Gemmell, David - The First Chronicles Of Druss The Legend

For the first few days the novelty of being at sea kept most of the mercenaries amused. They sat up on the deck during daylight hours, playing dice or telling stories. At night they slept under a tarpaulin that was looped and tied to the port and starboard rails. Druss was fascinated by the sea and the seemingly endless horizons. Berthed at Mashrapur The Thunderchild had looked colossal, unsinkable. But here on the open sea she seemed fragile as a flower stem in a river torrent. Sieben had grown bored with the voyage very swiftly. Not so Druss. The sighing of the wind, the plunging and the rising of the ship, the call of the gulls high above - all these fired the young axeman’s blood.

One morning he climbed the rigging to the giant cross-beam that held the mainsail. Sitting astride it he could see no sign of land, only the endless blue of the sea. A sailor walked along the beam towards him, barefooted, and using no hand-holds. He stood in delicate balance with hands on hips and looked down at Druss.

“No passengers should be up here,” he said.

Druss grinned at the young man. “How can you just stand there, as if you were on a wide road? A puff of breeze could blow you away.”

“Like this?” asked the sailor, stepping from the beam. He twisted in mid-air, his hands fastening to a sail rope. For a moment he hung there, then lithely pulled himself up alongside the axeman.

“Very good,” said Druss. His eye was caught by a silver-blue flash in the water below and the sailor chuckled.

“The gods of the sea,”he told the passenger. “Dolphins. If they are in the mood, you should see some wonderful sights.” A gleaming shape rose out of the water, spinning into the air before entering the sea again with scarcely a splash. Druss clambered down the rigging, determined to get a closer look at the sleek and beautiful animals performing in the water. High-pitched cries echoed around the ship as the creatures bobbed their heads above the surface.

Suddenly an arrow sped from the ship, plunging into one of the dolphins as it soared out of the water.

Within an instant the creatures had disappeared.

Druss glared at the archer while other men shouted at him, their anger sudden, their mood ugly.

“It was just a fish!” said the archer.

Milus Bar pushed his way through the crowd. “You fool!” he said, his face almost grey beneath his tan. “They are the gods of the sea; they come for us to pay homage. Sometimes they will even lead us through treacherous waters. Why did you have to shoot?”

“It was a good target,” said the man. “And why not? It was my choice.”

“Aye, it was, lad,” Milus told him, “but if our luck turns bad now it will be my choice to cut out your innards and feed them to the sharks.” The burly skipper stalked back to the tiller deck. The earlier good mood had evaporated now and the men drifted back to their pursuits with little pleasure.

Sieben approached Druss. “By the gods, they were wondrous,” said the poet. “According to legend, Asia’s chariot is drawn by six white dolphins.”

Druss sighed. “Who would have thought that anyone would consider killing one of them? Do they make good food, do you know?”

“No,” said Sieben. “In the north they sometimes become entangled in the nets and drown. I have known men who cooked the meat; they say it tastes foul, and is impossible to digest.”

“Even worse then,” Druss grunted.

“It is no different from any other kind of hunting for sport, Druss. Is not a doe as beautiful as a dolphin?”

“You can eat a doe. Venison is fine meat.”

“But most of them don’t hunt for food, do they? Not the nobles. They hunt for pleasure. They enjoy the chase, the terror of the prey, the final moment of the kill. Do not blame this man alone for his stupidity. He comes, as do we all, from a cruel world.”

Eskodas joined them. “Not very inspiring, was he?” said the bowman.

“Who?”

“The man who shot the fish.”

“We were just talking about it.”

“I didn’t know you understood the skills of archery,” said Eskodas, surprised.

“Archery? What are you talking about?”

“The bowman. He drew and loosed in a single movement. No hesitation. It is vital to pause and sight your target; he was overanxious for the kill.”

“Be that as it may,” said Sieben, his irritation rising, “we were talking about the morality of hunting.”

“Man is a killer by nature,” said Eskodas amiably. “A natural hunter. Like him there!” Sieben and Druss both turned to see a silver-white fin cutting through the water. “That’s a shark. He scented the blood from the wounded dolphin. Now he’ll hunt him down, following the trail as well as a Sathuli scout.”

Druss leaned over the side and watched the shimmering form slide by. “Big fellow,” he said.

“They come bigger than that,” said Eskodas. “I was on a ship once that sank in a storm off the Lentrian coast. Forty of us survived the wreck, and struck out for shore. Then the sharks arrived. Only three of us made it - and one of those had his right leg ripped away. He died three days later.”

“A storm, you say?” ventured Druss.

“Aye.”

“Like that one?” asked Druss, pointing to the east, where massive dark clouds were bunching. A flash of lightning speared across the sky, followed by a tremendous roll of thunder.

“Yes, like that. Let’s hope it is not blowing our way.”

Within minutes the sky darkened, the sea surging and rising. The Thunderchild rolled and rose on the crests of giant waves, sliding into ever larger valleys of water. Then the rain began, faster and faster, icy needles that came from the sky like arrows.

Crouching by the port rail Sieben glanced to where the unfortunate archer was huddled. The man who had shot the dophin was alone, and holding fast to a rope. Lightning flashed above the ship.

“I would say our luck has changed,” observed Sieben.

But neither Druss nor Eskodas could hear him above the screaming of the wind.

Eskodas hooked his arms around the port rail and clung on as the storm raged. A huge wave crashed over the side of the ship, dislodging several men from their precarious holds on ropes and bales, sweeping them across the deck to crash into the dipping starboard rail. A post cracked, but no one heard it above the ominous roll of thunder booming from the night-dark sky. The Thunderchild rode high on the crest of an enormous wave, then slid down into a valley of raging water. A sailor carrying a coiled rope ran along the deck trying to reach the warriors at the starboard rail. A second wave crashed over him, hurling him into the struggling men. The port rail gave way, and within the space of a heartbeat some twenty men were swept from the deck. The ship reared like a frightened horse. Eskodas felt his grip on the rail post weaken. He tried to readjust his hold, but the ship lurched again.

Torn from his position of relative safety, he slid headlong towards the yawning gap in the starboard rail.

A huge hand clamped down around his ankle, then he was hauled back. The axeman grinned at him, then handed him a length of rope. Swiftly Eskodas slipped it around his waist, fastening the other end to the mast. He glanced at Druss. The big man was enjoying the storm. Secure now, Eskodas scanned the deck. The poet was clinging to a section of the starboard rail that seemed none too secure, and high on the tiller deck the bowman could see Milus Bar wrestling with the tiller, trying to keep The Thunderchild ahead of the storm.

Another massive wave swept over the deck. The starboard rail cracked and Sieben slid over the edge of the deck. Druss untied his rope and rose. Eskodas shouted at him, but the axeman either did not hear, or ignored him. Druss ran across the heaving deck, fell once, then righted himself until he came alongside the shattered rail. Dropping to his knees Druss leaned over, dragging Sieben back to the deck.