When slavers had attacked Druss’s village and captured the young women – Rowena among them – Druss had instinctively followed the raiders, hunting them down. That had been right! There were no moral or political questions to be addressed.
But here and now it was all blurred. ‘There would be honour in such a decision,’ Majon had assured him. And why? Because thousands of Drenai lives would be saved. Giving in to the wishes of a madman, suffering humiliation and defeat? This was honour?
Yet to win could mean, at worst, a terrible war. Was winning a fight worth such a risk, Majon had asked. For the satisfaction of pounding a man to the ground ?
Druss crossed the Park of Giants and cut to the left, through the Arch of Marble and on towards the low Valley of the Swans in which Klay’s house was situated. Here were the homes of the rich, the roads lined with trees, the houses elegantly designed, the grounds boasting small lakes and fountains or beautifully sculpted statues set around winding paths which ran through immaculately tended gardens.
Everything spoke of money, enormous amounts of gold. Druss had been raised in mountain communities where homes were built of rough-cut timber sealed with clay; places where coin was as rare as a whore’s honour. Now he stood gazing at palace after palace of white marble, with gilded pillars, painted frescoes, carved reliefs, each topped with red terracotta tile or black Lentrian slate.
Walking on, he sought out the home of the Gothir Champion. Two sentries stood before the high, wrought-iron gates; both men wore silver breastplates, and were armed with short swords. The house was imposing, though not as ostentatious as the other homes nearby. It was square-built with a sloping red-tile roof, and boasting no ornate columns, no frescoes, nor paint work. The home of the Champion was of simple white stone. The main door was set beneath a stone lintel, and the many windows were functional, displaying no coloured glass, no leaded figures, no ornamentation at all. Much to his own annoyance Druss found himself liking the man who owned the house, which was set amidst gardens boasting willow and beech.
There was one gesture to the dramatic. A statue of the fighter, almost twice life-size, was set upon a pedestal at the centre of a well-tended lawn. Like the house it was of white stone, unpainted and unadorned, and showed Klay with his fists raised defiantly.
For a while Druss stood on the broad avenue outside the gates. A movement in the shadows caught his eye and he saw a small boy crouched by the bole of an elm tree. Druss grinned at him. ‘Waiting for a glimpse of the great man, are you?’ he asked amiably. The boy nodded, but said nothing. He was painfully thin and scrawny, his eyes deep-set, his face pinched and tight. Druss fished in the small pouch at his belt, producing a silver coin which he tossed to the urchin. ‘Go on with you. Buy yourself some food.’
Catching the coin the child stowed it in his ragged tunic – but remained where he was.
‘You really want to see him, don’t you? Even hunger can’t draw you away? Come with me then, boy. I’ll take you in.’ The child’s face brightened instantly and he scrambled forward. Standing he was even thinner than he had appeared, his elbows and knees seeming swollen larger than biceps or thighs. Beside the huge form of the Drenai fighter he appeared no more than a frail shadow.
Together they walked to the gates, where the sentries stepped forward, blocking the way.
‘I am Druss. I have been invited here.’
‘The beggar boy hasn’t been invited,’ said one of the guards. Druss stepped in close, his cold gaze locking to the man’s eyes, their faces only inches apart. The guard stepped back, trying to create space between himself and Druss, but the Drenai followed him and the man’s breastplate clanged against the gate. ‘I invited him, laddie. You have a problem with that?’
‘No. No problem.’
The sentries stepped aside, pushing open the wrought-iron gates. Druss and the boy moved slowly on. The axeman paused to gaze at the statue, then once more scanned the house and the grounds. The statue was out of place here, at odds with the natural contours of the garden. As he approached the house an elderly servant opened the main door and bowed.