Druss gave a wry smile, then rubbed his huge hand over his black beard. ‘Aye, there is. I don’t like them, poet. It is that simple. I have no affinity with these tribesmen. I don’t know how they think, or what they feel. One thing is for damned sure, they don’t think like us.’
‘You like Nuang, and Talisman. They are both Nadir,’ Sieben pointed out.
‘Yes, I know. I can’t make sense of it.’
Sieben chuckled. ‘It’s not hard, Druss. You are Drenai, born and raised – the greatest race on earth. That’s what they told us. Civilized men in a world of savages. You had no trouble fighting alongside the Ventrians, but then they are like us, round-eyed and tall. We share a common mythology. But the Nadir are descended from the Chiatze and with them we share nothing that is obvious. Dogs and cats, Druss. Or wolves and lions if you prefer. But I think you are wrong to believe they don’t think like us, or feel like us. They just show things differently, that’s all. A different culture base.’
‘I am not a bigot,’ said Druss defensively.
Sieben laughed. ‘Of course you are, it is bred into you. But you are a good man, Druss, and it won’t make a damn bit of difference to the way you behave. Drenai teachings may have lodged in your head, but you’ve a fine heart. And that will always carry you through.’
Druss relaxed, and felt the tension flow from him. ‘I hope you are right,’ he said. ‘My grandfather was a butchering killer; his atrocities haunt me still. I never want to be guilty of that kind of evil. I never want to be fighting on the wrong side. The Ventrian War was just, I believe that, and it meant something. The people now have Gorben as a leader, and he is as great a man as I ever met.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Sieben doubtfully. ‘History will judge him better than you or I. But if you are concerned about this current. . . vileness, put your mind at rest. This is a Shrine, and here lie the bones of the greatest hero the Nadir have ever known. This place means something to all their people. The men who are coming serve a mad Emperor, and they seek to despoil this place for no other purpose than their desire to humiliate the tribes, to keep them in their place. The Source knows how I hate violence, but we are not on the wrong side in this, Druss. By Heaven, we’re not!’
Druss clapped him on the shoulder. ‘You’re beginning to sound like a warrior,’ he said, with a wide grin.
‘Well, that’s because the enemy haven’t arrived yet. When they do, you’ll find me hiding in an empty flour barrel.’
‘I don’t believe that for a moment,’ Druss told him.
In a small room alongside the makeshift hospital, Zhusai sat quietly as Talisman and Lin-tse discussed the raid. The two men were physically very different; Lin-tse was tall, his solemn face showing his mixed-blood ancestry – the eyes only barely slanted, the cheek and jaw-bones heavy. His hair too was not the jet-black of the Nadir, but tinged with auburn streaks. Talisman, his hair drawn back into a tight pony-tail, looked every inch the Nadir warrior – his skin pale gold, his face flat, the dark eyes expressionless. And yet, thought Zhusai, there was a similarity that was not born of the physical; an aura almost that spoke of brotherhood. Was it, she wondered, the shared experience in the Bodacas Academy, or the desire to see the Nadir free and proud once more? Perhaps both, she thought.
‘They will be here tomorrow afternoon. No later,’ said Lin-tse.
‘There is nothing more we can do. The warriors are as ready now as they will ever be.’
‘But will they hold, Talisman? I have never heard much that is good of the Curved Horn. And as for the Lone Wolves . . . well, they seem nervous without their leader. And I see the groups do not mix at all.’
‘They will hold,’ Talisman told him. ‘And as for what you have heard of the Curved Horn, I wonder what they have heard of the Sky Riders. It is not our custom to think well of tribal enemies. Though I note you have not mentioned the Fleet Ponies. Could that be because our friend Quing-chin leads them?’