Druss was shaken, but his face showed nothing.
‘Do you also read palms?’ he asked, sipping his wine.
‘You’re too honest, Druss. And I like you. That’s why I would like to point out that Jorak is behind the bushes there with an arrow notched.’
“Then I have lost,’ said Druss. ‘You keep your archers.’
‘Tut, tut, dear man, I didn’t expect such defeatism from Druss the Legend. Put your offer.’
‘I’ve no time for your games. I had a friend like you, Sieben the Saga Master. He could talk all day and convince you the sea was sand. I never won an argument with him. He talked about having no principles – and like you, he lied.’
‘He was the poet who wrote the Legend. He made you immortal,’ said Bowman, softly.
‘Yes,’ said Druss, his mind drifting back over the long years.
‘Did you really hunt your woman across the world?’
‘That part at least was true. We were wed when we were very young. Then my village was attacked by a slaver called Harib Ka, who sold her to an eastern merchant. I missed the attack, as I was working in the woods. But I followed them. In the end it took me seven years and when I found her, she was with another man.’
‘What happened to him?’ asked Bowman, softly.
‘He died.’
‘And she came back with you to Skoda.’
‘Aye. She loved me. She really did.’
‘An interesting addendum to your saga,’ said Bowman.
Druss chuckled. ‘I must be getting melancholy in my old age. I don’t usually prattle on about the past.’
‘What happened to Sieben?’ asked the outlaw.
‘He died at Skeln.’
‘You were close?’
‘We were like brothers.’
‘I can’t think why I remind you of him,’ said Bowman.
‘Maybe it is because you both hide a dark secret,’ said Druss.
‘Perhaps,’ admitted the outlaw. ‘However, make your offer.’
‘A pardon for every man, and five gold Raq a head.’
‘Not enough.’
‘It’s my best offer, I’ll go no further.’
‘Your offer must be this: A pardon, five gold Raq a head for all 620 men, and an agreement that when Wall Three falls we leave with our money and our pardons stamped with the Earl’s seal.’
‘Why Wall Three?’
‘Because that will be the beginning of the end.’
‘Something of a strategist, are you boy?’
‘You could say that. By the way, how do you feel about women warriors?’
‘I have known a few. Why do you ask?’
‘I shall be bringing one.’
‘So? What difference does it make as long as she can aim a bow?’
‘I didn’t say it made a difference. 1 just thought I ought to mention it.’
‘Is there something about this woman that I should know?’ asked Druss.
‘Only that she’s a killer,’ said Bowman.
‘Then she’s perfect and I will welcome her with open arms.’
‘I wouldn’t recommend it,’ said Bowman, softly.
‘Be at Delnoch in fourteen days, and I’ll welcome you all with open arms.’
*
Rek awoke to see the new sun breasting the distant mountains. His body adjusted swiftly from dreamless sleep and he stretched and slid from the covers, then walked to the tower window of the bedroom. In the courtyard below The Thirty were assembling their mounts, great beasts with short cropped manes and braided tails. Apart from the sound of steel hooves on cobbles an eerie silence hung over the scene. None of the men spoke. Rek shivered.
Virae moaned in her sleep, her arm stretching across the wide bed.
Rek watched the men below check their armour and tighten saddle girths. Strange, he thought. Where are the jokes, the laughter, all the sounds soldiers usually make as they prepare for war? Jests to ease the fear, curses to ease the tension?
Serbitar appeared, a white cloak over his silver armour, his braided white hair covered by a silver helm. The Thirty saluted him. Rek shook his head. It was uncanny. Identical timing: like the same salute in.thirty mirrors.
Virae opened her eyes and yawned. She rolled over and saw Rek’s back silhouetted against the morning sun. She smiled.
‘Your belly is receding into memory,’ she said.
‘Mock not,’ he said, smiling. ‘Unless you are going to appear in front of thirty warriors in your skin, you need to hurry. They are already in the courtyard.’