Shadak faded back into the undergrowth and Druss settled down to wait.
*
Shadak moved carefully to the edge of the camp. Most of the women were asleep, and a guard was sitting by them; his head was resting against a wagon wheel, and Shadak guessed he was dozing. Unbuckling his sword-belt, he moved forward on his belly, drawing himself on his elbows until he reached the wagon. Slipping his hunting-knife from the sheath at his hip, Shadak came up behind the man – his left hand reached through the wheel, fingers closing on the sentry’s throat. The knife rammed home into the man’s back; his leg jerked once, then he was still.
Moving back from beneath the wagon, Shadak came to the first girl. She was sleeping close to several other women, huddled together for warmth. He clamped a hand over her mouth and shook her. She awoke in a panic and started to struggle.
‘I am here to rescue you!’ hissed Shadak. ‘One of your villagers is by the river-bank and he will lead you to safety. You understand? When I release you, slowly wake the others. Head south to the river. Druss, the son of Bress, is waiting there. Nod if you understand me.’
He felt her head move against his hand. ‘Good. Make sure none of the others make a noise. You must move slowly. Which one is Rowena?’
‘She is not with us,’ whispered the girl. They took her away.’
‘Where?’
‘One of the leaders, a man with a scarred cheek, he rode out with her just after dusk.’
Shadak swore softly. There was no time for a second plan. ‘What is your name?’
‘Mari.’
‘Well, Mari, get the others moving – and tell Druss to follow the original plan,’
Shadak moved away from the girl, gathered his swords and belted them to his waist. Then he stepped out into the open and strolled casually towards the tent. Only a few men were awake, and they paid little heed to the figure moving through the shadows so confidently.
Lifting the tent-flap he swiftly entered, drawing his right-hand sword as he did so. Harib Ka was sitting on a canvas chair with a goblet of wine in his left hand, a sabre in his right. ‘Welcome to my hearth, Wolf-man,’ he said, with a smile. He drained the goblet and stood. Wine had run into his dark, forked beard, making it shine in the lantern light as if oiled. ‘May I offer you a drink?’
‘Why not?’ answered Shadak, aware that if they began to fight too soon the noise of clashing steel would wake the other raiders and they would see the women fleeing.
‘You are far from home,’ remarked Harib Ka.
‘These days I have no home,’ Shadak told him.
Harib Ka filled a second goblet and passed it to the hunter. ‘You are here to kill me?’
‘I came for Collan. I understand he has gone?’
‘Why Collan?’ asked Harib Ka, his dark eyes glittering in the golden light.
‘He killed my son in Corialis.’
‘Ah, the blond boy. Fine swordsman, but too reckless.’
‘A vice of the young.’ Shadak sipped his wine, his anger controlled like an armourer’s fire, hot but contained.
‘That vice killed him,’ observed Shadak. ‘Collan is very skilled. Where did you leave the young villager, the one with the axe?’
‘You are well informed.’
‘Only a few hours ago his wife stood where you now stand; she told me he was coming. She’s a witch – did you know that?’
‘No. Where is she?’
‘On her way to Mashrapur with Collan. When do you want the fight to begin?’
‘As soon as . . .’ began Shadak, but even as he was speaking Harib attacked, his sabre slashing for Shadak’s throat. The hunter ducked, leaned to the left and kicked out at Harib’s knee. The Ventrian crashed to the floor and Shadak’s sword touched the skin of Harib’s throat. ‘Never fight drunk,’ he said softly.
‘I’ll remember that. What now?’
‘Now tell me where Collan stays in Mashrapur.’
‘The White Bear Inn. It’s in the western quarter.’
‘I know that. Now, what is your life worth, Harib Ka?’
To the Drenai authorities? Around a thousand gold pieces. To me? I have nothing to offer – until I sell my slaves.’