White Wolf: A Novel of Druss the Legend dt-10 Read online

‘I agree,’ she told him.

  The story of the rescue in the forest grew in the years that followed.

  Jianna had heard many versions. In some she had been dressed in armour and had fought and killed three men herself. In others the Damned had defeated six swordmasters. The reality was that the action had been short, bloody and brutal. Jianna had stayed free, and Samias had lost the love of her life.

  This was what Askelus had meant when he spoke of a compassionate society. The concentration on individual loss and grief, rather than the effect of an action on society as a whole.

  Back at the park Jianna sat on a bench close to the undergrowth which hid the entrance to the secret passageway. She was forced to wait for some time as people were constantly moving along the pathways, or sitting by the fountains. Finally she stood.and eased her way back into the undergrowth, squatting down and lifting the grille. The lantern was still burning at the lower doorway. Holding it high she locked the door and moved back along the passageway. She had left instructions that she was not to be disturbed until two hours after noon, but the time was close.

  Almost too close.

  In the hidden chamber behind the panelling she stripped off her ordinary clothes, then entered the apartment, strolling naked through to her bedroom. Just then two servant girls entered, bowed and told her that Malanek was waiting outside. She ordered them to prepare her bath, then swung a pale blue satin robe round her shoulders.

  One of the servants ushered Malanek into the main room. He looked tired, his face drawn. ‘I am glad you got some extra rest, Majesty,’ he said.

  ‘You should take your own advice, Malanek. You look exhausted.’

  He gave a weary smile. ‘I keep forgetting I am no longer a youngster.’ He sighed. ‘There is news from Mellicane, Majesty. Did you have a change of heart about Skilgannon?’

  ‘No. Why would I?’

  There was an assassination attempt upon him. Led by a Naashanite named Servaj Das.’

  ‘It was not by my order, Malanek. Skilgannon is free to go where he wishes.’

  Malanek nodded. That pleases me, Majesty. But it leaves me wondering who else would want Skilgannon dead.’

  She looked at him closely. ‘I do not need to lie to you, my friend. When I took your advice to let him go I did so freely. Had I wanted him killed I would have told you.’

  ‘I know that, Jianna,’ he said, forgetting himself for a moment. ‘Do you mind if I sit?’

  Gesturing him to a couch she sat beside him. ‘What is worrying you?’

  ‘I have been studying the reports on Mellicane. The man Ironmask made a great many contacts within the Naashanite community. Many of his men are also former soldiers of ours. Most were rebels, though not all.

  According to our sources in Mellicane Servaj Das worked for him. We have little information on Ironmask, save that he is not from Tantria. His accent showed that he was not Ventrian. It seems he is not known either in Datia or Dospilis. He could be from across the water: Drenan, Gothir, Vagria. But what if he is a Naashanite?’

  Jianna shrugged. ‘Why should I care?’

  ‘He is a charismatic leader of men. We know this. He has gathered warriors to him, many of whom fought against you. Where did such a man come from? And there is something else. Our sources among the Datian officers say that when they entered the palace he used they found chambers below with blood-spattered walls. They also found severed fingers and hands.’

  The Queen sat very still. ‘The man whose name we do not speak was killed in battle. Skilgannon slashed away half of his face, and then stabbed him through the heart. I have seen the reports of this Ironmask. The wearing of the mask is merely a conceit. His face is not mutilated, merely discoloured.’

  ‘His body was never found. Supposing he was healed, Majesty? There are reports of a temple in Pelucid, and a priestess who can work miracles.’

  ‘These are not reports. They are rumours. Myths. Like flying lizards, and winged horses.’

  ‘The man whose name we do not speak almost defeated us. If he still lives he is a threat to everything you are trying to build. It may even be that the recent attempts on your life can be traced back to him.’

  ‘Now you are making me uneasy!’ she snapped. ‘I do not believe the dead can return to haunt me.’

  ‘No, Majesty. Nor would I — had I been able to find his body. But if you did not instruct Servaj Das to murder Skilgannon, and no-one in our embassy did so, then Ironmask is the only other link. That being the case the question is: why would Ironmask seek the death of Skilgannon, a man he does not know, and who is no threat to him?’

  ‘Where is Skilgannon now?’

  ‘Still in Mellicane, but he is preparing to journey north. I have a report from contacts in the Drenai embassy that he intends to travel with the warrior Druss. They are going to Pelucid. Druss intends to kill Ironmask.

  Why Skilgannon travels with him is a mystery. The Datians are also sending a force to Pelucid. They want to capture Ironmask themselves.

  Apparently several of his victims were prominent Datian nobles.’

  ‘Then I suspect the mystery will be resolved before long,’ said Jianna.

  ‘Until it is, Majesty, we need to be careful for your safety. No unnecessary risks. If the man we do not name is still alive then the danger to you is very real.’

  ‘I do not take unnecessary risks, Malanek. And a ruler is always in danger.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  DIAGORAS HAD PLOTTED THE ROUTE WITH CARE, AND CARRIED

  COPIES of maps that showed the mountains, rivers and passes north of Mellicane. By the third day of travel he had begun to enjoy himself. In his saddlebag were copious notes on the positions of villages where they could obtain supplies, the names of headmen to be offered gifts, and details of areas of likely danger. These mostly lay in the mountainous regions close to Pelucid where bands of robbers were known to have hideouts. Diagoras had gathered all known information on the man Shakusan Ironmask. This did not amount to much, though one piece of news interested Skilgannon.

  Three years before, when Ironmask had first appeared in Mellicane, he had fought a duel. According to the report he used curved swords, which were contained in a single scabbard. The report also said he was a man of prodigious strength, noting that one blow cut through his opponent’s breastplate and the chain mail beneath. A second cut had beheaded the victim.

  The first day of travel had been taken at leisure. The horses Skilgannon had acquired had indeed been undernourished and, though of good stock, were weak. They needed resting often. In the few days they had been kept at the Drenai compound Diagoras had ordered them grain-fed and gently exercised, but they were still far from fit. By the third day of travel they were already growing stronger.

  The twins, Jared and Nian, had met them on the road on the morning of the second day. Both were riding shaggy hill ponies, tough beasts and surly. They would snap at the taller cavalry horses if any rider was foolish enough to come close to them. The brothers took to riding close to the two-wheeled supply wagon, driven by Druss.

  As he rode Diagoras would often glance at Garianne. She rode a grey mare, and kept herself a little apart from the company, even at night when they camped. She would sit alone, and occasionally be seen talking to herself. The youth Rabalyn often rode alongside Diagoras, asking constant questions. His joy at being invited on the journey was untainted by any fear of the consequences. He loved to ride, and in the evenings would spend an hour tending to his horse, brushing its back, or stroking its neck.

  Rabalyn was a natural rider, and would one day be a fine swordsman, Diagoras mused. He had good balance and fast hands. He was also a quick learner.

  By the fourth day the land began to rise as they neared the foothills of a western range of peaks. These were the iron-rich Blood Mountains. The landscape was rugged and beautiful, with shimmering, ever changing colours. The morning sunlight glistened upon the red mountains, causing them to glow like old gold. Towards noon dar
k shadows appeared on the slopes, jagged and sharp. By dusk, with the sun setting behind them, the mountains lost their richness, becoming grey and forbidding.

  As they camped that night Druss rose from the campfire and walked back to the wagon, stretching himself out on the ground and falling asleep.

  Diagoras sat with Skilgannon and the others. ‘There is a tribal chieftain who controls the passes here,’ he said. ‘His name is Khalid. Apparently he is part Nadir, and has around fifty fighting men. My understanding is that the charge he levies is a small one. However, that was when the King and his soldiers were an ever present threat to his authority. It is impossible to say how he will react now.’

  ‘How soon before we reach the pass?’ asked Skilgannon.

  ‘By noon tomorrow, I would think,’ Diagoras told him.

  ‘I will ride ahead and negotiate with him,’ said Skilgannon.

  ‘Be careful,’ Diagoras warned him, ‘the people here are very poor, but very proud.’

  ‘Good advice,’ said Skilgannon. ‘I thank you. What else is known of Khalid?’

  Diagoras looked back to his notes. ‘Very little. He is around sixty years of age, and has no sons still living. He has outlived them all. He pays no taxes. Apparently, some twenty years ago, he and his men joined with the King’s forces and defeated an invading force from Sherak in the north. For that he was awarded these lands, free of tribute. It was no more than a gesture, since these mountains would provide little in the way of tax revenue.’

  ‘What is the toll?’

  ‘Two copper coins a head, and one copper for all pack animals or horses.’

  They talked on for a while. The twins said little, and Garianne nothing at all. Eventually Diagoras rose from the campfire and strolled to the top of a hill where he sat staring out over the mountains. Rabalyn joined him there. ‘Would you like to fence for a while?’ the lad asked.

  ‘No, it is too dark. There would be a risk of accidental injury. Tomorrow morning, before we set off, we’ll practise a little.’

  ‘What was it like at the battle of Skein?’

  ‘Brutal, Rabalyn. I do not wish to speak of it. Many of my friends died there.’

  ‘Were you honoured when you got home?’

  ‘Yes, we were honoured. We were the heroes of the hour. It is a phrase that has real meaning, Rabalyn. For a few days we were the toast of the capital. Then life returned to normal and people found other things to amuse them. Those soldiers who survived Skein, but were crippled, were promised twenty gold raq each, and a handsome pension for life. They never received the gold. Now they struggle to survive on six copper coins a month. Some are even beggars now. Druss helped many of them. He turned over lands he owns to house some of them, and the profits from his farms go to feed veterans.’

  ‘Is he rich then? He doesn’t look rich.’

  Diagoras laughed. ‘His wife Rowena was a shrewd woman. When Druss returned from his wars he was usually laden with gifts from grateful princes. She used the gold he won to acquire property, and to invest in merchant enterprises. If he chose, our friend Druss could build a palace and live in luxury.’

  ‘Why doesn’t he?’

  ‘I can’t answer that, lad. Save to say that he has no use for wealth. He is lonely, though. That I can see.’

  ‘I like him,’ said Rabalyn. ‘He gave me his code. I shall live by it. I gave my promise.’

  ‘I know that code. It is a good one. It is dangerous, though, Rabalyn. A man like Druss can live by it, because he’s like a tempest, raw, fierce and unstoppable. We mortals, though, may need to be more circumspect.

  Holding too firmly to Druss’s code would kill us.’

  Khalid Khan sat in the shade of an overhanging rock and watched the rider upon the road below. The sun was high and hot, the sky cloudless and blue. Yet it was not a good day. This morning Khalid had watched two eagles nesting on the high peaks. It was a long time since eagles had been seen in the Blood Mountains. Normally this would have been a good omen.

  Not today. Today he knew they were just birds, and they meant nothing.

  Khalid was worried.

  There had been few merchants on the roads since the start of the stupid war, and Khalid’s people had been forced to tighten their belts against hunger. This was not good, and left them morose and complaining. As the leader Khalid would survive only as long as they believed in his power to bring them coin. Last week one Vishinas had led a raid on a northern village, capturing five scrawny cattle and a few sheep. It was pitiful. But Khalid’s people, hungry and discontented, had hailed it as a victory, and Vishinas was now more popular among the young warriors. Khalid sighed and scratched his thin black beard. Of late the old wound in his right shoulder had been plaguing him. If Vishinas was to challenge his authority there was no way he could defeat him, sword to sword. Happily Vishinas did not know of the weakness. Khalid’s reputation had been built on his prowess with the blade, and the youngster remained wary of him. Not for much longer, thought Khalid bitterly.

  This threat alone, though worrying, would have caused him no sleepless nights. But there was something in the air that did not taste right.

  Khalid’s mother had been gifted with the Sight. She was a fine seer. Khalid had not fully inherited that gift, but his instincts were sharper than those of most men. For the last two nights he had woken sweat-drenched and frightened. Not given to dreaming, he had experienced nightmares which left him trembling. He had seen beasts that walked like men, huge and powerful, creeping through the darkness of the mountainside. Disoriented, he had rolled from his blankets, grabbed his sword and run from his tent, standing in the moonlight, his breathing harsh and ragged. Outside everything was silent. There was no threat. No demons.

  Just a dream then? Khalid doubted it. Something was coming.

  Something dreadful.

  Pushing aside such dark thoughts, he glanced across to where Vishinas was squatting on a rock. The warrior was also gazing keenly at the oncoming rider.

  The man rode well, studying the trail and the rock faces on either side.

  Vishinas signalled to Khalid, then slipped his bow from his shoulder.

  Pulling an arrow from his quiver, he cast a questioning look at his chieftain, who shook his head. Vishinas looked disappointed as he returned the arrow to the quiver. Rising from his hiding place, Khalid moved out into the open, and walked down the slope to meet the advancing rider. Vishinas ran out alongside him, and seven other tribesmen emerged from their hiding places.

  The rider approached them, and dismounted. Leaving the reins trailing he walked forward and offered a bow to Khalid.

  ‘I am Skilgannon. My friends and I seek to pass through the territory of the renowned Khalid Khan. Will you take me to him?’

  ‘You are not Tantrian,’ said Khalid. ‘Nor, I think, from Datia. Your accent is from the south.’

  ‘I am Naashanite.’

  ‘How is it then that you have heard of the renowned Khalid Khan?’

  ‘I travel with a Drenai officer who spoke of him with high praise. He said it was fitting to offer tribute to the Khan when crossing his lands.’

  ‘A wise man, your friend. I am Khalid Khan.’

  The man bowed again. As he did so Khalid saw the ivory hilts of his swords. ‘Two blades in a single scabbard,’ said Khalid. ‘Most unusual. How many men are in your party?’

  ‘Five men and a woman.’

  ‘These are hard times, Skilgannon. War and death are everywhere. Are you prepared for war and death?’

  The warrior smiled, and his cold blue eyes glittered in the sunlight. ‘As prepared as any man can be, Khalid Khan. What tribute do you deem fair for crossing your land?’

  ‘Everything you have,’ said Vishinas, stepping forward. Several young men moved with him. Khalid fought to remain calm. He had not expected a challenge to his authority so soon.

  Skilgannon turned to Vishinas. ‘I was speaking to the wolf, boy. When I want to hear the yapping of a puppy I will signal you
forward.’ The words were softly spoken. Vishinas reddened, then reached for his sword. ‘If that blade clears the scabbard,’ continued the man, ‘you will die here.’ He stepped in close to Vishinas. ‘Look into my eyes and tell me if you think that is not true.’ Vishinas backed away a step, but Skilgannon followed him. Trying to create enough distance to draw his sword Vishinas stumbled against a jutting rock and fell. With a cry of rage and humiliation he surged to his feet and lunged. Curiously the lunge missed and he sprawled to the stones once more, his head thumping against a rock as he fell. Half dazed, he struggled to rise, then slumped back.

  Skilgannon strolled back to Khalid. ‘My apologies, lord,’ he said. ‘We were speaking of the tribute.’

  ‘Indeed so,’ said Khalid Khan. ‘You must forgive the boy. He is callow and inexperienced. It seems to me that I have heard the name Skilgannon before.’

  ‘That is possible, lord.’

  ‘I seem to recall a warlord by that name. The Destroyer of Armies. The victor of five great battles. There are many stories of the warrior Skilgannon. Not all of them good.’

  ‘The good ones are exaggerated,’ said Skilgannon softly.

  ‘And the bad also?’

  ‘Sadly no.’

  Khalid looked at the young man for a moment. ‘Guilt is a burden like no other. It drags upon the soul. I know this. You may pass through my lands, Skilgannon. The tribute is whatever you choose.’

  Skilgannon opened the pouch at his side and drew out three gold coins, which he dropped into Khalid Khan’s outstretched hand.

  Khalid showed no emotion at receiving such a prodigious sum, but he left his hand open so that the men around him could see the bright glint of the yellow metal.

  Just then the rest of the party came into sight. One of the tribesmen yelled, then the others surged forward past the dazed figure of Vishinas.

  Khalid narrowed his eyes against the sunlight, then turned to Skilgannon.

  ‘Why did you not say you travelled with the Silver Slayer?’ he asked. He swallowed hard, and offered the gold coins back to Skilgannon. ‘There can be no toll for Druss the Legend.’