The Legend Of Deathwalker By David Gemmell

An hour later the informant was standing nervously before Garen-Tsen’s desk. ‘Tell me all that you heard. Every word. Leave nothing out,’ ordered Garen-Tsen. The man did so. Dismissing him the Chiatze walked to the window, staring out over the towers and rooftops. A Nadir shaman had told Druss of the jewels, and he was heading east. The Valley of Shul-sen’s Tears was in the east. Chorin-Tsu’s daughter was riding east with the Nadir warrior Talisman.

He rang the bell once more.

‘Go to Lord Larness,’ he told the servant, ‘and say that I must meet with him today. Also have a warrant drawn up for the arrest of the Drenai fighter, Druss.’

‘Yes, Lord. What accusation should be logged against him?’

‘Assault on a Gothir citizen, leading to the man’s death.’

The servant looked puzzled. ‘But, Lord, Shonan is not dead; he merely lost some teeth.’ Garen-Tsen’s hooded eyes fastened to the man’s face and the servant reddened. ‘I will see to it, Lord. Forgive me.’

The haggle had reached the crucial point, and Sieben the Poet steeled himself for the kill. The horse-dealer had moved from politeness to polite disinterest, to irritation, and now he was displaying an impressively feigned anger. ‘This probably just looks like a horse to you,’ said the dealer, patting the beast’s steel-dust flanks, ‘but to me Ganael is a member of my family. We love this horse. His sire was a champion, and his dam had the speed of the east wind. He is brave and loyal. And you insult me by offering the price normally paid for a sway-backed nag?’

Sieben adopted a serious expression, and held to the man’s grey-eyed gaze. ‘I do not disagree with your description of this . . . gelding. And were it five years younger I might be tempted to part with a little more silver. But the horse is worth no more than I have offered.’

‘Then our business is concluded,’ snapped the dealer. ‘There are many noblemen in Gulgothir who would pay twice what I am asking of you. And I only offer you this special price because I like you, and I feel that Ganael likes you too.’

Sieben glanced up at the steel-dust and looked into the gelding’s eye. ‘He has a mean look,’ he said.

‘Spirited,’ said the dealer swiftly. ‘Like me, he doesn’t suffer fools gladly. But he is fearless and strong. You are riding into the steppes. By Heaven, man, you will need a horse with the power to outrun those Nadir hill ponies.’

‘Thirty pieces is too much. Ganael may be strong, but he is also verging on the old.’

‘Nonsense. He is no more than nine . . .’ As the dealer spoke Sieben raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘. . . well, perhaps nearer ten or eleven. Even so, he has years of service left in him. His legs are strong, and there is no weakness in the hoof. And I’ll re-shoe him for the steppes. How does that sound?’

‘It would sound very fine – at twenty-two pieces of silver.’

‘Gods, man, have you come here merely to insult me? Did you wake this morning and think, “I’ll spend the day bringing an honest Gothir businessman to the threshold of heart failure?” Twenty-seven.’

‘Twenty-five – and you can throw in the old mare in the furthest stall, and two saddles.’

The dealer swung round. ‘The mare? Throw in? Are you trying to bankrupt me? That mare is of the finest pedigree. She . . .’

‘ . . . is a member of the family,’ put in Sieben with a wry smile. ‘I can see she is strong, but more importantly she is old and steady. My friend is no rider and I think she will suit him. You will have no buyers for her – save for prison meat or glue. The price for those mounts is one half-silver.’

The dealer’s thin face relaxed and he pulled at his pointed beard. ‘I do happen to have two old saddles – beautiful workmanship, equipped with bags and canteens. But I couldn’t let them go for less than a full silver each. Twenty-seven, and we will grip hands upon it. It is too hot to haggle further.’