‘No,’ said Pinar. ‘Put up your blade, Dorian.’
‘Back off or draw your sword,’ Dorian told him. ‘I have had enough of these games. You think you are a warrior, old man? Then let us see you use that axe. Because if you don’t, I will put some air in your belly.’
‘Boy,’ said Druss, his eyes cold, ‘think well about this venture. For make no mistake, you cannot stand before me and live. No man ever has.’ The words were spoken softly, yet no one disbelieved the old man.
Except Dorian.
‘Well, we shall see. Draw your blade!’
Druss slipped Snaga from its sheath, his broad hand curling round its black haft. Dorian attacked!
And died.
He lay on the ground, head half-severed from his neck. Druss hammered Snaga deep into the earth, cleansing the blade of blood, while Pinar stood in stunned silence. Dorian had not been a great swordsman, but he was certainly skilled. Yet the old man had batted aside the slashing sword and in one flowing motion had returned the attack – all without moving his feet. Pinar looked down at the body of his former companion. You should have stayed at the Dros, he thought.
‘I did not want that to happen,’ said Druss, ‘but I gave him fair warning. The choice was his.’
‘Yes,’ said Pinar. ‘My apologies for speaking the way I did. You will be a great help to us, I think. Excuse me, I must help them to remove the body. Will you join me for a drink?’
‘I will see you in the long bar,’ said Druss.
The tall dark-haired youngster whom Druss had been scheduled to wrestle approached him as he walked through the crowd.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ he said. ‘I am sorry about Dorian. He’s hot-tempered. Always has been.’
‘Not any more,’ said Druss.
“There will be no blood feud,’ said the man.
‘Good. A man with wife and daughters has no place losing his temper. The man was a fool. Are you a friend of the family?’
‘Yes. My name is Hagir. Our farms are close. We are . . . were . . . neighbours.’
“Then, Hagir, when you get home I hope you will see that his wife is cared for.’
‘I am not going home. I’m going back to the Dros.’
‘What changed your mind?’
‘With respect, you did, sir. I think I know who you are.’
‘Make your own decisions, don’t place them on my shoulders. I want good soldiers at Dros Delnoch, but also I want men who will stand.’
‘I didn’t leave because I was frightened. I was just fed up with the crazy rules. But if men like you are prepared to be there, I will stick it out.’
‘Good. Join me for a drink later. Now I am going to have a hot bath.’
Druss pushed his way past the men in the doorway and went inside.
‘Are you really going back, Hagir?’ asked one of the men.
‘Yes. Yes, I am.’
‘But why?’ urged another. ‘Nothing has changed. Except that we shall all be on report and probably flogged.’
‘It’s him – he’s going there. The Captain of the Axe.’
‘Druss! That was Druss?’
‘Yes, I am sure of it.’
‘How sickening!’ said the other.
‘What do you mean, Somin?’ asked Hagir.
‘Dorian – Druss was Dorian’s hero. Don’t you remember him talking about him? Druss this and Druss that. It is one reason he joined up – to be like Druss, and maybe even to meet him.’
‘Well, he met him,’ said Hagir sombrely.
Druss, dark-haired Pinar, tall Hagir and blunt-featured Somin sat at a corner table in the long room of the inn. Around them a crowd gathered, drawn by the legend of the grizzled old man.
‘Just over nine thousand, you say. How many archers?’
Dun Pinar waved a hand. ‘No more than six hundred, Druss. The rest are remnants of cavalry lancers, infantrymen, pikers and engineers. The bulk of the complement is made up of volunteer fanners from the Sentran Plain. They’re plucky enough.’
‘If I remember aright,’ said Druss, ‘the first wall is four hundred paces long and twenty wide. You will need a thousand archers on it. And I don’t just mean a thousand bows. We need men who can pick a target from a hundred paces.’