‘Are you married?’ Druss asked Certak, his voice almost a growl.
‘No, sir.’
‘Very wise. Will you stay the night?’
‘No, sir. Thank you. I have other despatches to deliver. But I will see you at Skeln . . . and look forward to it.’ The officer bowed once more and backed away towards the door.
‘You will stay for supper,’ ordered Rowena. ‘Your despatches can wait for at least one hour.’
‘I’m sorry, my lady, but . . .’
‘Give up, Certak,’ advised Druss. ‘You cannot win.’
The officer smiled and spread his hands. ‘An hour then,’ he agreed.
*
The following morning, on borrowed horses, Druss and Sieben waved farewell and headed east. Rowena waved and smiled until they were out of sight, then returned to the house, where Pudri was waiting.
‘You should not have sent him away, lady,’ said the Ventrian sadly. Rowena swallowed hard, and the tears began to flow. Pudri moved alongside her, his slender arms encircling her.
‘I had to. He must not be here when the time comes,’
‘He would want to be here.’
‘In so many ways he is the strongest man I have ever known. But in this I am right. He must not see me die.’
‘I will be with you, lady. I will hold your hand.’
‘You will tell him that it was sudden, and there was no pain – even if it is a lie?’
‘I will.’
*
Six days later, after a dozen changes of mount, Certak galloped into the camp. There were four hundred white tents set in unit squares in the shadow of the Skeln range, each housing twelve men. Four thousand horse were picketed in the surrounding fields, and sixty cookfires were blazing under iron pots. The odour of stew assailed him as he reined in outside the large red-striped tent used by the general and his staff.
The young officer handed over his despatches, saluted and left to rejoin his company at the northern edge of the camp. Leaving his lathered mount with a groom, he removed his helm and pushed aside the tent flap of his quarters. Inside his companions were dicing and drinking. The game broke up as he entered.
‘Certak!’ said Orases, grinning and rising to meet him. ‘Well, what was he like?’
‘Who?’ asked Certak innocently.
‘Druss, you moron.’
‘Big,’ said Certak, moving past the burly blond officer and throwing his helm to the narrow pallet bed. He unbuckled his breastplate, letting it drop to the floor. Freed of its weight, he took a deep breath and scratched his chest.
‘Now don’t be annoying, there’s a good fellow,’ said Orases, his smile fading. ‘Tell us about him.’
‘Do tell him,’ urged the dark-eyed Diagoras. ‘He’s been talking about the axeman non-stop since you left.’
‘That’s not true,’ muttered Orases, blushing. ‘We’ve all been talking about him.’ Certak slapped Orases on the shoulder, then ruffled his hair.
‘You get me a drink, Orases, and then I’ll tell you all.’
As Orases fetched a flagon of wine and four goblets, Diagoras moved smoothly to his feet and pulled up a chair, reversing it before sitting opposite Certak, who had streched out on the bed. The fourth man, Archytas, joined them, accepting a goblet of light honey mead wine from Orases and draining it swiftly.
‘As I said, he is big,’ said Certak. ‘Not as tall as the stories claim, but built like a small castle. The size of his arms? Well, his biceps are as long as your thighs, Diagoras. He is bearded and dark, though there is some grey in his hair. His eyes are blue, and they seem to look right through you.’
‘And Rowena?’ asked Orases eagerly. ‘Is she as fabulously beautiful as the poem says?’
‘No. She is nice enough, in a matronly sort of way. I suppose she would have been lovely once. It’s hard to tell with some of these older women. Her eyes are gorgeous, though, and she has a pretty smile.’
‘Did you see the axe?’ asked Archytas, a wand-slender nobleman from the Lentrian border.
‘No.’
‘Did you ask Druss about his battles?’ asked Diagoras.
‘Of course not, you fool. He may be only a farmer now, but he’s still Druss. You don’t just march up and ask how many dragons he’s downed.’