from across the water, Drenan, Gothir, Vagria. But what if he is a Naashanite?”

Jianna shrugged. “Why should I care?”

“He is a charismatic leader of men. We know this. He has gathered warriors to him, many of whom fought against you. Where did such a man come from? And there is something else. Our sources among the Datian officers say that when they entered the palace he used, they found chambers below with blood-spattered walls. They also found severed fingers and hands.”

The queen sat very still. “The man whose name we do not speak was killed in battle. Skilgannon slashed away half of his face, and then stabbed him through the heart. I have seen the reports of this Ironmask. The wearing of the mask is merely a deceit. His face is not mutilated, merely discolored.”

“His body was never found. Supposing he was healed, Majesty? There are reports of a temple in Pelucid, and a priestess who can work miracles.”

“These are not reports. They are rumors. Myths. Like flying lizards, and winged horses.”

“The man whose name we do not speak almost defeated us. If he still lives he is a threat to everything you are trying to build. It may even be that these recent attempts on your life can be traced back to him.”

“Now you are making me uneasy!” she snapped. “I do not believe the dead can return to haunt me.”

“No, Majesty. Nor would I—had I been able to find his body. But if you did not instruct Servaj Das to murder Skilgannon, and no one in our embassy did so, then Ironmask is the only other link. That being the case the question is: Why would Ironmask seek the death of Skilgannon, a man he does not know, and who is no threat to him?”

“Where is Skilgannon now?”

“Still in Mellicane, but he is preparing to journey north. I have a report from contacts in the Drenai embassy that he intends to travel with the warrior, Druss. They are going to Pelucid. Druss intends to kill Ironmask. Why Skilgannon travels with him is a mystery. The Datians are also sending a force to Pelucid. They want to capture Ironmask themselves. Apparently several of his victims were prominent Datian nobles.”

“Then I suspect the mystery will be resolved before long,” said Jianna.

“Until it is, Majesty, we need to be careful for your safety. No unnecessary risks. If the man we do not name is still alive, then the danger to you is very real.”

“I do not take
unnecessary
risks, Malanek. And a ruler is always in danger.”

15

Diagoras had plotted the route with care, and carried copies of maps that showed the mountains, rivers, and passes north of Mellicane. By the third day of travel he had begun to enjoy himself. In his saddlebag were copious notes on the positions of villages where they could obtain supplies, the names of headmen to be offered gifts, and details of areas of likely danger. These were mostly in the mountainous areas close to Pelucid where bands of robbers were known to have hideouts. Diagoras had used his military training well. He had also gathered all known information on the man Shakusan Ironmask. This did not amount to much, though one piece of news interested Skilgannon. Three years before, when Ironmask had first appeared in Mellicane, he had fought a duel. According to the report he used curved swords, which were contained in a single scabbard. The report also said he was a man of prodigious strength, because one blow cut through a breastplate and the chain mail beneath. A second cut had beheaded the victim.

The first day of travel had been taken at leisure. The horses Skilgannon had acquired were undernourished and, though of good stock, were weak. They needed resting often. In the few days they had been kept at the Drenai compound, Diagoras had ordered them grain fed and gently exercised, but they were still far from fit. By the third day of travel they were already growing stronger.

The twins, Jared and Nian, had met them on the road on the morning of the second day. Both were riding shaggy hill ponies, tough beasts and surly. They would snap at the taller cavalry horses if any rider was foolish enough to come close to them. The brothers took to riding close to the two-wheeled supply wagon, driven by Druss.

As he rode Diagoras would often glance at Garianne. She rode a gray mare, and kept herself a little apart from the company, even at night when they camped. She would sit alone, and occassionally be seen talking to herself. The youth Rabalyn often rode alongside Diagoras, asking constant questions. His joy at being invited on the journey was untainted by any fear of the consequences. He loved to ride, and in the evenings would spend an hour tending to his horse, brushing its back or stroking its neck. Rabalyn was a natural rider and would one day be a fine swordsman. He had good balance and fast hands. He was also a quick learner.

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.