‘It happens,’ said the man.
Collan attacked again, this time with a series of sweeps and thrusts aiming for neck and belly. Their blades glittered in the moonlight and all around them windows were opened as the discordant clashing of steel echoed along the quay. Whores leaned out over the window-sills, yelling encouragement; beggars appeared from alleyways; a nearby tavern emptied and a crowd gathered in a large circle around the duelling men. Collan was enjoying himself. His attacks were forcing his opponent back, and he had now taken the measure of the man. The stranger was fast and lithe, cool under pressure; but he was no longer young and Collan could sense he was tiring. At first he had made several counter-attacks, but these were fewer now as he desperately fended off the younger man’s blade. Collan feinted a cut, then rolled, his wrist lunging forward on to his right foot. The stranger blocked too late, the point of the sabre piercing the man’s left shoulder. Collan leapt back, his blade sliding clear. ‘Almost time to die, old man,’ said Collan.
‘Yes. How does it feel?’ countered his opponent. Collan laughed. ‘You have nerve, I’ll say that for you. Before I kill you, will you tell me why you are hunting me? A wronged wife, perhaps? A despoiled daughter? Or are you a hired assassin?’
‘I am Shadak,’ said the man.
Collan grinned. ‘So the night is not a total waste.’ He glanced at the crowd. ‘The great Shadak!’ he said, his voice rising. ‘This is the famed hunter, the mighty swordsman. See him bleed? Well, my friends, you can tell your children how you saw him die! How Collan slew the man of legend.’
He advanced on the waiting Shadak, then raised his sabre in a mock salute. ‘I have enjoyed this duel, old man,’ he said, ‘but now it is time to end it.’ Even as he spoke he leapt, sending a fast reverse cut towards Shadak’s right side. As his opponent parried Collan rolled his wrist, the sabre rolling over the blocking blade and sweeping up towards Shadak’s unprotected neck. It was the classic killing stroke, and one Collan had employed many times, but Shadak swayed to his left, the sabre cutting into his right shoulder. Collan felt a searing pain in his belly and glanced down. Horrified, he saw Shadak’s sword jutting there.
‘Burn in Hell!’ hissed Shadak, wrenching the blade clear. Collan screamed and fell to his knees, his sabre clattering against the stones of the quay. He could feel his heart hammering and agony, red-hot acid pain, scorched through him. He cried out: ‘Help me!’
The crowd was silent now. Collan fell face down on the stones. ‘I can’t be dying,’ he thought. ‘Not me. Not Collan.’
The pain receded, replaced by a soothing warmth that stole across his tortured mind. He opened his eyes and could see his sabre glinting on the stones just ahead. He reached out for it, his fingers touching the hilt.
‘I can still win!’ he told himself. ‘I can. . . .’
Shadak sheathed his sword and stared down at the dead man. Already the beggars were around him, pulling at his boots and ripping at his belt. Shadak turned away and pushed through the crowd.
He saw Sieben kneeling beside the still figure of Druss, and his heart sank. Moving more swiftly, he came alongside the body and knelt down.
‘He’s dead,’ said Sieben.
‘In your . . . dreams,’ hissed Druss. ‘Gel me to my feet.’
Shadak chuckled. ‘Some men take a sight of killing,’ he told the poet. The two men hauled Druss upright.
‘She’s out there,’ said Druss, staring at the ship that was slowly shrinking against the distant horizon.
‘I know, my friend,’ said Shadak softly. ‘But we’ll find her. Now let’s get you to a surgeon.’
BOOK TWO: The Demon in the Axe
Prologue
The ship glided from the harbour, the early evening swell rippling against the hull. Rowena stood on the aft deck, the tiny figure of Pudri beside her. Above them, unnoticed on the raised tiller deck, stood the Ventrian merchant Kabuchek. Tall and cadaverously thin, he stared at the dock. He had seen Collan cut down by an unknown swordsman, and had watched the giant Drenai warrior battle his way through Collan’s men. Interesting, he thought, what men will do for love.
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