Stripping off his clothes, he bathed himself with cold water and then shaved, removing the four-day stubble and cursing as the keen razor – a gift from Horeb – nicked his skin. He shook most of the dust from his garments and dressed once more. Virae had gone to her own rooms and he had no idea where these were. Strapping on his sword belt, he made his way back to the main hall, stopping twice to ask servants the way. Once there he sat alone, gazing at the marble statues of ancient heroes. He felt lost: insignificant and overpowered.
As soon as they had arrived, they heard the news that the Nadir horde was before the walls. There was a tangible air of panic among the townsfolk and they had seen refugees leaving by the score, with carts piled high – a long, sorrowful convoy heading south.
Rek was unsure whether tiredness or hunger was predominant in him at that moment. He heaved himself to his feet, swayed slightly, then cursed loudly. Near the door was a full-length oval mirror. As he stood before it, the man who stared back at him appeared tall, broad-shouldered and powerful. His grey-blue eyes were purposeful, his chin strong, his body lean. The blue cape, though travel worn, still hung well and the thigh-length doeskin boots gave him the look of a cavalry officer.
As Rek gazed at the Earl of Dros Delnoch, he saw himself as others would see him. They were not to know of his inner doubts and would see only the image he had created.
So be it.
He left the hall and stopped the first soldier he met to ask him where Druss was to be found. Wall One, the soldier said, and he described the location of the postern gates. The tall young Earl set out for Eldibar as the sun sank; going through the town, he stopped to buy a small loaf of honey cake which he ate as he walked. It was growing darker as he reached the postern gate of Wall Two, but a sentry showed him the way through and at last he entered the killing ground behind Wall One. Clouds obscured the moon and he almost fell into the fire-pit that stretched across the pass. A young soldier hailed him and showed him the first wooden bridge across it.
‘One of Bowman’s archers, are you?’ asked the soldier, not recognising the tall stranger.
‘No. Where is Druss?’
‘I have no idea. He could be on the battlements, or you might try the mess hall. Messenger, are you?’
‘No. Which is the mess hall?’
‘See the lights over there? That’s the hospital. Past there is the store room; keep walking until you hit the smell of the latrines, then turn right. You can’t miss it.’
‘Thank you.’
‘It’s no trouble. Recruit, are you?’
‘Yes,’ said Rek. ‘Something like that.’
‘Well, I’d better come with you.’
‘There is no need.’
‘Yes, there is,’ said the man and Rek felt something sharp in the small of his back. ‘This is a Ventrian dagger, and I suggest you just walk along with me for a short way.’
‘What’s the point of all this?’
‘First, someone tried to kill Druss the other day – and second, I don’t know you,’ said the man. ‘So walk on and we will find him together.’
The two men moved on towards the mess hall. Now that they were closer, they could hear the sounds from the buildings ahead. A sentry hailed them from the battlements; the soldier answered, then asked for Druss.
‘He’s on the wall near the gate tower,’ came the answer.
‘This way,’ said the soldier, and Rek climbed the short steps to the battlement walls. Then he stopped dead. On the plain thousands of torches and small fires illuminated the Nadir army. Siege towers straddled the pass like wooden giants from mountain wall to mountain wall. The whole valley was lit as far as the eye could see – it was like a view of the second level of hell itself.
‘Not a pretty sight, is it?’ said the soldier.
‘I don’t think it will look any better by daylight,’ said Rek.