‘You should have woken me,’ said Druss.
‘I thought we could do without a scene of carnage,’ Sieben replied.
Bodasen entered and immediately crossed to where Druss stood by the window. He leaned in and examined the stitches on the axeman’s eyebrows. “They’ve held well,’ said Bodasen, with a smile.
‘What news?’ asked Druss.
The Ventrian removed his black cloak and draped it over a chair. ‘Last night Collan had men scouring the city for you. Assassins. But today he has come to his senses. This morning he sent a man to me with a message for you. He has decided to return your wife to you.’
‘Good. When and where.’
“There is a quay about a half-mile west of here. He will meet you there tonight, one hour after dusk, and he will have Rowena with him. But he is a worried man, Druss; he doesn’t want to die.’
‘I’ll not kill him,’ promised Druss.
‘He wants you to come alone – and unarmed.’
‘Madness!’ stormed Sieben. ‘Does he think he is dealing with fools?’
‘Whatever else he may be,’ said Bodasen, ‘he is still a Drenai noble. His word must be accepted.’
‘Not by me,’ hissed Sieben. ‘He is a murdering renegade who has become rich by dealing in the misery of others. Drenai noble indeed!’
‘I’ll go,’ said Druss. ‘What other choices are there?’
‘It is a trap, Druss. There is no honour in men like Collan. He’ll be there, right enough – with a dozen or so killers.’
‘They won’t stop me,’ insisted the axeman, his pale eyes gleaming.
‘A knife through the throat can stop anyone.’
Bodasen stepped forward and laid his hand on Druss’s shoulder. ‘Collan assured me this was an honest trade. I would not have brought this message had I believed it to be false.’
Druss nodded and smiled. ‘I believe you,’ he said.
‘How did you find us?’ enquired Sieben.
‘This is where you said you would be,’ answered Bodasen.
‘Exactly where will this meeting take place?’ asked Druss. Bodasen gave directions and then bade them farewell.
When he had left Sieben turned on the young axeman. ‘You truly believe him?’
‘Of course. He is a Ventrian gentleman. My father told me they are the world’s worst traders because they have a hatred of lies and deceit. They are reared that way.’
‘Collan isn’t a Ventrian,’ Sieben pointed out.
‘No,’ agreed Druss, his expression grim. ‘No, he is not. He is everything you described. And you are quite right, poet. It will be a trap.’
‘And yet you will still go?’
‘As I have already said, there are no other choices. But you don’t have to be there. You owe Shadak – not me.’
Sieben smiled. ‘You are quite right, old horse. So how shall we play this little game?’
*
An hour before dusk Collan sat in an upper room overlooking the quay. The bearded Kotis stood beside him. ‘Is everyone in place?’ asked the Drenai swordsman.
‘Aye. Two crossbowmen, and six knife-fighters. Is Borcha coming?’
Collan’s handsome face darkened. ‘No.’
‘He would make a difference,’ observed Kotis.
‘Why?’ snapped Collan. ‘He’s already taken one beating from the peasant!’
‘You really think he will come alone and unarmed?’
‘Bodasen believes he will.’
‘Gods, what a fool!’
Collan laughed. ‘The world is full of fools, Kotis. That is how we grow rich.’ He leaned out of the window and gazed down on the quayside. Several whores were lounging in doorways, and two beggars were accosting passers-by. A drunken dock-worker staggered from a tavern, collided with a wall and slid to the ground by a mooring post. He tried to rise, but as he lifted his work-sack he fell back, and then curled up on the stone and went to sleep. What a city, thought Collan! What a wonderful city. A whore moved to the sleeping man and dipped her fingers expertly into his money-pouch.
Collan stepped back from the window and drew his sabre. Taking a whetstone, he sharpened the edge. He had no intention of facing the peasant, but a man could never be too careful.
Kotis poured a goblet of cheap wine. ‘Don’t drink too much of that,’ warned Collan. ‘Even unarmed, the man can fight.’