"He has ruled for thirty years. It's too long. But, as you say, if we do get out alive it will be because of Woundweaver. And it's certain he will take control."
"Then let me ride to him now," urged Elicas.
"The time isn't right. Woundweaver cannot act. Now, leave it alone. We will do our job, and, with luck, get away without being spotted."
But luck had not been with them. Five days out from Delnoch they had come across three Nadir outriders. They had killed only two, the third ducking down over the neck of his Steppes pony and riding like the wind into a nearby wood. Hogun had ordered an immediate withdrawal, and might have pulled it off had he enjoyed an ounce of luck. Elicas has been the first to spot the mirror messages flashing from peak to peak.
"What do you think, sir?" he asked, as Hogun reined in.
"I think we will need good fortune. It depends how many dog soldiers they have in the vicinity."
The answer was not long in coming. Towards late afternoon they saw the dust-cloud south of them. Hogun glanced over his back trail.
"Lebus!" he called and a young warrior cantered alongside.
"You have eyes like a hawk. Look back there, what do you see?"
The young soldier shielded his eyes from the sun, then squinted at their back trail.
"Dust, sir. From maybe two thousand horses."
"And ahead?"
"Perhaps a thousand."
"Thank you. Rejoin the troop. Elicas!"
"Sir?"
"Cloaks furled. We will take them with lances and sabres."
"Yes, sir." He cantered back down the column. The black cloaks were unpinned and folded to be strapped to saddles. The black and silver armour glinted in the sunlight as man after man began to prepare for the charge. From saddlebags each rider removed a black and silver forearm guard and slipped it in place. Then small round bucklers were lifted from saddle horns to be fitted to the left arm. Straps were adjusted, armour tightened. The approaching Nadir could now be seen as individuals, but the sound of their battle cries was muffled by the pounding of horses' hooves.
"Helms down!" yelled Hogun. "Wedge formation!"
Hogun and Elicas formed the point of the wedge, the other riders slipping expertly into position a hundred on either side.
"Advance!" yelled Elicas. The troop broke into a canter; then, at full gallop, the lances tilted. As the distance narrowed, Hogun felt his blood racing and could hear his pounding heart in time with the rolling thunder of the black horses' iron-shod hooves.
Now he could pick out individual Nadir faces, and hear their screams.
The wedge smashed into the Nadir ranks, the larger black war horses cleaving a path through the mass of smaller hill ponies. Hogun's lance speared a Nadir chest, and snapped as the man catapulted from his pony. Then his sabre slashed into the air; he cut one man from his mount, parried a thrust from the left and back-handed his blade across the throat of the horseman. Elicas screamed a Drenai war cry from his right, his horse rearing, the front hooves caving the chest of a piebald pony who ditched his rider beneath the milling mass of Black Riders.
And then they were through, racing for the distant, fragile safety of Dros Delnoch.
Glancing back, Hogun saw the Nadir reform and canter to the north. There was no pursuit.
"How many men did we lose?" he asked Elicas as the troop slowed to a walk.
"Eleven."
"It could have been worse. Who were they?"
Elicas recounted the names. All good men, survivors of many battles.
"That bastard Orrin will pay for this," said Elicas bitterly.
"Forget it! He was right. More by luck than any judgement, but he was right."
"What do you mean "right"? We've learned nothing and we've lost eleven men," said Elicas.
"We have learned that the Nadir are closer than we believed. Those dog soldiers were Wolfshead tribe. That's Ulric's own, they're his personal guard. He'd never send them that far ahead of his main force. I'd say we now have a month — if we're lucky."
"Damn! I was going to gut the pig and take the consequences."
"Tell the men no fires tonight," said Hogun.
Well, fat man, he thought, this is your first good decision. May it not be the last.
9
The forest had an ageless beauty that touched Druss's warrior soul. Enchantment hung in the air. Gnarled oaks became silent sentinels in the silver moonlight, majestic, immortal, unyielding. What cared they for man's wars? A gentle breeze whispered through the interwoven branches above the old man's head. A shaft of moonlight bathed a fallen log, granting it momentarily an ethereal splendour. A lone badger, caught in the light, shuffled into the undergrowth.
A raucous song began among the men crowded around the blazing camp fire and Druss cursed softly. Once again the forest was merely forest, the oaks outsize plants. Bowman wandered across to him carrying two leather goblets and a winesack.
"Finest Ventrian," he said. "It'll turn your hair black."
"I'm all for that," said Druss. The young man filled Druss's goblet, then his own.
"You look melancholy, Druss. I thought the prospect of another glorious battle would lighten your heart."
"Your men are the worst singers I have heard in twenty years. They're butchering that song," Druss replied, leaning his back against the oak, feeling the wine ease his tension.
"Why are you going to Delnoch,?" asked Bowman.
"The worst were a bunch of captured Sathuli. They just kept chanting the same bloody verse over and over again. We let them go in the end — we thought that if they sang like that when they got home, they'd break the fighting spirit of their tribe in a week."
"Now look here, old horse," said Bowman, "I am a man not easily thrown. Give me an answer — any answer! Lie if you like. But tell me why you travel to Delnoch."
"Why do you want to know?"
"It fascinates me. A man with half an eye could see that Delnoch will fall, and you're a man with enough experience to know the truth when you see it. So why go?"
"Have you any idea, laddie, how many such lost causes I have been involved in during the past forty or so years?"
"Precious few," said Bowman. "Or you would not be here to tell of them."
"Not so. How do you decide a battle is lost? Numbers, strategic advantage, positioning? It's all worth a sparrow's fart. It comes down to men who are willing. The largest army will founder if its men are less willing to die than to win."
"Rhetoric," snorted Bowman. "Use it at the Dros. The fools there will lap it up."
"One man against five, and the one disabled," said Druss, holding his temper. "Where would your money go?"
"I'm ahead of you, ol" man. What if the one was Karnak the One-Eyed. Yes? Well, then my money would be on him. But how many Karnaks are there at Dros Delnoch?"
"Who knows? Even Karnak was unknown once. He made his name on a bloody battlefield. There will be many heroes come the last at Dros Delnoch."
"Then you admit it? The Dros is doomed," said Bowman, grinning in triumph. "At the last, you said."
"Damn you, boy! Don't put words in my mouth," snarled Druss, cursing himself. Where are you now, Sieben, he thought? Now that I need you with your glib words and ready wit.
"Then don't try to treat me like a fool. Admit that the Dros is doomed."
"As you say," admitted Druss, "anyone with half an eye could see it. But I don't give a damn, laddie. Until the actual moment when they cut me down, I shall still be looking to win. And the gods of war are fickle at best. Where do you stand on the matter?"
Bowman smiled and refilled both goblets. For a while he was silent, enjoying the wine and the old man's discomfort.
"Well?" said Druss.
"Now we come to it," answered Bowman.
"Come to what?" said Druss, ill at ease under the young archer's cynical gaze.