“There is no love in this. You have murdered those I have loved. And now you seek to pleasure yourself at the expense of what dignity I have left.”
He strode towards her, gripping her upper arms. “You are not here to debate with me, whore! You are here to do as you are told.”
“Why do you call me a whore? Does it make your actions more simple for you? Oh, Harib Ka, how would Rajica view your actions?”
He reeled back as if struck. “What do you know of Rajica?”
“Only that you loved her - and that she died in your arms.”
“You are a witch!”
“And you are a lost man, Harib Ka. Everything you once held dear has been sold - your pride, your honour, your love of life.”
“I will not be judged by you,” he said, but he made no move to silence her.
“I do not judge you,” she told him. “I pity you. And I tell you this: unless you release me and the other women, you will die.”
“You are a seer also?” he said, trying to mock. “Are the Drenai cavalry close, witch? Is there an army waiting to fall upon me and my men? No. Do not seek to threaten me, girl. Whatever else I may have lost I am still a warrior and, with the possible exception of Collan, the finest swordsman you will ever see. I do not fear death. No. Sometimes I long for it.” He felt his passion ebbing away. “So tell me, witch, what is this peril I face?”
“His name is Druss. He is my husband.”
“We killed all the men in the village.”
“No. He was in the woods, felling timbers for the palisade.”
“I sent six men there.”
“But they have not returned,” Rowena pointed out.
“You are saying he killed them all?”
“He did,” she told him softly, “and now he is coming for you.”
“You make him sound like a warrior of legend,” said Harib uneasily. “I could send men back to kill him.”
“I hope you do not.”
“You fear for his life?”
“No, I would mourn for theirs.” She sighed.
“Tell me of him. Is he a swordsman? A soldier?”
“No, he is the son of a carpenter. But once I dreamt I saw him on a mountainside. He was black-bearded and his axe was smeared with blood. And before him were hundreds of souls. They stood mourning their lives. More flowed from his axe, and they wailed. Men of many nations, billowing like smoke until broken by the breeze. All slain by Druss. Mighty Druss. The Captain of the Axe. The Deathwalker.”
“And this is your husband?”
“No, not yet. This is the man he will become if you do not free me. This is the man you created when you slew his father and took me prisoner. You will not stop him, Harib Ka.”
He sent her away then, and ordered the guards to let her remain unmolested.
Collan had come to him and had laughed at his misery. “By Missael, Harib, she is just a village wench and now a slave. She is property. Our property. And her gift makes her worth ten times the price we will receive for any of the others. She is attractive and young - I’d say around a thousand gold pieces’ worth. There is that Ventrian merchant, Kabuchek; he’s always looking for seers and fortune-tellers. I’ll wager he’d pay a thousand.”
Harib sighed. “Aye, you are right, my friend. Take her. We’ll need coin upon our arrival. But don’t touch her, Collan,” he warned the handsome swordsman. “She really does have the Gift, and she will see into your soul.”
“There is nothing to see,” answered Collah, with a harsh, forced smile.
Druss edged his way along the river-bank, keeping close to the undergrowth and pausing to listen. There were no sounds save the rustling of autumn leaves in the branches above, no movement apart from the occasional swooping flight of bat or owl. His mouth was dry, but he felt no fear.
Across the narrow river he saw a white jutting boulder, cracked down the centre. According to Shadak, the first of the sentries was positioned almost opposite. Moving carefully Druss crept back into the woods, then angled towards the river-bank, timing his approach by the wind which stirred the leaves above him, the rustling in the trees masking the sound of his movements.
The sentry was sitting on a rock no more than ten feet to Druss’s right, and he had stretched out his right leg. Taking Snaga in his left hand, Druss wiped his sweating palm on his trews, his eyes scanning the undergrowth for the second sentry. He could see no one.
Druss waited, his back against a broad tree. From a little distance to the left came a harsh, gurgling sound. The sentry heard it too, and rose.
“Bushin! What are you doing there, you fool?”
Druss stepped out behind the man. “He is dying,” he said.
The man spun, hand snaking down for the sword at his hip. Snaga flashed up and across, the silver blade entering the neck just below the ear and shearing through sinew and bone. The head toppled to the right, the body to the left.
Shadak stepped from the undergrowth. “Well done,” he whispered. “Now, when I send the women down to
