That may be true,’ conceded Sieben, ‘but what chance does Druss have in a world of enchantment and sorcery? Tell me that!’
‘I don’t know,’ Shalitar admitted.
‘No, but he does,’ said Sieben. ‘I have read of the Void; a great many of my tales are centred there. I have spoken to Seekers and mystics who have journeyed through the Mist. All agree on one point – without access to the powers of sorcery a man is finished there. Is that not true, priest?’
The man nodded, but did not look up. He was sitting beside the wide bed upon which lay the still figures of Druss and Rowena. The axeman’s face was pale, and he did not seem to be breathing.
‘What will he face there?’ insisted Sieben. ‘Come on, man!’
‘The horrors of his past,’ answered the priest, his voice barely audible.
‘By the gods, priest, I tell you this: If he dies, you will follow him.’
*
Druss had reached the brow of the hill and gazed down into a parched valley. There were trees, black and dead, silhouetted against the slate-grey earth, as if sketched there with charcoal. There was no wind, no movement save for the few souls who wandered aimlessly across the face of the valley. A little way down the hill he saw an old woman sitting on the ground with head bowed and shoulders hunched. Druss approached her. ‘I am looking for my wife,’ he said.
‘You are looking for more than that,’ she told him.
He squatted down opposite her. ‘No, just my wife. Can you help me?’
Her head came up and he found himself staring into deep-set eyes that glittered with malice. ‘What can you give me, Druss?’
‘How is it you know me?’ he countered.
‘The Axeman, the Silver Slayer, the man who fought the Chaos Beast. Why should I not know you? Now, what can you give me?’
‘What do you want?’
‘Make me a promise.’
‘What promise?’
‘You will give me your axe.’
‘I do not have it here.’
‘I know that, boy,’ she snapped. ‘But in the world above you will give me your axe.’
‘Why do you need it?’
‘That is no part of the bargain. But look around you, Druss. How will you begin to find her in the time that is left?’
‘You can have it,’ he said. ‘Now, where is she?’
‘You must cross a bridge. You will find her there. But the bridge is guarded, Druss, by an awesome warrior.’
‘Just tell me where it is.’
A staff lay beside the old woman and she used it to lever herself to her feet. ‘Come,’ she said, and began to walk towards a low line of hills. As they walked, Druss saw many new souls wandering down into the valley.
‘Why do they come here?’ he asked.
‘They are weak,’ she told him. ‘Victims of despair, of guilt, of longing. Suicides, mostly. As they wander here their bodies are dying – like Rowena.’
‘She is not weak.’
‘Of course she is. She is a victim of love – just as you are. And love is the ultimate downfall of Man. There is no abiding strength in love, Druss. It erodes the natural strength of man, it taints the heart of the hunter.’
‘I do not believe that.’
She laughed, a dry sound like the rattling of bones.’Yes, you do,” she said. ”You are not a man of love, Druss. Or was it love that led you to leap upon the decks of the corsair ship, cutting and killing? Was it love that sent you over the battlements at Ectanis? Was it love that carried you through the battles in the sand circles of Mashrapur?’ She halted in her stride and turned to face him.’Was it?’
‘Yes. Everything was for Rowena – to help me find her. I love her.’
‘It is not love, Druss; it is perceived need. You cannot bear what you are without her – a savage, a killer, a brute. But with her it is a different story. You can leach from her purity, suck it in like fine wine. And then you can see the beauty in a flower, smell the essence of life upon the summer breeze. Without her you see yourself as a creature without worth. And answer me this, axeman: If it was truly love, would you not wish for her happiness above all else?’