‘I don’t think that was courage,’ said Druss.
‘Neither did anyone else who was watching. But then that’s something you’ll learn, I hope. If a million people believe a foolish thing, it is still a foolish thing.’
Druss’s mind jerked back to the present. He didn’t know why he had remembered that meeting, but the recollection left him feeling sad and low in spirit.
Chapter Two
A storm broke over the mountains, great rolls of thunder that made the walls of the cave vibrate, and Druss moved back as the rain lashed into the cave-mouth. The land below was lit by jagged spears of lightning which seemed to change the very nature of the valley – the gentle woods of pine and elm becoming shadow-haunted lairs, the friendly homes looking like tombstones across the vault of Hell.
Fierce winds buffeted the trees and Druss saw a herd of deer running from the woods, their movements seeming disjointed and ungainly against the flaring lightning bolts. A tree was struck and seemed to explode from within, splitting into two halves. Fire blazed briefly from the ruined trunk, but died within seconds in the sheeting rain.
Dulina crept alongside him, pushing herself against him. He felt the stitches in his side pull as she snuggled in, but he lifted his arm around her shoulders. ‘Is is only a storm, child,’ he said. ‘It cannot harm us.’ She said nothing and he drew her to his lap, holding her close. She was warm, almost feverish, he thought.
Sighing, Druss felt again the weight of loss, and wondered where Rowena was on this dark and ferocious night. Was there a storm where she lay? Or was the night calm? Did she feel the loss, or was Druss just a dim memory of another life in the mountains? He glanced down to see that the child was asleep, her head in the crook of his arm.
Holding her firmly but gently, Druss rose and carried her back to the fireside, laying her down on her blanket and adding the last of the fuel to the fire.
‘You are a good man,’ came a soft voice. Druss looked up and saw that the old tinker was awake.
‘How is the leg?’
‘It hurts, but it will heal. You are sad, my friend.’
Druss shrugged. ‘These are sad times.’
‘I heard your talk with your friend. I am sorry that in helping me you have lost the chance to help others.’ He smiled. ‘Not that I would change anything, you understand?’
Druss chuckled. ‘Nor I.’
‘I am Ruwaq the Tinker,’ said the old man, extending a bony hand.
Druss shook it and sat beside him. ‘Where are you from?’
‘Originally? The lands of Matapesh, far to the east of Naashan and north of the Opal Jungles. But I have always been a man who needed to see new mountains. People think they are all the same, but it is not so. Some are lush and green, others crowned with shining ice and snow. Some are sharp, like sword-blades, others old and rounded, comfortable within eternity. I love mountains.’
‘What happened to your children?’
‘Children? Oh, I never had children. Never married.’
‘I thought the child was your grand-daughter?’
‘No, I found her outside Resha. She had been abandoned and was starving to death. She is a good girl. I love her dearly. I can never repay the debt to you for saving her.’
‘There is no debt,’ said Druss.
The old man lifted his hand and wagged his finger. ‘I don’t accept that, my friend. You gave her – and me – the gift of life. I do not like storms, but I was viewing this one with the greatest pleasure. Because until you entered the hollow I was a dead man, and Dulina would have been raped and probably murdered. Now the storm is a vision of beauty. No one ever gave me a greater gift.’ The old man had tears in his eyes and Druss’s discomfort grew. Instead of feeling elated by his gratitude he experienced a sense of shame. A true hero, he believed, would have gone to the man’s aid from a sense of justice, of compassion. Druss knew that was not why he had helped them.