A bald, portly man in a long white tunic appeared and sat beside Michanek. His face was round and red and his ears protruded like those of a bat. ‘I hate mazes,’ he said. ‘What on earth is the point of them? A man walks three times as far to reach a destination, and when he arrives there’s nothing there. Futile!’
‘Have you seen her?’ asked Michanek. Shalatar’s expression changed, and he turned his eyes from the warrior’s gaze. ‘Yes. Interesting. Why ever did you buy her?’
‘That is beside the point. What is your prognosis?’
‘She is the most talented seer I have ever known – but that Talent overwhelmed her. Can you imagine what it must be like to know everything about everyone you meet? Their pasts and their futures. Every hand you touch flashes an entire life and death into your mind. The influx of such knowledge – at such speed – has had a catastrophic effect on her. She doesn’t just see the lives, she experiences them, lives them. She became not Rowena but a hundred different people – including you, I might add.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes. I only touched her mind fleetingly, but your image was there.’
‘Will she live?’
Shalatar shook his head. ‘I am a mystic, my friend, but not a prophet. I would say she has only one chance: we must close the doors of her talent.’
‘Can you do this?’
‘Not alone, but I will gather those of my colleagues with experience of such matters. It is not unlike the casting-out of demons. We must close off the corridors of her mind that lead to the source of her power. It will be expensive, Michanek.’
‘I am a rich man.’
‘You will need to be. One of the men I need is a former Source priest and he will ask for at least ten thousand in silver for his services.’
‘He will have it.’
Shalatar laid his hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘You love her so dearly?’
‘More than life.’
‘Did she share your feelings?’
‘No.’
‘Then you will have a chance to start anew. For after we have finished she will have no memory. What will you tell her?’
‘I don’t know. But I will give her love.’
‘You intend to marry her?’
Michanek thought back to her prophecy. ‘No, my friend. I have decided never to marry.’
*
Druss wandered along the dark streets.of the newly captured city, his head aching, his mood restless. The battle had been bloody and all too brief, and he was filled with a curious sense of anti-climax. He sensed a change in himself, unwelcome and yet demanding; a need for combat, to feel the axe crushing bone and flesh, to watch the light of life disappear from an enemy’s eyes.
The mountains of his homeland seemed an eternity from him, lost in some other time.
How many men had he slain since setting off in search of Rowena? He no longer knew, nor cared. The axe felt light in his hand, warm and companionable. His mouth was dry and he longed for a cool drink of water. Glancing up, he saw a sign proclaiming ‘Spice Street’. Here in more peaceful times traders had delivered their herbs and spices to be packed into bales for export to the west. Even now there was a scent of pepper in the air. At the far end of the street, where it intersected with the market square, was a fountain and beside it a brass pump with a long curved handle and a copper cup attached by a slender chain to an iron ring. Druss filled the cup, then resting the axe against the side of the fountain wall he sat quietly drinking. Every so often, though, his hand would drop to touch Snaga’s black haft.
When Gorben had ordered the last attack on the doomed Naashanites, Druss had longed to hurl himself into the fray, had felt the call of blood and the need to kill. It had taken all of his strength to resist the demands of his turbulent spirit. For the enemy in the keep had begged to surrender and Druss had known with certainty that such a slaughter was wrong. The words of Shadak came back to him: