“Knew… you would… come,” he said. Druss half carried the dying warrior to a marble bench at the wall of the courtyard, laying him gently to the cool stone. An Immortal removed his own cloak and rolled it into a pillow for the Naashanite general.
Michanek gazed up at the darkening sky, then turned his head. Druss was kneeling alongside him, and beyond the axeman the Immortals waited. At an order from Gorben they drew their swords and held them high, saluting their enemy.
“Druss! Druss!”
“I am here.”
Treat… her… gently.”
“Michanek did not hear his answer.
He was sitting on the grass by a waterfall, the cool petals of a water-lily crown against his skin.
There was no looting in Resha, nor any organised slaughter amongst the population. The Immortals patrolled the city, having first marched through to the centre past cheering crowds who were waving banners and hurling flower petals beneath the feet of the soldiers. In the first hours there were isolated outbursts of violence, as angry citizens gathered in mobs to hunt down Ventrians accused of collaborating with the Naashanite conquerors.
Gorben ordered the mobs dispersed, promising judicial inquiries at a later date to identify those who could be accused of treason. The bodies of the slain were buried in two mass graves beyond the city walls, and the Emperor ordered a monument built above the Ventrian fallen, a huge stone Kon with the names of the dead carved into the base. Above the Naashanite grave there was to be no stone. Michanek, however, was laid to rest in the Hall of the Fallen, below the Great Palace on the Hill that stood like a crown at the centre of Resha.
Food was brought in to feed the populace, and builders began work, removing the dams that had starved the city of water, rebuilding the walls and repairing those houses and shops damaged by the huge stones of the ballistae that had hurtled over the walls during the past three months.
Druss had no interest in the affairs of the city. Day by day he sat at Rowena’s bedside, holding to her cold, pale hand.
After Michanek had died Druss had sought out his house, the directions supplied by a Naashanite soldier who had survived the last assault. With Sieben and Eskodas he had run through the city streets until at last he had come to the house on the hill, entering it through a beautiful garden. There he saw a small man, sitting weeping by an ornamental lake. Druss seized him by his woollen tunic, hauling him to his feet. “Where is she?” he demanded.
“She is dead,” wailed the man, his tears flowing freely. “She took poison. There is a priest with the body.” He pointed to the house, then fell to weeping again. Releasing him, Druss ran in to the house and up the curved stairs. The first three rooms were empty, but in the fourth he found the priest of Pashtar Sen sitting by the bedside.
“Gods, no!” said Druss as he saw the still form of his Rowena, her face grey, her eyes closed. The priest looked up, his eyes tired.
“Say nothing,” urged the priest, his voice weak and seemingly far away. “I have sent for a… a friend. And it is taking all my power to hold her to life.” He closed his eyes. At a loss, Druss walked to the far side of the bed and gazed down on the woman he had loved for so long.
It was seven years since last he had laid eyes on her, and her beauty tore at his heart with talons of steel. Swallowing hard, he sat at the bedside. The priest was holding to her hand; sweat was flowing down his face, making grey streaks on his cheeks, and he seemed mortally weary. When Sieben and Eskodas entered the room Druss waved them to silence, and they sat and waited.
It was almost an hour before another man entered: a bald, portly man with a round red face and comically protruding ears, He was dressed in a long white tunic, and carried a large leather bag slung from his shoulder by a long gold-embroidered strap. Without a word to the three men he moved to the bedside, placing his fingers against Rowena’s neck.
The priest of Pashtar Sen opened his eyes. “She has taken yasroot, Shalitar,” he said.
The bald man nodded. “How long ago?”
“Three hours, though I have prevented most of it from spreading through the blood. But a minute part has reached the lymphatic system.”
Shalitar clicked his teeth, then delved into the leather bag. “One of you fetch water,” he ordered. Eskodas stood and left the room, returning moments later with a silver jug. Shalitar told him to stand close to the head of the bed, then from the bag he produced a small packet of powder which he tipped into the jug. It foamed briefly, then settled. Delving into the bag again, he pulled clear a long grey tube and a funnel. Reaching down, he opened Rowena’s mouth.
“What are you doing?” stormed Druss, grabbing the man’s hand.
The surgeon was unperturbed. “We must get the potion into her stomach. As you can see, she is in no condition to drink, therefore I intend to insert this tube in her throat and pour the potion in through the funnel. It is a delicate business, for I would not want to flood her lungs. It would be hard for me to do it correctly with a broken hand.”
Druss released him, and watched in silent anguish as the tube was eased into her throat. Shalitar held the funnel in place and ordered Eskodas to pour. When half of the contents of the jug had vanished, Shalitar nipped the tube between thumb and forefinger and withdrew it. Kneeling by the bed, he pressed his ear to Rowena’s breast.
“The heartbeat is very slow,” he said, “and weak. A year ago I treated her for plague; she almost died then, but the illness left its mark. The heart is not strong.” He turned to the men. “Leave me now, for I must keep her circulation strong, and that will involve rubbing oil into her legs, arms and back.”
“I’ll not leave,” said Druss.
“Sir, this lady is the widow of the Lord Michanek. She is well loved here - despite being wed to a Naashanite. It is not fitting for men to observe her naked - and any man who causes her shame will not survive the day.”
“I am her husband,” hissed Druss. “The others can go. I stay.”
Shalitar rubbed his chin, but looked ready to argue no further. The priest of Pashtar Sen touched the surgeon’s
