Gemmell, David - The First Chronicles Of Druss The Legend

“What news from the east?”

“None, Lord. Perhaps our riders did not get through.”

“What of the supplies?”

Nebuchad reached inside his tunic and produced a parchment scroll which he unrolled. “We have sixteen thousand loaves of unleavened bread, a thousand barrels of flour, eight hundred beef cattle, one hundred and forty goats. The sheep have not been counted yet. There is little cheese left, but a great quantity of oats and dried fruit.”

“What about salt?”

“Salt, Lord?”

“When we kill the cattle, how will we keep the meat fresh?”

“We could kill them only when we need them,” offered Nebuchad, reddening.

“To keep the cattle we must feed them, but there is no food to spare. Therefore they must be slaughtered, and the meat salted. Scour the city. And, Nebuchad?”

“Lord?”

“You did not mention water?”

“But, Lord, the river flows through the city.”

“Indeed it does. But what will we drink when the enemy dam it, or fill it with poisons?”

“There are artesian wells, I believe.”

“Locate them.”

The young man’s head dropped. “I fear, Lord, that I am not serving you well. I should have anticipated these requirements.”

Gorben smiled. “You have much to think of and I am well pleased with you. But you do need help. Take Jasua.”

“As you wish, Lord,” said Nebuchad doubtfully.

“You do not like him?”

Nebuchad swallowed hard. “It is not a question of “like”, Lord. But he treats me with… contempt.”

Gorben’s eyes narrowed, but he held the anger from his voice. “Tell him it is my wish that he assist you. Now go.”

As the door closed, Gorben slumped down on to a satin-covered couch. “Sweet Lords of Heaven,” he whispered, “does my future depend on men of such little substance?” He sighed, then gazed once more out to sea. “I need you, Bodasen,” he said. “By all that is sacred, I need you!”

Bodasen stood on the tiller deck, his right hand shading his eyes, his vision focusing on the far horizon. On the main deck sailors were busy repairing the rail, while others were aloft in the rigging, or refastening bales that had slipped during the storm.

“You’ll see pirates soon enough if they are near,” said Milus Bar.

Bodasen nodded and swung back to the skipper. “With a mere twenty-four warriors, I am hoping not to see them at all,” he said softly.

The captain chuckled. “In life we do not always get what we want, my Ventrian friend. I did not want a storm. I did not want my first wife to leave me - nor my second wife to stay.” He shrugged. “Such is life, eh?”

“You do not seem unduly concerned.”

“I am a fatalist, Bodasen. What will be will be.”

“Could we outrun them?”

Milus Bar shrugged once more. “It depends on which direction they are coming from.” He waved his hand in the air. “The wind. Behind us? Yes. There is not a swifter ship on the ocean than my Thunderchild. Ahead and to the west - probably. Ahead and to the east - no. They would ram us. They have a great advantage, for many of their vessels are triremes with three banks of oars. You would be amazed, my friend, at the speed with which they can turn and ram.”

“How long now to Capalis?”

“Two days - maybe three if the wind drops.”

Bodasen moved across the tiller deck, climbing down the six steps to the main deck. He saw Druss, Sieben and Eskodas by the prow and walked towards them. Druss saw him and glanced up.

“Just the man we need,” said the axeman. “We are talking about Ventria. Sieben maintains there are mountains there which brush the moon. Is it so?”

“I have not seen all of the Empire,” Bodasen told him, “but according to our astronomers the moon is more than a quarter of a million miles from the surface of the earth. Therefore I would doubt it.”

“Such eastern nonsense,” mocked Sieben. “There was a Drenai archer once, who fired a shaft into the moon. He had a great bow called Akansin, twelve feet long and woven with spells. He fired a black arrow, which he named Paka. Attached to the arrow was a thread of silver, which he used to climb to the moon. He sat upon it as it sailed around the great plate of the earth.”

“Mere fable,” insisted Bodasen.

“It is recorded in the library at Drenan - in the Historic section.”

“All that tells me is how limited is your understanding of the universe,” said Bodasen. “Do you still believe the sun is a golden chariot drawn by six white, winged horses?” He sat down upon a coiled rope. “Or perhaps that the earth sits upon the shoulders of an elephant, or some such beast?”

Sieben smiled. “No, we do not. But would it not be better if we did? Is there not a certain beauty in the tale? One day I shall craft a bow and shoot at the moon.”

“Never mind the moon,” said Druss. “I want to know about Ventria.”

“According to the census ordered by the Emperor fifteen years ago, and concluded only last year, the Greater Ventrian empire is 214,969 square miles. It has an estimated population of fifteen and a half million people. On a succession of fast horses, a rider galloping along the borders would return to where he started in just under four years.”

Druss looked crestfallen. He swallowed hard. “So large?”

“So large,” agreed Bodasen.

Druss’s eyes narrowed. “I will find her,” he said at last.

“Of course you will,” said Bodasen. “She left with Kabuchek and he will have headed for his home in Ectanis, which means he will have docked at Capalis. Kabuchek is a famous man, senior advisor to the Satrap, Shabag. He will not be hard to find. Unless…”

“Unless what?” queried Druss.

“Unless Ectanis has already fallen.”

“Sail! Sail!” came a cry from the rigging. Bodasen leapt up, eyes scanning the glittering water. Then he saw the ship in the east with sails furled, three banks of oars glistening like wings. Swinging back towards the main deck, he drew his sabre.

“Gather your weapons,” he shouted.

Druss donned his jerkin and helm and stood at the prow, watching the trireme glide towards them. Even at this distance he could see the fighting men thronging the decks.

“A magnificent ship,” he said.

Beside him Sieben nodded. “The very best. Two hundred and forty oars. See there! At the prow!”

Druss focused on the oncoming ship, and saw a glint of gold at the waterline. “I see it.”

“That is the ram. It is an extension of the keel, and it is covered with reinforced bronze. With three banks of oars at full stretch, that ram could punch through the hull of the strongest vessel!”

“Will that be their plan?” Druss asked.

Sieben shook his head. “I doubt it. This is a merchant vessel, ripe for plunder. They will come in close, the oars will be withdrawn, and they’ll try to drag us in with grappling-hooks.”

Druss hefted Snaga and glanced back along the deck. The remaining Drenai warriors were armoured now, their faces grim. Bowmen, Eskodas among them, were climbing the rigging to hook themselves into place high above the deck, ready to shoot down into the enemy. Bodasen was standing on the tiller deck with a black breastplate buckled to his torso.

The Thunderchild swung away towards the west, then veered back. In the distance two more sails could be seen and Sieben swore. “We can’t fight them all,” he said.

Druss glanced at the billowing sail, and then back at the newly sighted vessel. “They don’t look the same,” he observed. “They’re bulkier. No oars. And they’re tacking against the wind. If we can deal with the trireme, they’ll not catch us.”

Sieben chuckled. “Aye, aye, captain. I bow to your superior knowledge of the sea.”