What now, thought Varsava, scanning the Hall. There must be over a hundred killers here. His mouth was dry. At any moment the unnatural calm would vanish. What then? Would they rush the dais? And what of Druss? Would he take up his axe and attack them all?
I don’t want to die here, he thought, wondering what he would do if they did attack Druss. He was close to the rear door – no one would notice if he just slipped away into the night. After all, he owed the man nothing. Varsava had done more than his share, locating Sieben and setting up the rescue attempt. To die now, in a meaningless skirmish, would be nonsense.
Yet he did not move but stood silently, waiting, with all the other men, and watched Druss drain a third goblet of wine. Then the axeman rose and wandered down into the hall, leaving his axe on the dais. Druss moved to the first table and tore a chunk of bread from a fresh-baked loaf. ‘None of you hungry?’ he asked the men.
A tall, slim warrior wearing a crimson shirt stepped forward. ‘What are your plans?’ he asked.
‘I’m going to eat,’ Druss told him. “Then I’m going to bathe. After that I think I’ll sleep for a week.’
‘And then?’ The Hall was silent, the warriors milling closer to hear the axeman’s answer.
‘One thing at a time, laddie. When you sit in a dungeon, in the dark, with only rats for company, you learn never to make too many plans.’
‘Are you seeking to take his place?’ persisted the warrior, pointing to the severed head.
Druss laughed. ‘By the gods, look at him! Would you want to take his place?’ Chewing on the bread, Druss returned to the dais and sat. Then he leaned forward and addressed the men. ‘I am Druss,’ he said. ‘Some of you may remember me from the day I was brought here. Others may know of my service with the Emperor. I have no ill-will towards any of you . . . but if any man here wishes to die, then let him take up his weapons and approach me. I’ll oblige him.’ He stood and hefted the axe. ‘Anyone?’ he challenged. No one moved and Druss nodded. ‘You are all fighting men,’ he said, ‘but you fight for pay. That is sensible. Your leader is dead – best you finish your meal, and then choose another.’
‘Are you putting yourself forward?’ asked the man in the crimson shirt.
‘Laddie, I’ve had enough of this fortress. And I have other plans.’
Druss turned back to Sieben, and Varsava could not hear their conversation. The warriors gathered together in small groups, discussing the various merits and vices of Cajivak’s under-leaders, and Varsava strolled out of the Hall, confused by what he had seen. Beyond the Hall was a wide antechamber where the bladesman sat on a long couch – his feelings mixed, his heart heavy. Eskodas joined him.
‘How did he do it?’ asked Varsava. ‘A hundred killers, and they just accepted his murder of their leader. Incredible!’
Eskodas shrugged and smiled. ‘That’s Druss.’
Varsava swore softly. ‘You call that an answer?’
‘It depends what you are looking for,’ responded the bowman. ‘Perhaps you should be asking yourself why you are angry. You came here to rescue a friend, and now he is free. What more did you want?’
Varsava laughed, but the sound was dry and harsh. ‘You want the truth? I half desired to see Druss broken. I wanted confirmation of his stupidity! The great herol He rescued an old man and child – that’s why he’s spent a year or more in this cesspit. You understand? It was meaningless. Meaningless!’
‘Not for Druss.’
‘What is so special about him?’ stormed Varsava. ‘He’s not blessed with a fine mind, he has no intellect to speak of. Any other man who has just done what he did would be ripped to pieces by that mangy crew. But no, not Druss! Why? He could have become their leader – just like that! They would have accepted it.’
‘I can give you no definitive answers,’ said Eskodas. ‘I watched him storm a ship filled with blood-hungry corsairs – they threw down their weapons. It is the nature of the man, I suppose. I had a teacher once, a great bowman, who told me that when we see another man we instinctively judge him as either threat or prey. Because we are hunting, killing animals. Carnivores. We are a deadly breed, Varsava. When we look at Druss we see the ultimate threat – a man who does not understand compromise. He breaks the rules. No, more than that, I think. For him there are no rules. Take what happened back there. An ordinary man might well have killed Cajivak – though I doubt it. But he would not have hurled aside the axe and fought the monster hand to hand. And when he’d slain the leader he would have looked out at all those killers and, in his heart, he would have expected death. They would have sensed it . . . and they would have killed him. But Druss didn’t sense it; he didn’t care. One at a time, or all at once. He’d have fought them all.’