nothing.
‘You desire my company on this journey, I think,’ said Skilgannon.
‘You must come now,’ she said. ‘You must face Boranius. It is your destiny.’
Skilgannon felt anger stirring in him, but swallowed it down. ‘The Old Woman does not know my destiny, Garianne. Any more than she knows yours. However, I will travel with you, for my own reasons.’
‘Glad to have you, laddie,’ put in Druss. ‘Is there something between the two of you that you’d like to share?’ he went on.
Skilgannon shook his head. The door opened and the servant Weldi entered. ‘I have come to bring you to your rooms,’ he said. ‘You will find clean beds, a little food and water, and a fresh breeze through your windows.’
Later, as Skilgannon lay in his bed, staring up at the stars outside his window, the door to the bedroom whispered open, and Garianne entered.
She walked to the foot of the bed without a word. In her hand was the crossbow, a single bolt notched.
‘You would like to do it now,’ he said.
Extending her arm she pointed the weapon at him. ‘We would like to do it now,’ she agreed. With a sharp twang the bolt hammered into the bedhead less than an inch from his skull. She lowered the bow and set it down upon a night stand. ‘We cannot yet,’ she said. ‘Uncle needs you.’
Lifting her shirt over her head she tossed it to the floor, then slid out of her leggings. Pulling back the sheet she snuggled into bed alongside Skilgannon, her head upon his shoulder. He felt her fingers stroke the side of his face, then her lips sought his.
Boranius sat upon a wicker chair, watching as the Nadir woman bathed the child, Elanin. The little girl was sitting in the copper bath tub, staring ahead, expressionless, as the Nadir scrubbed the dirt from her pale skin.
There were sores upon her shoulders and back, but she did not flinch when the harsh cloth scraped across them.
‘You know who is coming to get you, little princess?’ said Boranius. ‘Old Druss. Uncle Druss. He is coming here for you. We must make you clean and pretty for when he gets here.’
There was no change of expression. Irritation flickered in Boranius. The spectacle would be of little merit if the child did not react. ‘Slap her,’ he ordered the Nadir woman. Her hand cracked against the child’s face.
Elanin did not cry out. Her head drooped a little, then she stared ahead again. ‘Why does she feel no pain?’ he asked.
‘She is not here,’ said the Nadir woman.
‘Bring her back then.’
The woman laughed. ‘I do not know where she is.’
Boranius rose from the chair, and left the room in search of Nygor. The little shaman would know what to do with the child. It would be such a waste if she couldn’t scream for Uncle Druss. He strode through the armoury, and up to the roof hall. Here he found Nygor, sitting in a window seat, scanning some old scrolls. ‘The child’s mind has snapped,’ said Boranius.
‘You gave her the mother’s fingers to play with,’ said Nygor. ‘What else do you expect?’
‘I thought it amusing. How can we bring the child back?’
Nygor shrugged. ‘Opiates, maybe. We’ll find a way when the time comes.’
‘The girl is soft like her father. His wife told me he was one of the heroes of Skein. You saw him, Nygor, blubbing away about his little girl. How could such a man have taken part in the defeat of the Immortals?’
The shaman sighed and put aside his scroll. ‘I knew a warrior once who tackled a lion with a knife. Yet he was afraid of rats. All men have their fears, their strong points and their weaknesses. Orastes was terrified of the dark. The dungeon was dark. You told him you were going to kill his daughter, cut her into little pieces. The girl was everything to him. He loved her.’
‘I have no weaknesses, shaman,’ said Boranius, moving to a chair and sitting down.
‘If you say so.’
‘I do say so. You wish to disagree?’
‘I need my fingers, Ironmask, so, no, I will not disagree. You are a strong man. Cursed by the stars, though.’
‘That is true enough,’ said Boranius, with feeling. ‘I never met a man with such ill luck. Bokram should have won, you know. We did everything right. He panicked in that last battle. Had he not been a coward he would now have ruled all of Naashan. And as for the Tantrian King… his stupidity was beyond reason. I wish I had taken longer to kill him.’
‘As I recall he screamed for several hours.’
‘It should have been days. I warned him not to invade Datia. We weren’t ready. If he had but waited.’
‘The Old Woman got to him with that cursed sword. We could not have predicted that. It corrupted his mind.’
Boranius swore. ‘Why does that hag haunt me? What did I ever do to her?’
‘My guess would be that you killed someone she had some use for.’
‘Ah, well, it matters not. If the best she can do is to send an old man with an axe then I see little to fear.’
Nygor’s face darkened. ‘I feel her presence at all times. She constantly tests my defences. Do not take her lightly, Ironmask. She has the power to kill us all.’
A cold breeze rippled through the roof hall. Two of the lanterns went out. Boranius leapt from his seat. Nygor cried out and sprang towards the open door. It slammed shut in his face.
A hooded, translucent figure appeared in the shadows by the doorway.
‘So pleasing to be appreciated,’ said the Old Woman. Boranius drew a dagger from his belt and threw it across the hall. It passed through the figure and clattered against the wall.
‘How did you breach my spells?’ asked Nygor, his voice echoing his despair.
‘I found another opening, Nadir. Up there in the roof. A tiny hole I forced some rats to make. And now it is time for you to join your friend Raesha. Burn, little man.’ The hooded figure pointed at Nygor. The shaman tried to run to the window, to hurl himself to the stones far below, but a holding spell closed around him. Flames leapt up from his leggings, igniting his shirt. He screamed and screamed. Boranius watched as Nygor’s hair flared away, his scalp and face turning black, the skin bubbling. Still the screams filled the hall. Men began pounding on the door. Finally the screams ended. Nygor’s blackened corpse fell to the floor.
It continued to burn, filling the hall with acrid black smoke. At the last there was nothing left upon the floor that was remotely human.
The pounding continued. ‘Be silent,’ said the Old Woman, flicking her hand towards the entrance. The pounding ceased.
‘You want to see me burn, whore?’ shouted Boranius. ‘Come then! Work your magic! I spit on you!’
‘Oh, I shall watch you die, Boranius. I shall take great pleasure in it.
First, however, you will do me a service.’
‘Never!’
‘Oh, I think you will. Druss the Legend is coming for you. And with him a man you have not seen for some time. An old friend. What a merry meeting that will be. You remember Skilgannon? How could you not? He cut your face off, as I recall.’
‘I’ll kill them both, and piss on their corpses.’
The Old Woman’s laughter rang out. ‘Ah, but I could like you, Boranius.
Truly I could. Such a shame we are enemies.’
‘We do not need to be.’
‘Ah, but we do. I was not always as you see me now. A few centuries ago I was young and men considered me comely. In that heady time of youth I had a child. I left it to be raised by others. I have never been maternal. As time passed I watched over that child, and the children she had. There were not many. Easy to keep track of. At first it was an amusement for me.
My gift to the future. The fruit of my loins. Quietly — so quietly — I manoeuvred their lives, bringing them a
