arrived, you are welcome. But, tell me, what happened between you and Archytas? It looks like a mountain fell on his face.”
“His nose tapped my hand,” grunted Druss.
Delnar smiled. “He’s a somewhat loathsome character. But you had better watch out for him. He’s stupid enough to challenge you.”
“No, he won’t,” said Druss. “He may be foolish, but he’s not in love with death. Even a puppy knows to hide from a wolf.”
On the morning of the fourth day, as Druss sat with Sieben, one of the lookout sentries came running headlong into the camp. Within minutes chaos reigned as men raced for their armour. Hearing the commotion, Druss walked from the tent. A young soldier ran by. Druss’s arm snaked out, catching the man’s cloak and wrenching him to a stop.
“What’s going on?” asked Druss.
“The Ventrians are here!” shouted the soldier, tearing himself loose and running towards the pass. Druss swore and strode after him. At the mouth of the pass he halted, staring out over the stream.
Standing in armoured line upon line, their lances gleaming, were the warriors of Gorben, filling the valley from mountainside to mountainside. At the centre of the mass was the tent of the Emperor, and around it were massed the black and silver ranks of the Immortals.
Drenai warriors scurried past him as Druss made his slow way to Delnar’s side.
“I told you he was cunning,” said Druss. “He must have sent a token force to Penrac, knowing it would draw our army south.”
“Yes. But what now?”
“You’re not left with many choices,” said Druss.
“True.”
The Drenai warriors spread out across the narrow centre of the pass in three ranks, their round shields glinting in the morning sun, their white horsehair-crested helms flowing in the breeze.
“How many here are veterans?” asked Druss.
“About half. I’ve placed them at the front.”
“How long will it take a rider to reach Penrac?”
“I’ve sent a man. The army should be back in about ten days.”
“You think we’ve got ten days?” asked Druss.
“No. But, as you say, there aren’t too many choices. What do you think Gorben will do?”
“First he’ll talk. He’ll ask you to surrender. You’d better request a few hours to make up your mind. Then he’ll send the Panthians in. They’re an undisciplined bunch but they fight like devils. We should see them off. Their wicker shields and stabbing spears are no match for Drenai armour. After that he’ll test all his troops on us…”
“The Immortals?”
“Not until the end, when we’re weary and finished.”
“It’s a gloomy picture,” said Delnar.
“It’s a bitch,” agreed Druss.
“Will you stand with us, axeman?”
“Did you expect me to leave?”
Delnar chuckled suddenly. “Why shouldn’t you? I wish I could.”
In the first Drenai line Diagoras sheathed his sword, wiping his sweating palm on his red cloak. “There are enough of them,” he said.
Beside him Certak nodded. “Masterly understatement. They look like they could run right over us.”
“We’ll have to surrender, won’t we?” whispered Orases from behind them, blinking sweat from his eyes.
“Somehow I don’t think that’s likely,” said Certak. “Though I admit it’s a welcome thought.”
A rider on a black stallion forded the stream and galloped towards the Drenai line. Delnar walked through the ranks, Druss beside him, and waited.
The rider wore the black and silver armour of a general of the Immortals. Reining in before the two men, he leaned forward on the pommel of his saddle.
“Druss?” he said. “Is that you?”
Druss studied the gaunt features, the silver-streaked dark hair hanging in two braids.
“Welcome to Skeln, Bodasen,” answered the axeman.
“I’m sorry to find you here. I was meaning to ride for Skoda as soon as we took Drenan. Is Rowena well?”
“Yes. And you?”
“As you see me. Fit and well. Yourself?”
“I’m not complaining.”
“And Sieben?”
