White Wolf: A Novel of Druss the Legend

‘Yes, when I came here three months ago. As she said it was at a banquet. The King did not attend, and Ironmask greeted the guests. He is a big man, but he moves well. There is an arrogance in him — a physical arrogance. I’d say he was a fighting man and a good one.’

‘What was his role here?’

‘He led the King’s bodyguards, and also supervised the creation of the Joinings. The plan was to use them in war, but they could not tame them sufficiently. Ironmask was also the lord of some group calling themselves Arbiters. Strange bunch. Every one of them I met looked at me as if I was a demon. They have a hatred of foreigners. Diagoras thinks it ironic -

since Ironmask is also a foreigner.’

‘Where is he from?’

‘No-one seems to know. Probably Pelucid.’

‘Why do they call him Ironmask?’ asked Skilgannon.

‘He wears a metal mask, which covers his face. Did I not mention that?’

‘No.’

‘It is a close-fitting and well-made piece, beautifully crafted.’

‘He is disfigured then?’

‘Not really. I saw him remove it at the feast. It was hot in the hall and he wiped his face with a cloth. He bore no scars. The skin on his nose and the right side of his face is discoloured, dark, almost purple. Like a large birthmark. The mask is just vanity.’

‘You say he supervised the creation of the Joinings. Is he a sorcerer himself?’ Skilgannon asked. Druss shrugged.

‘No-one knows. Diagoras thinks not. He says Ironmask brought a Nadir shaman to the city. From what the Old Woman said I would guess he is from this stronghold in Pelucid.’

Skilgannon turned away and gazed out over the harbour for a while.

Then he swung back. ‘I too know little of magic, Druss, but I would think it is this shaman who prevents the Old Woman sending demons after Ironmask. A summoned demon must be paid in death. If the attack is repulsed the demon will return to the sender and take their life. If this shaman is powerful — and judging by his creation of Joinings he is — then the Old Woman dare not attack Ironmask directly with sorcery. If the shaman repulsed her spell she would die. Therefore she needs a mortal weapon.’

From above them the shouting increased. Then someone screamed.

People began running down the steps to the waterside. Others fled along the quayside. Datian soldiers in full battle garb of breastplate and shining helm appeared, swords in their hands. As they marched down the steps the milling city dwellers below panicked and began to hurl themselves into the water. One man put his hands in the air. ‘I meant no harm,’ he shouted. A shortsword plunged into his belly. A second soldier slashed a blade through the man’s neck as he fell.

Several more soldiers, swords drawn, advanced on Druss and Skilgannon. Rabalyn was terrified. Then Skilgannon spoke, his voice calm, his attitude relaxed. ‘Is the path to the gate now open?’ he asked. ‘We have been stuck here for an age.’

The soldiers hesitated. Skilgannon’s easy manner made them unsure.

One of them spoke. ‘You are from one of the embassies?’

‘Drenai,’ said Skilgannon. ‘My compliments on the efficiency of your action. We thought to be waiting here all day. Come, my friends,’ he said, turning to the others. ‘Let us go through before the mob returns.’

Rabalyn scrambled up, and joined Garianne. Together they followed Skilgannon and Druss. No-one moved to stop them. Soldiers were still massed upon the steps. ‘Make way there,’ called Skilgannon, climbing upwards and easing past the swordsmen.

On the square above there were bodies lying sprawled upon the stone.

One moved and groaned. A soldier stepped alongside him and drove his sword through the injured man’s throat.

Skilgannon and Druss approached the gates, which were still shut.

‘Open up, lads!’ called Druss.

And then they were through.

As they walked on Druss clapped Skilgannon on the shoulder. ‘I like your style, laddie. We’d have taken a few bruises if we had had to fight our way through them.’

‘One or two,’ agreed Skilgannon.

Later that afternoon Diagoras took Druss to see Orastes’s servant, Bajin, but they learned little of consequence. Bajin was a gentle man, who had served Orastes for most of his adult life. His mind had been all but unhinged by his experiences in the Rikar cells. Heavily sedated, he wept and trembled as Druss tried to question him. One fact did emerge. Orastes had indeed sought help from the Old Woman.

Diagoras led Druss out into the gardens of the embassy. The Drenai soldier’s head was pounding. ‘I’m never going to drink with you again,’ he said, slumping down on a bench seat. ‘My mouth feels like I tried to swallow a desert.’

‘Aye, you look a little fragile today,’ agreed Druss absently.

Diagoras looked up at the axeman. ‘I am sorry, my friend,’ he said.

‘Orastes deserved a better fate.’

‘Aye, he did. One fact I have learned in my long life is that what a man deserves rarely has any bearing on what he gets. As I walked this land I saw burnt-out farms, and many corpses. None of them deserved to die. Yet it will go on, as long as men like Ironmask hold sway.’

‘You still intend to go after him?’

‘Why would I not?’

Diagoras rose from the bench and walked to a well, in the shade of a high wall. Drawing up a bucket, he dipped the ladle into the water and drank deeply. Then he thrust his hands into the bucket, splashing water to his face. “Why would I not?’’ Ironmask had more than seventy men with him, and was heading into a stronghold friendly to him. That stronghold would be packed with Nadir fighters. There were no more terrifying foes than the Nadir. Life was cheap on the steppes and the tribesmen were raised to fight and die without question. Rarely did they take prisoners during battle, and if they did it was to torture them in ways too ghastly to contemplate. He glanced back at Druss. The axeman had walked over to a red rose bush, and was removing those of the flowers that were past their best. Diagoras joined him. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Dead-heading,’ said Druss. ‘If you allow the blooms to make seed pods the bush will cease to flower.’ He stepped back and examined the plant. ‘It has also been badly pruned. You need a better gardener here.’

‘So, what is your plan, old horse?’ asked Diagoras.

Druss walked across to a second bush, a yellow rose, and repeated the dead-heading manoeuvre, nipping off the faded blooms with thumb and forefinger. ‘I shall find Ironmask and kill him.’

‘That is not a plan, that is an intent.’

Druss shrugged. ‘I never was much for planning.’

‘Then it is just as well I’ll be travelling with you. I am famous for my planning skills. Diagoras the Planner they called me at school.’

Druss stepped back from the rose bush. ‘You don’t need to come, laddie.

We are no longer searching for Orastes.’

‘There is still the child, Elanin. She will need to be taken back to Purdol.’

Druss ran a hand through his black and silver beard. ‘You are right. But I think you are a fool to volunteer for such an enterprise.’

‘I am also famous for my foolish ways,’ Diagoras told him. ‘Which I expect is why they didn’t make me a general. I think they were wrong. I would look spectacularly fine in the embossed breastplate and white cloak of a Gan. Will the Damned be travelling with us?’

‘Part of the way. He has no score to settle with Ironmask.’

‘The man makes me uncomfortable.’

‘Of course he does,’ said Druss, with a smile. ‘You and he are warriors.

There is something in you that yearns to test yourself against him.’

‘I guess that is true. Is it the same for him, do you think?’