David Gemmell - The Legend of the Deathwalker

The poet was tired, and already regretting his decision to join Druss on his journey. He sat on a padded couch and poured himself a goblet of watered wine. 'Let us make this swift, ambassador, for I need an hour's sleep before I ride.'

'Yes, the ride. This is not seemly, poet. The Queen's funeral is tomorrow and Druss is an honoured guest. To ride out now is an insult of the worst kind. Especially following the riots — which began over Druss, after all. Could you not wait for a few days at least?'

Sieben shook his head. 'I am afraid we are dealing here with something you don't understand, ambassador. Druss sees this as a debt of honour.'

'Do not seek to insult me, poet. I well understand the notion. But Druss did not ask for this man's help, and therefore is in no way responsible for his injury. He owes him nothing.'

'Amazing,' said Sieben. 'You prove my point exactly. I talk of honour and you speak of transactions. Listen to me. . a man was crippled trying to help Druss. Now he is dying and we cannot wait any longer. The surgeon told Druss that Klay has perhaps a month to live. Therefore we are leaving now, as soon as the horses are delivered.'

'But it is all nonsense!' roared Majon. 'Magical jewels hidden in a Nadir valley! What sane man would even consider such. . such a fanciful tale? I have been researching the area you plan to visit. There are many tribes raiding in those parts. No convoys passed through there — unless heavily guarded. There is one particular group of raiders known as Chop-backs. How do you like the sound of that? You know how they got their name? They smash the lower spines of their prisoners and leave them out on the steppes for the wolves to devour.'

Sieben drained his wine, and hoped his face had not shown the terror he felt. 'You have made your point, ambassador.'

'Why is he really doing this?'

'I have already told you. Druss owes the man a debt — and he would walk through fire to repay it.'

As Sieben rose, Majon also stood. 'Why are you going with him? He is not the brightest of men, and I can. . just.. understand his simplistic view of the world. But you? You have wit and rare intelligence. Can you not see the futility of this venture?'

'Yes,' admitted Sieben. 'And it saddens me that I can, for it merely highlights the terrible flaws of what you call intelligence.'

Back in his room, Sieben bathed and then stretched himself out on his bed. The delights the whore had promised had proved to be ephemeral and illusive. Just as all the delights of life Sieben had ever sampled. Lust followed by a gentle sorrow for all that had been missed. The ultimate experience, like the myth of the ultimate woman, was always ahead.

Why are you going with him?

Sieben loathed danger, and trembled at the thought of approaching fear. But Druss, for all his faults, lived life to the full, relishing every breath. Sieben had never been more alive than when he had accompanied Druss on his search for the kidnapped Rowena, in the storm when the Thunderchild had been hurled and tossed like a piece of driftwood, or in the battles and wars when death had seemed but a heartbeat distant.

They had returned in triumph to Drenan, and there Sieben had composed his epic poem, Druss the Legend . It was now the most widely performed saga in all the Drenai lands, and had been translated into a dozen languages. The fame had brought riches, the riches had bought women, and Sieben had fallen back with astonishing speed into a life of idle luxury. He sighed now and rose from the bed. Servants had laid out his clothes — leggings of pale blue wool, and soft thigh-length riding-boots of creamy beige. His puff-sleeved shirt was of blue silk, the wrists slashed to reveal grey silk inserts decorated with mother of pearl. A royal blue cape completed the ensemble, fastened at the neck with a delicate braided chain of gold. Once dressed, he stood before the full-length mirror and looped his baldric over his shoulder. From it hung four black sheaths, each housing an ivory-hilted throwing-knife.

Why are you going with him? It would be fine if he could say, 'Because he is my friend.' Sieben hoped there was at least a semblance of truth in that. The reality however was altogether different. 'I need to feel alive,' he said, aloud.

'I have purchased two mounts,' said Sieben, 'a fine thoroughbred for myself and a cart-horse for you. Since you ride with all the grace of a sack of carrots, I thought it would be fitting.'

Druss ignored the jibe. 'Where did you get the pretty knives?' he asked, pointing at the ornate leather baldric slung carelessly over Sieben's shoulder.

'Pretty? These are splendidly balanced weapons of death.' Sieben slid one from its sheath. The blade was diamond-shaped and razor-sharp. 'I practised with them before I bought them. I hit a moth at ten paces.'

'That could come in handy,' grunted Druss. 'Nadir moths can be ferocious, I'm told.'

'Ah, yes,' muttered Sieben, 'the old jokes are the best. But I should have seen that one staggering over the horizon.'

Druss carefully packed his saddle-bags with supplies of dried meat, fruit, salt, and sugar. Fastening the straps, he dragged a blanket from the bed and rolled it tightly before tying it to the saddle-bags. 'Majon is not best pleased that we are leaving,' said Sieben. 'The Queen's interment is tomorrow, and he fears the King will take our departure at this juncture as an insult to his dearly departed.'

'Have you packed yet?' asked Druss, swinging the saddle-bag to his shoulder.

'I have a servant doing it,' said Sieben, 'even as we speak. I hate these bags, they crumple the silk. No shirt or tunic ever looks right when produced from one of these grotesqueries.'

Druss shook his head in exasperation. 'You're bringing silk shirts into the steppes? You think there will be many admirers of fashion among the Nadir?'

Sieben chuckled. 'When they see me, they'll think I'm a god!'

Striding to the far wall Druss gathered up his axe, Snaga. Sieben stared at the awesome weapon, with its glittering butterfly blades of shining silver steel, and its black haft fashioned with silver runes. 'I detest that thing,' he said, with feeling.

Leaving the bedroom, Druss walked out into the main lounge and through to the entrance hall. The ambassador Majon was talking to three soldiers of the Royal Guard, tall men in silver breastplates and black cloaks. 'Ah, Druss,' he said smoothly. 'These gentlemen would like you to accompany them to the Palace of Inquisition. There's obviously been a mistake, but there are questions they would like to ask you.'

'About what?'

Majon cleared his throat and nervously swept a hand over his neatly groomed silver hair. 'Apparently there was an altercation at the house of the fighter Klay, and someone named Shonan died as a result.'

Druss laid Snaga on the floor, and dropped the saddlebags from his shoulder. 'Died? From a punch to the mouth? Pah! I don't believe it. He was alive when I left him.'

'You will come with us,' said a guard, stepping forward.

'Best that you agree, Druss,' said Majon soothingly. 'I am sure we can. .'

'Enough talk, Drenai,' said the guard. 'This man is wanted for murder, and we're taking him.' From his belt the guard produced a set of manacles and Druss's eyes narrowed.

'I think you might be making a mistake, officer,' said Sieben. But his words came too late as the guard stepped forward — straight into Druss's right fist, which cannoned from his jaw. The officer pitched to his right, his head striking the wall, dislodging his white-plumed helm. The other two guards sprang forward. Druss felled the first with a left hook, the second with a right uppercut.

One man groaned, then all was still. Majon spoke, his voice trembling. 'What have you done? You can't attack Royal Guards!'