Druss said nothing, but the Emperor seemed unconcerned. ‘May I see your axe?’ he asked. Druss nodded and passed the weapon to the monarch. Gorben accepted it and lifted the blades to his face. ‘Remarkable workmanship. Not a nick or a rust mark – the surface is entirely unblemished. A rare kind of steel.’ He examined the black haft and the silver runes. ‘This is an ancient weapon, and has seen much death.’
‘It will see more,’ said Druss, his voice low and rumbling. At the sound Sieben shivered.
Gorben smiled and handed back the axe, then turned to Bodasen. ‘When you have settled your men into their quarters you will find me at the Magisters’ Hall.’ He strode away without another word.
Bodasen’s face was white with anger. ‘When you are in the presence of the Emperor you should bow deeply. He is a man to respect.’
‘We Drenai are not well versed in subservient behaviour,’ Sieben pointed out.
‘In Ventria such disrespect is punishable by disembowelling,’ said Bodasen.
‘But I think we can learn,’ Sieben told him cheerfully.
Bodasen smiled. ‘See that you do, my friends. These are not Drenai lands, and there are other customs here. The Emperor is a good man, a fine man. Even so he must maintain discipline, and he will not tolerate such bad manners again.’
*
The Drenai warriors were billeted in the town centre, all save Druss and Sieben who had not signed on to fight for the Ventrians. Bodasen took the two of them to a deserted inn and told them to choose their own rooms. Food, he said, could be found at either of the two main barracks, although there were still some shops and stalls in the town centre.
‘Do you want to look at the city?’ asked Sieben, after the Ventrian general had left. Druss sat on a narrow bed staring at his hands; he did not seem to hear the question. The poet sat alongside him. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked softly.
‘Empty.’
‘Everyone dies, Druss. Even you and I. It is not your fault.’
‘I don’t care about fault. I just keep thinking about our time in the mountains together. I can still feel . . . the touch of her hand. I can still hear . . .’ He stumbled to silence, his face reddened and his jaw set in a tight line. ‘What was that about the city?’ he growled.
‘I thought we could take a look around.’
‘Good. Let’s go.’ Druss rose, gathere- his axe and strode through the door. The inn was situated on Vine Street. Bodasen had given them directions through the city and these were easy to follow, the roads being wide, the signs in several languages including the western tongue. The buildings were of white and grey stone, some more than four levels high. There were gleaming towers, domed palaces, gardens and tree-lined avenues. The scent of flowers, jasmine and rose, was everywhere.
‘It is very beautiful,’ observed Sieben. They passed a near-deserted barracks and headed on towards the eastern wall. From the distance they could hear the clash of blades and the thin cries of wounded men. ‘I think I’ve seen enough,’ announced Sieben, halting.
Druss gave a cold smile. ‘As you wish,’ he said.
‘There’s a temple back there I’d like to see more of. You know, the one with the white horses?’
‘I saw it,’ said Druss. The two men retraced their steps until they came to a large square. The temple was domed, and around it were twelve exquisitely sculpted statues of rearing horses, three times larger than life. A huge arched gateway, with open gates of polished brass and silver between beckoned the two men into the temple. The domed roof had seven windows, all of coloured glass, and beams of light criss-crossed the high altar. There were benches that could seat almost a thousand people, Sieben calculated, and upon the altar was a table on which was set a hunting horn of gold encrusted with gems. The poet walked down the aisle and climbed to the altar. ‘It’s worth a fortune,’ he said.
‘On the contrary,’ came a low voice, ‘it is priceless.’ Sieben turned to see a priest in robes of grey wool, embroidered with silver thread. The man was tall, his shaven head and long nose giving him a birdlike appearance. ‘Welcome to the shrine of PashtarSen.’