A cold wind swirled around the cave. Anindais felt the chill and swung from the altar, looking back to see the Old Woman rise from her seat outside the golden circle. “What is happening?” he asked. “The axeman has killed the beast. Can we send another?”
“No,” she told him. “But he did not kill it, he merely sent it back to the Pit.”
“Well, what now?”
“Now we pay for the services of the Kalith.”
“You said the payment would be the blood of Gorben.”
“Gorben did not die.”
“Then I do not understand you. And why is it so cold?”
A shadow fell across the Naashanite, who swung round to see a huge shape rearing above him. Talons flashed down, slicing into his chest.
“Not even intelligence,” repeated the Old Woman, turning her back on his screams. Returning to her apartments, she sat back in an old wicker chair. “Ah, Druss,” she whispered, “perhaps I should have let you die back in Mashrapur.”
Drenai 6 - The First Chronicles of Druss The Legend
Chapter Six
Rowena opened her eyes and saw Michanek sitting at her bedside. He was wearing his ceremonial armour of bronze and gold, the helm with the red crest, and the enamelled cheek-guards, the moulded breastplate covered in sigils and motifs.
“You look very handsome,” she said sleepily.
“And you are very beautiful.”
Rubbing her eyes, she sat up. “Why are you wearing that today? It is not as strong as your old breastplate of iron.”
“It will lift morale among the men.” Taking her hand he kissed her palm, then rose and moved towards the door. At the doorway he paused and spoke without looking back. “I have left something for you - in my study. It is wrapped in velvet.”
And then he was gone.
Within minutes Pudri appeared, bearing a tray which he laid down beside her. There were three honey-cakes and a goblet of apple-juice. “The Lord looks very magnificent today,” said the little man, and Rowena saw that his expression was sorrowful.
“What is wrong, Pudri?”
“I don’t like battles,” he told her. “So much blood and pain. But it is even worse when the reasons for battle have long been overtaken by events. Men will die today for no reason. Their lives will be snuffed out like midnight candles. And for why? And will it end here? No. When Gorben is strong enough he will lead a vengeance invasion against the people of Naashan. Futile and stupid!” He shrugged. “Maybe it is because I am a eunuch that I do not understand such matters.”
“You understand them very well,” she said. “Tell me, was I a good seeress?”
“Ah, you must not ask me this, my lady. That was yesterday, and it has flown away into the past.”
“Did the Lord Michanek ask you to withhold my past from me?”
He nodded glumly. “It was for love that he asked this of me. Your Talent almost killed you and he did not wish for you to suffer again. Anyway, your bath is prepared. It is hot and steaming, and I managed to find some rose oil for the water.”
An hour later Rowena was walking through the garden when she saw that the window to Michanek’s study was open. This was unusual, for there were many papers here and the summer breezes would often scatter them around the room. Moving inside,ashe opened the door and pulled shut the small window. Then she saw the package on the oak deski It was small and, as Michanek had said, was wrapped in purple velveti
aSlowly she unwrapped theavelvet toafind a small, unadorned wooden box withaa hinged lid, which she opened. Within lay a brooch which was simply,aeven crudely, made of soft copper strands surrounding a moonstone. Her mouth was suddenly dry. A part ofaher mind told her the brooch was new to her,abut a tiny warning bell was ringing in the deep recesses of her soul. This is mine!
Her right hand dropped slowly towards the brooch, then stopped, the fingers hovering just above the moonstone. Rowena drew back, then sat down. She heard Pudri enter the room.
“You were wearing that when I first saw you,” he said gently. She nodded, but did not answer. The little Ventrian approached and handed her a letter, sealed with red wax. “The Lord asked me to give you this when you had seen his… gift.”
Rowena broke the seal and opened the letter. It was written in Michanek’s bold, clear script.
Greetings, Beloved.
I am skilled with the sword, and yet, at this moment, I would sell my soul to be as skilful with words. A long time ago, as you lay dying, I paid three sorcerers to seal your Talents deep within you. In doing so they closed also the doorways of memory.
The brooch was, they told me, made for you as a gift of love. It is the key to your past, and a gift for your future. Of all the pain I have known, there is no suffering greater than the knowledge that your future will be without me. Yet I have loved you, and would not change a single day. And if, by some miracle, I was allowed to return to the past and court you once more, I would do so in the same way, in ful knowledge of the same outcome.
