Once into the city Garianne guided them through a series of streets and alleyways. The smell of burning hung in the air, and the people they saw looked at them with undisguised hatred. Some turned their backs and moved indoors, others just glared. Rabalyn stayed close to Skilgannon.
After a while they came to an area of older buildings and narrow streets. The people here wore shabby clothes. Children with filthy faces were playing outside derelict houses, and scrawny dogs delved among piles of discarded garbage, seeking scraps of food.
Garianne led the way, moving across an old market square and down a set of cracked and broken steps, coming at last to an abandoned tavern.
The windows were boarded, but the main door had been hastily repaired and rehung with leather hinges. Garianne opened it and stepped inside.
Part of the roof had given way, and sunlight filled the interior. Several rats scurried across the rubble inside. One ran over Rabalyn’s foot. He kicked at it and missed. Garianne climbed over the fallen roof and made her way to the rear of the building, where she tapped her knuckles on the door that once led to the tavern kitchens.
‘Come in, child,’ came a familiar voice. Skilgannon felt his stomach tighten, and his flesh crawl.
‘Is she really a sorceress?’ whispered Rabalyn.
Skilgannon ignored him, and followed Druss across the rubble.
The old kitchen area was gloomy, the windows boarded. The only light came from two lanterns, one set on the warped worktop, the other hanging from a hook on the far wall. The Old Woman was sitting in a wide chair by the rusting ovens, a filthy blanket covering her knees. Her face was partly hidden by a veil of black gauze. Her head came up as the men entered. ‘Welcome, Druss the Legend,’ she said, with a dry laugh. ‘I see the years are beginning to tell on you.’
‘They tell on everyone,’ he answered. Garianne moved alongside the Old Woman, and crouched down at her feet.
‘Indeed they do.’ She shook her head and the gauze veil trembled. Then she transferred her gaze to Rabalyn. ‘You remember when you were that young, axeman? The world was enormous and filled with mystery. Life was enchanting, and immortality beckoned. The passing of the years meant nothing. We stared at the old with undisguised contempt. How could they have allowed themselves to become so decrepit? How could they choose to be so repulsive? Time is the great evil, the slavemaster who strips us of our youth, then discards us.’
‘I can live with it,’ said the axeman.
‘Of course you can. You are a man. It is different for a woman, Druss.
The first grey hair is like a betrayal. You can read that betrayal in the eyes of your lover. Tell me, are you a different man now that you have grey hairs?’
‘I am the same. Hopefully a little wiser.’
‘I too am the same,’ she told him. ‘I no longer look in mirrors, but I cannot avoid seeing the dried, wrinkled skin on my hands and arms. I cannot ignore the pains in my swollen joints. Yet in my heart I am still the young Hewla, who dazzled the men of her village, and the noblemen who came riding through.’
‘Why did you summon us here?’ put in Skilgannon. ‘I have no time for such maudlin conversations.’
‘No time? You are young yet, Olek. You have all the time in the world. I am the one who is dying.’
‘Then die,’ he said. ‘As it is you have lived too long.’
‘I always liked a man who would speak his mind. Lived too long? Aye, I have. Twenty times your lifetime, child. And I have paid for my longevity with blood and pain.’
‘Most of that was not yours, I’ll warrant,’ said Skilgannon, his voice angry.
‘I paid my share, Olek. But, yes, I have killed. I have taken innocent life.
I have poisoned, I have stabbed, I have throttled. I have summoned demons to rip the hearts from men. I did this for wealth, or for vengeance.
I have not, however, taken an army into a city and slaughtered all the inhabitants. I have not killed children. I have not cut the hands and eyes from a helpless man. So save your indignation. I am Hewla, the Old Woman. You are the Damned. You have no right to judge me.’
‘And yet I do,’ said Skilgannon softly. ‘So speak your piece, and let me be free of your foul company.’
She sat silently for a moment, then returned her attention to Druss.
‘The man you seek is no longer in the city, axeman. He left some days ago.’
‘Why would he do such a thing?’ asked Druss.
‘To feed, Druss. Simply that.’
‘This makes no sense.’
‘It will. He came to Mellicane in search of his former wife. She had earlier travelled to Dros Purdol, ostensibly to see her daughter, Elanin.
You remember Elanin, Druss. Orastes brought her to see you at your farm.
You carried her on your shoulders, and sat beside a stream. She made a crown of daisies, and placed them on your head.’
‘I remember,’ said Druss. ‘A sweet child. And a gentle father. So where is Orastes?’
‘Be patient,’ she said. ‘While Orastes was away from the city his former wife snatched the child and fled from Dros Purdol. She came to Mellicane where she joined her lover. Orastes followed them as soon as he could.
Once in the city he sought news of her. He did not know the identity of her lover, and the search proved fruitless. News of the search, however, reached the wife. One afternoon, Orastes and his servant were arrested as they sought information. They were taken to the Rikar cells below the arena. The Rikar cells held prisoners who would be melded into Joinings.
That was the fate of Orastes. He was merged with a timber wolf, and the beast that he became fled with the others when the city fell.’
‘No!’ roared Druss. Skilgannon saw the axeman’s face twist into a mask of pain and grief. ‘This cannot be!’
‘It can and it is,’ said the Old Woman. Skilgannon detected something in her voice, a note of malicious glee. In his grief this was lost on the axeman. Skilgannon’s anger swelled, but he stood quietly, watching the scene. The huge Drenai warrior turned away, and stood, head bowed, his fists clenching and unclenching.
‘How could his wife wield such power in Mellicane?’ asked Skilgannon.
‘Through her lover,’ answered the Old Woman, still facing Druss. ‘You met him, axeman, after you arrived in Mellicane. At the banquet held in your honour. Shakusan Ironmask, the Lord of the Arbiters, the Captain of the King’s Warhounds. While you drank with him your friend was in chains in the dungeons below.’
For a few moments there was silence. Then Druss took a deep breath. ‘If we could find Orastes could he become human again?’
‘No, axeman. When the Nadir cast the melding spell they first cut the throats of the human victims, then lay them alongside dogs or captured wolves. Even if the meld could be reversed — which the Nadir say is impossible — I would imagine that only the wolf or dog would survive. The man was, after all, already dead when the meld took place.’
‘Then Orastes is lost.’
‘He may already be dead. Did you not slay several of the beasts yourself?
Perhaps you have already killed your friend.’
‘Oh, how you are enjoying this, you hag!’ said Skilgannon. ‘Does your malice have no ending?’ The atmosphere in the room chilled. Garianne looked shocked, and even Druss seemed uneasy. For a moment no-one moved, then the Old Woman spoke.
‘The facts are what they are,’ she said softly. ‘My enjoyment of them changes nothing. I never liked fat Orastes. So stiff and pompous. One of the heroes of Skein! Pah! The man almost wet himself with fear throughout the battle. You know this, Druss.’
‘Aye, I know it. He stood though. He did not run. Yes, he was pompous.
We all have our faults. But he never harmed anyone. Why would you hate him?’
There are very few men I do not hate in this world of violence and pain.
So, yes, I laughed when Orastes was melded. As I will laugh when you meet your doom, Druss. At this moment, however, it is not your death I seek.
We now share a common enemy. Shakusan Ironmask destroyed your friend. He also caused the death of
