‘I do not want you to die,’ he said. ‘I wish I had never brought you here. I wish it with all my heart.’
‘And I am glad you did. You will win, Talisman. Your cause is just. The evil comes from the Gothir.’
‘It is a touching sentiment, Zhusai. And one which I wish were true. Sadly, the good do not always conquer. I must go, for there is much to do.’
‘When you have done all that you can, and the night grows long, come to me, Talisman. Will you do that?’
‘I will come to you,’ he promised.
The sky was black with crows and vultures as Druss and Sieben came over a ridge and down into a shallow valley. Below them were some forty goathide tents. Bodies were strewn everywhere, under a writhing mass of carrion birds. Elsewhere small desert dogs tugged at rotting flesh.
‘Sweet Heaven,’ whispered Sieben, pulling back on the reins.
Druss touched heels to the mare and rode down the hillside. Leading their extra ponies, Sieben followed him. Vultures too fat to fly spread their wings and waddled away from the horses. The stench of death caused the horses to shy away from the scene, but the riders forced them on. At first Sieben just stared ahead, trying not to look at the bodies. There were children there, and women – some huddled together, others slain as they ran. A brown dog edged into a flapping tent, then yelped and ran away. Druss dragged on the reins.
‘Why are we stopping?’ asked Sieben. Druss dismounted, passing the mare’s reins to the poet. Axe in hand, he strode to the tent and, ducking down, moved inside. Sieben sat on his horse and forced himself to view the scene. It was not hard to see what had happened here. The killers had attacked late in the evening, as the cook-fires were under way. The Nadir had fled in all directions, but had been cut down with ruthless efficiency. Several of the bodies had been mutilated, beheaded or dismembered.
Druss emerged from the tent and moved to the horses, lifting clear a water canteen. ‘There’s a woman inside,’ he said. ‘She’s alive, but only just. She has a babe.’
Sieben dismounted and tethered the horses to a tent-pole. The Gothir mounts were skittish and nervous of the dogs and vultures, but the Nadir ponies stood by calmly. Swiftly he hobbled the horses with lengths of rawhide, then joined Druss. Inside the tent lay a naked young woman, a terrible wound in her belly and side. Blood had drenched the brightly coloured blankets on which she lay. Her eyes were open, but her mouth was hanging slack. Druss raised her head, holding the canteen to her lips; water dribbled over her chin, but she managed to swallow a little. Sieben gazed at the wound; it was deep, the blade having completely pierced her body. The babe, part hidden beneath a pile of furs, was whimpering softly. Druss picked it up, and held it to the woman’s swollen breast. It began to suck, weakly at first. The woman groaned and moved her arm around the child, drawing it in to her.
‘What can we do?’ asked Sieben. Druss’s cold eyes met his. The axeman said nothing. When Sieben reached up to stroke the woman’s face, her dead eyes stared at him. The babe continued to feed.
‘This one they kept for rape,’ said Druss. ‘What a pack of mongrels!’
‘May they rot in Seven Hells,’ said Sieben. The babe ceased to suck and Druss lifted it to his broad shoulder, supporting its head and gently rubbing its back. Sieben’s eyes were drawn to the woman’s swollen nipple. Milk and blood were seeping from it.
‘Why, Druss?’ he asked.
‘Why what?’
‘Why did they do it? What was the purpose?’
‘I am not the man to ask, poet. I have seen the sack of cities, and watched good men become evil as they are fired by rage and lust and fear. I don’t know why they do it. The soldiers who did this will go home to their wives and families and be good husbands and fathers. It is a mystery to me.’