Damned - White Wolf Part 29

'Oh, I don't mind questions. Not when it is me. Not when I am alone. When they are with me questions make them all speak at once. I cannot think. Then my head swells with pain.

It is uncomfortable. You understand?'

'I cannot say that I do. Who is with you?'

She walked to the bed and slumped down. Wine spilled from the goblets in her hands.

Carefully she placed them on the bedside table. 'I don't want to speak of them. I just want to enjoy these moments of peace.'

She pushed herself to her feet, swayed slightly, then began untying the waist band of her leggings. Pus.h.i.+ng them down over her hips, she sat back on the bed and struggled to tug them over her ankles. Skilgannon moved across the room and sat down beside her. 'You are drunk,' he said. 'You do not want to be doing this. Get into bed and sleep it off. I'll take a walk and leave you to . . . enjoy your privacy.'

Reaching up, she curled an arm round his neck. 'Don't go,' she said softly. 'I want to be alone inside my head. But not out here. Here I need to touch, to hold. To be held. Just for a while. Then I will sleep. Then I will be Garianne again, and I will carry them all with me. I am not drunk, Skilgannon. Or at least not much.' Tilting her head she kissed him lightly on the lips. He did not draw away. She kissed him again, more deeply.

The walls he had built during three years of abstinence crumbled away in an instant. The scent of her golden hair, the softness of her lips, the warmth of her skin overwhelmed him.

All cares and regrets vanished. The world shrank, until all that existed for Skilgannon was this one room, and this one woman. The first lovemaking was intense and swift, the second slower, the pleasure extended. The afternoon faded into evening, and then into night. Finally, all pa.s.sion exhausted, he lay back, Garianne's head on his shoulder, her left leg resting on his thigh. She fell asleep. Skilgannon stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. She murmured, then rolled away from him. Rising silently from the bed he covered her with a sheet, then dressed. Looping the Swords of Night and Day over his shoulder he walked from the room.

Earlier that afternoon Diagoras was sitting opposite Druss in the tavern, planning the route to Pelucid and discussing the supplies they would need. One of the difficulties was that Druss did not ride. On foot it would take half as long again to make the journey, and, logistically, require the travellers to carry more food. Diagoras patiently explained this to the warrior, who just shrugged and smiled. 'When I ride it is painful for both me and the horse. In the saddle I can make a sack of grain look graceful. I walk, laddie.'

It was at that moment that Garianne, who had been sitting quietly with them, her expression serene, put down her wine goblet and walked to the dais on the eastern side of the tavern.

'I think she is going to sing,' said Druss, with a wide smile.

'No-one will hear her in here,' replied Diagoras, glancing around at the packed tavern, full of men talking and laughing, or arguing, or pitching dice on several long tables.

'Would you like a small wager?' asked the older warrior.

'No. I always lose when I bet with you.'

Garianne carried a chair onto the dais then stood upon it silently, her arms outstretched towards the rafters. Diagoras gazed at her longingly. The Drenai officer had always been attracted to long-legged women - and Garianne was also strikingly attractive. Several other men noticed her standing there, and nudged their companions. A hush settled on the room.

And Garianne began to sing.

It was one of Diagoras's favourite ballads, and always brought a lump to his throat. But this girl's rendition made it heartbreaking.

Every man in the tavern sat entranced. As she finished the song she lowered her arms and bowed her head. For a moment there was silence. Then rapturous applause. Garianne moved back to the table, swept up a flagon of wine and two goblets and walked from the room, the applause following her.

'Where is she going?' asked Diagoras.

Druss shrugged and looked uncomfortable. Raising his hand he summoned a serving girl and asked for another flagon of Lentrian red. 'What does she need two goblets for?'

continued Diagoras.

'She's an unusual la.s.s,' said Druss. 'I like her.'

'I like her too. But why don't you answer my questions?'

'Because I don't care to, laddie. Her life is for her to live, as she sees fit.'

'I didn't say it wasn't. And now I'm getting confused.' Realization dawned. 'Oh,' he said. 'I see. She has an a.s.signation. Lucky man.' Then his mood darkened as he guessed the ident.i.ty of said lucky man. He swore softly. 'Tell me she is not seeking Skilgannon,' he said.

'Don't let it irritate you,' Druss told him. 'If it had been you up in that room, and him down here, she'd have gone to you. It's not about the man. If neither of you had been here she'd have picked someone from the tavern.'

'You?' asked Diagoras.

'No,' answered Druss, with a wry chuckle. 'd.a.m.n it, laddie, my boots are older than her.

And she's not so drunk that she'd want someone old and ugly. Now what were you saying about supplies?'

Diagoras took a deep breath and tried - without success - to force Garianne from his mind.

'What about a wagon? A two-wheeler. It would travel fast. You could drive it.'

'Aye. A wagon sounds fine,' agreed the axeman.

Diagoras was about to speak when he glanced beyond Druss, and grinned. 'Look what we have here, my friend. A new warrior joins the throng.' The axeman swung in his chair. The youth Rabalyn was moving across the tavern floor towards them. He was wearing a new green tunic of thick wool, and buckskin leggings. s.h.i.+ning leather strips had been added to the shoulders of the tunic. By his side hung a bone-handled hunting knife and an old short-sword in a ragged leather scabbard.

'Going to war, young Rabalyn?' asked Diagoras. The youngster stood for a moment, looking self-conscious and embarra.s.sed. Then he tried to sit down. The scabbard struck the chair, the hilt of the weapon rising and thudding into Rabalyn's armpit. Adjusting the sword he slumped down into the chair, his face reddening.

'Let me see the weapons,' said Druss. Rabalyn drew the knife and laid it on the table. Druss hefted it and examined the blade. It was double-edged, the tip sharply curved like a crescent moon. 'Good steel,' said the axeman. 'And the sword?' Rabalyn pulled it from its scabbard. The hilt was polished wood, the pommel of heavy bra.s.s. The blade itself was pitted and scarred. 'Gothir infantry. Probably older than me,' said Druss. 'But it will serve you well until you can afford better. How did you come by them?'

'Brother Lantern gave me money. I have decided not to stay in the city.'

'Where will you go?' asked Druss.

'I don't know. Thought I might travel with you.' Rabalyn tried to sound confident and a.s.sured, but the effort failed.

'It would not be a wise choice, Rabalyn,' said the axeman. 'But I leave it to you.'

'Truly?'

'Go and get some rest. We'll talk more this evening. For now I need to speak with Diagoras.'

'Thank you, Druss. Thank you!' said Rabalyn happily. Sheathing his weapons, he moved away towards the stairs.

'Oh, that was nice,' said Diagoras. 'Perhaps we should also bring a puppy and a troupe of minstrels.'

'This will soon be a city under siege,' said Druss. 'The Naashanites will come. He'll be no safer here. It could be another Perapolis.'

'That is unlikely,' snapped Diagoras. 'They don't have the d.a.m.ned with them any more.'

Druss's pale eyes narrowed. 'You are an intelligent man. You know that nothing that happened in that city could have taken place without the direct orders of the Queen.'

'You think him innocent then?'

'Pah! Innocent? Are any of us innocent? I was here twenty-five years ago. I took part in attacks on cities. I killed men who were defending their lands and their loved ones.

Warriors are never innocent, laddie. I'm not defending Skilgannon. What took place at Perapolis was evil, and every man who took part in the slaughter put a shadow on his soul.

Rabalyn is a fine lad. He'll be as safe with me as he will be here. He also has courage. I put him in a tree when the Joinings attacked. He climbed down and came to my aid. Given time he will be a fine man.'

Diagoras leaned back in his chair. 'From what you have told me Ironmask has seventy men with him. From everything we learned of the man while he was here in Mellicane he is hard and ruthless. His men likewise. The stronghold in Pelucid contains a hundred more, mostly Nadir. Ferocious fighters, as you know. They also take delight in torturing prisoners. One hundred and seventy enemies, Druss. How much time do you think Rabalyn will have, to become this fine man?'

Druss said nothing. Diagoras pushed himself to his feet. 'Very well, Druss. I'll make enquiries about a wagon, and purchase some supplies. It will take a couple of days. We'll need to wait until the situation in the city has calmed down. I'll see you back here tomorrow evening.'

The young Drenai officer wandered out into the gathering dusk. The air was fresh and cool, a light breeze blowing in from the sea. Several wh.o.r.es were standing at the quayside, ready for the evening trade. Ignoring them, he strolled to the edge of the quay and thought of the trip ahead. You could have been going home, he thought. Back to Drenan and a life of idle pleasure. Instead he was to journey into a perilous wilderness. Druss had called him an intelligent man. There was little intelligence involved in this adventure. But it was an adventure, and Diagoras had found little excitement in his life these last four years. Skein Pa.s.s had been terrifying, and there was indeed a large part of him that wished he had never been there. On the other hand it had been the most exciting time of his life. The prospect of death had loomed over him like a storm crow, bringing with it the intense knowledge of the sweetness of life. Every breath was joyful, every moment cherished. And when, in the end, they had won, and he had survived, he experienced a surge of elation and exhilaration unparalleled in his young life. Nothing since had even come close to such a feeling.

Just then, from a window above him, he heard a young woman cry out in ecstasy. Well, almost nothing, he thought, with a smile. The smile faded as he realized the woman was probably the lovely Garianne.

'I could make those sounds for you,' said a voice. Diagoras turned. One of the wh.o.r.es, a girl with long dark hair, had moved nearer to him. Her face was pretty, though her eyes were tired and dull. 'I have a room close by,' she said, giving a practised smile.

Diagoras took her hand and kissed it. 'I am sure you would, my sweet. And I am sure it would be a wonderful experience to treasure. Sadly, though, duty calls. Another time, perhaps.'

Her smile became more natural. 'You are very gallant.'

'Only in the presence of beauty,' he said.

In the room above the woman cried out again. Diagoras suddenly chuckled, and took the young wh.o.r.e by the arm. 'Duty can wait,' he said. 'I yearn for a little time in your company.'

'You'll not regret it,' she promised him.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

FOR AN HOUR NOW RABALYN HAD SAT ON A BENCH BEHIND THE Crimson Stag, watching Druss chop logs. Using a long-handled, single-bladed axe Druss worked methodically, with an extraordinary economy of effort. With each stroke the timber split and fell apart. Druss would tap the chunks to the left, knocking them from the large round he used as a chopping block, and then thunk the axe blade lightly into a fresh round, lifting it to the block. With a flick of his wrist he would free the axe blade, raise it and bring it down, splitting the new round. It was rhythmic and impressive to see. When the timbers to Druss's left began to pile up Rabalyn would leave his seat and carry them to the wood store by the tavern wall, stacking them carefully.

As the first hour ended Druss took a break. He was bare-chested, and his body gleamed with sweat. Rabalyn had known strong men back at the village. Usually their bodies were sculpted, the muscles of their chest and belly in sharp relief. Not so with Druss. He was merely huge. His waist was thick, his shoulders bunched with muscle. There was nothing remotely aesthetic about the man. He just radiated power.

'Why are you doing this work?' asked Rabalyn, as the axeman took a deep draught of water.

'I don't like to be idle.'

'Is s.h.i.+vas paying you?'

'No. I do it for pleasure.'

'I can't see how chopping wood is pleasurable.'

'It relaxes me, laddie. And it keeps me strong. You'll hear men talk about skill with sword or knife, axe or club. Most people believe it is that skill which makes a warrior great. It is not. Great warriors are men who know how to survive. And to survive a man needs to be strong. He needs stamina. There are many men out there who are faster than me. More skilful. There are few who can outlast me.'

Rabalyn looked at the big man, seeing the old scars on his chest and arms. 'Have you always been a warrior?' he asked.

'Yes. It is my one great weakness,' said Druss, with a rueful grin.

'How can it be weak? That makes no sense.'

'Don't ever be fooled by appearances, boy. Strong men build for the future: farms, schools, towns and cities. They raise sons and daughters, and they work hard, day in day out. See that wood there? The tree it came from is around two hundred years old. It started out as a seed, and had to send roots into the hard earth. It struggled to survive - to live long enough to make its first leaf. Slugs and insects ate away at it, squirrels chewed on its soft bark. But it struggled on, making deep roots and a stronger heart. For two hundred years its falling leaves fed the earth. Its branches became the home of many birds. It gave shade to the land beneath it. Then a couple of men with axe and saw brought it down in less than an hour. Those men are like warriors. The tree is like the farmer. You understand?'

'No,' admitted Rabalyn.

Druss laughed. 'Ah, well, one day maybe you will.'

Rising from the bench, he began to work again. Rabalyn helped him for another hour.

Then Skilgannon arrived, and Druss laid down the axe. He still did not seem tired.

Skilgannon laid his swords on the ground and stripped off his s.h.i.+rt, exposing the ferocious panther tattoo on his chest. Taking up the axe he lifted a fresh round to the chopping block and split it expertly. Rabalyn sat back, fascinated by the difference in the way the two men worked. Druss was all power and economy. Skilgannon brought a touch of artistry to the labour. Every so often, as the axe swung up, he would twirl it, causing sunlight to flash from the blade. His movements were smooth and supple. Though less strong than Druss he powered through the work with great speed. Where Druss's axe blade would occasionally bite into the chopping block and need to be wrenched clear, Skilgannon would strike each blow with just the right amount of force. The rounds would split, the axe blade coming to rest almost gently on the block.

Both men made the work look easy, and yet when Rabalyn tried it the swinging axe would bury itself in a round and need to be wrestled clear, or else he would miss with his swing, the blade bouncing from the block and jarring his shoulders. 'Keep at it, laddie,' said Druss encouragingly. 'It'll come.'

By the time Rabalyn had successfully sliced around thirty rounds his shoulders and arms were burning with fatigue. Druss called a halt and they moved to the well nearby. Druss drew up a bucket of water and drank.

'We should be ready to leave in a day or two,' he told Skilgannon.

Skilgannon donned his s.h.i.+rt and swung his swords to his back. 'A man at the tavern told me that there are horses for sale in the northern quarter of the city. He said I should seek out a man named Borondel.'

Druss thought for a moment. 'The northern quarter is mostly Naashanite. Will it be safe for you?'

Skilgannon shrugged. 'Nowhere is safe. But we do need horses. Diagoras says the Drenai have none to spare.'

'Did you ask s.h.i.+vas about this Borondel?'

'Yes. He is a horse trader.'

'But you are not convinced. I see it in your eyes, laddie.'

'No. It seems too . . . convenient that a man should seek me out and ask if I'm looking for mounts.'

'I'll go with you.'

Skilgannon shook his head. 'I'll scout the area. If it is a trap I will seek to avoid it.'

That it was a trap was not in doubt. Skilgannon knew this even as he left the emba.s.sy area compound. So why are you going, he asked himself? The man at the tavern had been Naashanite even though he had tried to disguise his accent. While talking to the man Skilgannon had noted the edge of a tattoo under the long cuffs of his red s.h.i.+rt. He saw enough to know it was the Coiled Cobra, sported by archers and spearmen of the Coastal Army.

As he walked he glanced to his left and right. Once he caught a glimpse of someone darting between two buildings. The man was wearing a red s.h.i.+rt. This is foolishness, he told himself. Why walk into danger?

Why not, came the response? Suddenly Skilgannon smiled and his mood lifted. He saw again Malanek, in his training room back at the compound. 'You look in a mirror and you think you see yourself. You do not. You see a body inhabited by many men. There is the happy Skilgannon, and the sorrowful. There is the proud, and the fearful. There is the child who was, and the man who is yet to be. This is an important lesson, because, when in danger, you need to know - and more important to control - which of these men is in charge at that time. There are moments when a warrior needs to be reckless, and others - far more others - where he needs to be cautious. There are times for acts of great bravery, and times for tactical withdrawals, to regroup and fight another day. Equally there are times when action is needed so swiftly there is little time for thought, and, worse sometimes, where there is too much time for thought. Understand yourself, Olek. Know how to find the right man within, for the right moment.'

'How do I do that?' the fourteen-year-old had asked.

'First you must remove emotion from the arena. Each action is judged on its merits alone, and not from the heart. An example: a man stands before you and challenges you to fight him with your fists. What do you do?'

'I fight him.'