‘I have heard of you, lady,’ said Michanek, taking her hand and drawing it to his lips. His voice was low and vibrant. ‘You saved the merchant from the sharks, no mean feat. But now I have seen you I can understand how even a shark would wish to do nothing to mar your beauty.’ Keeping hold of her hand he smiled and moved in close. ‘Can you tell me my fortune, lady?’
Her throat was dry, but she met his gaze. ‘You will . . . you will achieve your greatest ambition, and realise your greatest hope.’
His eyes showed his cynicism. ‘Is that it, lady? Surely any street charlatan could say the same. How will I die?’
‘Not fifty feet from where we stand,’ she said. ‘Out in the courtyard. I see soldiers with black cloaks and helms, storming the walls. You will gather your men for a last stand outside these walls. Beside you will be . . . your strongest brother and a second cousin.’
‘And when will this be?’
‘One year after you are wed. To the day.’
‘And what is the name of the lady I shall marry?’
‘I will not say,’ she told him.
‘We must go, Lord,’ said Pudri swiftly. “The Lords Kabuchek and Shabag await.’
‘Of course. It was a pleasure meeting you, Rowena. I hope we will meet again.’
Rowena did not reply, but followed Pudri into the shrine room.
*
At dusk the enemy drew back, and Druss was surprised to see the Ventrian warriors leaving the walls and strolling back through the city streets. ‘Where is everyone going?’ he asked the warrior beside him. The man had removed his helm and was wiping his sweat-streaked face with a cloth.
‘To eat and rest,’ the warrior answered.
Druss scanned the walls. Only a handful of men remained, and these were sitting with their backs to the ramparts. ‘What if there is another attack?’ asked the axeman.
‘There won’t be. That was the fourth.’
‘Fourth?’ queried Druss, surprised.
The warrior, a middle-aged man with a round face and keen blue eyes, grinned at the Drenai. ‘I take it that you are no student of strategy. Your first siege, is it?’ Druss nodded. ‘Well, the rules of engagement are precise. There will be a maximum of four attacks during any twenty-four-hour period.’
‘Why only four?’
The man shrugged. ‘It’s a long time since I studied the manual, but, as I recall, it is a question of morale. When Zhan Tsu wrote The Art of War he explained that after four attacks the spirit of the attackers can give way to despair.’
‘There won’t be very much despair among them if they attack now – or after night falls,’ Druss pointed out.
‘They won’t attack,’ said his comrade slowly, as if speaking to a child. ‘If a night attack was planned there would have only been three assaults during the day.’
Druss was nonplussed. ‘And these rules were written in a book?’
‘Yes, a fine work by a Chiatze general.’
‘And you will leave these walls virtually unmanned during the night because of a book?’
The man laughed. ‘Not the book, the rules of engagement. Come with me to the barracks and I’ll explain a little more.’
As they strolled the warrior, Oliquar, told Druss that he had served in the Ventrian army for more than twenty years. ‘I was even an officer once, during the Opal Campaign. Damn near wiped out we were, so I got to command a troop of forty men. It didn’t last. The General offered me a commission, but I couldn’t afford the armour, so that was it. Back to the rankers. But it’s not a bad life. Comradeship, two good meals a day.’
‘Why couldn’t you afford the armour? Don’t they pay officers?’
‘Of course, but only a disha a day. That’s half of what I earn now.’
‘The officers receive less than the rankers? That’s stupid.’
Oliquar shook his head. ‘Of course it isn’t. That way only the rich can afford to be officers, which means that only noblemen – or the sons of merchants, who desire to be noblemen – can command. In this way the noble families retain power. Where are you from, young man?’