White Wolf: A Novel of Druss the Legend

continued. Occasionally there were even border skirmishes.

There were, however, no fights at the Crimson Stag. Not one man from either camp would risk being barred by Shivas, the sour-faced owner. His cooking was as sublime as his temper was dark. Added to which his memory was known to be long indeed, and a man refused custom once would never be forgiven.

Druss and Skilgannon sat at a table overlooking the moonlit harbour.

Despite the coming of night, ships were still being unloaded at the quayside, and wagons were drawn up to ferry food back out into the hungry city.

Skilgannon sat quietly watching the dockers. His heart was heavy. He had not expected to miss the little priest. Yet he did.

Braygan was the last link to a gentle life Skilgannon had tried so hard to embrace.

‘ We are what we are, my son. And wolves is what we are.’

The tavern was filling up. By the far wall a group of Vagrian soldiers were drinking and laughing. Skilgannon glanced across at them. Many still wore their tunic-length mailshirts, and one still had on his horned helm of reinforced brass. Elsewhere soldiers and officials of other races were sitting quietly, some already eating, others enjoying a goblet of wine or a tankard of ale. ‘How many nations are stationed in the embassy quarter?’ he asked the axeman. Druss shrugged.

‘Never counted them.’ He glanced around the tavern. ‘Mostly I only know those from Lentria and Drenan. There must be more than twenty embassies. Even one from Chiatze.’

Druss lifted his wine goblet and drained it. Skilgannon looked at him.

Without his helm and steel-reinforced jerkin the axeman looked what he was — a powerful fifty-year-old man. He could have been a farmer, or a stonemason. Save for the eyes. There was something deadly in that iron gaze. This was a man — as the Naashanites would say — who had looked into the eyes of the Dragon. ‘Are you the Damned, laddie?’ asked Druss suddenly.

Skilgannon took a deep breath, and met Druss’s gaze. ‘I am,’ he replied.

‘Do they lie when they talk of Perapolis?’

‘No. There is not a lie which could make it any worse.’

Druss signalled a serving maid. The menu was not extensive and the axeman ordered eggs and salt beef. He glanced at Skilgannon. ‘What are you eating?’

‘The same will be fine.’

When the serving maid had departed Druss refilled his goblet from a flagon and sat quietly, staring out of the window. ‘What are you thinking?’

asked Skilgannon.

‘I was thinking of old friends,’ said Druss. ‘One in particular. Bodasen.

Great swordsman. We fought side by side all across this land. No give in the man. A fine soldier and a true friend. I think of him often.’

‘What happened to him?’

‘I killed him at Skein. Can’t change it. Can’t help regretting it. The boy tells me you were a priest for a while. Brother Lantern, I think he said.’

‘A man should always try new things,’ said Skilgannon.

‘Don’t make light of it, laddie. Were you touched by faith, or haunted by guilt?’

‘Probably more guilt than faith,’ admitted Skilgannon. ‘Are you intending some subtle lecture at this point?’

Druss laughed, the sound unforced and full of genuine humour. ‘In all my long life no-one has ever accused me of that, boy. A man who uses an axe doesn’t generally build a reputation for subtlety. You want me to lecture you?’

‘No. There is nothing anyone could say to me that I haven’t already told myself.’

‘Are you still with the Naashanite army?’

Skilgannon shook his head. ‘The Queen wishes me dead. I am outlawed in Naashan. I’m told there is a large price on my head.’

‘Then you are not here as a spy?’

‘No.’

‘Good enough.’ Druss topped up his goblet. Skilgannon smiled.

‘Rabalyn tells me you are to be involved in a drinking contest later.

Shouldn’t you hold off on that wine?’

‘A few sips to prepare the belly. This is Lentrian red. I’ve not tasted a drop for two months. Are you not a drinker?’

Skilgannon shook his head. ‘It tends to make me argumentative.’

Druss nodded. ‘And a man with your skills can’t afford meaningless arguments. I understand that. I have heard tales of you and the Witch Queen. It is said you were her champion.’

‘I was. We were friends once — in the days when she was hunted.’

‘It is said you loved her.’

Skilgannon shook his head. ‘That doesn’t come close. Thoughts of her fill my waking hours, and haunt my dreams. She is an extraordinary woman, Druss; courageous, clever, witty.’ He fell silent for a moment.

‘Compliments like this fall so far short of the actuality that they seem like insults. I say she was courageous, but it does not paint the reality. I never met anyone more brave. At the battle of Carsis, with the left in rout and the centre crumbling, her generals advised her to flee the field. Instead she donned her armour and rode to the centre where all could see her. She won the day, Druss. Against all the odds.’

‘Sounds like you should have married her. Or did she not feel the same way towards you?’

Skilgannon shrugged. ‘She said she did. Who can know? But it was politics, Druss. Back in those dangerous days she needed allies. The only treasure she possessed then was her blood line. Had we been wed she could never have gathered enough troops to win back her father’s throne.

The princes and earls who fought under her banner all hoped to win her heart. She played them all.’

The meal arrived and the two men ate in silence. Finally Druss pushed away his plate.

‘You did not mention your own actions at Carsis. The story I heard was that you rallied the broken left flank and led a counter charge. It was that which turned the battle.’

‘Yes, I’ve heard that story,’ said Skilgannon. ‘It came about because men write the histories. They find it hard to praise a woman in a man’s world. I am a soldier, Druss. It is in my blood. Had Jianna not ridden to the front and given the men fresh courage, no action of mine would have made a jot of difference. Bokram’s forces had broken the left. Men were fleeing through the forest. When the Queen arrived Bokram saw her, and pulled back half the cavalry giving chase on the left flank. He turned them back towards the centre. It wasn’t a foolish move. Had he succeeded in killing Jianna he could have hunted down the deserting warriors at his leisure. As it was I had a little time to regroup some of the fleeing men. And, yes, it was the counter attack that sundered Bokram’s army. Had the Usurper had more courage he would still have won the day. Such is the way of history, though. Ultimately the coward rarely succeeds.’

‘The same is true in life,’ said Druss. ‘So why does she now want you dead?’

Skilgannon spread his hands. ‘She is a hard woman, Druss.’ He suddenly smiled and shook his head. ‘She doesn’t take well to disappointment. I left her service without her permission. She sent her lover to find me, to seek the return of a gift she made me. He came with a group of killers. I don’t know whether she ordered him to kill me. Perhaps not. In the end, though, it was her lover who lay dead. After that there was a price on my head.’

‘Well, laddie, you’ve been a soldier and a priest. What now?’

‘Have you ever heard of the Temple of the Resurrectionists?’

‘Can’t say as I have.’

‘I mean to find it. It is said they can work miracles. I need such a miracle.’

‘Where is it?’

‘I do not know, Druss. It could be in Namib, or the Nadir lands, or Sherak. It could be nowhere. Just a legend from the past. I shall find out.’

The far door opened. Skilgannon glanced round. ‘Ah, your drinking opponent has arrived,’ he said, as the tall young soldier with the trident beard strolled over to the table. ‘I’ll leave you to talk. I shall take a stroll and