Damned - White Wolf Part 18

Her smile faded and she stepped away from Nian.

'No questions, Nian,' said Jared softly. 'Remember?'

'I'm sorry, Garianne,' muttered Nian. Her smile returned briefly, and she seemed to relax.

'Old Uncle is coming. Maybe an hour. Maybe less,' she told them. Jared swung to Braygan.

'Old Uncle is a warrior named Druss.

You have heard the name?' Braygan shook his head. 'He is Drenai, and, like your friend, he is deadly. With Garianne and Druss we have more than a chance against any beasts.'

Skilgannon walked towards the swaying bank of reeds, his movements smooth and unhurried, scanning the stalks for any sign of movement not caused by the breeze. He was exactly as he seemed to those who watched him from the circle, relaxed and strolling, his swords sheathed.

Malanek had called it the illusion of elsewhere; where the mind floats free and surrenders control of the body to the instincts and the senses. As he walked Skilgannon allowed his thoughts to roam far, even as his eyes watched for danger.

He thought of Malanek, and the tortuous training, the endless exercises and the harsh regime of physical stress. He remembered Greavas and Sperian, and the increasing tension of the days after Bokram's coronation. Arrests were sudden. Houses were raided, the occupants dragged away. No-one spoke of the departed. Known followers of the dead Emperor disappeared, or were publicly executed in Leopard Square.

Fear descended on the capital. People watched each other with suspicious eyes, never knowing who might inform on them for a hasty word, or a suggested criticism. Skilgannon worried about Greavas, and his connections to the royal family, and, indeed, the former actor often went missing for days before returning without a word as to his previous whereabouts. Skilgannon asked him one evening where he had been. Greavas sighed. 'Best you don't know, my friend,' was all he would say.

One night, around three weeks after the coronation, armed soldiers arrived at the house.

Molaire was beside herself with fear, and even the normally resolute Sperian was ashen and afraid. Skilgannon was sitting in the garden when the officer marched out. It was the golden-haired former athlete, Boranius. Skilgannon rose from his chair. 'Good to see you,'

he said, and meant it.

'And you,' answered Boranius coolly. 'However, I am here on official business.'

'I shall have refreshments served for you,' said Skilgannon, gesturing towards the pale- faced Sperian. The man gratefully withdrew. Skilgannon glanced at the two soldiers standing in the garden doorway. 'Please make yourselves comfortable,' he told them.

'There are chairs for all.'

'My men will stand,' said Boranius, lifting his scabbard, and seating himself on a wicker chair. He still looked every inch the athlete Skilgannon had so admired.

'Do you still run, Boranius?'

'No, I have little time for such pursuits. You?'

Skilgannon laughed. 'I do, but it is not the fun it was, for I have no-one to test me. You were my inspiration. You set the standard.'

'And you beat me.'

'You had an injured ankle, Boranius. However, I did enjoy getting the medal.'

'The days of school medals are behind me now - and you too soon. Have you considered your future?'

'I shall be a soldier like my father.'

'That is pleasing to hear. We need good soldiers. Loyal soldiers.' The blond officer leaned back in his chair. 'These are difficult times, Olek. There are traitors everywhere. They must be hunted down and exterminated. Do you know any traitors?'

'How would I recognize them, Boranius? Do they wear odd hats?'

'This is not a subject for jests, Olek. Even now someone is sheltering the Emperor's concubine and her b.a.s.t.a.r.d daughter. Bokram is king by right and by blood. Those who speak or act against him are traitors.'

'I have heard no-one speak against him,' said Skilgannon. There was a tightness around Boranius's blue eyes, and the man seemed constantly on edge.

'What about the pervert who lives here? Is he loyal?'

Skilgannon felt a coldness settle in his belly. 'You are a guest in my home, Boranius. Do not speak ill of any of my friends.'

'I am not a guest, Olek. I am an officer of the King. Have you heard Greavas speak against the King?'

'No, I have not. We do not discuss matters of politics.'

'I need to question him. Is he here?'

'No.'

Sperian returned carrying a tray of drinks, the mixed juices of apple and apricot in silver goblets. Skilgannon glanced up at him. 'Where is Greavas?' he asked.

'He is visiting friends, sir, in the north of the city.'

'When will he be returning?'

'Tomorrow, perhaps, or the next day, sir. He did not say.'

Skilgannon thanked the man and waved him away. 'I shall tell him you need to speak with him when he returns,' he said, 'though I fail to see how a retired actor could be of help to you.'

'We shall see,' said Boranius, rising. 'There is also a warrant for the arrest of your friend, Askelus.'

Now Skilgannon was truly shocked. 'Why?'

'Like his father he is also a traitor. His father was disembowelled this morning in Leopard Square.'

'Askelus is no traitor,' said Skilgannon, also rising. 'We have spoken often. He is a huge admirer of the Emperor Gorben, and he has talked, like me, of serving in Bokram's army.

Not once have I heard him say a word of criticism against the King. Quite the reverse, in fact.'

'Then - sadly - he will perish for the sins of his father,' said Boranius coldly.

Skilgannon had stared then at the young man who had been his hero. The young athlete of his memory disappeared. In his place stood a cold-eyed soldier, bereft of emotion, save perhaps malice. Memories flooded Skilgannon then, moments that had seemed insignificant at the time, but now shone bright in the glow of sudden understanding. The casual discarding of friendships, the sarcastic comments, the meanness of spirit.

Skilgannon had seen Boranius through the golden gaze of hero worship. Now here was the reality. Boranius held the power of life and death, and he revelled in it. Anger swelled in Skilgannon's heart, but he quelled it, and smiled. 'I have much to learn, my friend,' he said.

'I thank you for taking the time to visit me.'

Boranius chuckled then and slapped Skilgannon on the shoulder. 'When you have your final papers - a.s.suming they are Firsts -come and see me. I will find a place for you in my regiment.'

'You do me great honour.'

With that he walked Boranius and his men to the front door, and waited as they mounted their horses and rode away.

Sperian came out and breathed a sigh of relief. 'I thought we were all to be arrested,' he said.

'The man is a viper,' said Skilgannon.

'Aye, your father thought that. Never liked the family.'

'Can you get a message to Greavas tomorrow?'

'Yes.'

'Tell him not to come home for a while. Go through the market. Tomorrow is auction day.

There will be hundreds there. You should be able to slip through unnoticed.'

Sperian looked uncertain. 'You think I might be followed?'

'It is a possibility.'

'My eyes aren't good, Olek. I am not skilled at this sort of thing.'

'No, of course you aren't. Foolish of me. I will take it myself.'

Now Sperian looked even more worried. 'He doesn't want you involved, sir. He would be most put out if I told you where he was.'

Skilgannon put his hand on the retainer's shoulder. 'If he comes out into the open he will be arrested. Probably executed. Most certainly tortured. I don't think you should concern yourself with his annoyance at your disclosure.'

'It's not just that, sir. It's who he's with.'

'Tell me.'

'He has the Empress and her daughter hidden. He's looking for a way to get them out of the city.'

Skilgannon was jerked from his memories as the reeds rustled and shook. The Swords of Night and Day flashed from their scabbards. A small dog darted by him, sniffed the ground, then ran on towards the circle. A little girl called out a name and the dog barked and scampered over to her. Skilgannon let out his breath, and continued his walk.

There was no sign of the beasts. Turning back towards the refugees, he saw the ma.s.sive figure of the axeman emerge from the long gra.s.s. Beside him was the boy, Rabalyn.

CHAPTER NINE

SKILGANNON ORGANIZED THE EIGHTY OR SO REFUGEES INTO A TIGHT column, which moved slowly through the reeds. He took point and moved ahead of the column, while Druss and Garianne walked at either side of the centre. The two brothers brought up the rear. Other surviving fighters kept to the outsides of the column, and walked warily, swords and knives at the ready.

There was only one moment of anxiety during the morning, when an old bull pushed its head through the reeds, causing children to scream and scatter. Other than this they pa.s.sed through the countryside without incident.

For a time Rabalyn walked with Braygan at the centre, then he dropped back to where the brothers travelled. They were an odd pair, he thought, noting how the bearded Nian constantly held on to the blue sash at Jared's waist. Druss had said they were fighting men, and Rabalyn believed it, despite their odd appearance.

Towards afternoon the column halted at the base of a low hill. There was a stream close by, and many of the women gathered water and prepared their meagre rations. Druss had wandered off with Skilgannon, and the strange girl was sitting alone on the hillside, staring out towards the northwest.

Rabalyn hunkered down with the brothers. 'Have you known Druss long?' he asked.

'A long time,' said Nian. 'More than a year. Chop chop. That's Old Uncle. Then they all ran away.'

'Who ran away?'

'All the bad men. We killed some too, didn't we, Jared?'

'Aye, we did.'

'And Garianne shot their leader through the head. Right through the head. He looked really silly. He tried to pull it out. Then he was dead. It was funny.'

The story made no sense to Rabalyn. He gave Jared a quizzical glance. 'We were paid to guard a village,' said Jared. 'About a dozen of us. We were informed there were some twenty bandits. But it was a far bigger group, around sixty men, half of them Nadir outcasts. Vicious b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. They attacked just before dusk. We should have been overrun.

No question about it.'

'Chop chop,' said Nian happily.

'Druss just charged into the middle of them, his axe cleaving left and right. You'd have thought they'd have borne him down with weight of numbers. Nian and me rushed in. So did some of the others - and some of the villagers, armed with scythes and sticks. Garianne was coming down with the sickness then, but she staggered out and sent a bolt straight through the forehead of the outlaw leader. That finally broke them. At the end there wasn't a scratch on Druss. Knives and swords had bounced off his gauntlets and his shoulder guards - even his helm. But nothing had touched him. Amazing,' he said, awe in his voice.

'He was covered in blood. None of it his.' Jared shook his head at the memory of it. 'Thing is, in a fight, he's always moving, never still. Always attacking. Having seen that I now know what happened at Skein.'

'Skein?' queried Rabalyn. 'But we lost at Skein.'

'Yes, we did.'

'I don't understand. How could we lose with Druss on our side?'

Jared laughed. 'Are you mocking me, boy?'

'No, sir. Brother Lantern told me Druss was at Skein, with the Immortals.'

'I think you misheard, lad. Druss was with the Immortals once. At Skein he fought with the Drenai. It was Druss who broke the last charge and turned the battle. He broke the Immortals, by G.o.d. That's not just a man we're talking about. That's Druss the Legend.'

'Does that mean he's our enemy?' asked Rabalyn, concerned.

Jared shrugged. 'Not mine. Neither Nian nor me would be here had it not been for Druss.

And I certainly don't want him for an enemy. I'm pretty good with this longsword, son. I'd fancy myself against just about anyone. Not against Druss, though. Nor that Skilgannon either, come to that. How did you come to be travelling with him, Rabalyn?'

Rabalyn told them the story of the riot at the church, and of how Brother Lantern had quelled it.

'There's no accounting for people,' said Jared. 'Who would have thought it? The d.a.m.ned became a priest. There's always something to surprise you in this life.' Beside him Nian began to moan. Rabalyn glanced at the man. His face was grey, and sweat was gleaming on his skin.

'Hurts, Jared,' he whimpered. 'Hurts bad.'