‘There is truth in that,’ muttered Druss. ‘I think you only invent these tales to annoy me.’
Eskodas lifted the spit and turned the roasting meat. ‘I rather liked the tale, Druss. And it had the ring of truth. If the Chaos Spirit did drag your soul into Hell, I’m sure you’d twist his tail for him.’
Conversation ceased as they heard movement from the woods. Sieben drew one of his knives; Eskodas took up his bow and notched a shaft to the string; Druss merely sat silently, waiting. A man appeared. He was wearing long flowing robes of dusty grey, though they shone like silver in the bright moonlight.
‘I was waiting for you in the village,’ said the priest of Pashtar Sen, sitting down alongside the axeman.
‘I prefer it here,’ said Druss, his voice cold and unwelcoming.
‘I am sorry, my son, for your suffering, and I feel a weight of shame for asking you to take up the burden of the axe. But Cajivak was laying waste to the countryside, and his power would have grown. What you did . . .’
‘I did what I did,’ snarled Druss. ‘Now live up to your side of the bargain.’
‘Rowena is in Resha. She . . . lives . . . with a soldier named Michanek. He is a Naashanite general, and the Emperor’s champion.’
‘Lives with?’
The priest hesitated. ‘She is married to him,’ he said swiftly.
Druss’s eyes narrowed. ‘That is a lie. They might force her to do many things, but she would never marry another man.’
‘Let me tell this in my own way,’ pleaded the priest. ‘As you know I searched long and hard for her, but there was nothing. It was as if she had ceased to exist. When I did find her it was by chance – I saw her in Resha just before the siege and I touched her mind. She had no memory of the lands of the Drenai, none whatever. I followed her home and saw Michanek greet her. Then I entered his mind. He had a friend, a mystic, and he employed him to take away Rowena’s Talent as a seeress. In doing this they also robbed her of her memories. Michanek is now all she has ever known.’
‘They tricked her with sorcery. By the gods, I’ll make them pay for that! Resha, eh?’ Reaching out Druss curled his hand around the haft of the axe, drawing the weapon to him.
‘No, you still don’t understand,’ said the priest. ‘Michanek is a fine man. What he . . .’
‘Enough!’ thundered Druss. ‘Because of you I have spent more than a year in a hole in the ground, with only rats for company. Now get out of my sight – and never, ever cross my path again.’
The priest slowly rose.and backed away from the axeman. He seemed about to speak, but Druss turned his pale eyes upon the man and the priest stumbled away into the darkness.
Sieben and Eskodas said nothing.
*
High in the cliffs, far to the east, the Naashanite Emperor sat, his woollen cloak wrapped tightly around him. He was fifty-four years of age and looked seventy, his hair white and wispy, his eyes sunken. Beside him sat his staff officer, Anindais; he was unshaven, and the pain of defeat was etched into his face.
Behind them, down the long pass, the rearguard had halted the advancing Ventrians. They were safe . . . for the moment.
Nazhreen Connitopa, Lord of the Eyries, Prince of the Highlands, Emperor of Naashan, tasted bile in his mouth and his heart was sick with frustration. He had planned the invasion of Ventria for almost eleven years, and the Empire had been his for the taking. Gorben was beaten – everyone knew it, from the lowliest peasant to the highest Satraps in the land. Everyone, that is, except Gorben.
Nazhreen silently cursed the gods for snatching away his prize. The only reason he was still alive was because Michanek was holding Resha and tying down two Ventrian armies. Nazhreen rubbed at his face and saw, in the firelight, that his hands were grubby, the paint on his nails cracked and peeling.