walked slowly beside Sieben. The truth of it was that Druss himself was tired. They had walked most of the night, both trying to prove they still had a claim to youth.
Delnar dismissed Archytas and remained seated behind the small folding table on which were strewn papers and despatches. Sieben, oblivious of the tension, slumped to Delnar’s narrow bed. Druss lifted a flagon of wine to his lips, taking three great swallows.
“He is not welcome here - and, therefore, neither are you,” said Delnar, as Druss replaced the flagon.
The axeman wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Had I been sure you were here, I would not have brought him,” he said. “I take it the army has moved on.”
“Yes. They travelled south. Gorben has landed. You may borrow two horses, but I want you gone by sundown.”
“I came to give the men something to think about besides waiting,” said Druss. They won’t need me now. So I’ll just rest here for a couple of days then head back to Skoda.”
“I said you’re not welcome here,” said Delnar.
The axeman’s eyes grew cold as he stared at the Earl. “Listen to me,” said Druss, as softly as he could. “I know why you feel as you do. In your place I would feel the same. But I am not in your place. I am Druss. And I walk where I will. If I say I will stay here then I shall. Now I like you, laddie. But cross me and I’ll kill you.”
Delnar nodded and rubbed his chin. The situation had gone as far as he could allow it. He had hoped Druss would leave, but he could not force him. What could be more ludicrous than the Earl of the North ordering Drenai warriors to attack Druss the Legend? Especially since the man had been invited to the camp by the Lord of Hosts. Delnar did not fear Druss, because he did not fear death. His life had been ended for him six years before. Since then his wife, Vashti, had shamed him with many more affairs. Three years ago she had delivered to him a daughter, a delightful child he adored, even if he doubted his part in her conception. Vashti had run away to the capital soon after, leaving the child at Delnoch. The Earl had heard his wife was now living with a Ventrian merchant in the rich western quarter. Taking a deep, calming breath, he met Druss’ eyes.
“Stay then,” he said. “But keep him from my sight.”
Druss nodded. He glanced down at Sieben. The poet was asleep.
“This should never have come between us,” said Delnar.
“These things happen,” said Druss. “Sieben always had a weakness for beautiful women.”
“I shouldn’t hate him. But he was the first I knew about. He was the man who destroyed my dreams. You understand?”
“We will leave tomorrow,” said Druss wearily. “But for now let’s walk in the pass. I need some air in my lungs.”
The Earl rose and donned his helm and red cape, and together the two warriors walked through the camp and on up the steep rocky slope to the mouth of the pass. It ran for almost a mile, narrowing at the centre to less than fifty paces, where the ground dropped away gently in a rolling slope down to a stream that flowed across the valley floor, angling towards the sea some three miles distant. From the mouth of the pass, through the jagged peaks, the sea glittered in the fragmented sunlight, glowing gold and blue. A fresh easterly wind cooled Druss’s face.
“Good place for a defensive battle,” said the axeman, scanning the pass. “At the centre any attacking force would be funnelled in and numbers would be useless.”
“And they would have to charge uphill,” said Delnar. “I think Abalayn was hoping Gorben would land here. We could have sealed him in the bay. Left his army to starve, and brought the fleet round to harry his ships.”
“He’s too canny for that,” said Druss. “A more wily warrior you will not find.”
“You liked him?”
“He was always fair with me,” said Druss, keeping his tone neutral.
Delnar nodded. “They say he’s become a tyrant.”
Druss shrugged. “He once told me it was the curse of kings.”
“He was right,” said Delnar. “You know your friend Bodasen is still one of his top generals?”
“I wouldn’t doubt it. He’s a loyal man, with a good eye for strategy.”
“I should think you are relieved to miss this battle, my friend,” commented the Earl.
Druss nodded. “The years I served with the Immortals were happy ones, I’ll grant that. And I have other friends among them. But you are right, I would hate to come up against Bodasen. We were brothers in battle, and I love the man dearly.”
“Let’s go back. I’ll arrange some food for you.”
The Earl saluted the sentry at the mouth of the pass and the two men made their way up the slope to the camp. Delnar took him to a square white tent, lifting the flap for Druss to enter first. Within were four men. They leapt to their feet as the Earl followed Druss inside.
“Stand easy,” said Delnar. “This is Druss, an old friend of mine. He’ll be staying with us for a while. I’d like you to make him welcome.” He turned to Druss. “I believe you know Certak and Archytas. Well, this black-bearded reprobate is Diagoras.” Druss liked the look of the man; his smile was quick and friendly, and the gleam in his dark eyes bespoke humour. But more than this he had what soldiers call “the look of eagles’ and Druss knew instantly he was a warrior born.
“Nice to meet you, sir. We’ve heard a lot about you.”
“And this is Orases,” said Certak. “He’s new with us. From Drenan.”
Druss shook hands with the young man, noting the fat around his middle and the softness of his grip. He seemed pleasant enough, but beside Diagoras and Certak he seemed boyish and clumsy.
“Would you like some food?” asked Diagoras, after the Earl had departed.
