White Wolf: A Novel of Druss the Legend

a riposte that opened his throat. Druss had forced himself to his feet and was staggering back towards Garianne.

Skilgannon killed another warrior then spun to follow the axeman.

Garianne was lying on the ground. Beside her was the still form of Rabalyn, his tunic covered in blood. Three dead Nadir were close by.

Skilgannon swore, then turned back to the fight.

Only there was no fight.

Diagoras and the brothers were walking towards him, past the bodies of twelve Nadir warriors. There was blood flowing from a cut on Diagoras’s brow. Jared was wounded in the arm. Nian was untouched.

Skilgannon ran back to where Druss was kneeling by the boy. The axeman’s face was grey, his eyes sunken. He looked in pain and his breathing was ragged. ‘Couldn’t… get… to them,’ he said. Skilgannon knelt by Garianne. She had a lump on her temple, but her pulse was strong. Rabalyn had been stabbed in the chest. Sheathing his sword Skilgannon pulled open the boy’s tunic. The wound was deep, and blood was bubbling from it. Diagoras came alongside.

‘Pierced his lung,’ he said. ‘Let’s get him out of the sun.’

Jared and Diagoras lifted the boy, while Nian knelt down beside Garianne. Stroking her face the simpleton called her name. ‘Is she sleeping?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ said Skilgannon. ‘Carry her back into the cave. We’ll wake her then.’ But Nian saw his brother move away carrying Rabalyn. He cried out.

‘Wait for me, Jared!’ His voice was panicky. Dropping his sword he ran to Jared and took hold of the sash at his brother’s belt. Skilgannon looked at Druss, who was now sitting on the roadside.

‘What happened?’ he asked.

‘Pain… in the chest. Like there’s a bull sitting on it. I’ll be all right. Just need to rest a while.’

‘Is there pain in your left arm?’

‘It’s been cramping lately. I’m feeling better already. Just give me a moment.’

Skilgannon lifted Garianne and carried her back to the shallow cave, laying her down in the shade. Despite the blood still flowing from the cut to his head Diagoras was working on the wound to the boy’s chest. He and Jared had hauled Rabalyn into a sitting position. The lad was still unconscious, his face ashen grey. Jared was holding him upright.

Skilgannon walked back into the sunlight, retrieving the Sword of Day from the chest of the dead Nadir. Several of the ponies were still standing on the roadside. Two of them carried saddlebags. Skilgannon walked to the ponies, speaking softly. They were still skittish. Searching the saddlebags he found that one contained an engraved silver flask.

Uncorking it, he sniffed the contents. Then he sipped it. It was fiery and hot. A spirit of some kind. He walked back to where Druss still sat. ‘This might help,’ he said, offering the flask. Druss drank deeply.

‘Long time since I’ve tasted this,’ he said. ‘It’s called lyrrd.’ He drank again. ‘I couldn’t get to the boy in time,’ he said. ‘I saw him jump down to help Garianne. He killed the first Nadir. Caught him by surprise. The second stabbed him. I got there too late. Will he live?’

‘I don’t know. The wound is a bad one.’

Druss winced and groaned. ‘Pain in the chest is getting worse.’

‘It is a heart seizure,’ said Skilgannon. ‘I have seen them before.’

‘I know what it is!’ snapped Druss. ‘It’s been coming on for weeks. I just didn’t want to accept it.’

‘Let me help you into the cave.’

Druss shrugged off Skilgannon’s hand and pushed himself to his feet.

‘I’ll rest awhile,’ he said. He took two steps, then staggered. Skilgannon came alongside him. Reluctantly Druss accepted his help into the cave.

Diagoras approached Skilgannon. ‘I have sealed the boy’s wound, but he’s still bleeding inside. I don’t have the skill to heal him.’

‘Let’s see to you,’ said Skilgannon. Together they moved out into the light. Blood had drenched Diagoras’s tunic on the right side, and was still flowing from the deep cut on his head.

‘It is not so bad,’ Diagoras told him. ‘A little blood goes a long way. Most shallow wounds look worse than they are.’

Skilgannon smiled at him. Diagoras looked suddenly sheepish. ‘But then I suppose you already knew that, general.’ He opened his pouch and removed his crescent needle and a length of twine, handing them to Skilgannon. Then he sat down, allowing Skilgannon to examine the cut.

‘It extends into the hairline. That’s where most of the blood is coming from. I’ll need to shave the area around it.’

Diagoras eased his hunting knife from its sheath. Skilgannon took it.

First he sliced away the long dark hair, leaving a stubbled area three inches long and two inches wide. The skin had split here, and there was some swelling. Skilgannon worked on the wound, needing to draw the skin tightly into place. It was not easy.

‘Pull much harder and my ear will end up on top of my head,’

complained Diagoras.

Jared walked out to join them. ‘Garianne is awake,’ he said. ‘I think she is all right.’ Then he gathered up his brother’s sword and returned to the cave.

‘What’s wrong with Druss?’ asked Diagoras, as Skilgannon completed the last stitch.

‘A seizure. His heart all but gave out. He’s been suffering for some weeks, he said.’

Diagoras rose to his feet and walked out among the dead. Skilgannon followed him. ‘With a sick heart he killed five Nadir. Damn, but he is a phenomenon.’

‘Six,’ corrected Skilgannon. ‘He made it back to kill the man who stabbed Rabalyn.’

‘That is one tough old man.’

‘He will be a dead old man if we do not find the temple. I have seen these seizures before. His heart is barely holding out. That massive body needs a healthy heart to feed it. In the condition he’s in he’ll have another attack before long. He won’t survive it.’

‘How far to this temple?’

‘Khalid Khan says two days. But that was a man travelling across rough country on foot. With a wagon? I don’t know. Three perhaps.’

‘The boy won’t last three days,’ said Diagoras.

They heard the rumble of a wagon coming down the road. Skilgannon glanced up to see Khalid Khan driving it. Several of his men and two women were following behind. Skilgannon walked to meet him.

‘These women know wounds. Does the Silver Slayer live?’ said Khalid Khan.

‘He does.’

‘That is good to hear,’ said the old man. ‘I had a bad feeling when he sent me away. Is he sick?’

‘Yes.’

Khalid Khan nodded. ‘I will guide you to where I saw the temple. We must pray to the Source of All Things that it is there this time.’

Elanin had long given up hope of rescue. Even if Uncle Druss did find this fortress in the middle of the wilds the men here were of appalling savagery, Nadir warriors in clothes of stinking goatskin, and hard-eyed soldiers who stared at her with cold indifference, their voices harsh, their eyes cruel. Uncle Druss would not be able to take her away from them. A man who could bend horseshoes would be no match for these terrible warriors.

And then there was Ironmask.

He had not struck her again, for she was careful around him. He had beaten Mother, though. He had blackened her eyes and split her lip. There were bruises on her body. And he yelled at her, calling her a ‘useless sow’

and a ‘stupid whore’.

Elanin sat in her room, high in the citadel. She had not seen Mother now for five days, nor been allowed out of the room. A cold-hearted Nadir woman brought her two meals a day, and took away the chamber pots, emptying them and replacing them. Elanin no longer dreamed of being free. In the last two weeks she had