‘I am Drenai.’
‘Ah, yes. I have never been there of course, but I understand the mountains of Skeln are exceptionally beautiful. Green and lush, like the Saurab. I miss the mountains.’
Druss sat with Oliquar in the Western Barracks and ate a meal of beef and wild onions before setting off back to the empty tavern. It was a calm night, with no clouds, and the moon turned the white, ghostly buildings to a muted silver.
Sieben was not in their room and Druss sat by the window, staring out over the harbour, watching the moonlit waves and the water which looked like molten iron. He had fought in three of the four attacks – the enemy, red-cloaked, with helms boasting white horsehair plumes, running forward carrying ladders which they leaned against the walls. Rocks had been hurled down upon them, arrows peppered them. Yet on they came. The first to reach the walls were speared, or struck with swords, but a few doughty fighters made their way to the battlements, where they were cut down by the defenders. Half-way through the second attack a dull, booming sound, like controlled thunder, was heard on the walls.
‘Battering-ram,’ said the soldier beside him. “They won’t have much luck, those gates are reinforced with iron and brass.’
Druss leaned back in his chair and stared down at Snaga. In the main, he had used the axe to push back ladders, sliding them along the wall, sending attackers tumbling to the rocky ground below. Only twice had the weapon drawn blood. Reaching out Druss stroked the black haft, remembering the victims – a tall, beardless warrior and a swarthy, pot-bellied man in an iron helm. The first had died when Snaga crunched through his wooden breastplate, the second when the silver blades had sheared his iron helm in two. Druss ran his thumb along the blades. Not a mark, or a nick.
Sieben arrived at the room just before midnight. His eyes were red-rimmed and he yawned constantly. ‘What happened to you?’ asked Druss.
The poet smiled. ‘I made new friends.’ Pulling off his boots he settled back on one of the narrow beds.
Druss sniffed the air. ‘Smells like you were rolling in a flowerbed.’
‘A bed of flowers,’ said Sieben, with a smile. ‘Yes, almost exactly how I would describe it.’
Druss frowned. ‘Well, never mind that, do you know anything about rules of engagement?’
‘I know everything about my rules of engagement, but I take it you are talking about Ventrian warfare?’ Swinging his legs from the bed, he sat up. ‘I’m tired, Druss, so let’s make this conversation brief. I have a meeting in the morning and I need to build up my strength.’
Druss ignored the exaggerated yawn with which Sieben accompanied his words. ‘I saw hundreds of men wounded today, and scores killed. Yet now, with only a few men on the walls, the enemy sits back and waits for sunrise. Why? Does no one want to win?’
‘Someone will win,’ answered Sieben. ‘But this is a civilised land. They have practised warfare for thousands of years. The siege will go on for a few weeks, or a few months, and every day the combatants will count their losses. At some point, if there is no breakthrough, either one or the other will offer terms to the enemy.’
‘What do you mean, terms?’
‘If the besiegers decide they cannot win, they will withdraw. If the men here decide all is lost, they will desert to the enemy.’
‘What about Gorben?’
Sieben shrugged. ‘His own troops might kill him, or hand him over to the Naashanites.’
‘Gods, is there no honour among these Ventrians?’
‘Of course there is, but most of the men here are mercenaries from many eastern tribes. They are loyal to whoever pays them the most.’
‘If the rules of war here are so civilised,’ said Druss, ‘why have the inhabitants of the city fled? Why not just wait until the fighting is over, and serve whoever wins?’
‘They would, at best, be enslaved; at worst, slaughtered. It may be a civilised land, Druss, but it is also a harsh one.’
‘Can Gorben win?’
‘Not as matters stand, but he may be lucky. Often Ventrian sieges are settled by single combat between champions, though such an event would take place only if both factions were of equal strength, and both had champions they believed were invincible. That won’t happen here, because Gorben is heavily outnumbered. However, now that he has the gold Bodasen brought he will send spies in to the enemy camp to bribe the soldiers to desert to his cause. It’s unlikely to work, but it might. Who knows?’