‘Why should you care?’
‘Ventria needs the Free Traders and you are my link to them. I don’t want to see you dead just yet.’
‘I am a fighter too, Bodasen,’ said Collan.
‘Indeed you are, Drenai. But let us review what we know. Harib Ka, according to those of his men who survived the raid, sent six men into the woods. They did not return. I spoke to Druss tonight and he told me he killed them. I believe him. Then he attacked a camp where forty armed men were based. The men ran away. Now he has fought Borcha, whom most men, including myself, believed to be invincible. The rabble you just sent out will have no chance against him.’
True,’ admitted Collan, ‘but as soon as he kills them the City Watch will take him. And I have only four more days to spend here; then I sail for the Free Trading ports. However, I take it you have some advice to offer?’
‘Indeed I do. Get the woman back from Kabuchek and deliver her to Druss. Buy her or steal her – but do it, Collan.’ With a short, perfunctory bow the Ventrian officer left the room.
‘I’d listen to him if I were you,’ advised Borcha.
‘Not you as well!’ stormed Collan. ‘By the gods, did he scramble your brains tonight? You and I both know what keeps us at the top of this filthy pile. Fear. Awe. Sometimes sheer terror. Where would my reputation be if I gave back a stolen woman?’
‘You are quite right,’ said Borcha, rising, ‘but a reputation can be rebuilt. A life is something else. He said he’d tear off your head and he’s a man who could do just that.’
‘I never thought to see you running scared, my friend. I thought you were impervious to fear.’
Borcha smiled. ‘I am strong, Collan. I use my reputation because it makes it easier to win but I don’t live it. If I were to be in the path of a charging bull, then I would step aside, or turn and run, or climb a tree. A strong man should always know his limitations.’
‘Well, he’s helped you know yours, my friend,’ said Collan, with a sneer.
Borcha smiled and shook his head. He left Collan’s house and wandered through the northern streets. They were wider here, and lined with trees. Officers of the Watch marched by him, the captain saluting as he recognised the champion.
Former champion, thought Borcha. Now it was Grassin who would win the accolades.
Until next year. ‘I’ll be back,’ whispered Borcha. ‘I have to. It is all I have.’
*
Sieben floated to consciousness through layers of dreams. He was drifting on a blue lake, yet his body was dry; he was standing on an island of flowers, but could not feel the earth beneath his feet; he was lying on a satin bed, beside a statue of marble. At his touch she became flesh, but remained cold.
He opened his eyes and the dreams whispered away from his memory. Druss was still asleep. Sieben rose from the chair and stretched his back, then he gazed down on the sleeping warrior.
The stitches on Druss’s brows were tight and puckered, dried blood had stained both eyelids and his nose was swollen and discoloured. Yet despite the wounds his face radiated strength and Sieben felt chilled by the almost inhuman power of the youth.
Druss groaned and opened his eyes.
‘How are you feeling this morning?’ asked the poet.
‘Like a horse galloped over my face,’ answered Druss, rolling from the bed and pouring himself a goblet of water. Someone tapped at the door.
Sieben rose from his chair and drew a knife from its sheath. ‘Who is it?’
‘It is me, sir,’ came the voice of the tavern-maid. “There is a man to see you; he is downstairs.’
Sieben opened the door and the maid curtsied. ‘Do you know him?’ asked Sieben.
‘He is the Ventrian gentleman who was here last night, sir.’
‘Is he alone?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Send him up,’ ordered Sieben. While they were waiting he told Druss about the men who had come searching for them the night before.