Wrapping the naked babe in a blanket, he carried him out into the sunlight. Sieben followed him. ‘Will they write it as a victory, do you think?’ asked Sieben. ‘Will they sing songs about this raid?’
‘Let’s hope there are some women with milk in their breasts at the Shrine,’ said Druss. Sieben freed the horses and held the babe until Druss had mounted. Passing the child to the axeman, he stepped into the saddle of the gelding.
‘He fed on milk and blood,’ said Sieben. ‘He drank from the dead.’
‘But he lives,’ said Druss. ‘He breathes.’
The two rode on. Druss lifted the blanket over the top of the infant’s head, shielding him from the bright sun. The child was asleep now. Druss could smell the newness of life upon him, the creamy scent of milk-fed breath. He thought of Rowena, and her longing for such a child to hold at her own breast.
‘I will be a farmer,’ he said suddenly. ‘When I get home, I shall stay there. No more wars. No more vultures.’
‘You believe that, my friend?’ asked Sieben.
Druss felt the sinking of his heart. ‘No,’ he said.
They rode on across the burning steppes for another hour, then transferred the saddles to the two Nadir ponies. The baby awoke and cried for a while. Druss tried to calm him, then Sieben took him. ‘How old is he, do you think?’ the poet asked.
‘Perhaps a month. Two – I don’t know.’
Sieben swore and Druss laughed. ‘Anointed you too, has he?’
‘During my short, eventful life I have learned many things, Druss, old horse,’ he said, holding the babe at arm’s length. ‘But I never thought I would have to worry about urine stains on silk. Will it rot the fabric, do you think?’
‘We can only hope not.’
‘How does one stop them crying?’
‘Tell him one of your stories, poet. They always put me to sleep.’
Sieben cradled the babe close, and began to sing a gentle song about the Princess Ulastay and her desire to wear stars in her hair. He had a good voice, strong and melodic. The Nadir child rested its head against his chest and was soon asleep. Towards dusk they saw a dust-cloud ahead, and Druss led them off the trail and into a small gully. Two companies of Lancers rode by above them, heading west, their armour bright, the helms gleaming red in the fading sunshine. Sieben’s heart was hammering fast. The babe murmured in his arms, but the sound did not carry above the drumming of hoofbeats.
Once they had passed, Druss headed north-east.
With the dying of the sun the air grew cooler, and Sieben felt the warmth of the child in his arms. ‘I think he has a fever,’ he told Druss.
‘All babies are hot,’ said Druss.
‘Really? I wonder why.’
‘They just are. By Heavens, poet, do you have to question everything?’
‘I have a curious mind.’
‘Then set it to work on how we are going to feed the child when he wakes. He looks a lusty infant to me, and his cries are likely to travel far. And we are unlikely to meet friends out here.’
‘That’s it, Druss. Always try to finish on a comforting note.’
Gargan, Lord of Larness, waited patiently as his manservant, Bren, unbuckled the heavy breastplate and removed it. The flesh around his middle had spread since last he had worn it, and the freedom of release caused him to sigh with pleasure. He had ordered new armour last month, but it was not ready when Garen-Tsen told him of the jewels, and the need for speed.
Bren unfastened the thigh-plates and greaves and Gargan sat down on a canvas chair and stretched out his legs. The nation was sliding into the pit, he thought bitterly. The emperor’s madness was growing daily, and the two factions were hovering in the shadows. Civil war loomed. Madness!
And we are all caught up in it, he realized. Magical jewels indeed! The only magic that counted was contained in the swords of the Royal Guards, the shining points of the Royal lances.
What was needed now was an outside threat to pull the Gothir nation together. A war with the tribes would focus the minds of the people wonderfully. It would buy time. The Emperor had to go. The question was when, and how, and who would replace him? Until that day, Gargan would have to give the factions something else to think about.