hand on the old man’s back. “You risked much to help me, and I’ve no time left in this world in which to repay you.”
“No time?” echoed the old man. “You can hide here and escape after dark. I can get a rope; you can lower yourself from the wall.”
“No. I must find Cajivak - and kill him.”
“Good,” said the old man. “The goddess will give you powers, yes? She will pour strength into your body?”
“I fear not,” said Druss. “In this I shall be alone.”
“You will die! Do not attempt this,” pleaded the old man, tears streaming from the opal eyes. “I beg you. He will destroy you; he is a monster with the strength of ten men. Look at yourself. I cannot see you clearly, but I know how weak you must be. You have a chance at life, freedom, sunshine on your face. You are young - what will you achieve if you attempt this foolishness? He will crush you, and either kill you or throw you back into that hole in the ground.”
“I was not born to run,” said Druss. “And, trust me, I am not as weak as you think. You saw to that. Now tell me of the Keep, and where the stairwells lead.”
Eskodas had no fear of death, for he had no love of life - a fact he had known for many years. Ever since his father was dragged from their home and hanged, he had known no depth of joy. He felt the loss, but accepted it in a calm and tranquil manner. On board ship he had told Sieben that he enjoyed killing people, but this was not true. He experienced no sensation whatever when his arrow struck home, save for a momentary satisfaction when his aim was particularly good.
Now, as he strolled with Varsava towards the grey, forbidding Hall, he wondered if he would die. He thought of Druss imprisoned beneath the Keep in a dark, dank dungeon, and found himself wondering what such incarceration would do to his own personality. He took no especial pleasure from the sights of the world, the mountains and lakes, the oceans and valleys. Would he miss them? He doubted it.
Glancing at Varsava, he saw that the bladesman was tense, expectant. Eskodas smiled. No need for fear, he thought.
It is only death.
The two men climbed the stone steps to the Keep gates, which were open and unguarded. Moving inside, Eskodas heard a roar of laughter from the Hall. They walked to the main doors and looked inside. There were some two hundred men seated around three great tables and, at the far end, on a dais raised some six feet from the floor, sat Cajivak. He was seated in a huge, ornately carved chair of ebony, and he was smiling. Before him, standing on the end table, was Sieben.
The poet’s voice sang out. He was telling them a tale of such mind-bending raunchiness that Eskodas’s jaw dropped. He had heard Sieben tell epic stories, recite ancient poems and discuss philosophy, but never had he heard the poet talk of whores and donkeys. Varsava laughed aloud as Sieben finished the story with an obscene double entendre.
Eskodas gazed around the hall. Above them was a gallery, and he located the recessed stairway that led to it. This might be a good place to hide. He nudged Varsava. “I’ll take a look upstairs,” he whispered. The bladesman nodded and Eskodas strolled unnoticed through the throng and climbed the stairs. The gallery was narrow and flowed round the Hall. There were no doors leading from it, and a man seated here would be invisible to those below.
Sieben was now telling the story of a hero captured by a vicious enemy. Eskodas paused to listen:
“He was taken before the leader, and told that he had one opportunity for life: he must survive four trials by ordeal. The first was to walk barefoot across a trench filled with hot coals. The second to drink a full quart of the most powerful spirit. Thirdly he had to enter a cave and, with a small set of tongs, remove a bad tooth from a mankilling lioness. Lastly, he was told, he had to make love to the ugliest crone in the village.
“Well, he pulled off his boots and told them to bring on the hot coals. Manfully he strode through them to the other side of the trench, where he lifted the quart of spirit and drained it, hurling the pot aside. Then he stumbled into the cave. There followed the most terrible sounds of spitting, growling, and banging and shrieking. The listening men found their blood growing cold. At last the warrior staggered out into the sunlight. “Right,” he said. “Now where’s the woman with the toothache?” “
Laughter echoed around the rafters and Eskodas shook his head in amazement. He had watched Sieben back in Capalis listening to warriors swapping jests and jokes. Not once had the poet laughed, or appeared to find the stories amusing. Yet here he was, performing the same tales with apparent relish.
Transferring his gaze to Cajivak, the archer saw that the leader was no longer smiling, but was sitting back in his chair, his fingers drumming on the arm-rest. Eskodas had known many evil men, and knew well that some could look as fine as angels - handsome, clear-eyed, golden-haired. But Cajivak looked what he was, dark and malevolent. He was wearing Druss’s jerkin of black leather, with the silver shoulder guards, and Eskodas saw him reach down and stroke the black haft of an axe that was resting against the chair. It was Snaga.
Suddenly the colossal warrior rose from his chair. “Enough!” he bellowed and Sieben stood silently before him. “I don’t like your performance, bard, so I’m going to have you impaled on an iron spike.” The Hall was utterly silent now. Eskodas drew a shaft from his quiver and notched it to his bow. “Well? Any more jests before you die?” Cajivak asked.
“Just the one,” answered Sieben, holding to the madman’s gaze. “Last night I had dream, a terrible dream. I dreamt I was beyond the gates of Hell; it was a place of fire and torture, exquisitely ghastly. I was very frightened and I said to one of the demon guards, ‘Is there any way out of here?’ And he said there was only one, and no one had ever achieved the task set. He led me to a dungeon, and through a narrow grille I saw the most loathsome woman. She was leprous, with weeping sores, toothless and old beyond time. Maggots crawled in what was left of her hair. The guard said, ‘If you can make love to her all night, you will be allowed to leave.’ And, you know, I was prepared to have a try. But as I stepped forward I saw a second door, and I glanced through. And you know what I saw, Lord? I saw you. You were making love to one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. So I said to the guard, ‘Why is it that I have to bed a crone, when Cajivak gets a beauty?’ ‘Well,’ he said, ‘’tis only fair that the women also have a chance to get out.” “
Even from the gallery Eskodas could see Cajivak’s face lose its colour. When he spoke, his voice was harsh and trembling. “I will make your death last an eternity,” he promised.
Eskodas drew back on his bowstring… and paused. A man had appeared at the back of the dais, his hair and beard matted and filthy, his face blackened with ingrained dirt. He ran forward, throwing his shoulder into the high back ofCajivak’s chair, which hurtled forward to catapult the warlord from the dais. He fell head-first on to the table
