‘The man is a treacherous cur,’ offered a man from another group of speakers. ‘He signed a treaty with us. Now he is to break it.’
‘I am not defending his morals,’ said Druss equably. ‘Merely pointing out that he’s a good general. His troops worship him.’
‘Well, I don’t like the way you speak, old man,’ said the tallest of the listeners.
‘No?’ said Druss. ‘Are you a soldier, then?’
The man hesitated, glanced at his companions, then shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘Forget it.’
‘Are you a deserter, then?’
‘I said to forget it, old man,’ stormed the youngster.
‘Are you all deserters?’ asked Druss, leaning back against the bar and scanning the thirty or so men gathered there.
‘No, not all,’ said one young man, emerging from the throng. He was tall and slim, dark hair braided beneath a helm of bronze. ‘But you cannot blame those who are.’
‘Don’t bother with it, Pinar,’ said one. ‘We have talked it over.’
‘I know. Interminably,’ said Pinar. ‘But it doesn’t change the situation. The Gan is a pig. Worse, he is incompetent. But in leaving, you are just making sure your comrades have no chance at all.’
‘They haven’t any chance anyway,’ said the short one with the blond moustache. ‘If they had any sense, they would leave with us.’
‘Dorian, you are being selfish,’ said Pinar gently. ‘When the fighting starts, Gan Orrin will have to forget his idiot rules. We will all be too busy to worry about them.’
‘Well, I’ve had enough of it already,’ said Dorian. ‘Shining armour. Dawn parades. Forced marches. Midnight inspections. Penalties for sloppy salutes, uncombed crests, talking after lights out. The man’s mad.’
‘If you’re caught, you will be hung,’ said Pinar.
‘He doesn’t dare to send anyone after us. They would desert too. I came to Dros Delnoch to fight the Nadir. I left a farm, a wife and two daughters. I didn’t come here for all that shining armour garbage.’
‘Then go, my friend,’ said Pinar. ‘I hope you do not live to regret it.’
‘I do regret it already. But my mind is set,’ said Dorian. ‘I am heading south to join Woundweaver. Now there’s a soldier!’
‘Is Earl Delnar still alive?’ asked Druss. The young warrior nodded absently. ‘How many men still hold their positions?’
‘What?’ said Pinar, realising Druss was speaking to him.
‘How many men have you at Delnoch?’
‘What concern is it of yours?’
‘It’s where I am heading.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I have been asked, young laddie,’ said Druss. ‘And in more years than I care to remember, I have never turned down a request from a friend.’
‘This friend asked you to join us at Dros Delnoch? Is he mad? We need soldiers, archers, pikemen, warriors. I haven’t time to be respectful, old man. But you should go home – we have no need of greybeards.’
Druss smiled grimly. ‘You are a blunt speaker, boy. But your brains are in your breeches. I have handled an axe for twice your lifetime. My enemies are all dead, or wished they were.’ His eyes blazed and he stepped closer towards the younger man. ‘When your life has been spent in one war after another for forty-five years, you have to be pretty handy to survive. Now you, laddie – your lips scarce dry from your mother’s milk – are just a beardless boy to me. Your sword looks pretty there at your side. But if I chose, I could kill you without breaking sweat.’
A silence had fallen on the room and the watchers noted the bright sheen on Pinar’s brow.
‘Who invited you to Dros Delnoch?’ he said at last.
‘Earl Delnar.’
‘I see. Well, the earl has been ill, sir. Now you may or may not be a mighty warrior still. And I most certainly am a beardless boy to you. But let me tell you this: Gan Orrin commands at Dros Delnoch, and he will not allow you to stay, Earl Delnar or no. I am sure your heart is in the right place, and I am sorry if I sounded disrespectful. But you are too old for a war.’
‘The judgement of youth!’ said Druss. ‘It is seldom of value. All right, much as it goes against the grain, I can see I still have to prove myself. Set me a task, boy!’