Sieben glanced at Druss’s body. The glow was fading. ‘You had better fetch him back,’ he said.
‘Not yet. All is well.’
Druss eased his huge frame against the black rock-face, then slumped to his knees. His strength was all but gone, and blood the colour of milk was flowing from numerous wounds in his upper body. Oshikai laid his golden axe on a rock and sat down. He too was sorely wounded. The tiny shaman, Shaoshad, moved to Druss, laying his skinny hand on a deep cut on Druss’s shoulder. The wound closed instantly.
‘Almost there,’ said the little man. ‘One more bridge to cross.’
‘I don’t believe I could move another step,’ said Druss. Shaoshad touched all his wounds and one by one the milky ichor ceased to flow.
‘One more bridge, Drenai,’ repeated Shaoshad, moving to Oshikai and treating his wounds also.
‘Did Talisman die?’ Oshikai asked the shaman, his voice weak.
‘I do not know. But he is here no longer. Either way he cannot help us. Can you go on?’
‘I will find Shul-sen,’ said Oshikai stubbornly. ‘Nothing shall stop me.’
Druss gazed around the awesome black cavern. Towering stalagmites rose towards the high, domed ceiling, met there by colossal stalactites – like two rows of fangs in a vast maw. One of the surviving bat creatures was still in view, crouching high on a ledge above them. Druss stared up into its baleful red eyes. The bodies of its comrades lay scattered on the cavern floor, their grey wings outstretched and broken. The survivor made no move to attack. The journey here had been long and terrifying, across a landscape unlike any to be found in the world of flesh. Druss had walked the Void once before, to bring Rowena back from the dead. But then he had walked the Road of Souls, a veritable garden of delights when compared with this journey. The land obeyed no laws of nature that Druss understood. It shifted and changed endlessly under a slate-grey sky; cliffs suddenly rearing from a desolate plain, showering boulders the size of houses down from the sky. Chasms would appear, as if an invisible plough was tearing at the dead soil. Black and twisted trees would sprout into forests, their branches reaching out to claw like talons at the flesh of the travellers. Some time ago – it could have been days or hours – they had descended into a gorge, the floor of which was festooned with what appeared to be discarded helms of rusted iron. Lightning lit the sky endlessly, casting hideous shadows around them. Talisman was in the lead when the helms began to shake. The earth parted, and long-buried warriors erupted from the black earth. The skin of their faces had rotted away, and maggots clung to the flesh beneath. Soundlessly they advanced. Talisman had beheaded the first, but taken a deep wound from a second. Druss and Oshikai charged, their axes slicing into corrupt flesh.
The battle was long, ‘and hard. Shaoshad blasted globes of explosive fire into the awful ranks, and the air stank with the smoke of burning flesh. At the last Druss and Oshikai stood back to back gazing round at the mound of corpses. Of Talisman there was no sign.
On the far side of the gorge they had entered a tunnel, which led into the heart of the highest mountain Druss had ever seen. In a cavern at its centre they had fought off a frenzied attack from the demonic bats. ‘Tell me,’ said Druss to Shaoshad, ‘that there are no more guardians. That would please me greatly.’
‘Plenty more, axeman. But you know what they say,’ he added with a mischievous grin, ‘nothing worth while ever comes easy, yes?’
‘What can we expect?’ asked Oshikai.
‘The Great Bear guards the bridge. After that I know not. But there is one who will remain. That is Chakata. He it was who murdered Shul-sen in a manner most foul. He is here . . . in one form or another.’
‘Then he is mine,’ said Oshikai. ‘You hear me, Druss? He is mine!’
Druss looked across at the stocky figure in his shattered golden armour. ‘No argument from me, laddie.’