“Do you remember all my words?”
“Yes,” she answered, simply.
The sound of hoofbeats came from the yard beyond, and Druss strode to the door, stepping out on to the porch.
The rider wore the armour of a Drenai officer, white plumed helm and silver breastplate, with a long scarlet cloak. He dismounted, tied the reins of his horse to a hitching rail and walked towards the house.
“Good evening. I am looking for Druss the Axeman,” said the man, removing his helm and running his fingers through his sweat-drenched fair hair.
“You found him.”
“I thought so. I am Dun Certak. I have a message from Lord Abalayn. He wonders if you would agree to ride east to our camp at Skeln.”
“Why?”
“Morale, sir. You are a legend. The Legend. It would boost the men during the interminable waiting.”
“No,” said Druss. “I am retired.”
“Where are your manners, Druss?” called Rowena. “Ask the young man to come in.”
Druss stepped aside and the officer entered, bowing deeply to Rowena.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady. I have heard so much about you.”
“How disappointing for you,” she replied, her smile friendly. “You hear of a princess and meet a plump matron.”
“He wants me to travel to Skeln,” said Druss.
“I heard. I think you should go.”
“I am no speechmaker,” growled Druss.
“Then take Sieben with you. It will do you good. You have no idea how irritating it is to have you fussing around me all day. Be honest, you will enjoy yourself enormously.”
“Are you married?” Druss asked Certak, his voice almost a growl.
“No, sir.”
“Very wise. Will you stay the night?”
“No, sir. Thank you. I have other despatches to deliver. But I will see you at Skeln… and look forward to it.” The officer bowed once more and backed away towards the door.
“You will stay for supper,” ordered Rowena. “Your despatches can wait for at least one hour.”
“I’m sorry, my lady, but…”
“Give up, Certak,” advised Druss. “You cannot win.”
The officer smiled and spread his hands. “An hour then,” he agreed.
The following morning, on borrowed horses, Druss and Sieben waved farewell and headed east. Rowena waved and smiled until they were out of sight, then returned to the house, where Pudri was waiting.
“You should not have sent him away, lady,” said the Ventrian sadly. Rowena swallowed hard, and the tears began to flow. Pudri moved alongside her, his slender arms encircling her.
“I had to. He must not be here when the time comes,”
“He would want to be here.”
“In so many ways he is the strongest man I have ever known. But in this I am right. He must not see me die.”
“I will be with you, lady. I will hold your hand.”
“You will tell him that it was sudden, and there was no pain - even if it is a lie?”
“I will.”
Six days later, after a dozen changes of mount, Certak galloped into the camp. There were four hundred white tents set in unit squares in the shadow of the Skeln range, each housing twelve men. Four thousand horse were picketed in the surrounding fields, and sixty cookfires were blazing under iron pots. The odour of stew assailed him as he reined in outside the large red-striped tent used by the general and his staff.
The young officer handed over his despatches, saluted and left to rejoin his company at the northern edge of the camp. Leaving his lathered mount with a groom, he removed his helm and pushed aside the tent flap of his quarters. Inside his companions were dicing and drinking. The game broke up as he entered.
“Certak!” said Orases, grinning and rising to meet him. “Well, what was he like?”
“Who?” asked Certak innocently.
“Druss, you moron.”
“Big,” said Certak, moving past the burly blond officer and throwing his helm to the narrow pallet bed. He unbuckled his breastplate, letting it drop to the floor. Freed of its weight, he took a deep breath and scratched his chest.
“Now don’t be annoying, there’s a good fellow,” said Orases, his smile fading. “Tell us about him.”
