The two men sat at a window table and ordered drinks from a steward. He returned with a large bottle and two goblets; both men sat silently for a while watching the training.
Druss was deep in thought. He had lost many friends in his life, but none more dear than Sieben and Rowena – the one his sword brother, the other his wife. Thoughts of them both were as tender as open wounds. When I die, he thought, everyone will mourn for Druss the Legend.
But who will mourn for me?
13
‘Tell us what you saw,’ said Rek, as he joined the four leaders of The Thirty in Serbitar’s cabin. He had been woken from a deep sleep by Menahem, who had swiftly explained the problems facing the Dros. Now alert, he listened as the blond warrior priest outlined the threat.
‘The Captain of the Axe is training the men. He has demolished all buildings from Wall Three and created killing ground. He has also blocked the gate tunnels back to Wall Four – he has done well.’
‘You mentioned traitors,’ said Rek.
Serbitar lifted a hand. ‘Patience!’ he said. ‘Go on, Arbedark.’
‘There is an innkeeper called Musar, originally from the Nadir Wolfshead tribe. He has been at Dros Delnoch for eleven years. He and a Drenai officer are planning to kill Druss. I think there may be others. Ulric has been told of the tunnel blocking.’
‘How?’ asked Rek. ‘Surely there is no travel to the north?’
‘He keeps pigeons,’ said Arbedark.
‘What can you do?’ Rek asked Serbitar, who shrugged and looked to Vintar for support. The Abbot spread his hands. ‘We tried to make contact with Druss, but he is not receptive and the distance is still very great. I do not see how we can help.’
‘What news of my father?’ asked Virae. The men looked at one another; ill at ease, Serbitar spoke at last.
‘He is dead. I am deeply sorry.’
Virae said nothing, her face showing no emotion. Rek put an arm on her shoulder, but she pushed it away and stood. ‘I’m going on deck,’ she said softly. ‘I’ll see you later, Rek.’
‘Shall I come with you?’
‘No. It’s not for sharing.’
As the door closed behind her Vintar spoke, his voice gentle and sorrowful. ‘He was a fine man after his fashion. I contacted him before the end; he was at peace and in the past.’
‘In the past?’ said Rek. ‘What does that mean?’
‘His mind had vanished into happier memories. He died well. I think the Source will have him – I shall pray to that effect. But what of Druss?’
‘I tried to reach the general, Hogun,’ said Arbedark, ‘but the danger was great. I almost lost my bearings. The distance . . .’
‘Yes,’ said Serbitar. ‘Did you manage to ascertain how the assassination is to be attempted?’
‘No. I could not enter the man’s mind, but before him was a bottle of Lentrian Red that he was re-sealing. It could be poison, or an opiate of some kind.’
‘There must be something you can do,’ said Rek, ‘with all your power.’
‘All power – but one – has limits,’ said Vintar. ‘We can only pray. Druss has been a warrior for many years – a survivor. It means he is not only skilful but lucky. Menahem, you must journey to the Dros and watch for us. Perhaps the attempt will be delayed until we are closer.’
‘You mentioned a Drenai officer,’ said Rek to Arbedark. ‘Who? Why?’
‘I know not. As I completed the journey, he was leaving the house of Musar. He acted furtively and this aroused my suspicions. Musar was in the loft and upon the table beside him lay a note written in the Nadir tongue. It said, “Kill Deathwalker.” That is the name by which Druss is known to the tribes.’
‘You were lucky to see the officer,’ said Rek. ‘In a fortress city of that size, the chances of seeing a single act of treachery must be amazing.’
‘Yes,’ said Arbedark. Rek saw the look that passed between the blond priest and the albino.
‘Is there more to it than luck?’ he asked.