"The reason for this visit to my woods," said Bowman, spreading his hands, his smile now open and friendly. "Come now, Druss, I've too much respect for you to fence any longer. You want my men for your insane battle. And the answer is no. But enjoy the wine anyway."
"Am I so transparent?" asked the old warrior.
"When Druss the Legend takes a stroll through Skultik on the eve of the End, he's looking for more than acorns."
"Is this all you want from life?" asked Druss. "You sleep in a wattle hut and eat when you can find game. When you cannot, you starve. In winter you're cold. In summer the ants crawl into your clothes and the lice prosper. You were not made for a life like this."
"We are not made for life at all, old horse. It is made for us. We live it. We leave it. I'll not throw my life away in your bloody madness. I leave such heroics to men like you. All your years have been spent in one squalid war after another. And what has changed? Have you thought that if you had not defeated the Ventrians fifteen years ago at Skeln, we would now be part of a mighty empire and they would have had to worry about the Nadir?"
"Freedom's worth fighting for," said Druss.
"Why? No one can take away the freedom of a man's soul."
"Liberty, then?" offered Druss.
"Liberty is only valued when it is threatened, therefore it is the threat that highlights the value. We should be grateful to the Nadir, since they heighten the value of our liberty."
"You've lost me, damn you, with your pretty words. You're like those politicians in Drenan, as full of wind as a sick cow. Don't tell me my life has been wasted, I won't have that! I loved a good woman and I've always been true to my principles. I never did a shameful thing, nor yet a cruel one."
"Ah, but Druss, not all men are you. I will not criticise your principles if you do not try to graft them on to me. I have no time for them. A pretty hypocrite I would be as a robber outlaw with principles."
"Then why did you not let Jorak shoot me down?"
"As I said, it was unsporting. It lacked a sense of style. But on another day, when I was colder, or more bad-tempered…"
"You are a nobleman, aren't you?" said Druss. "A rich boy playing at robbers. Why do I sit here and argue with you?"
"Because you need my archers."
"No. I have given up on that thought," said Druss, offering his goblet to the green-garbed outlaw. Bowman filled it, a cynical smile once more upon his mouth.
"Given up? Nonsense. I will tell you what you're thinking. You will argue some more, offer me wages and a pardon for my crimes. If I refuse, you will kill me and take your chances with the same offer to my men."
Druss was shaken, but his face showed nothing.
"Do you also read palms?" he asked, sipping his wine.
"You're too honest, Druss. And I like you. That's why I would like to point out that Jorak is behind the bushes there with an arrow notched."
"Then I have lost," said Druss. "You keep your archers."
"Tut, tut, dear man, I didn't expect such defeatism from Druss the Legend. Put your offer."
"I've no time for your games. I had a friend like you, Sieben the Saga Master. He could talk all day and convince you the sea was sand. I never won an argument with him. He talked about having no principles — and like you, he lied."
"He was the poet who wrote the Legend. He made you immortal," said Bowman, softly.
"Yes," said Druss, his mind drifting back over the long years.
"Did you really hunt your woman across the world?"
"That part at least was true. We were wed when we were very young. Then my village was attacked by a slaver called Harib Ka, who sold her to an eastern merchant. I missed the attack, as I was working in the woods. But I followed them. In the end it took me seven years and when I found her, she was with another man."
"What happened to him?" asked Bowman, softly.
"He died."
"And she came back with you to Skoda."
"Aye. She loved me. She really did."
"An interesting addendum to your saga," said Bowman.
Druss chuckled. "I must be getting melancholy in my old age. I don't usually prattle on about the past."
"What happened to Sieben?" asked the outlaw.
"He died at Skeln."
"You were close?"
"We were like brothers."
"I can't think why I remind you of him," said Bowman.
"Maybe it is because you both hide a dark secret," said Druss.
"Perhaps," admitted the outlaw. "However, make your offer."
"A pardon for every man, and five gold Raq a head."
"Not enough."
"It's my best offer, I'll go no further."
"Your offer must be this: A pardon, five gold Raq a head for all 620 men, and an agreement that when Wall Three falls we leave with our money and our pardons stamped with the Earl's seal."
"Why Wall Three?"
"Because that will be the beginning of the end."
"Something of a strategist, are you boy?"
"You could say that. By the way, how do you feel about women warriors?"
"I have known a few. Why do you ask?"
"I shall be bringing one."
"So? What difference does it make as long as she can aim a bow?"
"I didn't say it made a difference. 1 just thought I ought to mention it."
"Is there something about this woman that I should know?" asked Druss.
"Only that she's a killer," said Bowman.
"Then she's perfect and I will welcome her with open arms."
"I wouldn't recommend it," said Bowman, softly.
"Be at Delnoch in fourteen days, and I'll welcome you all with open arms."
Rek awoke to see the new sun breasting the distant mountains. His body adjusted swiftly from dreamless sleep and he stretched and slid from the covers, then walked to the tower window of the bedroom. In the courtyard below The Thirty were assembling their mounts, great beasts with short cropped manes and braided tails. Apart from the sound of steel hooves on cobbles an eerie silence hung over the scene. None of the men spoke. Rek shivered.
Virae moaned in her sleep, her arm stretching across the wide bed.
Rek watched the men below check their armour and tighten saddle girths. Strange, he thought. Where are the jokes, the laughter, all the sounds soldiers usually make as they prepare for war? Jests to ease the fear, curses to ease the tension?
Serbitar appeared, a white cloak over his silver armour, his braided white hair covered by a silver helm. The Thirty saluted him. Rek shook his head. It was uncanny. Identical timing: like the same salute in thirty mirrors.
Virae opened her eyes and yawned. She rolled over and saw Rek's back silhouetted against the morning sun. She smiled.
"Your belly is receding into memory," she said.
"Mock not," he said, smiling. "Unless you are going to appear in front of thirty warriors in your skin, you need to hurry. They are already in the courtyard."
"It's one way to find out if they're human," she said, sitting up. Rek tore his eyes from her body.
"You have the strangest effect on me," he said, gazing into her eyes. "You always make me think of love-making at the wrong times. Now get dressed."
In the courtyard Serbitar led the men in prayer, a silent joining of minds. Vintar watched the young albino fondly, pleased with his swift adjustment to the responsibility of leadership.
Serbitar ended the prayer and returned to the tower. He was uneasy — out of harmony. He mounted the circular stone steps to the tower bedroom, smiling as he remembered his promise to the tall Drenai and his woman. It would have been so much easier to Speak than to mount these stairs to check if they were ready.
He knocked on the iron-studded door. Rek opened it, beckoning him in.
"I see you are ready," he said. "We won't be long."
Serbitar nodded. "The Drenai have met the Nadir," he said.