‘Why not?’
‘That was a noble gesture, when you apologized to the mother. A lesser man wouldn’t have done that.’ Shialis suddenly smiled. ‘Advice from Druss the Legend, eh? Something to tell the kids one day.’
There would be no children to tell.
Four months later Cadis Patralis would die fighting, back to back with Shialis, against the invading army of the Witch Queen.
Rabalyn missed the company of the twins. They had said goodbye at the city gates, and had left with Garianne, heading for the southern quarter.
He had enjoyed talking to them. Jared treated him like an adult, never speaking down to him. And Nian, though simple, was always warm and friendly.
His feeling of loss soon evaporated, replaced by a sense of wonder.
Having never before seen a city Rabalyn could scarce believe his eyes. The buildings were monstrously large, towering and immense. There were temples, topped by massive statues, and houses boasting scores of windows and balconies. Rabalyn had always believed that the three-storey home of Councillor Raseev had been the height of magnificence. Here it would look like a tiny hovel. Rabalyn stared at one palace as they passed, and counted the windows. Sixty-six. It was hard to believe that any family could have grown so large as to need a home like this.
Beyond these magnificent buildings they came to narrower streets, the houses close packed and tall, the roads of cobbled stone. Rabalyn stayed close to Skilgannon, Druss and Braygan, and wondered how so many people could live in such a place without becoming lost. Roads met and intersected, flowing around the buildings like rivers. There were people everywhere, and many soldiers with bandaged wounds. Most of the shops were empty of produce, and people gathered in crowds to barter or beg for what food there was to be had.
The axeman led them out along a broad avenue, and down through a long stretch of parkland. It must have been beautiful before the war, thought Rabalyn, for there were statues and pathways, and even a fountain at the centre of a lake. Now, however, tents had been pitched on the grassy areas and hundreds of downcast and weary people were milling around them.
‘They are so sad,’ said Rabalyn. Skilgannon glanced at him.
‘They’d have been sadder still if they’d had better leaders,’ he said.
‘How can that be true?’ asked the youth.
‘Think on it a while,’ replied the former priest.
They walked on for more than a mile, coming at last to a gated area, before which stood two tall guards, dressed in red cloaks and silver helms.
One of them saw Druss and smiled. He was tall and slim, and sporting a black trident chin beard. ‘Surprised to see no-one’s killed you yet, axeman,’ he said.
‘Heaven knows they’ve tried,’ answered Druss, with a grin. ‘They just don’t breed them tough any more. Milkmaids in armour now. Just like you, Diagoras.’
‘Aye, you ancients always say things were better in the old days,’ replied the man. ‘I don’t think it’s true, though. I reckon young warriors look at you and are reminded of their grandfathers. Then they can’t possibly fight you.’
‘Maybe so,’ agreed the axeman. ‘At my age I’ll take any advantage I can get. Any word on Orastes?’
The guard’s expression changed, the smile fading. ‘Not exactly. His servant has been found. He’s alive, but barely. He was in the arena dungeons. The Datians discovered him there when they opened the prisons.’
‘In the dungeons? That makes no sense. Where is he now?’
‘Being cared for at the White Palace,’ Diagoras told him. ‘I’ll arrange a pass for you tomorrow. Where are you heading?’
‘The Crimson Stag on the west quay. Do they still have food?’
‘Aye, but not the menu they had. Things will ease now the Datians have lifted the blockade. Six ships have already unloaded. Old Shivas will have been prowling the dock to restock his larders. I’ll come by after my Watch and help you down a flagon or ten.’
‘Ah, laddie,’ chuckled Druss, ‘in your dreams. One sniff of a wine cork and youngsters like you slide under the table. However, you buy the wine, and I’ll teach you how it should be drunk.’
‘Let’s say that the last person standing can forget the bill,’ offered Diagoras.
‘That’s what I did say.’
Rabalyn watched the exchange. As the two men spoke he saw the Drenai soldier’s eyes constantly flick towards Skilgannon, who was standing some distance away, chatting to Braygan.
‘Will your companions be travelling with you to the Crimson Stag?’
asked Diagoras.
‘Not all of us. The little priest is heading for the Street of Vines, and his church elders. Is there a problem?’
‘The warrior with him. I have seen him before, Druss. I was stationed in Perapolis for two years. We left just before the end. The Naashanites granted the embassy and its staff safe passage through their lines. I saw the Damned as we rode through. Not a man I’d soon forget.’ Druss glanced back at Skilgannon.
‘Maybe you are wrong.’
‘I don’t believe so. I’ll let him through if you vouch for him.’
‘Aye, I’ll do that. Best you report his presence to your superiors, though.’
Diagoras nodded, and pushed open the gates. ‘I’ll see you after dark.’
‘Bring enough coin to pay the bill.’
‘I’ll bring a pillow too, so that your old head can rest on it as you sleep under the table.’
Druss clapped the man on the shoulder and strolled through the gates.
Skilgannon and Braygan followed him, Rabalyn bringing up the rear.
The light was fading as they reached a second set of gates, blocking the way across an arched bridge over a river. Here there were more guards, powerful men with blond beards and pale blue eyes. They were wearing long mail-ring tunics and horned helms.
Druss spoke to them, and once more the gates were opened. ‘The Street of Vines is across the bridge and the first turning on the left,’ Druss told Braygan. ‘Your church building is a short way along.’ The little priest thanked him, then swung to Skilgannon, offering his hand. The warrior shook it.
‘Thank you for all you have done for me, Brother,’ said Braygan. ‘May the Source be with you on your travels.’
Skilgannon smiled wryly, but did not answer. ‘Will you take your vows?’
he asked after a moment.
‘I think that I will. Then I will return to Skepthia, and try to be of service.’ Braygan offered his hand to Rabalyn. ‘You are welcome to come with me,’ he said. ‘The elders may know the whereabouts of your parents.
If not they can give you shelter while you try to find them.’
Rabalyn shook his head. ‘I don’t want to find them.’
‘If you change your mind I shall be here for some days.’ With that the little priest walked through the gates. He paused once on the bridge to look back and wave. And then he was gone.
CHAPTER TEN
THE CRIMSON STAG TAVERN WAS AN OLD BUILDING, L-SHAPED
AND double-storeyed, constructed close to the west quay, overlooking the harbour and the sea beyond. It had long been the haunt of Drenai officials and soldiers stationed in the embassy quarter of the city. Such was its reputation for food, wine and ale that even Vagrian officers used it.
Normally the antipathy between soldiers of Vagria and Drenan would have precluded any such common ground. Though none now living could recall the Vagrian-Drenai wars the ancient enmity between the peoples
