‘It’s a nice night, the best yet,’ said Orrin. ‘Strange, I used to lie in bed at night and watch the stars. They always made me sleepy. Now I have no need of sleep. I feel I’m throwing away life. Do you feel that?’
‘No, sir. I sleep like a baby.’
‘Good. Well, I’ll say goodnight then.’
‘Goodnight, sir.’
Orrin walked away slowly, then turned. ‘We didn’t do too badly, did we?’ he said,
‘No, sir,’ replied Gilad. ‘I think the Nadir will remember us without affection.’
‘Yes. Goodnight.’ He had begun the walk down the short rampart steps when Gilad stepped forward.
‘Sir!’
‘Yes?’
‘I . . . I wanted to say . . . Well, just that I have been proud to serve under you. That’s all, sir.’
“Thank you, Gilad. But I am the one who should be proud. Goodnight.’
Togi said nothing as Gilad returned to the wall, but the young officer could feel the Rider’s eyes upon him.
‘Well, say it,’ said Gilad. ‘Get it over with.’
‘Say what?’
Gilad looked at his friend’s blank face and searched his eyes for signs of humour or contempt. Nothing showed. ‘I thought you would think . . . I don’t know,’ he said, lamely.
‘The man has shown quality and courage and you told him so. There is no harm in that, although it wasn’t your place. In peacetime I’d think you were crawling, currying favour with a comment like that. Not here. There is nothing to gain and he knew that. So it was well said.’
‘Thank you,’ said Gilad.
‘For what?’
‘For understanding. You know, I believe he is a great man – greater than Druss perhaps. For he has neither Druss’s courage nor Hogun’s skill, yet he is still here. Still trying.’
‘He’ll not last long.’
‘None of us will,’ said Gilad.
‘No, but he won’t see the last day. He’s too tired – up here he’s too tired.’ Togi tapped his temple.
‘I think you’re wrong.’
‘No, you don’t. That’s why you spoke to him as you did. You sensed it too.’
*
Druss floated on an ocean of pain, burning, searing his body. His jaw clamped shut, teeth grinding against the insistent agony creeping like slow acid through his back. Words were almost impossible, hissed through gritted teeth, and the faces of those around his bed shivered and swam, blurring beyond recognition.
He became unconscious, but the pain followed him down into the depths of dreams where gaunt, shadow-haunted landscapes surrounded him and jagged mountains reared black against a grey, brooding sky. Druss lay on the mountain, unable to move against the pain, his eyes focused on a small grove of lightning-blasted trees some twenty paces from where he lay. Standing before them was a man dressed in black. He was lean, and his eyes were dark. He moved forward and sat on a boulder, gazing down at the axeman.
‘So, it comes to this,’ he said. The voice had a hollow ring, like wind whistling through a cavern.
‘I shall recover,’ hissed Druss, blinking away the sweat dripping into his eyes.
‘Not from this,’ said the man. ‘You should be dead now.’
‘I have been cut before.’
‘Ah, but the blade was poisoned – green sap from the northern marches. Now you are riddled with gangrene.’
‘No! I will die with my axe in my hand.’
‘Think you so? I have waited for you, Druss, through these many years. I have watched the legions of travellers cross the dark river at your hands. And I have watched you. Your pride is colossal, your conceit immense. You have tasted glory and prized your strength above all else. Now you will die. No axe. No glory. Never to cross the dark river to the Forever Halls. There is satisfaction for me in this, can you understand that? Can you comprehend it?’
‘No. Why do you hate me?’
‘Why? Because you conquer fear. And because your life mocks me. It is not enough that you die. All men die, peasants and kings – all are mine, come the end. But you, Druss, you are special. Were you to die as you desire, you would mock me still. So for you, I have devised this exquisite torture.