Gemmell, David – Drenai 06 – The First Chronicles of Druss the Legend

The jailer was trying to wriggle clear of the dungeon opening as Druss turned on him. The man squealed in fright and elbowed his way back into the dungeon. Druss hauled the first guard to the entrance, thrusting the unconscious body through into the cell. The second guard was dead; his body followed the first. Breathing heavily Druss looked at the door-stone. Anger rose in him like a sudden fire. Squatting down, he took the stone in both hands and heaved it into place. Then he sat before it and pushed it home with his legs. For several minutes he sat exhausted, then he crawled to the door-stone and pushed the bolts home.

Lights danced before Druss’s eyes, and his heart was hammering so fast he could not count the beats. Yet he forced himself upright and moved carefully to the door, which was partly open, and glanced into the corridor beyond. Sunlight was shining through a window, the beam highlighting dust motes in the air. It was indescribably beautiful.

The corridor was deserted. He could see two chairs and a table with two cups upon it. Moving into the corridor, he halted at the table and, seeing the cups contained watered wine, he drained them both. More dungeons lined the walls, but these all had doors of iron bars. He moved on to a second wooden door, beyond which was a stairwell, dark and unlit.

His strength was fading as he slowly climbed the stairs, but anger drove him on.

*

Sieben gazed down with undisguised horror at the small black insect upon the back of his hand. This,’ he said, ‘is insufferable.’

‘What?’ asked Varsava from his position at the narrow window.

‘The room has fleas,’ answered Sieben, taking the insect between thumb and forefinger and crushing it.

‘They seem to prefer you, poet,’ put in Eskodas with a boyish grin.

‘The risk of death is one thing,’ said Sieben icily. ‘Fleas are quite another. I have not even inspected the bed, but I would imagine it is teeming with wild-life. I think we should make the rescue attempt at once.’

Varsava chuckled. ‘After dark would probably be best,’ he said. ‘I was here three months ago when I took a child back out to his father. That’s how I learned that Druss was here. The dungeons are – as you would expect – on the lowest level. Above them are the kitchens, and above them the main Hall. There is no exit from the dungeons save through the Hall, which means we must be inside the Keep by dusk. There is no night jailer; therefore, if we can hide within the Keep until around midnight, we should be able to find Druss and get him out. As to leaving the fortress, that is another matter. As you saw, the two gates are guarded by day and locked by night. There are sentries on the walls, and lookouts in the towers.’

‘How many?’ asked Eskodas.

‘When I was here before, there were five near the main gate.’

‘How did you get out with the child?’

‘He was a small boy. I hid him in a sack and carried him out just after dawn, draped behind my saddle.’

‘I can’t see Druss fitting in a sack,’ said Sieben.

Varsava moved to sit alongside the poet. ‘Do not think of him as you knew him, poet. He has been over a year in a tiny, windowless cell. The food would be barely enough to keep him alive. He will not be the giant we all knew. And he’s likely to be blind – or insane. Or both.’

Silence fell upon the room as each man remembered the axeman they had fought alongside. ‘I wish I’d known sooner,’ muttered Sieben.

‘I did not know myself,’ said Varsava. ‘I thought they’d killed him.’

‘It’s strange,’ put in Eskodas, ‘I could never imagine Druss being beaten – even by an army. He was always so – so indomitable.’

Varsava chuckled. ‘I know. I watched him walk unarmed into a hollow where a dozen or so warriors were torturing an old man. He went through them like a scythe through wheat. Impressive.’

‘So, how shall we proceed?’ Sieben asked.

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