‘I don’t know and I don’t care. Neither should you. We are going to bide our time and then get out of here.’
‘Why can’t we leave now?’
‘What, with patrols everywhere looking for Druss? How far would we get? No. When Druss is dead, and things calm down. Then we’ll slip away east. Head for the coastal cities.’
Ippelius drank more of his ale. The bitterness of the taste was passing now. He looked around him at the other soldiers. There was little laughter in the tavern this evening. The murder of Codis had affected them, as had the news that Skilgannon was coming. Some of them had fought against the man in the past. They all had stories to tell.
A burly soldier named Rankar came into the tavern. He strolled through the dining area and came to where Ippelius sat. Easing himself down he waved his hand at the barman, calling out for a jug of ale.
‘How goes it?’ he asked Ippelius.
‘Fine. You?’
‘Fine. Barracks is empty. They’ve moved a lot of the men into the Citadel. I’m heading there after I’ve eaten.’
Ippelius looked at the man. His heavy face was pockmarked and a jagged white scar cut down from his brow to his cheekbone. His left eyelid drooped over a bright green eye. Ippelius found himself staring at the scar.
‘You were really lucky,’ he said.
Rankar rubbed at the drooping lid. ‘Didn’t feel lucky at the time. But I guess you are right. You eaten?’
‘No. I am not hungry.’
Rankar nodded. ‘Codis was a good man. We fought our way across Naashan together — and then fought our way out. They don’t come better.’
‘I can’t believe that Morcha killed him.’
‘Me neither. Goes to show you can’t trust anyone.’
At that moment the door at the far end of the tavern opened, and a powerful figure entered. Ippelius stared at him. He was wearing a round, silver-ringed helm, decorated with silver axes flanking a skull. His once black beard was heavily speckled with silver.
Upon his enormous torso he wore a black jerkin, the shoulders reinforced by silver steel. And in his right hand he carried a shining, double-bladed axe. The man walked into the middle of the room and paused by a table at which sat four soldiers. Spinning the axe he thudded it into the table top. ‘Let’s have a little quiet, lads!’ he bellowed. ‘I’ll not take much of your time.’
Silence fell, as the twenty or so men stared at the newcomer. ‘I am Druss,’ he said, laying his gauntleted hand on the black hilt of the axe, ‘…
and this is Death.’ His gaze swept the room. Ippelius shuddered as the winter grey eyes fastened on his own. ‘Now I have come here to kill Boranius. I shall be doing that presently. I don’t much care if I have to kill every man in this room first. But I have always had a soft spot for soldiers.
Good men, in the main. So I’m giving you an opportunity to live a while longer. I suggest you finish your meals, then gather whatever wealth there is in this fleapit of a fortress, and ride away. Any questions?’
The silence continued, as men stared at one another.
‘Then I’ll leave you to your food,’ said the man, wrenching the axe clear.
As he turned to leave two soldiers drew knives from their belts and leapt at him. The silver axe clove through the chest of the first, and a left hook thundered into the face of the second. He flew across a table, hit the floor and did not move.
‘Anyone else?’ said the axeman. No-one stirred, though Ippelius could see a number of the men surreptitiously reaching for their weapons.
The axeman moved towards the door. At that moment it burst open and a creature from Hell loomed in the doorway. It was an arena beast, one of the largest Ippelius had ever seen. Its jaws opened and it gave out a long, bloodcurdling howl. Soldiers leapt from their seats, scattering tables as they drew back from the abomination in the doorway.
The axeman walked up to it, and patted it on the shoulder. The beast dropped to all fours and stared malevolently at the soldiers. Then Druss left the tavern, the creature following.
Ippelius sat very still. Rankar swore softly.
‘What should we do?’ asked Ippelius.
‘You heard the man. Finish our food and then leave.’
Diagoras and the twins passed through the gate. The Drenai officer glanced up at the body of the dead sentry on the parapet steps. Garianne was kneeling over him, tugging at the black bolt in his chest. Swiftly Diagoras crossed the open ground to where Skilgannon was waiting at the Citadel entrance. Druss came loping towards them, the Joining alongside.
‘Now it begins,’ said Skilgannon.
Suddenly the Joining gave out a howl. Running past Druss it leapt through the wide doors of the Citadel entrance and on up the first flight of stairs. Druss called out to it, but the beast was gone.
‘It has scented the child,’ said Skilgannon.
Hefting his axe Druss ran through the doorway. Skilgannon swung to Diagoras. ‘Hold the doors for as long as you can.’
‘Rely on it,’ said the Drenai, drawing his sabre, and a razor-edged hunting knife. Then Skilgannon followed Druss into the building. There were two sets of stairs. Druss was climbing those on the right. Skilgannon took the left.
Diagoras moved back into the doorway, scanning the buildings and alleyways that led out past the warehouses towards the tavern. Jared and Nian stepped alongside him, longswords in their hands. Garianne remained on the rampart steps, some thirty feet away, her double crossbow in her hands. The howling of the Joining came from above, followed by screams.
No soldiers had emerged from the tavern. This astonished Diagoras.
When Druss had said he was going in to talk to them he had been incredulous. ‘Are you mad? They’ll come down on you like rabid wolves.’
‘Probably not,’ was all Druss had said.
Diagoras had waited with Skilgannon. ‘You agree with this insanity?’ he asked the Naashanite.
‘It has a good chance of working. Picture it yourself. You are having a meal and in walks the enemy. He has absolutely no fear of you. We expect fear from our enemies in certain situations. Where he is outnumbered, for example. Or trapped. By contrast there are places where our own fear is much less. Like inside our own fortress. Now, you have a single warrior, striding in, hugely outnumbered and yet fearless. It will give them pause for thought. Bear in mind also that their morale is low.’
‘So, you think he will just tell them to leave and they’ll do it?’ asked Diagoras.
Skilgannon thought about the question. ‘I’d say he might have to kill a few. The rest will not interfere.’
Diagoras shook his head. ‘You are a different breed, you two,’ he said.
Now, as he stood in the shadows of the entrance, he began to feel more relaxed. Druss and Skilgannon were inside the Citadel, and his own role seemed far less perilous. No soldiers were attacking him. No flashing blades, no piercing of his flesh. Jared obviously had the same thought. He grinned at Diagoras. ‘So far, so good,’ he said.
Diagoras was about to reply when Garianne suddenly waved at them, and pointed out beyond the gates.
That was when Diagoras heard the pounding of hooves. The first of the twenty riders galloped through the gates. He pitched from his saddle, a crossbow bolt through his neck. His horse reared. A second bolt thudded into a man’s chest. Then Garianne was running along the ramparts above them.
A group of riders saw Diagoras and the twins, and spurred their mounts forward. The Drenai officer swore, and hefted his sabre.
Other Naashanites jumped down from their mounts and ran up the rampart steps towards Garianne, who was reloading her crossbow.
Diagoras backed up the steps to the Citadel doors. A horseman galloped at him. Diagoras ducked under the mount’s neck, plunging his sabre into the rider’s unprotected left side. The man fell back. The horse reared, dumping him from the saddle.