What were they waiting for?
The answer came to him instantly: They are waiting for you to die.
He saw a movement at the edge of the circle, the men moving aside as Gorben appeared – dressed now in a robe of gold, a seven-spiked crown upon his head. He looked every inch the Emperor. Beside him was the axeman, the husband of Pahtai.
‘Ready for another duel . . . my Lord?’ called Michanek. A racking cough burst from his lungs, spraying blood into the air.
‘Put up your sword, man. It is over!’ said Gorben.
‘Do I take it you are surrendering?’ Michanek asked. ‘If not, then let me fight your champion!’
Gorben turned to the axeman, who nodded and moved forward. Michanek steadied himself, but his mind was wandering. He remembered a day with Pahtai, by a waterfall. She had made a crown of white water-lilies which she placed on his brow. The flowers were wet and cool; he could feel them now . . .
No. Fight! Win!
He looked up. The axeman seemed colossal now, towering above him, and Michanek realised he had fallen to his knees. ‘No,’ he said, the words slurring, ‘I’ll not die on my knees.’ Leaning forward he tried to push himself upright, but fell again. Two strong hands took hold of his shoulders, drawing him upright, and he looked into the pale eyes of Druss the Axeman.
‘Knew. . .you would. . .come,’ he said. Druss half carried the dying warrior to a marble bench at the wall of the courtyard, laying him gently to the cool stone. An Immortal removed his own cloak and rolled it into a pillow for the Naashanite general.
Michanek gazed up at the darkening sky, then turned his head. Druss was kneeling alongside him, and beyond the axeman the Immortals waited. At an order from Gorben they drew their swords and held them high, saluting their enemy.
‘Druss! Druss!’
‘I am here.’
Treat. . . her . . . gently.’
Michanek did not hear his answer.
He was sitting on the grass by a waterfall, the cool petals of a water-lily crown against his skin.
*
There was no looting in Resha, nor any organised slaughter amongst the population. The Immortals patrolled the city, having first marched through to the centre past cheering crowds who were waving banners and hurling flower petals beneath the feet of the soldiers. In the first hours there were isolated outbursts of violence, as angry citizens gathered in mobs to hunt down Ventrians accused of collaborating with the Naashanite conquerors.
Gorben ordered the mobs dispersed, promising judicial inquiries at a later date to identify those who could be accused of treason. The bodies of the slain were buried in two mass graves beyond the city walls, and the Emperor ordered a monument built above the Ventrian fallen, a huge stone Kon with the names of the dead carved into the base. Above the Naashanite grave there was to be no stone. Michanek, however, was laid to rest in the Hall of the Fallen, below the Great Palace on the Hill that stood like a crown at the centre of Resha.
Food was brought in to feed the populace, and builders began work, removing the dams that had starved the city of water, rebuilding the walls and repairing those houses and shops damaged by the huge stones of the ballistae that had hurtled over the walls during the past three months.
Druss had no interest in the affairs of the city. Day by day he sat at Rowena’s bedside, holding to her cold, pale hand.
After Michanek had died Druss had sought out his house, the directions supplied by a Naashanite soldier who had survived the last assault. With Sieben and Eskodas he had run through the city streets until at last he had come to the house on the hill, entering it through a beautiful garden. There he saw a small man, sitting weeping by an ornamental lake. Druss seized him by his woollen tunic, hauling him to his feet. ‘Where is she?’ he demanded.
‘She is dead,’ wailed the man, his tears flowing freely. ‘She took poison. There is a priest with the body.’ He pointed to the house, then fell to weeping again. Releasing him, Druss ran in to the house and up the curved stairs. The first three rooms were empty, but in the fourth he found the priest of Pashtar Sen sitting by the bedside.