Druss put out his hand, then noticed the gashes on Skilgannon’s fingers. Clamping his hand instead to Skilgannon’s shoulder, he said: “I hope you find what you are looking for.”
“And you, my friend.”
“Me?” Druss shook his head. “I’m going home to my cabin. I’ll sit on my porch and watch sunsets. I am way too old for this sort of life.”
Skilgannon laughed. Druss scowled at him. “I am serious, laddie. I’ll hang Snaga on the wall and put my helm and jerkin and gauntlets into a chest. By Heaven, I’ll even padlock it and throw away the key.”
“So,” said Skilgannon, “I have witnessed the last battle of Druss the Legend?”
“Druss the Legend? You know I have always hated to be called that.”
“I’m hungry, Uncle Druss,” said Elanin, tugging on his arm.
“Now that is a title I do like,” said the old warrior, lifting the child into his arms. “That is who I will be. Druss the Uncle. Druss the Farmer. And a pox on prophecies!”
“What prophecy?”
Druss grinned. “A long time ago a seer told me I would die in battle at Dros Delnoch. It was always a nonsense. Delnoch is the greatest fortress ever built, six massive walls and a keep. There’s not an army in the world could take it—and not a leader insane enough to try.”
EPILOGUE
Ustarte stood on a ledge balcony, staring down at the inner gardens. Little Elanin was braiding small white flowers into a crown for the powerful bearded man sitting alongside her at the pool’s edge. Diagoras was sitting quietly on a marble bench, watching them.
The servant, Weldi, came alongside her. “Garianne has returned the Gray Man’s crossbow to the museum, Priestess,” he said. She nodded, and continued to gaze upon the child and the warrior. Elanin reached up as Druss dipped his head, accepting the crown of blooms. “Why did the voices leave her?” asked Weldi.
Ustarte turned away from the balcony. “Not all mysteries can be solved, Weldi. That is what makes life so fascinating. Perhaps Skilgannon’s offer of sacrifice was enough for them. Perhaps Garianne had fallen in love with him, and that love gave her peace. Perhaps the soul of the child she is now carrying softened her need for revenge. It does not matter. She is no longer haunted.”
“And Skilgannon does not know he is to be a father.”
“No. One day, perhaps . . . Look at the child, Weldi. Is she not beautiful?”
“She is, Priestess. A rare delight. Will she be someone important to the world?”
“She already is.”
“You know what I mean. The two greatest warriors in the world came together on a quest to save her. They risked their lives. They battled a sorceress and a villain with magic swords. The result ought to be world changing.”
“Ah yes,” she agreed. “I like those romances too. The return of a golden age, the banishment of evil, the little princess who will one day be great.”
“Exactly. Do any of the many futures show this?”
“They show that Elanin will be happy, and will have happy children. Is that not enough?”
“I don’t know,” admitted Weldi.
“In a few years time Druss the Legend will stand on the walls of Dros Delnoch and defy the greatest army the world has ever seen. He will do this to save the Drenai people from slaughter and to keep alive the dreams of civilization. Is this more to your liking?”
“Ah, indeed it is, Priestess.”
She smiled fondly at him. “And do you think Druss would find that more important than rescuing this child from a place of darkness and horror?”
Weldi gazed down at the warrior below, the absurd crown of flowers on his graying hair. “I suppose that he wouldn’t,” he admitted. “Why is that?”
“Let me ask you this,” said Ustarte, “if a hero sees a child in danger of drowning, does he need to know the fate of worlds hangs in the balance before leaping in and trying to rescue it?”
“No,” said Weldi. “But if we are playing this game, what if someone told the hero that the child was destined to be evil?”
“A good question. What then would Druss do?”
Weldi laughed suddenly. “He would leap in and save the child.”
“And why?”
“Because that is what heroes do.”
“Excellent, my friend.”
“So what will happen at Dros Delnoch?”
Ustarte laughed. “Your curiosity is insatiable. Why not ask me what you really want?”
He grinned at her. “I would like to see one of the many futures. A good one, though. Nothing sad or depressing. I know you have delved them, Priestess, because your curiosity is no less pronounced than mine.”
“Take my arm,” she said, and together they walked through the inner corridors of the temple, coming at last to a small room. Soft, golden light blossomed around them as Ustarte entered. The room was cool and quiet, and the scent of cedarwood hung in the air. There were no windows, and no furniture of any kind. Three of the four walls were of rugged red rock, the fourth was of smooth glass. Ustarte stood for a moment, staring at their reflections. “I will show you one possible future,” she said. “No more than that. It is one that pleases me. Though it will only make you the more curious. Are you ready?”
“I am, Priestess,” said Weldi, happily.
Ustarte lifted her arm and the glass shimmered and went dark. Bright stars appeared in a distant sky, and they found themselves staring down at a colossal fortress bathed in moonlight. A vast army was camped before the fortress. Weldi peered at the campsite. “What are they doing?” he asked.
“Preparing a funeral pyre.”
“Who is dead?”
“Druss the Legend.”
“No!” wailed Weldi. “I don’t want to see an unhappy future.”
“Wait!” The glass shimmered once more, and now it was as if Weldi and the priestess were standing inside a large tent. A powerful figure stood there, surrounded by Nadir warriors. The figure turned and Weldi saw that he had violet eyes of striking power. Another man entered the tent.
“It is Skilgannon,” said Weldi. “He is older.”
“Ten years older,” said Ustarte. “Now listen!”
“Why are you here, my friend?” asked the violet-eyed man. “I know it is not to fight in my cause.”
“I came for the reward you promised me, Great Khan.”
“This is a battlefield, Skilgannon. My riches are not here.”
“I do not require riches.”
“I owe you my life. You may ask of me anything I have and I will grant it.”
“Druss was dear to me, Ulric. We were friends. I require only a keepsake, a lock of his hair, and a small sliver of bone. I would ask also for his ax.”
The Great Khan stood silently for a moment. “He was dear to me also. What will you do with the hair and bone?”
“I will place them in a locket, my lord, and carry it around my neck.”
“Then it shall be done,” said Ulric.
Once more the glass shimmered. Weldi saw Skilgannon riding from the Nadir camp, the great ax, Snaga, strapped to his shoulders. Then the image faded. Weldi stood for a moment, staring at his reflection.
“What happened then?” he asked.
“I told you it would only arouse your curiosity further.”
“Oh, this is unfair, Priestess! Tell me, I implore you.”
“I do not know, Weldi. I looked no further. Unlike you, I am fond of mysteries. I am also enchanted by legends. And you know that, with all great legends, the same story circulates. When the realm is under threat the greatest hero will return. So we will leave it there.”
“I think you are very cruel,” said Weldi.
Ustarte laughed. “What else would you expect from someone who is part wolf?”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DAVID GEMMELL was born in London, England, in the summer of 1948. Expelled from school at sixteen for organizing a gambling syndicate, he became a laborer by day, and at night his six-foot-f
our-inch, 230-pound frame allowed him to earn extra money as a bouncer working nightclubs in Soho.
Born with a silver tongue, Gemmell rarely needed to bounce customers, relying on his gift of gab to talk his way out of trouble. At eighteen this talent led to a job as a trainee journalist, and he eventually worked as a freelancer for the London Daily Mail, Daily Mirror, and Daily Express. His first novel, Legend, was published in 1984 and has remained in print ever since. He became a full-time writer in 1986.
By David Gemmell
Published by Ballantine Books
LION OF MACEDON
DARK PRINCE
ECHOES OF THE GREAT SONG
KNIGHTS OF DARK RENOWN
MORNINGSTAR
THE DRENAI SAGA
LEGEND
THE KING BEYOND THE GATE
QUEST FOR LOST HEROES
WAYLANDER
IN THE REALM OF THE WOLF
THE FIRST CHRONICLES OF DRUSS THE LEGEND
THE LEGEND OF DEATHWALKER
HERO IN THE SHADOWS
WHITE WOLF
THE STONES OF POWER CYCLE
GHOST KING
LAST SWORD OF POWER
WOLF IN SHADOW
THE LAST GUARDIAN
BLOODSTONE
THE RIGANTE
SWORD IN THE STORM
MIDNIGHT FALCON
RAVENHEART
STORMRIDER
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A Del Rey Book
Published by The Random House Ballantine Publishing Group
Copyright © 2003 by David Gemmell
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by The Random House Ballantine Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
Del Rey is a registered trademark and the Del Rey colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
www.delreydigital.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Gemmell, David.
White wolf / David Gemmell.
p. cm.
I. Title.
PR6057.E454W48 2003
823′.914—dc21
2002043653
eISBN: 978-0-345-46362-3
v3.0
White Wolf Page 46