“Yes. The matter is complicated. The woman with the child is Elanin’s mother. She is now Ironmask’s lover. Druss intends to kill Ironmask to avenge Orastes. Druss is concerned that the mother will not allow her daughter to be returned to Drenan.”
“Can’t he take her anyway?”
Diagoras laughed. “We’re talking about Druss the Legend, lad. Snatch a child from its mother? Not in a hundred years. Anyway, there’s the question of one hundred and fifty warriors to consider before we reach that problem. Then there’s the Nadir shaman who travels with Ironmask. The man knows magic and may summon demons, for all I know. Then there’s Ironmask himself. He carries two swords, like Skilgannon, and is said to be a master. No, I shant concern myself for a little while over the child’s destiny.”
“Will you go into the fortress with Druss?”
“Aye, I will. The man is my friend.”
“I will go too,” said Rabalyn.
“We’ll see, lad. I appreciate your courage, but your skills are lacking at present.”
Garianne, dressed now, her crossbow in her hand, walked past them without a word.
More comfortable now, Rabalyn eased himself from the water and sat alongside Diagoras. “She is very beautiful, isn’t she?” he said.
“She is that. And then some,” agreed Diagoras. The twins had emerged on the far side of the lake and were talking quietly. Rabalyn gazed across at them. Nian rose and Rabalyn saw a long and jagged scar over his right hip, the skin around it pinched and puckered. Jared stood. He too had the same awful scar, but on his left hip. Then the twins held hands and jumped back into the water.
Druss and Skilgannon arrived. The axman sat alongside Diagoras, while Skilgannon stripped and dived into the lake. Druss removed his boots and dangled his feet in the water. Rabalyn eased himself from the lake, then glanced back at the twins on the other ledge. Nian was asleep, Jared sitting up, lost in thought.
“Have you seen their scars?” Rabalyn asked Druss.
The axman nodded. “Are you looking forward to the feast?” he asked, ignoring the question.
“I don’t think it will be much of a feast,” said Rabalyn. “They don’t seem to have much.”
“True. It’s been a bad few years for Khalid. I’ve given them some of our supplies. Whatever they prepare, be suitably grateful. But don’t eat much. Whatever we leave will be shared around the camp later.”
Diagoras chuckled. “Are you suggesting the boy lie, Druss?” he asked.
Druss scratched at his black and silver beard, then grinned. “You’re like a dog with an old bone,” he said. “Do you never let up?”
“No,” replied Diagoras cheerfully. “Not ever. And I too have been wondering about the scars the brothers carry. They are almost identical.”
“Then ask them,” said Druss.
“Is it some dark secret?” pressed Diagoras.
Druss shook his head, then stripped off his jerkin, boots, and leggings. Without another word he leapt into the water, making a mighty splash. Diagoras leaned toward Rabalyn. “Swim over and ask them?” he said.
Rabalyn shook his head. “I think that would be rude.”
“You’re right,” said Diagoras. “Damn, but I shall lie awake tonight wondering about it.”
Dry now, Rabalyn dressed and climbed from the cave. The sun was setting, the temperature becoming more bearable. He wandered through the camp and sat in the shade of an overhanging rock, staring out over the red land. As darkness began to fall he rose to his feet. As he did so he saw something move across the crest of a distant hilltop. As he tried to focus, it vanished behind a towering rock. Then another figure flitted across the hilltop. The movement was so fast, Rabalyn had no chance to identify the creature. It could have been a running man, or even a deer. For a while he stood still, seeking out movement.
Whatever it had been it was large. Rabalyn wondered if bears traveled in these high, dry lands.
Then a horn sounded. Glancing down into the settlement he saw people gathering around the large, patchwork tent of Khalid Khan.
Hungry now Rabalyn pushed the thoughts of the figures on the hillside from his mind, and loped down toward the chieftain’s tent.
The feast was a poor affair. Two scrawny cattle roasted on a firepit, some salt bread, one keg of thin ale, and some flat-baked sweet cake that, as Rabalyn discovered, seemed to have been flavored with more rock dust than sugar. Khalid Khan was embarrassed, and apologized to Druss, who was sitting beside him on a rug at the rear of the tent.
Druss clamped his huge hand on the nomad’s shoulder. “Times are hard, my friend. But when a man gives me the best he has, I feel honored. No king could have offered me more than you have tonight.”
“I have saved the best to last,” said Khalid, clapping his hands. Two young women moved out through the throng of men seated close in the center of the tent, and returned carrying a wooden cask. Placing it on a table they bowed respectfully to Khalid, then backed away. Khalid Khan took an empty goblet, and twisted the spigot of the cask. In the lantern light the spirit flowed like pale gold. Khalid handed the full goblet to Druss. He sipped it, then drank deeply. “By Missael, this is Lentrian Fire . . . and very fine, my friend.”
“Twenty-five years old,” said Khalid, happily. “I have saved it for a special feast.”
The young men of the clan gathered round and Khalid filled their cups, jugs, and goblets. The mood within the tent lightened considerably, and two of the Khan’s warriors produced clumsily made stringed instruments, and began to make music.
Within a short time there was a great deal of singing and clapping from the fifty men crowded into the tent of Khalid Khan. Rabalyn tried a sip of the drink and understood instantly why it was called Lentrian Fire. He gagged and choked, and handed his goblet to a nearby clansman. “It’s like swallowing a cat with its claws out,” he complained to Diagoras.
“The Lentrians call it Immortal Water,” said the Drenai. “To drink it is to know how the gods feel.” He drained his own cup, then moved away, seeking another. Rabalyn saw Skilgannon ease his way through the revelers and walk out into the night. Tired of the noise, and the press of people within the tent, Rabalyn followed him.
“I see you do not like the brew either,” he said. Skilgannon shrugged.
“I liked it in another life. What are your plans now, Rabalyn?”
“I will go with Druss and Diagoras and rescue the princess.”
“In Drenai culture the daughter of an earl is a lady.” He smiled. “This is, however, no time to be pedantic. I think you should choose another path.”
“I am not frightened. I mean to live by the code.”
“There is nothing wrong with fear, Rabalyn. Yet it is not fear for yourself that should make you reconsider. Druss is a great warrior, and Diagoras a soldier who has fought in many battles. They are hard, resolute men. Their chances of success in this venture are slim. They will be even less if they have to worry about keeping alive a courageous youngster who does not yet have the skill to survive.”
“You could help us. You are a great warrior too.”
“The girl is no princess of mine, and I have no reason to make war on Ironmask. All I require is to find the temple.”
“But Druss is your friend, isn’t he?”
“I have no friends, Rabalyn. I have only a quest, that may yet prove impossible. Druss has made his choices. He seeks to avenge the death of a friend. He was not my friend. His quest, therefore, is not my concern.”
“That isn’t true,” objected Rabalyn. “Not according to the code. Protect the weak against the evil strong. The princess—lady, whatever you call her—is a child, and therefore weak. Ironmask is evil.”
“I could argue with almost all of that,” said Skilgannon. “The child is with her mother, who is Ironmask’s lover. For all we know Ironmask loves the child as his own. Secondly, evil is often a matter of perspective. And, more importantly, even if both criteria you offer are true, the code is not mine.
I am not a knight in some childish romance. I do not crisscross the world seeking serpents to slay. I am merely a man seeking a miracle.”
The noise from the tent suddenly subsided, and, within moments, a voice of almost unbearable sweetness began to sing. Skilgannon shivered. “That’s Garianne,” said Rabalyn. “Have you ever heard anything more beautiful?”
“No,” admitted Skilgannon. “I think I will go and swim in the moonlight. Why don’t you go in and listen?”
“I will,” said Rabalyn. He watched the tall warrior stride away up the mountainside, then returned to the tent. Every man inside was sitting silently, entranced by the magic. Garianne was standing on a chair, her arms outstretched, her eyes closed. The song was about a hunter, who stumbled upon a golden goddess bathing in a stream. The goddess fell in love with the hunter, and they lay together under the stars. But in the morning the hunter desired to go. Angry at being rejected, the goddess turned him into a white stag, then took a bow to kill him. The hunter sprang away, leaping high over the treetops, and vanishing among the stars. The goddess gave chase. This was the beginning of day and night over the earth. The white stag became the moon, the goddess the sun. And ever and ever she hunted her lover, throughout time.
When the song finished the silence was total. Then thundrous applause broke out. Garianne stepped down from the chair, and cast her gaze around the tent.
She took a few steps and half staggered. Rabalyn realized she was drunk and stepped forward to assist her. She brushed his hand away.
“Where is he?” she asked, her voice slurring.
“Who?”
“The Damned?”
“He went to the hidden lake to swim.”
“I will find him,” she said.
Rabalyn watched her climb the steep slope, then turned away. As he did so the brothers Jared and Nian emerged from the tent. Nian saw him and walked over. “And who is this?” he asked his brother. “I feel I should know him.”
“That is Rabalyn,” said Jared.
“Rabalyn,” repeated Nian, nodding. Rabalyn was shocked. Gone was the slack-jawed simpleton with the innocent smile. This man was sharp of eye and faintly daunting. He looked at Rabalyn. “You must forgive me, young man. I have not been well. My memory fades in and out. Was that Garianne I saw climbing the slope?”
“Yes . . . sir,” said Rabalyn. He glanced at Jared, who was standing close to his brother.
“Gods, man!” Nian snapped at him. “Give me room to breathe.”
“I am sorry, brother. Perhaps you should rest for a while. Does your head hurt?”
“No, it doesn’t damn well hurt.” He sat down, then looked up at his brother and smiled, apologetically. “I am sorry, Jared. It is frightening when you can’t remember anything. Am I going mad?”
“No, Nian. We’re heading for the temple. They’ll know what to do. I am sure they’ll bring your memory back.”
“Who was that big, old man in the tent? His face looked familiar too.”
“That was Druss. He’s a friend.”
“Well, thank the Source I am all right now. It is a beautiful night, isn’t it?”
“Indeed it is,” agreed Jared.
“I could do with some water. Is there a well close by?”
“I’ll fetch you some. You sit there for a while.” Jared walked back to Khalid Khan’s tent.
Nian looked at Rabalyn. “Are we friends, young man?”
“Yes.”
“Are you interested in the stars?”
“I have never thought about it.”
“Ah, you should. Look up there. You see the three stars in a line? They are called the Sword Belt. They are so far away from us that the light we see has taken a million years to reach us. It could even be that they don’t exist anymore, and all that we are seeing is ancient light.”
“How could we see them if they didn’t exist?” asked Rabalyn.
“It is about distance. When the sun first rises the sky is still dark. Did you know that?”
“That makes no sense.”
“Ah, but it does. The sun is more than ninety million miles from the earth. That is a colossal distance. The light that blazes from it has to travel ninety million miles before it touches our eyes. Only when it touches our eyes are we aware of it. An ancient scholar estimated that it takes a few minutes for the light to travel that distance. In those minutes the sky would still appear dark to our eyes.”
Rabalyn didn’t believe a word of it, but he smiled and nodded. “Oh, I see,” he said, confused and even a little frightened by this strange new man inhabiting Nian’s body.
Nian laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “You think I am mad. Perhaps I am. I have always been curious though, about how things work. What makes the wind blow, and the tides flow? How does rain water get into a cloud? Why does it fall out again?”
“Why does it?” asked Rabalyn.
“You see? Now you are getting curious too. A good trait in the young.” He winced suddenly. “My head is beginning to ache,” he said.
Jared returned with a goblet of water. Nian drunk it swiftly, then rubbed at his eyes. “I think I will sleep,” he said. “I will see you in the morning, Rabalyn.”
The two brothers walked away. Rabalyn sat for a while, staring at the Sword Belt and the glittering stars around it. Then he heard Nian cry out, and saw Jared sitting beside him, his arm around his brother’s shoulder. Nian lay down, and Jared covered him with a blanket. Rabalyn wandered over to them.
“Is he all right?” he asked.
“No, he is dying,” said Jared, with a sigh. Nian was sleeping now, lying on his back, his arm over his face.
“He talked about the stars and clouds.”
“Yes. He is . . . was . . . a man of great intelligence. He was an architect once. A long time ago. When he wakes he will be the Nian you know. Slow witted.”
“I don’t understand.”
“No more do I, boy,” said Jared, sadly. “The Old Woman says it is to do with the pressure inside his head. Sometimes it shifts or subsides, and for a few minutes he is the Nian he always was. The Nian he was meant to be. It doesn’t last. And the moments of clarity are fewer now. The last time he returned was a year ago. The temple will cure him, though. I am sure of it.”
Nian moaned in his sleep. Jared leaned over and stroked his brow.
“I think I’ll get some sleep too,” said Rabalyn. Jared was staring down at his brother’s face and did not hear him.
As the night wore on many of Khalid’s men drifted back to their tents. Others too drunk to move fell asleep on the threadbare rugs. Druss rose from his place, took one look at the sleeping Khalid, then half stumbled as he made his way toward the outside. Diagoras, his mouth dry, his head pounding, followed him out into the night.
Druss stood and stretched out his arms. “Damn, but I’m tired,” he said, as Diagoras came alongside.
“Did you learn anything worthwhile?” asked the Drenai officer.
“Nothing we didn’t know about Ironmask. Khalid has never seen the fortress. Its over a hundred miles from here. He has heard of the temple Skilgannon seeks. Apparently there was a warrior who went there when Khalid was a child. He said the man had lost his right hand in a battle. He went seeking the temple and when he returned his hand had regrown.”
“Impossible,” said Diagoras. “Just a myth.”
“Perhaps,” said Druss. “One interesting detail, though. He said the man’s hand was a different color. It was deeper red, as if scalded. Khalid says he saw it himself, and has never forgotten it.”
“And that makes you believe the story?”
“It tells me there’s at least a grain of truth to it. Perhaps the man did not lose the hand, but had it mutilated. I don’t know, laddie. But Khalid says the temple cannot be found, unless the priestess there wants to be found. He told me he traveled over the area himself and saw no sign of a building. Not until he was leaving. He had climbed toward a high pass leading home, and he glanced
back. And there it was, shining in the moonlight. He swears he walked every inch of the valley floor. There was no way he could have missed it.”
“So, did he go back?” asked Diagoras.
“No. He decided he didn’t want to risk entering a building that appeared and disappeared.”
A slender figure moved down the mountainside from the direction of the hidden lake. Diagoras saw that it was Garianne. As she passed them she waved. “Goodnight, Uncle,” she called.
“Goodnight, lass,” he said. “Sleep well.”
“Have I too become invisible?” asked Diagoras. Druss chuckled.
“It must be hard for a ladies’ man like you, boy, to be so disregarded.”
“I’ll admit to that. She never talks to me at all.”
“That’s because she knows you are interested in her. And she wants no friends.”
“I’ll wager she’s just come from Skilgannon,” said Diagoras, sourly.
“I expect so, laddie. That’s because he has no interest in her whatsoever. What they need from each other is simple and primal. It creates no ties, and therefore no dangers.”
Diagoras looked at the older man. “Be careful, Druss. Your image as a simple soldier will be ruined if you continue to display such insights.”
Druss was silent, and Diagoras saw that he was staring up into the shadow-haunted hills. “You see something?” Druss ignored the question and walked across to the wagon. Reaching in, he drew out Snaga.
“Where is the boy?”
Diagoras shrugged. “I think he got bored with the reveling and went off to find somewhere to sleep.”
“Find him. I’m going to have a look up that slope.”
“What did you see?” persisted Diagoras.
“Just a shadow. But I have an uneasy feeling.”
With that Druss walked away. Diagoras gazed around the camp, and the jagged black silhouettes of the rocky hills. The night was quiet and calm. No breeze whispered across the campsite. Bright stars decorated the sky, like diamonds on sable. Diagoras had not felt uneasy before Druss spoke. He did now. The old man had spent most of his life in situations of danger. He had acquired a sixth sense for it.
Diagoras loosened his saber, then began to scout for sign of Rabalyn.
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