because he’s like a tempest, raw, fierce and unstoppable. We mortals, though, may need to be more circumspect.
Holding too firmly to Druss’s code would kill us.’
Khalid Khan sat in the shade of an overhanging rock and watched the rider upon the road below. The sun was high and hot, the sky cloudless and blue. Yet it was not a good day. This morning Khalid had watched two eagles nesting on the high peaks. It was a long time since eagles had been seen in the Blood Mountains. Normally this would have been a good omen.
Not today. Today he knew they were just birds, and they meant nothing.
Khalid was worried.
There had been few merchants on the roads since the start of the stupid war, and Khalid’s people had been forced to tighten their belts against hunger. This was not good, and left them morose and complaining. As the leader Khalid would survive only as long as they believed in his power to bring them coin. Last week one Vishinas had led a raid on a northern village, capturing five scrawny cattle and a few sheep. It was pitiful. But Khalid’s people, hungry and discontented, had hailed it as a victory, and Vishinas was now more popular among the young warriors. Khalid sighed and scratched his thin black beard. Of late the old wound in his right shoulder had been plaguing him. If Vishinas was to challenge his authority there was no way he could defeat him, sword to sword. Happily Vishinas did not know of the weakness. Khalid’s reputation had been built on his prowess with the blade, and the youngster remained wary of him. Not for much longer, thought Khalid bitterly.
This threat alone, though worrying, would have caused him no sleepless nights. But there was something in the air that did not taste right.
Khalid’s mother had been gifted with the Sight. She was a fine seer. Khalid had not fully inherited that gift, but his instincts were sharper than those of most men. For the last two nights he had woken sweat-drenched and frightened. Not given to dreaming, he had experienced nightmares which left him trembling. He had seen beasts that walked like men, huge and powerful, creeping through the darkness of the mountainside. Disoriented, he had rolled from his blankets, grabbed his sword and run from his tent, standing in the moonlight, his breathing harsh and ragged. Outside everything was silent. There was no threat. No demons.
Just a dream then? Khalid doubted it. Something was coming.
Something dreadful.
Pushing aside such dark thoughts, he glanced across to where Vishinas was squatting on a rock. The warrior was also gazing keenly at the oncoming rider.
The man rode well, studying the trail and the rock faces on either side.
Vishinas signalled to Khalid, then slipped his bow from his shoulder.
Pulling an arrow from his quiver, he cast a questioning look at his chieftain, who shook his head. Vishinas looked disappointed as he returned the arrow to the quiver. Rising from his hiding place, Khalid moved out into the open, and walked down the slope to meet the advancing rider. Vishinas ran out alongside him, and seven other tribesmen emerged from their hiding places.
The rider approached them, and dismounted. Leaving the reins trailing he walked forward and offered a bow to Khalid.
‘I am Skilgannon. My friends and I seek to pass through the territory of the renowned Khalid Khan. Will you take me to him?’
‘You are not Tantrian,’ said Khalid. ‘Nor, I think, from Datia. Your accent is from the south.’
‘I am Naashanite.’
‘How is it then that you have heard of the
‘I travel with a Drenai officer who spoke of him with high praise. He said it was fitting to offer tribute to the Khan when crossing his lands.’
‘A wise man, your friend. I am Khalid Khan.’
The man bowed again. As he did so Khalid saw the ivory hilts of his swords. ‘Two blades in a single scabbard,’ said Khalid. ‘Most unusual. How many men are in your party?’
‘Five men and a woman.’
‘These are hard times, Skilgannon. War and death are everywhere. Are you prepared for war and death?’
The warrior smiled, and his cold blue eyes glittered in the sunlight. ‘As prepared as any man can be, Khalid Khan. What tribute do you deem fair for crossing your land?’
‘Everything you have,’ said Vishinas, stepping forward. Several young men moved with him. Khalid fought to remain calm. He had not expected a challenge to his authority so soon.
Skilgannon turned to Vishinas. ‘I was speaking to the wolf, boy. When I want to hear the yapping of a puppy I will signal you forward.’ The words were softly spoken. Vishinas reddened, then reached for his sword. ‘If that blade clears the scabbard,’ continued the man, ‘you will die here.’ He stepped in close to Vishinas. ‘Look into my eyes and tell me if you think that is not true.’ Vishinas backed away a step, but Skilgannon followed him. Trying to create enough distance to draw his sword Vishinas stumbled against a jutting rock and fell. With a cry of rage and humiliation he surged to his feet and lunged. Curiously the lunge missed and he sprawled to the stones once more, his head thumping against a rock as he fell. Half dazed, he struggled to rise, then slumped back.
Skilgannon strolled back to Khalid. ‘My apologies, lord,’ he said. ‘We were speaking of the tribute.’
‘Indeed so,’ said Khalid Khan. ‘You must forgive the
‘That is possible, lord.’
‘I seem to recall a warlord by that name. The Destroyer of Armies. The victor of five great battles. There are many stories of the warrior Skilgannon. Not all of them good.’
‘The good ones are exaggerated,’ said Skilgannon softly.
‘And the bad also?’
‘Sadly no.’
Khalid looked at the young man for a moment. ‘Guilt is a burden like no other. It drags upon the soul. I know this. You may pass through my lands, Skilgannon. The tribute is whatever you choose.’
Skilgannon opened the pouch at his side and drew out three gold coins, which he dropped into Khalid Khan’s outstretched hand.
Khalid showed no emotion at receiving such a prodigious sum, but he left his hand open so that the men around him could see the bright glint of the yellow metal.
Just then the rest of the party came into sight. One of the tribesmen yelled, then the others surged forward past the dazed figure of Vishinas.
Khalid narrowed his eyes against the sunlight, then turned to Skilgannon.
‘Why did you not say you travelled with the Silver Slayer?’ he asked. He swallowed hard, and offered the gold coins back to Skilgannon. ‘There can be no toll for Druss the Legend.’
‘It would honour me if you accepted the tribute,’ said Skilgannon.
Khalid’s spirits soared. He had dreaded the man’s consenting to his refusal. ‘Ah, well,’ he said, ‘if it is a matter of politeness then I do accept.
But you must come to my village. We will have a feast.’
The chieftain moved away from Skilgannon and walked towards the wagon. Druss looked down at him and grinned. ‘Good to see you, Khalid.
How is it that a rascal like you is still alive?’
‘I am beloved by the gods, Druss. That is why they have blessed me with these verdant pastures and great wealth. Ah, it does my heart good to see you. Where is the Poet?’
‘He died.’
‘Ah, that is sad. There will be sorrow among the older women when they hear of it. Too many friends have taken the swan’s path these last few years. It almost makes me feel old.’ Khalid climbed onto the wagon.
‘Tonight we will feast, my friend. We will talk and drink. Then we will bore everyone with tales of our greatness.’
For Rabalyn the evening brought a curious mix of emotions. He had been spellbound by the red-gold mountains, and the blazing sunsets in this high country. Everything here was different from what he had experienced at home. The land was harsh, the heat unforgiving. And yet he felt his heart soar as he gazed over
