‘I knew none of this,’ said Druss. ‘Why did he never speak of it?’
‘Why should he? Perhaps he took no pleasure for being the son of a monster. Perhaps he did not relish speaking of killing men with his hands, or beating them unconscious with a tree branch.’
‘I didn’t know him at all,’ whispered Druss. ‘Not at all.’
‘I expect he didn’t know you either,’ said Shadak, with a sigh. ‘It is the curse of parents and children.’
‘You have sons?’
‘One. He died a week ago at Corialis. He thought he was immortal.’
‘What happened?’
‘He went up against Collan; he was cut to pieces.’ Shadak cleared his throat and stood. ‘Time for some sleep. It’ll be dawn soon, and I’m not as young as I was.’
‘Sleep well,’ said Druss.
‘I will, laddie. I always do. Go back to your parents and find something to say.’
‘Wait!’ called Druss.
‘Yes,’ answered the swordsman, pausing in the doorway.
‘You were correct in what you said. I wouldn’t have wanted Rowena left in the mountains alone. I spoke in. . . anger.’
Shadak nodded. ‘A man is only as strong as that which makes him angry. Remember that, laddie.’
*
Shadak could not sleep. He sat in the wide leather chair beside the hearth, his long legs stretched out before him, his head resting on a cushion,.his body relaxed. But his mind was in turmoil – images, memories flashing into thoughts.
He saw again the Sathuli cemetery, Jonacin stripped to the waist, a broad-bladed tulwar in his hands and a small iron buckler strapped to his left forearm.
‘Do you feel fear, Drenai?’ asked Jonacin. Shadak did not answer. Slowly he unstrapped his baldric, then lifted clear his heavy woollen shirt. The sun was warm on his back, the mountain air fresh in his lungs. You are going to die today, said the voice of his soul.
And then the duel began. Jonacin drew first blood, a narrow cut appearing on Shadak’s chest. More than a thousand Sathuli onlookers, standing around the perimeter of the cemetery, cheered as the blood began to flow. Shadak leapt back.
‘Not going to try for the ear?’ he asked conversationally. Jonacin gave an angry growl, and launched a new attack. Shadak blocked a thrust, then thundered a punch to the Sathuli’s face. It glanced from his cheekbone, but the man staggered. Shadak followed up with a disembowelling thrust and the Sathuli swayed to his right, the blade slashing the skin of his waist. Now it was Jonacin’s turn to jump backwards. Blood gushed from the shallow wound in his side; he touched the cut with his fingers, staring down amazed. ‘Yes,’ said Shadak, ‘you bleed too. Come to me. Bleed some more.’
Jonacin screamed and rushed forward but Shadak side-stepped and clove his sabre through the Sathuli’s neck. As the dying man fell to the ground Shadak felt a tremendous sense of relief, and a surging realisation. He was alive!
But his career was ruined. The treaty talks came to nothing, and his commission was revoked upon his return to Drenan.
Then Shadak had found his true vocation: Shadak the Hunter. Shadak the Tracker. Outlaws, killers, renegades – he hunted them all, following like a wolf on the trail.
In all the years since the fight with Jonacin he had never again known such fear. Until today, when the young axeman had stepped into the sunlight.
He is young and untrained. I would have killed him, he told himself.
But then he pictured again the ice-blue eyes and the shining axe.
*
Druss sat under the stars. He was tired, but he could not sleep. A fox moved out into the open, edging towards a corpse. Druss threw a stone at it and the creature slunk away . . . but not far.
By tomorrow the crows would be feasting here, and the other carrion beasts would tear at the dead flesh. Only hours ago this had been a living community, full of people enjoying their own hopes and dreams. Druss stood and walked along the main street of the settlement, past the home of the baker, whose body was stretched out in the doorway with his wife beside him. The smithy was open, the fires still glowing faintly. There were three bodies here. Tetrin the Smith had managed to kill two of the raiders, clubbing them down with his forge hammer. Tetrin himself lay beside the long anvil, his throat cut.