‘Later,’ grinned Druss. ‘Anyway, I must be getting back.’
The axeman walked swiftly up the mountain slopes and sat on a boulder at the mouth of the pass, gazing intently at the enemy camp.
‘What are you thinking about?’ asked Delnar, moving up to join him.
‘I was remembering something I told an old friend a long time ago.’
‘What was that?’
‘If you want to win: Attack.’
*
Bodasen dismounted before the Emperor and knelt, pressing his forehead to the earth. Then he rose. From a distance the Ventrian looked as he always had, powerful, black-bearded and keen of eye. But he could no longer stand close inspection. His hair and beard showed the unhealthy sheen of heavy, dark dye, his painted face glowed with unnatural colour and his eyes saw treachery in every shadow. His followers, even those like Bodasen who had served him for decades, knew never to stare into his face, addressing all their remarks to the gilded griffin on his breastplate. No one was allowed to approach him bearing a weapon, and he had not granted a private audience to anyone in years. Always he wore armour – even, it was said, when he slept. His food was tasted by slaves, and he had taken to wearing gloves of soft leather, in the belief that poison might be spread on the outside of his golden goblets.
Bodasen waited for permission to speak, glancing up swiftly to read the expression on the Emperor’s face. Gorben was staring moodily.
‘Was that Druss?’ he asked.
‘Aye, my lord.’
‘So even he has turned against me.’
‘He is a Drenai, my lord.’
‘Do you dispute with me, Bodasen?’
‘No, sire. Of course not.’
‘Good. I want Druss brought before me for judgement. Such treachery must be answered with swift justice. You understand?’
‘Yes, sire.’
‘Will the Drenai give us the way?’
‘I think not, sire. But it will not take long to clear the path. Even with Druss there. Shall I order the men to stand down and prepare camp?’
‘No. Let them stay in ranks for a while. Let the Drenai see their power and their strength.’
‘Yes, sire.’
Bodasen backed away.
‘Are you still loyal?’ asked the Emperor, suddenly.
Bodasen’s mouth was dry. ‘As I have always been, lord.’
‘Yet Druss was your friend.’
‘Even though that is true, sire, I will see him dragged before you in chains. Or his head presented to you, should he be slain in the defence.’
The Emperor nodded, then turned his painted face to stare up at the pass. ‘I want them dead. All dead,’ he whispered.
*
In the cool of the pre-dawn haze the Drenai formed their lines, each warrior bearing a rounded shield and a short stabbing sword. Their sabres had been put aside, for in close formation a swinging longsword could be as deadly to a comrade standing close as to an enemy bearing down. The men were nervous, constantly rechecking breastplate straps, or discovering the bronze greaves protecting their lower legs were too tight, too loose, too anything. Cloaks were removed and left in tight red rolls by the mountain wall behind the ranks. Both Druss and Delnar knew this was the time a man’s courage was under the greatest strain. Gorben could do many things. The dice were in his hands. All the Drenai could do was wait.
‘Do you think he’ll attack immediately the sun comes up?’ asked Delnar.
Druss shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. He’ll let the fear work for about an hour. But then again – you can never tell with him.’
The two hundred men in the front rank shared the same emotions now, with varying intensity. Pride, for they had been singled out as the best; fear, for they would be the first to die. Some had regrets. Many had not written home for weeks, others had left friends and relatives with bitter words. Many were the thoughts.
Druss made his way to the centre of the first line, calling for Diagoras and Certak to stand on either side of him.
‘Move away from me a little,’ he said. ‘Give me swinging room.’ The line shuffled apart. Druss loosened his shoulders, stretching the muscles of his arms and back. The sky lightened. Druss cursed. The disadvantage for the defenders – apart from the numbers of the enemy – was that the sun rose in their eyes.