Armed men moved out of the shadows and he saw the tall, handsome figure of Collan among them. Druss walked forward. ‘Where is my wife?’ he called.
‘That’s the beauty of it,’ answered Collan, pointing at the ship. ‘She’s on board – sold to the merchant Kapuchek, who is even now sailing for his home in Ventria. Maybe she will even see you die!’
‘In your dreams!’ snarled Druss as he charged the waiting men. Behind them the drunken dock-worker suddenly rose, two knives in his hands. One blade flashed by Collan’s head, burying itself to the hilt in Kotis’s neck.
A dagger swept towards Druss’s belly, but he brushed the attacker’s arm aside and delivered a bone-crunching blow to the man’s chin, spinning him into the path of the warriors behind him. A knife plunged into Druss’s back. Twisting, he grabbed the wielder by the throat and groin and hurled him into the remaining men.
Sieben pulled Snaga from the work-sack and threw it through the air. Druss caught the weapon smoothly. Moonlight glittered from the terrible blades and the attackers scattered and ran.
Druss ran towards the ship, which was gliding slowly away from the quayside.
‘Rowena!’ he yelled. Something struck him in the back and he staggered, then fell to his knees. He saw Sieben run forward. The poet’s arm went back, then swept down. Druss half turned to see a crossbowman outlined against a window-frame; the man dropped his bow, then tumbled from the window with a knife embedded in his eye.
Sieben knelt alongside Druss. ‘Lie still,’ he said. ‘You’ve a bolt in your back!’
‘Get away from me!’ shouted Druss, levering himself to his feet. ‘Rowena!’
He stumbled forward but the ship was moving away from the quay more swiftly now, the wind catching the sail. Druss could feel blood from his wounds streaming down his back and pooling above his belt. A terrible lethargy swept over him and he fell again.
Sieben came alongside. ‘We must get you to a surgeon,’ he heard Sieben say. Then the poet’s voice receded away from him, and a great roaring filled his ears. Straining his eyes, he saw the ship angle towards the east, the great sail filling.
‘Rowena!’ he shouted. ‘Rowena!’ The stone of the quay was cold against his face, and the distant cries of the gulls mocked his anguish. Pain flowed through him as he struggled to rise. . …
And fell from the edge of the world.
*
Collan raced along the quay, then glanced back. He saw the giant warrior down, his companion kneeling beside him. Halting his flight, he sat down on a mooring-post to recover his breath. It was unbelievable! Unarmed, the giant had attacked armed men, scattering them. Borcha was right. The charging bull analogy had been very perceptive. Tomorrow Collan would move to a hiding place in the south of the city and then, as Borcha had advised, seek out the old woman. That was the answer. Pay her to cast a spell, or send a demon, or supply poison. Anything.
Collan rose – and saw a dark figure standing in the moon shadows by the wall. The man was watching him. ‘What are you staring at?’ he said.
The shadowy figure moved towards him, moonlight bathing his face. He wore a tunic shirt of soft black leather, and two short swords were scabbarded at his hips. His hair was black and long, and tied in a pony-tail. ‘Do I know you?’ asked Collan.
‘You will, renegade,’ said the man, drawing his right-hand sword.
‘You’ve chosen the wrong man to rob,’ Collan told him. His sabre came up and he slashed the air to left and right, loosening his wrist.
‘I’m not here to rob you, Collan,’ said the man, advancing. ‘I’m here to kill you.’
Collan waited until his opponent was within a few paces and then he leapt forward, lunging his sabre towards the man’s chest. There was a clash of steel as their blades met. Collan’s sabre was parried and a lightning riposte swept at the swordsman’s throat. Collan jumped back, the point of the sword missing his eye by less than an inch. ‘You are swift, my friend. I underestimated you.’