“That’s true,” said Druss, brightening, “and he did promise to help. I feel better already. The stars are bright, the night is cool. Ah, but it’s good to be alive! All right, poet, tell me how I rescued the princess from Hell. And put in a dragon or two!”
“No,” said Sieben, with a laugh, “you are now in altogether too good a mood. It is only amusing when your face is dark as thunder and your knuckles are clenched white.”
“There is truth in that,” muttered Druss. “I think you only invent these tales to annoy me.”
Eskodas lifted the spit and turned the roasting meat. “I rather liked the tale, Druss. And it had the ring of truth. If the Chaos Spirit did drag your soul into Hell, I’m sure you’d twist his tail for him.”
Conversation ceased as they heard movement from the woods. Sieben drew one of his knives; Eskodas took up his bow and notched a shaft to the string; Druss merely sat silently, waiting. A man appeared. He was wearing long flowing robes of dusty grey, though they shone like silver in the bright moonlight.
“I was waiting for you in the village,” said the priest of Pashtar Sen, sitting down alongside the axeman.
“I prefer it here,” said Druss, his voice cold and unwelcoming.
“I am sorry, my son, for your suffering, and I feel a weight of shame for asking you to take up the burden of the axe. But Cajivak was laying waste to the countryside, and his power would have grown. What you did…”
“I did what I did,” snarled Druss. “Now live up to your side of the bargain.”
“Rowena is in Resha. She… lives… with a soldier named Michanek. He is a Naashanite general, and the Emperor’s champion.”
“Lives with?”
The priest hesitated. “She is married to him,” he said swiftly.
Druss’s eyes narrowed. “That is a lie. They might force her to do many things, but she would never marry another man.”
“Let me tell this in my own way,” pleaded the priest. “As you know I searched long and hard for her, but there was nothing. It was as if she had ceased to exist. When I did find her it was by chance - I saw her in Resha just before the siege and I touched her mind. She had no memory of the lands of the Drenai, none whatever. I followed her home and saw Michanek greet her. Then I entered his mind. He had a friend, a mystic, and he employed him to take away Rowena’s Talent as a seeress. In doing this they also robbed her of her memories. Michanek is now all she has ever known.”
“They tricked her with sorcery. By the gods, I’ll make them pay for that! Resha, eh?” Reaching out Druss curled his hand around the haft of the axe, drawing the weapon to him.
“No, you still don’t understand,” said the priest. “Michanek is a fine man. What he…”
“Enough!” thundered Druss. “Because of you I have spent more than a year in a hole in the ground, with only rats for company. Now get out of my sight - and never, ever cross my path again.”
The priest slowly rose.and backed away from the axeman. He seemed about to speak, but Druss turned his pale eyes upon the man and the priest stumbled away into the darkness.
Sieben and Eskodas said nothing.
High in the cliffs, far to the east, the Naashanite Emperor sat, his woollen cloak wrapped tightly around him. He was fifty-four years of age and looked seventy, his hair white and wispy, his eyes sunken. Beside him sat his staff officer, Anindais; he was unshaven, and the pain of defeat was etched into his face.
Behind them, down the long pass, the rearguard had halted the advancing Ventrians. They were safe… for the moment.
Nazhreen Connitopa, Lord of the Eyries, Prince of the Highlands, Emperor of Naashan, tasted bile in his mouth and his heart was sick with frustration. He had planned the invasion of Ventria for almost eleven years, and the Empire had been his for the taking. Gorben was beaten - everyone knew it, from the lowliest peasant to the highest Satraps in the land. Everyone, that is, except Gorben.
Nazhreen silently cursed the gods for snatching away his prize. The only reason he was still alive was because Michanek was holding Resha and tying down two Ventrian armies. Nazhreen rubbed at his face and saw, in the firelight, that his hands were grubby, the paint on his nails cracked and peeling.
“We must kill Gorben,” said Anindais suddenly, his voice harsh and cold as the winds that hissed through the peaks.
Nazhreen gazed sullenly at his cousin. “And how do we do that?” he countered. “His armies have vanquished ours. His Immortals are even now harrying our rearguard.”
“We should do now what I urged two years ago, cousin. Use the Darklight. Send for the Old Woman.”
“No! I will not use sorcery.”
“Ah, you have so many other choices then, cousin?” The tone was derisive, contempt dripping from every word. Nazhreen swallowed hard. Anindais was a dangerous man, and Nazhreen’s position as a losing Emperor left him exposed.
“Sorcery has a way of rebounding on those who use it,” he said softly. “When you summon demons they require payment in blood.”
Anindais leaned forward, his pale eyes glittering in the firelight. “Once Resha falls, you can expect Gorben to march into Naashan. Then there’ll be blood aplenty. Who will defend you, Nazhreen? Our troops have been cut to pieces, and the best of our men are trapped in Resha and will be butchered. Our only hope is for Gorben to die; then the Ventrians can fight amongst themselves to choose a successor and that will give us time to rebuild, to negotiate. Who else can guarantee his death? The Old Woman has never failed, they say.”
“They say,” mocked the Emperor. “Have you used her yourself then? Is that why your brother died in so timely a fashion?” As soon as the words were spoken he regretted them, for Anindais was not a man to offend, not even in the best of times. And these were certainly not the best of times.
Nazhreen was relieved to see his cousin smile broadly, as Anindais leaned in and placed his arm around the
