Gemmell, David – Drenai 06 – The First Chronicles of Druss the Legend

‘You’ve lost a lot of weight, lad, and you look like an old man,’ said Thorn cheerfully.

‘I’ve felt better.’

‘I see Shadak spoke up for you with the magistrates. No action to be taken over the fight at the quay. Good to have friends, eh? And don’t worry about Calvar Syn.’

‘Why should I worry about him?’

‘Unpaid debt. He could have you sold into slavery – but he won’t. Soft, he is.’

‘I thought Sieben had paid him. I’ll not be beholden to any man.’

‘Good words, lad. For good words and a copper farthing you can buy a loaf of bread.’

‘I’ll get the money to pay him,’ promised Druss.

‘Of course you will, lad. The best way – in the sand circle. But we’ve got to get your strength up first. You need to work – though my tongue should turn black for saying it.’

‘I need time,’ said Druss.

‘You’ve little time, lad. Borcha is looking for you. You took away his reputation and he says he’ll beat you to death when he finds you.’

‘Does he indeed?’ hissed Druss, his pale eyes gleaming.

‘That’s more like it, my bonny lad! Anger, that’s what you need! Right, well I’ll leave you now. By the way, they’re felling trees to the west of the city, clearing the ground for some new buildings. They’re looking for workers. Two silver pennies a day. It ain’t much, but it’s work.’

‘I’ll think on it.’

‘I’ll leave you to your rest, lad. You look like you need it.’

Druss watched the old man leave, then walked out into the garden once more. His muscles ached, and his heart was beating to a ragged drum. But Borcha’s face was fixed before his mind’s eye and he forced himself to walk to the gate and back.

Three times. . . .

*

Vintar rose from his bed, moving quietly so as not to wake the four priests who shared the small room in the southern wing. Dressing himself in a long white habit of rough wool, he padded barefoot along the cold stone of the corridor and up the winding steps to the ancient battlements.

From here he could see the mountain range that separated Lentria from the lands of the Drenai. The moon was high, half full, the sky cloudless. Beyond the temple the trees of the forest shimmered in the spectral light.

‘The night is a good time for meditation, my son,’ said the Abbot, stepping from the shadows. ‘But you will need your strength for the day. You are falling behind in your sword work.’ The Abbot was a broad-shouldered, powerful man who had once been a mercenary. His face bore a jagged scar from his right cheekbone down to his rugged jaw.

‘I am not meditating, Father. I cannot stop thinking about the woman.’

‘The one taken by slavers?’

‘Yes. She haunts me.’

‘You are here because your parents gave you into my custody, but you remain of your own free will. Should you desire to leave and find this girl you may do so. The Thirty will survive, Vintar.’

The young man sighed. ‘I do not wish to leave, Father. And it is not that I desire her.’ He smiled wistfully. ‘I have never desired a woman. But there was something about her that I cannot shake from my thoughts.’

‘Come with me, my boy. It is cold here, and I have a fire. We will talk.’

Vintar followed the burly Abbot into the western wing and the two men sat in the Abbot’s study as the sky paled towards dawn. ‘Sometimes,’ said the Abbot, as he hung a copper kettle over the flames, ‘it is hard to define the will of the Source. I have known men who wished to travel to far lands. They prayed for guidance. Amazingly they found that the Source was guiding them to do just what they wished for. I say amazingly because, in my experience, the Source rarely sends a man where he wants to go. That is part of the sacrifice we make when we serve Him. I do not say it never happens, you understand, for that would be arrogance. No, but when one prays for guidance it should be with an open mind, all thoughts of one’s own desires put aside.’