Gemmell, David - The First Chronicles Of Druss The Legend

Oblivious to the noise Borcha counter-attacked, driving Druss back across the circle, hitting him time and again with brutal hooks and jabs.

Then the horn sounded. The sandglass had run out. Borcha stepped back, but Druss attacked. Borcha grabbed him around the waist, pinning his arms and hauling him in close. “It is over, boy,” he hissed. “You won your wager.”

Druss jerked himself loose and shook his head, spraying blood to the sand. Then he lifted his hand and pointed at Borcha. “You go to Collan,” he snarled, “and you tell him that if anyone has harmed my wife I’ll tear his head from his neck.”

Then the young man swung away and stalked from the circle.

Borcha turned and saw the other fighters watching him.

They were all willing to meet his eyes now… and Grassin was smiling.

Sieben entered the Tree of Bone just after midnight. There were still some hardened drinkers present, and the serving maids moved wearily among them. Sieben mounted the stairs to the gallery above and made his way to the room he shared with Druss. Just as he was about to open the door, he heard voices from within.

Drawing his dagger, he threw open the door and leapt inside. Druss was sitting on one of the beds, his face bruised and swollen, the marks of rough stitches over both eyes. A dirt-streaked fat man was sitting on Sieben’s bed and a slim, black-cloaked nobleman with a trident beard was standing by the window. As the poet entered the nobleman swung, a shining sabre hissing from its scabbard. The fat man screamed and dived from the bed, landing with a dull thud behind the seated Druss.

“You took your time, poet,” said the axeman.

Sieben gazed down at the point of the sabre which was motionless in the air some two inches from his throat. “It didn’t take you long to make new friends,” he said, with a forced smile.

With great care he slipped the knife back into its sheath, and was relieved to see the nobleman return his sabre to its scabbard.

“This is Bodasen; he’s a Ventrian,” said Druss. “And the man on his knees behind me is Thorn.”

The fat man rose, grinning sheepishly. “Good to meet you, my lord,” he said, bowing.

“Who the Devil gave you those black eyes?” asked Sieben, moving forward to examine Dross’s wounds.

“Nobody gave them to me. I had to fight for them.”

“He fought Borcha,” said Bodasen, with the faintest trace of an eastern accent. “And a fine bout it was. Lasted a full turn of the glass.”

“Aye, it was something to see,” added Thorn. “Borcha didn’t look none too pleased - especially when Dross cracked his rib! We all heard it. Wonderful, it was.”

“You fought Borcha?” whispered Sieben.

“To a standstill,” said the Ventrian. “There were no surgeons present, so I assisted with the stitching. You are the poet Sieben, are you not?”

“Yes. Do I know you, my friend?”

“I saw you perform once in Drenan, and in Ventria I read your saga of Waylander. Wonderfully inventive.”

“Thank you. Much needed to be invention since little is known of him. I did not know that the book had travelled so far. Only fifty copies were made.”

“My Emperor acquired one on his travels, bound in leather and embossed with gold leaf. The script is very fine.”

“There were five of those,” said Sieben. “Twenty raq each. Beautiful works.”

Bodasen chuckled. “My Emperor paid six hundred for it.”

Sieben sighed and sat down on the bed. “Ah well, better the fame than gold, eh? So tell me, Dross, what made you fight Borcha?”

“I earned a hundred silver pieces. Now I shall buy Rowena. Did you find out where she is held?”

“No, my friend. Collan has sold only one woman recently. A Seer. He must be keeping Rowena for himself.”

“Then I shall kill him and take her - and to Hell with the law of Mashrapur.”

“If I may,” said Bodasen, “I think I can help. I am acquainted with this Collan. It may be that I can secure the release of your lady - without bloodshed.”

Sieben said nothing, but he noted the concern in the Ventrian’s dark eyes.

“I’ll not wait much longer,” said Druss. “Can you see him tomorrow?”

“Of course. You will be here?”

“I’ll wait for your word,” promised Dross.

“Very well. I bid you all good night,” said Bodasen, with a short bow.

After he had left Old Thorn also made for the door. “Well, lad, it were quite a night. If you decide to fight again I’d be honoured to make the arrangements.”

“No more for me,” said Druss. “I’d sooner have trees fall on me than that man again.”

Thorn shook his head. “I wish that I’d had more faith,” he said. “I only bet one silver piece of my share.” He chuckled and spread his hands. “Ah well, that is life, I suppose.” His smile faded. “A word of warning, Druss. Collan has many friends here. And there are those who will slit a man’s throat for the price of a jug of ale. Walk with care.” He turned and left the room.

There was a jug of wine on the small table and Sieben filled a clay goblet and sat. “You are a curious fellow, to be sure,” he said, grinning. “But at least Borcha has improved your looks. I think your nose is broken.”

“I think you are right,” said Druss. “So tell me of your day.”

“I visited four well-known slave traders. Collan brought no women with him to the slave markets. The story of your attack on Harib Ka is known everywhere. Some of the men who survived have now joined Collan, and they speak of you as a demon. But it is a mystery, Druss. I don’t know where she could be - unless at his home.”

The wound above Druss’s right eye began to seep blood. Sieben found a cloth and offered it to the axeman. Dross waved it away. “It will seal. Forget about it.”

“By the gods, Dross, you must be in agony. Your face is swollen, your eyes black.”

“Pain lets you know you’re alive,” said Dross. “Did you spend your silver pennies on the whore?”

Sieben chuckled. “Yes. She was very good - told me I was the best love-maker she had ever known.”

“There’s a surprise,” said Druss and Sieben laughed.

“Yes - but it’s nice to hear.” He sipped his wine, then stood and gathered his belongings.

“Where are you going?” asked Druss.

“Not I…we. We’ll move rooms.”

“I like it here.”

“Yes, it is quaint. But we need to sleep and - convivial as they both were - I see no reason to trust men I do not know. Collan will send killers after you, Druss. Bodasen may be in his employ, and as for the walking lice-sack who just left I think he’d sell his mother for a copper farthing. So trust me, and let’s move.”

“I liked them both - but you are right. I do need sleep.”

Sieben stepped outside and called to a tavern maid, slipping her a silver piece and asking for their move to be kept secret - even from the landlord. She slipped the coin into the pocket of her leather apron and took the two men to the far end of the gallery. The new room was larger than the first, boasting three beds and two lanterns. A fire had been laid in the hearth, but it was unlit and the room was cold.

When the maid had departed Sieben lit the fire and sat beside it, watching the flames lick at the tinder. Druss pulled off his boots and jerkin and stretched out on the widest of the beds. Within moments he was asleep, his axe on the floor beside the bed.

Sieben lifted the baldric of knives from his shoulder and hooked it over the back of the chair. The fire blazed more brightly and he added several thick chunks of wood from the log basket beside the hearth. As the hours passed, all sounds from the inn below faded, and only the crackling of burning wood disturbed the silence. Sieben was tired, but he did not sleep.