‘True. All things could happen. My heart could give out, my liver fail. Disease could strike me. A man cannot spend his life worrying about the unexpected. I need archers. In Skultik there are archers. It’s that simple, boy.’
‘But it’s not that simple. Send someone else. You are too valuable to lose like this,’ Pinar told him, gripping the old man’s arm.
‘I’m too long in the tooth to change my ways now. Direct action pays off, Pinar. Believe me. And there’s more to it, which I will tell you about some other time.
‘Now,’ he said, leaning back and addressing the crowd, ‘you know who I am, and where I am heading. I will speak plainly to you; many of you are Runners, some are frightened, others are demoralised. Understand this: when Ulric takes Dros Delnoch the Drenai lands will become Nadir lands. The farms you are running to will be Nadir farms. Your wives will become Nadir women. There are some things no man can run from. I know.
‘At Dross Delnoch you risk death. But all men die.
‘Even Druss. Even Karnak the One-Eyed. Even the Earl of Bronze.
‘A man needs many things in his life to make it bearable. A good woman. Sons and daughters. Comradeship. Warmth. Food and shelter. But above all these things, he needs to be able to know that he is a man.
‘And what is a man? He is someone who rises when life has knocked him down. He is someone who raises his fist to heaven when a storm has ruined his crop – and then plants again. And again. A man remains unbroken by the savage twists of fate.
‘That man may never win. But when he sees himself reflected, he can be proud of what he sees. For low he may be in the scheme of things: peasant, serf, or dispossessed. But he is unconquerable.
‘And what is death? An end to trouble. An end to strife and fear.
‘I have fought in many battles. I have seen many men die. And women too. In the main, they died proud.
‘Bear this in mind, as you decide your future.’
The old man’s fierce blue eyes scanned the faces in the crowd, gauging reaction. He knew he had them. It was time to leave.
He bade his farewells to Pinar and the rest, settled his bill despite the protestations of the innkeeper and set off for Skultik.
He was angry as he walked, feeling the stares on his back as the inn emptied to watch him go. He was angry because he knew his speech had been a falsehood, and he was a man who liked the truth. Life, he knew, breaks many men. Some as strong as oak wither as their wives die, or leave them, as their children suffer or starve. Other strong men break if they lose a limb; or worse, the use of their legs or their eyesight. Each man has a breaking point, no matter how strong his spirit. Somewhere, deep inside him, there is a flaw that only the fickle cruelty of fate can find. A man’s strength is ultimately born of his knowledge of his own weakness, Druss knew.
His own fear was of dotage and senility. The thought of it set him to trembling. Did he really hear a voice at Skoda, or was it merely his own terror booming inside him?
Druss the Legend. Mightiest man of his era. A killing machine, a warrior. And why?
Because I never had the courage to be a farmer, Druss told himself.
Then he laughed, dismissing all sombre thoughts and self doubt. It was a talent he had.
Today had a good feel about it. He felt lucky. If he kept to known trails he would certainly meet outlaws. One old man alone was a package not to be missed. They would be a sorely inefficient lot if he were to pass through the forest unnoticed – and unattended.
The woods were becoming thicker now, as he reached the outskirts of Skultik. Huge, gnarled oaks, graceful willows and slender elm interlinked their branches for as far as the eye could see – and greatly beyond, Druss knew.