Druss reddened. ‘Asta’s tits! You know there’s a hundred more lines of it?’ He shook his head. ‘Unbelievable!’
‘There are worse fates in life than to be immortalised in song. Isn’t there some part of it about a lost wife? Is that also an invention?’
‘No, that’s true enough,’ admitted Druss, his expression changing as he drained his wine and poured a second goblet. In the silence that followed, Varsava leaned back and studied his drinking companion. The man’s shoulders were truly immense and he had a neck like a bull. But it was not the size that gave him the appearance of a giant, Varsava realised, it was more a power that emanated from him. During the fight he had seemed seven feet tall, the other warriors puny by comparison. Yet here, sitting quietly drinking, Druss seemed no more than a large, heavily muscled young man. Intriguing, thought Varsava.
‘If I remember aright, you were also at the relief of Ectanis, and four other southern cities?’ he probed. The man nodded, but said nothing. Varsava called for a third flagon of wine and tried to recall all he had heard of the young axeman. At Ectanis, it was said, he had fought the Naashanite champion, Cuerl, and been one of the first to scale the walls. And two years later he had held, with fifty other men, the pass of Kishtay, denying the road to a full legion of Naashanite troops until Gorben could arrive with reinforcements.
‘What happened to the poet?’ asked Varsava, searching for a safe route to satisfy his curiosity.
Druss chuckled.’He met a woman . . . several women, in fact. Last I heard he was living in Pusha with the widow of a young officer.’ He laughed again and shook his head. ‘I miss him; he was merry company.’ The smile faded from Druss’s face. ‘You ask a lot of questions?’
Varsava shrugged. ‘You are an interesting man, and there is not much of interest these days in Lania. The war has made it dull. Did you ever find your wife?’
‘No. But I will. What of you? Why are you here?’
‘I am paid to be here,’ said Varsava. ‘Another flagon?’
‘Aye, and I’ll pay for it,’ promised Druss. Reaching out, he took hold of the huge knife embedded in the table and pulled it clear. ‘Nice weapon, heavy but well balanced. Good steel.’
‘Lentrian. I had it made ten years ago. Best money I ever spent. You have an axe, do you not?’
Druss shook his head. ‘I had one once. It was lost.’
‘How does one lose an axe?’
Druss smiled. ‘One falls from a cliff into a raging torrent.’
‘Yes, I would imagine that would do it,’ responded Varsava. ‘What do you carry now?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing at all? How did you cross the mountains to Lania without a weapon?’
‘I walked.’
‘And suffered no attacks from robbers? Did you travel with a large group?’
‘I have answered enough questions. Now it is your turn. Who pays you to sit and drink in Lania?’
‘A nobleman from Resha who has estates near here. While he was away fighting alongside Gorben, raiders came down from the mountains and plundered his palace. His wife and son were taken, his servants murdered – or fled. He has hired me to locate the whereabouts – if still alive – of his son.’
‘Just the son?’
‘Well, he wouldn’t want the wife back, would he?’
Druss’s face darkened. ‘He would – if he loved her.’
Varsava nodded. ‘Of course, you are a Drenai,’ he said. “The rich here do not marry for love, Druss; they wed for alliances or wealth, or to continue family lines. It is not rare for a man to find that he does love the woman he has been told to marry, but neither is it common. And a Ventrian nobleman would find himself a laughing-stock if he took back a wife who had been – shall we say – abused. No, he has already divorced her; it is the son who matters to him. If I can locate him, I receive one hundred gold pieces. If I can rescue him, the price goes up to one thousand.’