Filling the goblets, he passed one to each of the newcomers. Druss drained his in a single swallow and Oliquar refilled it. ‘And how goes the siege?’ asked the axeman.
Oliquar shrugged. ‘This Michanek holds them together. He is a lion, Druss, tireless and deadly. He fought Bodasen in single combat. We thought the war would be over. The Emperor offered two hundred wagons of food, for there is starvation in the city. The wager was that if Bodasen lost, the food would be delivered, but if he won then the city gates would be opened and the Naashanites allowed to march free.’
‘He killed Bodasen?’ put in Eskodas. ‘He was a great swordsman.’
‘He didn’t kill him; he put him down with a chest wound, then stepped back. The first fifty wagons were delivered an hour ago and the rest go in tonight. It will leave us on short rations for a while.’
‘Why didn’t he strike the killing blow?’ asked Sieben. ‘Gorben could have refused to send the food. Duels are supposed to be to the death, aren’t they?’
‘Aye, they are. But this Michanek, as I said, is special.’
‘You sound as if you like the man,’ snapped Druss, finishing the second goblet.
‘Gods, Druss, it’s hard not to like him. I keep hoping they’ll surrender; I don’t relish the thought of slaughtering such bonny fighters. I mean, the war’s over – this is just the last skirmish. What point is there in more killing and dying?’
‘Michanek has my wife,’ said Druss, his voice low and cold. ‘He tricked her into marrying him, stole her memory. She does not know me at all.’
‘I find that hard to believe,’ said Oliquar.
‘Are you calling me a liar?’ hissed Druss, his hand snaking round the haft of his axe.
‘And I find this hard to believe,’ said Oliquar. ‘What is the matter with you, my friend?’
Druss’s hand trembled on the haft, and he snatched it clear and robbed at his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he forced a smile. ‘Ah, Oliquar! I am tired, and the wine has made me stupid. But what I said was true; it was told to me by a priest of Pashtar Sen. And tomorrow I will scale those walls, and I will find Michanek. Then we will see how special he is.’
Druss levered himself to his feet and entered the tent. For a while the three men sat in silence, then Oliquar spoke, keeping his voice low. ‘Michanek’s wife is called Pahtai. Some of the refugees from the city spoke of her. She is a gentle soul, and when plague struck the city she went to the homes of the sick and dying, comforting them, bringing them medicines. Michanek adores her, and she him. This is well known. And I say again, he is not the man to take a woman by trickery.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Eskodas. ‘It is like fate carved into stone. Two men and one woman; there must be blood. Isn’t that right, poet?’
‘Sadly you are correct,’ agreed Sieben. ‘But I can’t help wondering how she will feel when Druss marches in to her, drenched in the blood of the man she loves. What then?’
Lying on a blanket within the tent, Druss heard every word. They cut his soul with knives of fire.
*
Michanek shielded his eyes against the setting sun and watched the distant figure of the axeman walk down towards the Ventrian camp, saw the soldiers gather round him, heard them cheer.
‘Who is it, do you think?’ asked his cousin, Shurpac.
Michanek took a deep breath. ‘I’d say it was the Emperor’s champion, Druss.’
‘Will you fight him?’
‘I don’t think Gorben will offer us the chance,’ answered Michanek. ‘There’s no need – we can’t hold for long now.’
‘Long enough for Narin to return with reinforcements,’ put in Shurpac, but Michanek did not reply. He had sent his brother out of the city with a written request for aid, though he knew there would be no help from Naashan; his one purpose had been to save his brother.
And yourself. The thought leapt unbidden from deep within him. Tomorrow was the first anniversary of his marriage, the day Rowena had predicted he would die with Narin on one side of him, Shurpac on the other. With Narin gone, perhaps the prophecy could be thwarted. Michanek squeezed shut his tired eyes. It felt as if sand was lodged under the lids.