one of them before retiring to his pallet bed on the fourth level. The ward spells on the main doors were the simplest to re-energize, for here he had hung an ancient relic, the withered hand of Khitain Shak. The dried bones retained much of the power the legendary priest had wielded in life. The windows were more tiring and time- consuming. Some were wide, others mere murder holes — slits through which archers could shoot down on enemies below. Each of these needed a fresh spell daily, fuelled by a drop of Nygor’s blood. The wounds on the palms of his hands were troubling him now, itching and irritating.
This annoyed him.
For a few days he had managed to use the blood of the stupid woman Ironmask had brought to the Citadel. But then the Naashanite had lost his temper and killed her. A waste. He could at least have allowed her to live until Nygor’s hands healed. The child would do. Ironmask would have none of it. He wanted the girl alive until Druss the axeman was in his power. Then he would kill her in front of the Legend. ‘Can you imagine,’
said Ironmask, ‘how sweet that will be? Druss the Invincible. The Captain of the Axe. The Victor of Skein. Trussed and chained, and watching the slow death of the child he had come so far to rescue? It will drive him mad.’
‘I think you should just kill him, lord,’ warned Nygor.
‘You have no understanding of the exquisite,’ Ironmask had told him.
This was obviously true. Nygor took no enjoyment at all from the suffering of others. Death was sometimes necessary in the pursuit of knowledge. Now, at sixty-one, Nygor was close to understanding the secrets he had yearned for decades to unlock. He had mastered the Meld, one of the greatest of the ancient spells. The concentration needed for the creation of Joinings was prodigious. Soon he would unravel the mysteries of rejuvenation. He would have achieved that already had it not been for the Old Woman, and her constant seeking for ways to kill him. He could feel her power even now, pushing at the ward spells, tugging upon them, ever searching for a gap in his defences.
He knew she did not hate him for his own sake. Her true target was Ironmask. Nygor was merely an obstacle in her way. It was a thorny problem. If he left Ironmask she would probably leave him alone. However, if he did quit the service of the warrior he would have no wealth, and no way to pursue his dreams. He could not return to the steppes. Ulric’s shaman, Nosta Khan, would have him killed the instant he set foot on Nadir lands.
So he remained — for the moment — trapped between the hammer of her hatred, and the anvil of Ironmask’s ambition. Not for much longer, though. Ironmask had hoped to build the Tantrian nation into a force strong enough to oppose the Witch Queen. He had dreamed of leading an army back into Naashan. Those dreams had withered now. They had begun to fail the moment the Old Woman gave the Tantrian King that cursed sword. It had corrupted his mind, filling him with delusions of greatness. Nygor could see now that this had been her intention all along.
When Tantria declared war on Datia and Dospilis it served only the Witch Queen. Ironmask had been ruined. Nygor sighed. He should have quit him when the war went bad, and the Datians were at the gates of Mellicane.
But Ironmask had escaped with a large portion of Mellicane’s treasury, and that wealth might still serve Nygor. If he could find a way to steal it.
The shaman moved to the next level and revived the spell on the windows there. His right hand was aching now.
He stood at the murder hole and stared out at the stars. In that moment he sighed, as he thought of his bond woman, Raesha. It was not until she was dead that he realized how great an affection he had for her. Last year Ironmask had demanded the death of the Witch Queen, and Nygor had summoned a demon to slay her. Not a great feat. Not even a difficult one.
He had used Raesha as a vessel of summoning, to enhance his own power.
The demon had sped off in search of its prey. All had been well. What they could not know was that the Old Woman had placed powerful ward spells around the Queen. Rebuffed, the demon had returned, seeking blood.
Raesha’s heart had been torn from her body. Nygor shuddered at the memory.
There were also ward spells around Druss the axeman and his companions. They made it impossible for Nygor to track them. Now the more traditional attempt on Druss’s life had also failed. Nygor had an ill feeling about Druss. It was surely impossible for the ageing axeman to assault a fortress manned by ferocious warriors. And yet… There was something indomitable about the man, a force that was not entirely human.
Nygor climbed the stairs to the circular battlements, and added fresh ward spells to both doors. They would last three days, but he would revive them after two.
Returning to the main building he almost trod on a large black rat, which scurried past him. Nygor cursed, then made his way down to his own rooms.
The black rat vanished into a hole and emerged out onto the battlements. From here it ran along the edge of the crenellated wall and through another hole that brought it onto one of the domed roof timbers.
Its sleek black form scuttled along the wood, coming at last to a torn section of tarred felt. The rat began to gnaw at the felt, creating enough of an opening to squirm beneath. Here there were interlocking planks, and several dead rats.
Tugging aside one of the bodies the rat began to gnaw at the splintered end of one of the joints, its sharp incisors nibbling at the edges of the wood, pulling them clear.
Tirelessly it worked, ripping and gnawing, until its heart gave out and it slumped dead beside the timber. Minutes later another black rat appeared. It too began to bite at the wood.
Finally a sliver of light from below pierced the darkness beneath the roof felt. The rat blinked and shook its head.
It sniffed around for a while, confused. Edging back from the light it scurried away.
Jared returned to the antechamber where the others waited. He sank to a chair, ignoring them. Garianne moved to him, putting her arm round him and kissing his cheek. Diagoras scratched at his trident beard and shivered.
‘What is wrong with you, laddie?’ asked Druss.
‘I am fine, axeman. Never better.’
‘You look like a man with a scorpion in his boot.’
‘Well, that’s a surprise,’ said Diagoras. ‘I am sitting in a mystic temple, which, it transpires, is entirely manned by Joinings. How curious of me to find this unsettling.’
Druss laughed. ‘They have done us no harm. Far from it.’
‘Up to now,’ said Diagoras. ‘They are animals, Druss. They have no souls.’
‘I never was much of a debater,’ said Druss. ‘So I won’t argue with you.’
‘Please argue!’ insisted Diagoras. ‘I would love to have my mind put at ease.’
‘Far too complex a question for a single debate,’ said Skilgannon. ‘If men have souls then it follows that Ironmask has one. His life has been spent torturing and maiming innocent people. I had a friend once who had a dog. When their house caught fire the dog ran up the stairs, through the smoke and flame, and awoke my friend and his family. They all escaped. The door downstairs was open. The dog could have fled to the safety of the street. It did not. So if the dog was heroic and selfless without a soul, and Ironmask is vile and evil with one, then what use is it?’
Druss laughed. ‘I like that,’ he said. ‘In my view Heaven would be a better place if only dogs dwelt there.’
‘They cannot cure him,’ said Jared suddenly. ‘They can relieve the pressure on his brain. He will be as he once was. They cannot even say for how long. Hours. Days. And he is dying still. Ustarte says he has less than a month.’
‘I am sorry, lad,’ said Druss.
‘You’ll understand, axeman, why we won’t be coming with you to the Citadel. I want to spend some time with my brother. We’ll stay here. When the time comes they will have medicines to ease the pain.’
‘Ah, it wasn’t your fight anyway, Jared. Don’t concern yourself.’
‘We would like to come with you, Uncle,’ said Garianne. ‘We want to see the little girl safe.’ Skilgannon saw that Garianne was looking directly at him as she spoke, her grey eyes unflinching. Druss saw it too, and said
