But dragons or not, Eskodas looked forward with real pleasure to seeing Ventria.
‘You don’t say much, do you?’ observed Sieben.
Eskodas opened his eyes and smiled. ‘When I have something to say, I will speak,’ he said.
‘You’ll never get the chance,’ grunted Druss. ‘Sieben talks enough for ten men.’
Eskodas smiled politely. ‘You are the saga-master,’ he said.
‘Yes. How gratifying to be recognised.’
‘I saw you in Corteswain. You gave a performance of The Song of Karnak. It was very good; I particularly enjoyed the tale of Dros Purdol and the siege, though I was less impressed by the arrival of the gods of war, and the mysterious princess with the power to hurl lightning.’
‘Dramatic licence,’ said Sieben, with a tight smile.
‘The courage of men needs no such licence,’ said Eskodas. ‘It lessens the heroism of the defenders to suggest that they had divine help.’
‘It was not a history lesson,’ Sieben pointed out, his smile fading. ‘It was a poem – a song. The arrival of the gods was merely an artistic device to highlight that courage will sometimes bring about good fortune.’
‘Hmmm,’ said Eskodas, leaning back and closing his eyes.
‘What does that mean?’ demanded Sieben. ‘Are you disagreeing?’
Eskodas sighed. ‘It is not my wish to provoke an argument, sir poet, but I think the device was a poor one. You maintain it was inserted to supply dramatic effect. There is no point in further discussion; I have no desire to increase your anger.’
‘I am not angry, damn you!’ stormed Sieben.
‘He doesn’t take well to criticism,’ said Druss.
‘That’s very droll,’ snapped Sieben, ‘coming as it does from the man who tosses shipmates over the side at the first angry word. Now why was it a poor device?’
Eskodas leaned forward. ‘I have been in many sieges. The point of greatest courage comes at the end, when all seems lost; that is when weak men break and run, or beg for their lives. You had the gods arrive just before that moment, and offer divine assistance to thwart the Vagrians. Therefore the truly climactic moment was lost, for as soon as the gods appeared we knew victory was assured.’
‘I would have lost some of my best lines. Especially the end, where the warriors wonder if they will ever see the gods again.’
‘Yes, I remember. . . the eldritch rhymes, the wizard spells, the ringing of sweet Elven bells. That one.’
‘Precisely.’
‘I prefer the grit and the reality of your earlier pieces: But came the day, when youth was worn away, and locks once thought of steel and fire, proved both ephemeral and unreal against the onslaught of the years. How wrong are the young to believe in secrets or enchanted woods.’ He lapsed into silence.
‘Do you know all my work?’ asked Sieben, clearly astonished. Eskodas smiled. ‘After you performed at Corteswain I sought out your books of poetry. There were five, I think. I have two still – the earliest works.’
‘I am at a loss for words.’
‘That’ll be the day,’ grunted Druss.
‘Oh, be quiet. At last we meet a man of discernment on a ship full of rascals. Perhaps this voyage will not be so dreadful. So, tell me, Eskodas, what made you sign on for Ventria?’
‘I like killing people,’ answered Eskodas. Druss’s laughter bellowed out.
*
For the first few days the novelty of being at sea kept most of the mercenaries amused. They sat up on the deck during daylight hours, playing dice or telling stories. At night they slept under a tarpaulin that was looped and tied to the port and starboard rails. Druss was fascinated by the sea and the seemingly endless horizons. Berthed at Mashrapur The Thunderchild had looked colossal, unsinkable. But here on the open sea she seemed fragile as a flower stem in a river torrent. Sieben had grown bored with the voyage very swiftly. Not so Druss. The sighing of the wind, the plunging and the rising of the ship, the call of the gulls high above – all these fired the young axeman’s blood.
One morning he climbed the rigging to the giant cross-beam that held the mainsail. Sitting astride it he could see no sign of land, only the endless blue of the sea. A sailor walked along the beam towards him, barefooted, and using no hand-holds. He stood in delicate balance with hands on hips and looked down at Druss.
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