Until next year. “I’ll be back,” whispered Borcha. “I have to. It is all I have.”
Sieben floated to consciousness through layers of dreams. He was drifting on a blue lake, yet his body was dry; he was standing on an island of flowers, but could not feel the earth beneath his feet; he was lying on a satin bed, beside a statue of marble. At his touch she became flesh, but remained cold.
He opened his eyes and the dreams whispered away from his memory. Druss was still asleep. Sieben rose from the chair and stretched his back, then he gazed down on the sleeping warrior.
The stitches on Druss’s brows were tight and puckered, dried blood had stained both eyelids and his nose was swollen and discoloured. Yet despite the wounds his face radiated strength and Sieben felt chilled by the almost inhuman power of the youth.
Druss groaned and opened his eyes.
“How are you feeling this morning?” asked the poet.
“Like a horse galloped over my face,” answered Druss, rolling from the bed and pouring himself a goblet of water. Someone tapped at the door.
Sieben rose from his chair and drew a knife from its sheath. “Who is it?”
“It is me, sir,” came the voice of the tavern-maid. “There is a man to see you; he is downstairs.”
Sieben opened the door and the maid curtsied. “Do you know him?” asked Sieben.
“He is the Ventrian gentleman who was here last night, sir.”
“Is he alone?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Send him up,” ordered Sieben. While they were waiting he told Druss about the men who had come searching for them the night before.
“You should have woken me,” said Druss.
“I thought we could do without a scene of carnage,” Sieben replied.
Bodasen entered and immediately crossed to where Druss stood by the window. He leaned in and examined the stitches on the axeman’s eyebrows. “They’ve held well,” said Bodasen, with a smile.
“What news?” asked Druss.
The Ventrian removed his black cloak and draped it over a chair. “Last night Collan had men scouring the city for you. Assassins. But today he has come to his senses. This morning he sent a man to me with a message for you. He has decided to return your wife to you.”
“Good. When and where.”
“There is a quay about a half-mile west of here. He will meet you there tonight, one hour after dusk, and he will have Rowena with him. But he is a worried man, Druss; he doesn’t want to die.”
“I’ll not kill him,” promised Druss.
“He wants you to come alone - and unarmed.”
“Madness!” stormed Sieben. “Does he think he is dealing with fools?”
“Whatever else he may be,” said Bodasen, “he is still a Drenai noble. His word must be accepted.”
“Not by me,” hissed Sieben. “He is a murdering renegade who has become rich by dealing in the misery of others. Drenai noble indeed!”
“I’ll go,” said Druss. “What other choices are there?”
“It is a trap, Druss. There is no honour in men like Collan. He’ll be there, right enough - with a dozen or so killers.”
“They won’t stop me,” insisted the axeman, his pale eyes gleaming.
“A knife through the throat can stop anyone.”
Bodasen stepped forward and laid his hand on Druss’s shoulder. “Collan assured me this was an honest trade. I would not have brought this message had I believed it to be false.”
Druss nodded and smiled. “I believe you,” he said.
“How did you find us?” enquired Sieben.
“This is where you said you would be,” answered Bodasen.
“Exactly where will this meeting take place?” asked Druss. Bodasen gave directions and then bade them farewell.
When he had left Sieben turned on the young axeman. “You truly believe him?”
“Of course. He is a Ventrian gentleman. My father told me they are the world’s worst traders because they have a hatred of lies and deceit. They are reared that way.”
“Collan isn’t a Ventrian,” Sieben pointed out.
“No,” agreed Druss, his expression grim. “No, he is not. He is everything you described. And you are quite right, poet. It will be a trap.”
“And yet you will still go?”
“As I have already said, there are no other choices. But you don’t have to be there. You owe Shadak - not me.”