‘Yes, my lord. It will take some time.’
‘We have time. We will leave a thousand men to man the fortress and push west into Skultik. The war is almost over, Dalnor.’
‘Indeed it is – thanks to you, my lord.’
Kaem swung round to a dark-bearded officer on his right.
‘What news of Waylander?’
‘He still lives, Lord Kaem. Last night he and his friends fought off an attack by my Brothers. But more are on their way.’
‘I must have the Armour.’
‘You will have it, my lord. The Emperor has commissioned the assassin Cadoras to hunt Waylander. And twenty of my Brothers are closing in. Added to this, we have received word from the robber Durmast; he asks 20,000 silver pieces for the Armour.’
‘Of course you agreed?’
‘No, my lord, we beat him down to 15,000. He would have been suspicious had we met his original request without argument. Now we have his trust.’
‘Be careful of Durmast,’ warned Kaem. ‘He is like a rogue lion – he will turn on anyone.’
‘Several of his men are in our employ, my lord; we have anticipated all eventualities. The Armour is ours. Waylander is ours – just as the Drenai are ours.’
‘Beware of over-confidence, Nemodes. Do not count the lion’s teeth until you see flies on his tongue.’
‘But surely, my lord, the issue is no longer in doubt?’
‘I had a horse once, the fastest beast I ever owned. It could not lose and I wagered a fortune on it. But a bee stung it in the eye just before the start. The issue is always in doubt.’
‘Yet you said the war was almost over,’ protested Nemodes.
‘So it is. And until it is, we will remain wary.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘There are three men who must die. Karnak is one. Egel is the second. But most of all I want to see Waylander’s head on a lance.’
‘Why Karnak?’ asked Dalnor. ‘One battle is not sufficient to judge him dangerous.’
‘Because he is reckless and ambitious. We cannot plan for him,’ answered Kaem.
‘There are some men who are good swordsmen, archers or strategists. There are others, seemingly gifted by the Gods, who are masters of all they touch. Karnak is one of these – I cannot read him and that disturbs me.’
‘He is said to be in Skarta, serving under Egel,’ said Dalnor. ‘We will have him soon.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Kaem doubtfully.
Kaem fought to control his tension as he stood at the head of the Second Legion in the shadow of the eastern gate. Dawn was now minutes old, but still there was no movement from beyond the gates. He was acutely aware of the hostile stares from the archers on the battlements of the gate tower as he stood in full red and bronze battle gear with the sweat trickling between his shoulder-blades.
Dalnor stood behind him, flanked by swordsmen: dark-eyed warriors of the First Elite, the most deadly fighting men of the Second Legion of the Hounds of Chaos.
The sound of tightening ropes and the groaning of rusty ratchets ended Kaem’s tension – beyond the gates of oak and iron, the huge bronze reinforced bar was being lifted. Minutes passed and then the gates creaked open. A swelling sense of triumph grew within Kaem, but he swallowed it back, angry at the power of his emotions.
Behind him men began shuffling their feet, anxious to end the long siege and enter the hated fortress.
The gates widened.
Kaem walked into the shadows of the portcullis and out into the bright sunlight of the courtyard …
And there stopped so suddenly that Dalnor walked into him knocking him forward; his helmet tipped over his eyes and he straightened it. The courtyard was ringed with fighting men, swords drawn. At the centre, leaning on a double-headed battleaxe, stood a huge warrior, barbarously ill-clad. The man handed the axe to a companion and strolled forward.
‘Who is that fat clown?’ whispered Dalnor.
‘Be silent!’ ordered Kaem, his brain working at furious pace.
‘Welcome to Dros Purdol,’ said the man, smiling.
‘Who are you, and where is Gan Degas?’
‘The Gan is resting. He asked me to discuss your surrender.’