little luck when they needed it. I could not watch them all the time, however. They got old and died.
Despite my best efforts the line ran thin. Until there was only one. A girl.
Sweet child. She married the Emperor of Naashan after I slipped him a love potion. There was no way he would ever betray her. She then had a daughter. The last of my line. And you, Boranius, killed the mother and hunted the daughter. In your wildest imaginings can you believe I will forgive you?’
‘I care nothing for your forgiveness. I’ll kill Skilgannon for the pleasure of it. I’ll kill Druss to avenge the Immortals and their defeat at Skein Pass.
If I live long enough I’ll kill Jianna — and rid the world of your get.’
‘But you will not live long enough, Boranius. And I will be here, in the flesh, to see your soul torn screaming from your body. Until then, something to remember me by.’
Fire swept across Boranius’s face, searing lips and nose and cheeks.
With a strangled cry he fell back.
‘A man with a soul as ugly as yours has no right to a second face,’ said the Old Woman. ‘So let us remove the flesh Ustarte gave you.’
When Skilgannon awoke he was alone. He yawned and stretched. His arm brushed against the splintered wood of the bedhead. The bolt had gone — as had Garianne. Rising from the bed he pulled on his leggings and boots, and then his cream-coloured shirt and fringed jerkin. Lastly he hooked the ebony scabbard over his shoulder. The dawn was breaking, the land outside the window bathed in gold.
Moving to the door he stepped out into the corridor beyond, making his way back towards the antechamber. He passed a yellow-robed priest and stopped him, asking where he might find the boy, Rabalyn. The shaven- headed priest said nothing, but indicated that Skilgannon should follow him. They walked through a bewildering series of tunnels, down circular stairs, and along corridors, until, at last, they came to a wider hall. At the end of the hall the priest opened a door, and gestured for Skilgannon to enter.
Druss was sitting at Rabalyn’s bedside. The lad was asleep. Skilgannon leaned over him. Rabalyn was pale, but he was breathing well. Pulling up a chair Skilgannon sat down beside the axeman.
‘He is deeply asleep,’ said Druss. ‘It does my heart good to see him well.’
‘He is a fine lad.’
‘He is that. Too many shirkers and cowards in this world,’ said Druss.
‘Too many people who live life selfishly and care nothing for their fellows.
It grieved me greatly when I thought the boy was dead. Did I tell you that he leapt from a tree and took up my axe to fight a Joining?’
‘Only ten or twelve times.’
‘That kind of courage is rare. I think this boy will achieve something in his life. Damn, but I hope so.’
‘Let us hope he achieves more than we have,’ said Skilgannon.
‘Amen to that.’ The axeman glanced at Skilgannon, his piercing grey eyes holding to the sapphire blue gaze of the Naashanite warrior. ‘So why are you coming with me, laddie?’
‘Perhaps I just enjoy your company.’
‘Who wouldn’t? Now tell me the truth.’
‘Boranius killed my friends. He threatened the life of the woman I love.’
‘And what else?’
‘Why does there need to be something else? You are going after Boranius because he…’ Skilgannon struggled to find an adequate description of the horror that had befallen Orastes ‘… because he destroyed your friend. He also killed all who loved me.’
‘Aye, they are good enough reasons. I don’t quibble with them. There’s something else, though. Something deeper, I think.’
Skilgannon fell silent. Then he took a deep breath. ‘Why do you play the simple man, Druss? You are far more subtle and intuitive than you generally let others see. Very well then. The full truth. He frightens me, Druss. There, it is said. Skilgannon the Damned is afraid.’
‘You are not afraid of dying,’ said Druss. ‘I have seen that. So what is it about this… this Boranius that causes such terror?’
Quietly Skilgannon told the axeman about the mutilations suffered by Sperian and Molaire, the dismemberments and the blindings. ‘The strongest of men would be unmanned and mewling like a babe under his ministrations, Druss. He would end his life as a wretched, broken, bleeding piece of flesh. Everything in me screams to run away. To leave Boranius to his own fate.’
‘Every man has a breaking point. I don’t doubt that,’ said Druss. ‘With luck you’ll get to meet him blade to blade. You are perhaps the best swordsman I ever saw.’
‘Boranius is better. Stronger and faster — or at least he was when last we met. He would have killed me, but one of my men threw a spear at him. It did not pierce his armour, but it broke his concentration. Even then he managed to avoid the first death blow.’
‘Maybe you should just let me have him, laddie. Snaga will cut him down to size.’
Skilgannon nodded. ‘Perhaps I will.’
They sat with Rabalyn for a little while, but the boy did not wake. The door opened and Weldi entered, bowing low. ‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘I trust you slept well.’ Before they could answer he spoke again, this time to Skilgannon. ‘The priestess Ustarte has requested your presence, sir. Come, I shall take you to her.’
Druss looked up as Skilgannon rose. ‘I’ll stay awhile with the boy. He might wake.’
Skilgannon reached out his hand. ‘Thank you, Druss. You know, you would have made a fine father.’
‘I doubt that, laddie,’ answered Druss, taking the offered hand in the warrior’s grip, wrist to wrist. ‘The most important thing for a father is to be there when his child needs him. I am never anywhere for long.’
Skilgannon followed Weldi to the upper chamber of greenery, where Ustarte was waiting upon the balcony. In the bright morning sunshine Skilgannon could see beyond her beauty, to the weariness and age she carried. The tiniest of fine lines etched her fragile Chiatze features. She smiled at him as he walked out onto the balcony.
‘You sent for me, lady?’
‘I thought you might like to travel with me, warrior. To the Citadel.’
‘Now?’
‘If you wish.’
‘You will travel with us?’
‘No. Just you and I, Olek. It will take but a matter of moments.’
Skilgannon was uneasy. ‘And how are we to do this?’
‘Merely sit in the chair there, and relax. I will lead your spirit there.’
Nonplussed, he removed his scabbard and sat down, leaning his head back against a cushion. He heard the rustle of her robes, then felt the warmth of her hand upon his brow. Instantly he was asleep.
He rose from the welcoming darkness, towards a bright and shining light. He became aware that someone was holding his hand. For some reason he thought it was Molaire, and he wondered where they were going. Then he recalled that Molaire was dead. Momentary panic touched him as the light neared.
‘Do not be afraid,’ the voice of Ustarte whispered inside his head. ‘Do not struggle or you will wake too early. Trust me.’
Suddenly he was above the clouds, and the bright light was that of the sun, shining in a sky of unbelievable blue. Below him were the red mountains through which he had travelled, and a long, winding river that glittered brilliantly as it snaked towards the distant sea. He felt his hand tugged and his spirit soared towards the northwest, away from the rising sun. Far below he saw villages and farming communities, and two small towns, the largest of which had grown up around the crossing point of four major roads. Just beyond this was an ancient fort. A crumbling, rectangular outer wall enclosed an area of around a mile. Within it were warehouses and tall buildings. At the centre of the fortress stood a circular keep, four storeys high. A domed wooden roof had been added.
‘It was built hundreds of years ago to guard the trade roads,’ said Ustarte. ‘But when the kingdom of Pelucid fell the fortress became derelict for decades. Lately it has been used by robber bands, who control the trade routes. They levy taxes upon the land caravans passing through from the coastal cities. The silks of Gothir, the spices of Namib, gold and silver from the mines to the west. All these fall under the sway of those who control the Citadel. Ironmask captured it over a year ago, ostensibly to allow free trade to flow into Tantria.’
