Eskodas appeared alongside him, carrying a bucket of water. ‘Is any of that blood yours?’ the bowman asked.
Druss shrugged, uncaring. Removing his gauntlets, he dipped his hands into the bucket, splashing water to his face and beard. Then he lifted the bucket and tipped the contents over his head.
Eskodas scanned his body. ‘You have minor wounds,’ he said, probing at a narrow cut on Druss’s shoulder and a gash in the side. ‘Neither are deep. I’ll get needle and thread.’
Druss said nothing. He felt a great weariness settle on him, a dullness of the spirit that left him leached of energy. He thought of Rowena, her gentleness and tranquillity, and of the peace he had known when beside her. Lifting his head, he leaned his huge hands on the rail. Behind him he heard laughter, and turned to see some of the warriors baiting the giant corsair. They had tied his hands behind his back and were jabbing at him with knives, forcing him to leap and dance.
Bodasen climbed down from the tiller deck. ‘Enough of that!’ he shouted.
‘It’s just a little sport before we throw him to the sharks,’ replied a wiry warrior with a black and silver beard.
‘No one will be thrown to the sharks,’ snapped Bodasen. ‘Now untie him.’
The men grumbled, but obeyed the order, and the giant stood rubbing his chafed wrists. His eyes met Druss’s gaze, but the corsair’s expression was unreadable. Bodasen led the man to the small cabin door below the tiller deck and they disappeared from view.
Eskodas returned and stitched the wounds in the axeman’s shoulder and side. He worked swiftly and expertly. ‘You must have had the gods with you,’ he said. ‘They granted you good luck.’
‘A man makes his own luck,’ said Druss.
Eskodas chuckled. ‘Aye. Trust in the Source – but keep a spare bowstring handy. That’s what my old teacher used to tell me.’
Druss thought back to the action on the trireme. ‘You helped me,’ he said, remembering the arrow that had killed the man coming in behind him.
‘It was a good shot,’ agreed Eskodas. ‘How are you feeling?’
Druss shrugged. ‘Like I could sleep for a week.’
‘It is very natural, my friend. Battle lust roars through the blood, but the aftermath is unbearably depressing. Not many poets sing songs about that.’ Eskodas took up a cloth and sponged the blood from Druss’s jerkin, handing it back to the axeman. ‘You are a great fighter, Druss – perhaps the best I’ve seen.’
Druss slipped on his jerkin, gathered Snaga and walked to the prow where he stretched out between two bales. He slept for just under an hour, but was woken by Bodasen; he opened his eyes and saw the Ventrian bending over him as the sun was setting.
‘We need to talk, my friend,’ said Bodasen and Druss sat up. The stitches in his side pulled tight as he stretched. He swore softly. ‘I’m tired,’ said the axeman. ‘So let’s make this brief.’
‘I have spoken with the corsair. His name is Patek . . .’
‘I don’t care what his name is.’
Bodasen sighed. ‘In return for information about the numbers of corsair vessels, I have promised him his liberty when we reach Capalis. I have given him my word.’
‘What has this to do with me?’
‘I would like your word also that you will not kill him.’
‘I don’t want to kill him. He means nothing to me.’
‘Then say the words, my friend.’
Druss looked into the Ventrian’s dark eyes. ‘There is something else,’ he said, ‘something you are not telling me.’
‘Indeed there is,’ agreed Bodasen. ‘Tell me that you will allow my promise to Patek to be honoured, and I shall explain all.’
‘Very well. I will not kill him. Now say what you have to say – and then let me get some sleep.’
Bodasen drew in a long, deep breath. ‘The trireme was the Darkwind. The captain was Earin Shad, one of the leading Corsair . . . kings, if you like. They have been patrolling these waters for some months. One of the ships they . . . plundered . . .’ Bodasen fell silent. He licked his lips. ‘Druss, I’m sorry. Kabuchek’s ship was taken and sunk, the passengers and crew thrown to the sharks. No one survived.’