The First Chronicles of Druss the Legend (42 page)

“Don’t say that!”

“You used to be a seer—a good one. Kabuchek charged two hundred silver pieces for a single reading from you. You were never wrong.”

“I know all this, you have told me before. What difference does it make now?”

“All the difference in the world. You were born in the lands of the Drenai, you were taken by slavers. But there was a man …”

“I don’t want to hear this,” she said, pulling away from him and walking to the edge of the tiny lake. He did not follow, but his words did.

“The man was your husband.” Rowena sat down by the water’s edge, trailing her fingers across the surface, sending ripples through the moon’s reflection.

“The man with the axe,” she said dully.

“You remember?” he asked, walking forward and sitting beside her.

“No. But I saw him once—at the house of Kabuchek. And also in a dream, when he lay in a dungeon.”

“Well, he is not in a dungeon now,
Pahtai
. He is outside the city. He is Druss the Axeman, Gorben’s champion.”

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked him, turning to face him in the bright moonlight.

His white robe shimmered, and he looked ghostly, almost ethereal. “Do you think I want to?” he countered. “I’d sooner fight a lion with my hands than have this conversation. But I love you,
Pahtai
. I have loved you since our first meeting. You were standing with Pudri in the main corridor of Kabuchek’s home, and you told my future.”

“What did I tell you?”

He smiled. “You told me I would wed the woman I loved. But that is not important now. I think soon you will meet your … first … husband.”

“I don’t want to.” Her heart was beating fast and she felt faint. Michanek put his arms around her.

“I don’t know much about him, but I do know you,” he said. “You are Drenai; your customs are different from ours. You were not highborn, therefore it is likely you married for love. And think on this: Druss has followed you across the world for seven years. He must love you deeply.”

“I don’t want to talk about this!” she said, her voice rising as panic flooded her. She tried to rise, but he held her close.

“Neither do I,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “I wanted to sit here with you and watch the stars. I wanted to kiss you, and to make love.” His head dropped, and she saw tears in his eyes.

Her panic disappeared and the cold touch of fear settled on her soul. She looked up into his face. “You talk as if you are going to die.”

“Oh, I will some day,” he said, with a smile. “Now I must go. I am meeting Darishan and the other officers to discuss tomorrow’s strategy. They should be in the house now.”

“Don’t go!” she pleaded. “Stay with me a little while … just a little while?”

“I’ll always be with you,” he said softly.

“Darishan will die tomorrow. On the walls. I saw it; it was a
vision. He was here today and I saw him die. My Talent is coming back. Give me your hand! Let me see our future.”

“No!” he said, rising and moving back from her. “A man’s fate is his own. You read my future once. Once was enough,
Pahtai
.”

“I predicted your death, didn’t I?” she said, but it was not a question, for she knew the answer even before he spoke.

“You told me about my dreams, and you mentioned my brother, Narin. I don’t remember much of it now. We’ll talk later.”

“Why did you mention Druss? You think that if you die I will just go to him, and take up a life I know nothing of? If you die, I will have nothing to live for.” Her eyes locked to his. “And I will not live,” she said.

A figure moved out of the shadows. “Michi, why are you keeping us all waiting?” Rowena saw her husband flinch and glanced up to see Narin striding toward them.

“I sent you away,” said Michanek. “What are you doing here?”

“I made it as far as the hills, but the Ventrians are everywhere. I came in through the sewers; the guards there recognized me, thank the gods. What is the matter with you? Are you not pleased to see me?”

Michanek did not answer. Turning to Rowena he smiled, but she saw the fear in his eyes. “I’ll not be long, my love. We’ll talk again later.”

She remained on the seat as the two men walked away. Closing her eyes she thought of the axeman, picturing the pale gray eyes and the broad, flat face. But even as she pictured him, another image came to her:

The face of a terrible beast, with talons of steel and eyes of fire.

Gorben leaned back on his couch and watched with appreciation the sword jugglers before the huge fire, the five razor-sharp blades spinning in the air between the two men. It was a display of rare skill as the jugglers deftly caught the swords, before sending them soaring back across the open ground. The men were clad in loincloths, their skin shining red-gold in the firelight. Around them sat more than five hundred Immortals, enjoying the martial display.

Beyond the dancing flames of the campfire Gorben could see
the walls of Resha, and the few defenders there. It was all but over. Against all the odds he had won.

Yet there was no sense of joy in his heart. The years of battle, the stresses and the fears, had taken their toll on the young Emperor. For every victory he had seen childhood friends cut down: Nebuchad at Ectanis, Jasua in the mountains above Porchia, Bodasen before the gates of Resha. He glanced to his right where Bodasen was lying on a raised bed, his face pale. The surgeons said he would live, and they had managed to reinflate his collapsed lung. You are like my Empire, thought Gorben, wounded almost unto death. How long would it take to rebuild Ventria? Years? Decades?

A great roar went up from the watching men as the sword jugglers completed their performance. The men bowed to the Emperor. Gorben rose and tossed them a pouch full of gold pieces. There was great laughter when the first of the jugglers reached out and failed to catch the pouch.

“You are better with blades than coins,” said Gorben.

“Money has always slipped through his fingers, Lord,” said the second man.

Gorben returned to his seat and smiled down at Bodasen. “How are you feeling, my friend?”

“My strength is returning, Lord.” The voice was weak, his breathing ragged as Gorben reached out and patted his shoulder. The heat of the skin and the sharpness of the bone beneath his hand almost made him recoil. Bodasen’s eyes met his. “Do not concern yourself about me, Lord. I’ll not die on you.” The swordsman’s eyes flickered to the left, and he smiled broadly. “By the gods, there’s a sight to gladden the eyes!”

Gorben turned to see Druss and Sieben walking toward them. The poet dropped to one knee, bowing his head. Druss gave a perfunctory bow.

“Well met, axeman,” said Gorben, stepping forward and embracing Druss. Turning, he took Sieben’s arm and raised him to his feet. “And I have missed your talents, saga-master. Come, join us.”

Servants brought two couches for the Emperor’s guests, and golden goblets filled with fine wine. Druss moved to Bodasen. “You look as weak as a three-day kitten,” he said. “Are you going to live?”

“I’ll do my best, axeman.”

“He cost me two hundred wagons of food,” said Gorben. “I blame myself for believing him to be unbeatable.”

“How good is this Michanek?” asked Druss.

“Good enough to leave me lying here scarce able to breathe,” answered Bodasen. “He’s fast, and he’s fearless. The best I ever met. I tell you truly, I wouldn’t want to face him again.”

Druss turned to Gorben. “You want me to take him?”

“No,” said Gorben. “The city will fall in the next day or two—there is no need for single combat to decide the issue. The walls are undermined. Tomorrow, if the wind is good, we will fire them. Then the city will be ours and this ghastly war will be over. Now, tell me about your adventures. I hear you were held captive?”

“I escaped,” Druss told him, then drained his goblet. A servant ran forward to refill it.

Sieben laughed. “I will tell you, Lord,” he said, and launched into a richly embroidered account of Druss’s time in the dungeons of Cajivak.

The huge campfire was burning low and several men moved forward to throw logs upon it. Suddenly the ground heaved beneath one of them, pitching him to the earth. Gorben looked up, and watched the man struggle to rise. All around the fire the seated men were scrambling back. “What is happening?” asked Gorben, rising and striding forward. The ground lurched beneath him.

“Is it an earthquake?” he heard Sieben ask Druss.

Gorben stood still and gazed down. The earth was writhing. The campfire suddenly flared, sending bright sparks into the night sky. The heat was intense and Gorben moved back from it, staring into the flames. Logs exploded out from the blaze and a huge shape appeared within the fire, a beast with outspread arms. The flames died and Gorben found himself staring at a colossal bear, more than twelve feet tall.

Several soldiers carrying spears ran at the creature, plunging their weapons into the great belly. The first of the spears snapped on impact. The beast roared, a deafening sound like captured thunder. One of the mighty arms swept down, steel talons ripping through the first soldier, cutting him in half at the waist.

Surging from the fading fire, the beast leaped toward Gorben.

*   *   *

As the creature of fire appeared, Sieben, who was sitting alongside Bodasen, found all sensation of time and reality slipping away from him. His eyes fastened on the beast, and an image flew from the halls of his memory, linking what he could see in terrifying life to a still, small moment three years ago in the main Library at Drenan. Researching for an epic poem, he had been scanning the ancient leather-bound books in the archives. The pages were dry and yellow, and much of the ink and paint had faded from them, but on one page the colors were still vibrant, fierce hues—glowing gold, savage crimsons, sun-bright yellows. The figure painted there was colossal, and flames sprouted like blooms from its eyes. Sieben could still picture the carefully painted letters above the painting …

The Kalith of Numar

Beneath the heading were the words:

As Sieben recalled the night of the monster in later days, he would wonder anew at the lack of fear he experienced. He watched men die horribly, saw a beast from the depths of Hell tear human limbs asunder, disemboweling warriors, ripping their lives from them. He heard the ghastly howling and smelled the stench of death on the night breeze. Yet there was no fear.

A dark legend had come to life and he, the saga-master, was on hand to witness it.

Gorben was standing stock-still, rooted to the spot. A soldier Sieben recognized as Oliquar threw himself at the beast, slashing at it with a saber; but the blade clanged against the creature’s side, and the sound that followed was like the dim tolling of a distant bell. A taloned paw swept down, and Oliquar’s face and head disappeared in a bloody spray of shattered bone. Several archers shot arrows, but these either shattered on impact or ricocheted away. The creature advanced on Gorben.

Sieben saw the Emperor flinch, then hurl himself to his right, rolling to his feet smoothly. The enormous beast turned ponderously, the glowing coals of its eyes seeking out Gorben.

Loyal soldiers, showing incredible bravery, threw themselves into the path of the beast, stabbing at it ineffectually. Each time the talons slashed down, and blood sprayed across the campsite. Within a few heartbeats there were at least twenty dead or maimed soldiers. The Chaos Beast’s talons ripped into a soldier’s chest, lifting him from his feet and hurling him across the dying fire. Sieben heard the man’s ribs snap, and saw his entrails spill out like a tattered banner as the corpse sailed through the air.

Druss, axe in his hand, strode out toward the creature. Soldiers were falling back before it, but still they formed a wall between the beast and the Emperor. Looking tiny and insubstantial against the colossal frame of the Kalith, Druss stepped into its path. The moon was bright in the night sky, shining from his shoulder-guards and glinting on Snaga’s terrible blades.

The Chaos Beast paused and seemed to stare down at the tiny man before it. Sieben’s mouth went dry, and he could feel the hammering of his own heart.

And the Kalith spoke, voice deep and rumbling, words slurred by its foot-long tongue.

“Step aside, brother,” it said. “I have not come for you.”

The axe began to glow as red as blood. Druss stood his ground, with Snaga held in both hands.

“Step aside,” repeated the Kalith, “or I must kill you!”

“In your dreams,” said Druss.

The creature lunged forward, one great paw sweeping in toward the axeman. Druss dropped to one knee and swung the blood-red axe, the blade striking the beast’s wrist and cleaving through. As the taloned paw fell to the ground beside the axeman, the Kalith reeled back. No blood issued from the wound, but an oily smoke pumped out into the air, billowing and growing. Fire blazed from the creature’s mouth and it lunged again at the mortal before it. But instead of jumping back, Druss leaped in to meet it, swinging Snaga high over his head and bringing the weapon down in a lethal arc that clove into the Kalith’s chest, smashing the sternum and ripping a wound from throat to groin.

Flames exploded from the beast, engulfing the axeman. Druss staggered—and the Kalith fell back, and as the huge form struck the ground even Sieben, some thirty feet away, felt the tremor of the earth. A breeze blew up, the smoke disappearing.

And there was no sign of the Kalith …

Sieben ran to where Druss stood. The axeman’s eyebrows and
beard were singed, but he bore no marks of burns. “By the gods, Druss,” Sieben shouted, slapping his friend’s back. “Now that’ll make a song to bring us both fame and riches!”

“It killed Oliquar,” said Druss, shrugging off Sieben’s embrace and letting fall the axe.

Gorben moved alongside him. “That was nobly done, my friend. I’ll not forget—I owe you my life.” Bending his body, he lifted the axe. It was now black and silver once more. “This is an enchanted weapon,” whispered the Emperor. “I will give you twenty thousand in gold for it.”