‘You are a cynic,’ said Dagorian.
T think not. I am just old and have seen too much.’
The two men sat down beside the sleeping Bison. ‘How is it that a black man serves in the army of Drenan?’ asked Dagorian.
‘I am a Drenai,’ answered Nogusta. ‘My great-grand-
father was a Phocian seaman. He was captured at sea and the Drenai made a slave of him. He was freed after seven years and became an indentured servant. Later he returned to his homeland and took a wife, bringing her back to Drenan. Their first son did the same, bringing my grandmother back to our estates in Ginava.’
‘Estates? Your family have done well.’
‘My people had a talent with horses,’ said Nogusta. ‘My great-grandfather bred war mounts for the old king’s cavalry. It made us rich at the time.’
‘But you are rich no longer?’
‘No. A Drenai nobleman became jealous of our success, and fostered stories about us among the local villagers. One night a child went missing. He told them we had taken her for an obscene sacrifice. Our house was burned to the ground, and all my family slaughtered. The child, of course, was not there. It transpired she had wandered into the mountains and fallen down a steep slope. Her leg was broken.’
‘How is it you were not killed with your family?’
‘I went out to find the child. When I got back with her it was all over.’
Dagorian looked into Nogusta’s strange blue eyes. He could read no emotion there. ‘Did you seek justice?’ he asked. Nogusta smiled.
Twelve villagers were hanged.’
‘And the nobleman?’
‘He had friends in very high places and was not even arrested. Even so he fled to Mashrapur, and hired four swordsmen as his permanent bodyguards. He lived in a house behind high walls, and rarely came out in public.’
‘So he was never brought to justice?’
‘No.’
63
‘What became of him? Do you know?’
Nogusta looked away for a moment. ‘Someone scaled his walls, slew his guards and cut his heart out.’
‘I see.’ For a while both men sat in silence. ‘Are you pleased to be going home?’ asked Dagorian.
The black man shrugged. ‘I am tired of constant war. What does it achieve? When the old king took arms against the emperor we all felt the cause was just. But now . . . ? What has Cadia ever done to us? Now it is about glory and building an everlasting name. The Ventrian Empire once boasted a thousand universities, and hospitals for the sick. Now it is bled dry and all the young men want to fight. Yes, I am ready to go home.’
‘To breed horses?’
‘Yes. Many of my father’s horses escaped into the high country. There will be a sizeable herd by now.’
‘And will Bison go with you?’
Nogusta laughed aloud. ‘He will sign on with a mercenary regiment somewhere.’ His smile faded. ‘And he will die in a small war over nothing.’
The winter sun was high now, its pale warmth melting the patches of snow.
‘I wanted to be a priest,’ said Dagorian. ‘I thought I heard the call. Then my father was killed and my family informed me it was my duty to take his place. From a priest to a soldier . .. there’s a leap!’
‘Once there were warrior priests,’ said Nogusta. ‘The Thirty. There are many legends of them.’
‘There has been no temple since the War of the Twins,’ said Dagorian. ‘But the order had slipped a long way by then. One of my ancestors fought alongside the Thirty at Dros Delnoch. His name was Hogun. He was a general of the Legion.’
64
‘I only know about Druss and the Earl of Bronze,’ admitted Nogusta.
‘That’s all anyone remembers. I sometimes wonder if he even existed at all … Druss, I mean. Or was he just a combination of many heroes?’
‘Don’t say that to Bison. He swears he is of Druss’s line.’
Dagorian gave a wry chuckle. ‘Almost every soldier I know claims Druss as an ancestor. Even the king. But the simple fact is that most of the earliest stories tell us Druss had no children.’ Trumpets sounded and Dagorian looked up to see the royal party moving back to their seats. Nogusta woke Bison.