calm him, but the Drenai officer had lost control. Shrugging off the restraining hand he strode to stand before the axeman. ‘It was your code that killed him. Was it worth it?’
Skilgannon stepped in. ‘Leave it be, Diagoras!’
The officer swung round, his face ashen, his eyes angry. ‘Leave it be?
Why? Because you say so? A dead boy may not mean much to the man who wiped out an entire city of men and boys and women and babes. But it means something to me.’
‘Apparently it means you can behave like an idiot,’ said Skilgannon.
‘Druss didn’t kill him. A Nadir sword killed him. Yes, he could have been left behind. Mellicane will be a city under siege before long. Food will run short. How would he have survived? And if he had managed to scrape a living, who is to say what would have happened when the Naashanite army swept inside? Perhaps the Queen would once more have ordered the massacre of all within. You don’t know. None of us know. What we can be sure of is that the boy was brave, and he stood by his friends, even though he was terrified. That makes him a hero.’
‘A dead hero!’ snapped Diagoras.
‘Yes, a dead hero. And all the wailing and recriminations will not change a thing.’
Garianne moved to Druss, who was leaning against the wagon, his breathing ragged. ‘Are you all right, Uncle?’
‘Aye, lass. Don’t concern yourself.’ The old warrior glanced once more at the boy, then swung away. He moved off slowly into the rocks and sat down some distance from the group, lost in thought.
Khalid Khan approached Skilgannon. ‘This is where the temple was,’ he said. ‘My oath upon it.’
Skilgannon gazed around at the towering cliffs. There was no sign of any building. ‘I was walking back up that ridge yonder,’ said Khalid Khan, pointing back the way they had come. ‘When I glanced back I saw the temple, shimmering in the moonlight. It was nestling against the mountain. I do not lie, warrior.’
‘We will wait for the moon,’ said Skilgannon. Garianne moved across to sit with Druss, her arm round him, her head upon his shoulder. Jared and Nian walked to Rabalyn’s body. Nian knelt down and stroked the boy’s hair. Diagoras sighed.
‘I am sorry, Skilgannon,’ he said. ‘Anger and grief got the better of me.’
‘Anger will do that, if you give it a chance,’ said Skilgannon.
‘You never get angry?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘How do you control it?’
‘I kill people,’ said Skilgannon, stepping past the officer. Walking away he glanced at the sky, recalling the words of the Old Woman.
He could see the fork in the mountains, but the moon was not yet in sight. Just then something moved at the edge of his vision. Skilgannon did not react with any sudden movement. Slowly he turned and scanned the jagged rocks.
A gentle breeze blew. There was a scent upon it. Skilgannon walked to where Druss was sitting. ‘Can you fight?’ he asked.
‘I’m alive, aren’t I?’ grunted the axeman.
‘Fetch his axe,’ Skilgannon told Garianne. For a moment she glared at him angrily, then ran to the wagon. She could not lift the massive weapon over the side. Jared helped her. Garianne returned with the axe, and Druss took it from her. In the moment of passage between them the axe seemed to lose all weight. Druss hefted it, then stood.
‘Nadir?’ he asked.
‘No. The beasts have returned.’ Skilgannon drew his swords. Garianne notched two bolts to her bow.
Some twenty paces to the south a huge grey form rose from behind a jumble of boulders. It stood, massive head swaying from side to side.
Garianne lifted her crossbow.
‘No, girl,’ said Druss. ‘It is Orastes.’ Laying down his axe he took a deep breath, then walked slowly towards the creature. Skilgannon fell in behind him, but Druss waved him back. ‘Not this time, laddie. It doesn’t know you.’
‘What if it comes for you?’
Ignoring him, Druss continued to walk towards the creature. It gave out a ferocious roar, but remained where it was. Druss began talking to it, his voice low and soothing. ‘Long time since I’ve seen you, Orastes. You remember the day by the lake, when Elanin made me that crown of flowers? Eh? Have I ever looked more foolish in my life? I thought you would laugh fit to bust. Elanin is close to here. You know that, don’t you?
We will fetch her, you and I. We will find Elanin.’
The beast reared up and howled, the sound echoing eerily in the mountains.
‘I know you are frightened, Orastes. Everything seems strange and twisted. You don’t know where you are. You don’t know what you are. But you know Elanin, don’t you? You know you must find her. And you know me, Orastes. You know me. I am Druss. I am your friend. I will help you.
Do you trust me, Orastes?’
The watching travellers stood stock still as the axeman reached the beast. They saw him raise his hand slowly, and lay it on the creature’s shoulder, patting it. The beast slowly sagged over the face of a boulder, its great head resting on the rock. Druss scratched at the fur, still speaking.
‘You need to have the faith to come with me, Orastes,’ said Druss.
‘There is a magic temple, they say. Maybe they can… bring you back.
Then we’ll find Elanin. Come with me. Trust me.’
Druss stepped away from the beast, and began to walk back towards Skilgannon. The Joining reared up, letting out a high-pitched scream.
Druss did not look back, but he raised his hand. ‘Come on, Orastes. Come back to the world of men.’
The beast stood for a moment, then shuffled out from behind the rocks and padded after the axeman, keeping close to him, and snarling as they neared the others. Up close he was even larger than he had appeared.
Garianne approached him, and he reared up on his hind legs and roared.
He towered over Druss, who put out his hand and patted him. ‘Stay calm, Orastes,’ he said. ‘These are friends.’ Then he glanced at Garianne and the others. ‘Best stay back from him.’
‘You don’t have to tell me twice,’ said Diagoras.
As the moon cleared the western crags the spell faded away.
Skilgannon gazed in amazement at the massive building, with its windows and columns and turrets.
The gates opened, and five golden-clad priests began to run towards them over the rocky ground.
Half an hour earlier the priestess Ustarte had stood at the high tower window, gazing down over the gloomy, dusk-shrouded valley. Her heart was heavy as she saw the people there, gathered round the wagon.
They do not see us yet,’ said her aide, the slender, white-robed Weldi.
She glanced at him, noting the lines on his careworn face.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Not yet. Not until the moon is higher.’
‘You are tired, Ustarte. Rest a little.’
She laughed then, and the years vanished from her face. ‘I am not tired, Weldi. I am old.’
‘We are all getting old, priestess.’
Ustarte nodded and, gathering her red and gold silk robes in her gloved hands to raise the hem from the floor, slowly shuffled to the curiously carved chair at her reading desk. There was no flat seat, merely two angled platforms, one against which she could kneel, while the other supported her lower back. Her ancient bones would no longer bend well, and her legs were stiff and arthritic. Not all the vast range of medicines she knew, or had perfected, could fully keep the ravages of time from her body. They might have done, had her flesh not been corrupted and altered, genetically twisted and melded in those dreadful long-ago days. She sighed. Not all her bitterness had been put behind her. Some traces had escaped the vaults of memory.
