Druss was now as strong as he would ever be in such a place, and last night he had told the man, ‘Do not come tomorrow, or the next day.’
‘Why?’
Tm thinking of leaving,’ answered the Drenai. The old man had laughed. Tm serious, my friend. Don’t come for two days.’
‘There’s no way out. The door-stone alone requires two men to move it, and there are two bolts holding it in place.’
‘If you are correct,’ Druss told him, ‘then I will see you here in three days.’
Now he sat quietly in the dark. The ointments his friend had supplied had healed most of his sores, and the lice powder – while itching like the devil’s touch – had convinced all but the most hardy of the parasites to seek alternative accommodation. The food over the last months had rebuilt Druss’s strength, and his teeth no longer rattled in their sockets. Now was the time, he thought. There’ll never be a better.
Silently he waited through the long day.
At last he heard the jailer outside. A clay cup was pushed into the opening, with a hunk of stale bread by it. Druss sat in the dark, unmoving.
‘Here is it, my black-bearded rat,’ the jailer called.
Silence. ‘Ah well, suit yourself. You’ll change your mind before long.’
The hours drifted by. Torchlight flickered in the corridor and he heard the jailer halt. Then the man walked on. Druss waited for an hour, then he lit his lamp and chewed on the last of the meat the old man had left the night before. Lifting the lamp to his face he stared hard into the tiny flame, passing it back and forth before his eyes. The light didn’t sting as once it had. Blowing out the light he turned over on to his stomach, pushing himself through one hundred and fifty press raises. He slept. . .
And awoke to the arrival of the jailer. The man knelt down at the narrow opening, but Druss knew he could not see more than a few inches into the dark. The food and water was untouched. The only question now was whether the jailer cared if his prisoner lived or died. Cajivak had threatened to have Druss dragged before him in order to plead for death. Would the Lord be pleased that his jailer had robbed him of such delights?
He heard the jailer curse, then move off back the way he had come. Druss’s mouth was dry, and his heart pounded. Minutes passed – long, anxious minutes. Then the jailer returned; he was speaking to someone.
‘It’s not my fault,’ he was saying. ‘His rations were set by the Lord himself.’
‘So it’s his fault? Is that what you’re saying?’
‘No! No! It’s nobody’s fault. Maybe he had a weak heart or something. Maybe he’s just sick. That’s it, he’s probably sick. We’ll move him to a bigger cell for a while.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ said a soft voice, ‘otherwise you’ll be wearing your own entrails for a necklace.’
A grating sound followed, then another, and Druss guessed the bolts were being drawn back. ‘All right, together now,’ came a voice. ‘Heave!’ The stone groaned as the men hauled it clear.
‘Gods, but it stinks in there!’ complained one of the guards as a torch was thrust inside. Druss grabbed the wielder by the throat, hauling him in, then he dived through the opening and rolled. He rose, but dizziness caused him to stagger and a guard laughed.
‘There’s your dead man,’ he said, and Druss heard the rasp of a sword being drawn. It was so hard to see – there were at least three torches, and the light was blinding. A shape moved towards him.
‘Back in your hole, rat!’ said the guard. Druss leapt forward to smash a punch to the man’s face. The guard’s iron helm flew from his head as his body shot backwards, his head cannoning into the dungeon wall. A second guard ran in. Druss’s vision was clearing now and he saw the man aim a blow at his head. He ducked and stepped inside the blow, thundering his fist in the man’s belly. Instantly the guard folded, a great whoosh of air rushing from his lungs. Druss brought his clenched fist down on the man’s neck, there was a sickening crack and the guard fell to his face.