“Why not?” countered the giant, filling a clay goblet. A low moan came from behind the table.
“He must have a hard head,” said Varsava. “I thought he was dead.”
“If he comes near me again, he will be,” promised the man. “What is this place?”
“It’s called the All but One,” Varsava told him.
“An odd name for an inn?”
Varsava looked into the man’s pale eyes. “Not really. It comes from a Ventrian toast: may all your dreams - save one - come true.”‘
“What does it mean?”
“Quite simply that a man must always have a dream unfulfilled. What could be worse than to achieve everything one has ever dreamed of? What would one do then?”
“Find another dream,” said the giant.
“Spoken like a man who understands nothing about dreams.”
The giant’s eyes narrowed. “Is that an insult?”
“No, it is an observation. What brings you to Lania?”
“I am passing through,” said the man. Behind him two of the injured men had regained their feet; both drew daggers and advanced towards them, but Varsava’s hand came up from beneath the table with a huge hunting-knife glittering in his fist. He rammed the point into the table and left the weapon quivering there.
“Enough,” he told the would-be attackers, the words softly spoken, a smile upon his face. “Pick up your friend here and find another place to drink.”
“We can’t let him get away with this!” said one of the men, whose eye was blackened and swollen almost shut.
“He did get away with it, my friends. And if you persist in this foolishness, I think he will kill you. Now go away, I am trying to hold a conversation.” Grumbling, the men sheathed their blades and moved back into the crowd. “Passing through to where?” he asked the giant. The fellow seemed amused.
“You handled that well. Friends of yours?”
“They know me,” answered the bladesman, offering his hand across the table. “I am Varsava.”
“Druss.”
“I’ve heard that name. There was an axeman at the siege of Capalis. There’s a song about him, I believe.”
“Song!” snorted Druss. “Aye, there is, but I had no part in the making of it. Damn fool of a poet I was travelling with - he made it up. Nonsense, all of it.”
Varsava smiled. “They speak in hushed whispers of Druss and his axe, even demons will scatter when this man attacks.”
Druss reddened. “Asta’s tits! You know there’s a hundred more lines of it?” He shook his head. “Unbelievable!”
“There are worse fates in life than to be immortalised in song. Isn’t there some part of it about a lost wife? Is that also an invention?”
“No, that’s true enough,” admitted Druss, his expression changing as he drained his wine and poured a second goblet. In the silence that followed, Varsava leaned back and studied his drinking companion. The man’s shoulders were truly immense and he had a neck like a bull. But it was not the size that gave him the appearance of a giant, Varsava realised, it was more a power that emanated from him. During the fight he had seemed seven feet tall, the other warriors puny by comparison. Yet here, sitting quietly drinking, Druss seemed no more than a large, heavily muscled young man. Intriguing, thought Varsava.
“If I remember aright, you were also at the relief of Ectanis, and four other southern cities?” he probed. The man nodded, but said nothing. Varsava called for a third flagon of wine and tried to recall all he had heard of the young axeman. At Ectanis, it was said, he had fought the Naashanite champion, Cuerl, and been one of the first to scale the walls. And two years later he had held, with fifty other men, the pass of Kishtay, denying the road to a full legion of Naashanite troops until Gorben could arrive with reinforcements.
“What happened to the poet?” asked Varsava, searching for a safe route to satisfy his curiosity.
Druss chuckled. “He met a woman… several women, in fact. Last I heard he was living in Pusha with the widow of a young officer.” He laughed again and shook his head. “I miss him; he was merry company.” The smile faded from Druss’s face. “You ask a lot of questions?”
Varsava shrugged. “You are an interesting man, and there is not much of interest these days in Lania. The war has made it dull. Did you ever find your wife?”
“No. But I will. What of you? Why are you here?”
“I am paid to be here,” said Varsava. “Another flagon?”
“Aye, and I’ll pay for it,” promised Druss. Reaching out, he took hold of the huge knife embedded in the table and pulled it clear. “Nice weapon, heavy but well balanced. Good steel.”
“Lentrian. I had it made ten years ago. Best money I ever spent. You have an axe, do you not?”
Druss shook his head. “I had one once. It was lost.”
“How does one lose an axe?”
Druss smiled. “One falls from a cliff into a raging torrent.”
“Yes, I would imagine that would do it,” responded Varsava. “What do you carry now?”
