Damned - White Wolf Part 20

The slim girl approached Skilgannon. She walked with a subtle sway of the hips. Her head tilted and she smiled at him. It was as if he had been struck in the chest by a hammer.

Gone was the violent, scornful girl in the garden. Here was the most devastat-ingly attractive woman he had ever seen. 'You look like a man in need of a little company,' she said, linking her arm in his. Her voice was rough and uncultured, and her smile full of dark promise. Skilgannon's mouth was dry, and he could think of nothing to say. Morcha laughed good-naturedly.

'I'd take her up on it, lad. I may not be the sharpest arrow in the quiver, but she looks like something special to me.'

Skilgannon was about to speak when the girl slipped her hand under his tunic, fondling him. He leapt backwards and almost fell. 'Be careful with him, darling. He's young and I'd reckon a little inexperienced,' said Morcha.

'My home is close by,' was all Skilgannon could say. He felt like an idiot, and knew he was blushing.

'Can you afford me? I don't come cheap.'

'I don't think I can,' he said, 'but I'll sell the house.'

'That's the way, boy,' said Morcha, with a booming laugh. 'd.a.m.n, but I wish I hadn't sported in the bathhouse now. This is a girl I'd willingly fight you for. Go on, go off with you!'

The princess took his arm and led him away. He glanced back to see Morcha and Casensis watching him. Morcha waved. Casensis looked sour.

And so it was that Skilgannon met the love of his life, and took her home.

Sitting in the tree, overlooking the distant city of Mellicane, Skilgannon recalled the day.

Despite the horror and death that had followed that meeting he found he could not regret it. Before that afternoon, it seemed to him, the sky had been always grey, and after it he had experienced the beauty of the rainbow.

Jianna shone like the sun, and sparkled like a jewel. She was unlike anyone he had ever met. He still recalled the scent of her hair as they walked together arm in arm. He sighed at the memory. Then she had been a beautiful young woman, no older than he. Now she was the Witch Queen and wanted him dead.

Pushing such sombre thoughts from his mind, he climbed down from the tree.

Cadis Patralis had been a captain in the army of Dospilis for a mere four months. His father had purchased his commission, and he had taken part in only one action, the routing of a small group of Tantrian archers at a bridge some twenty miles from Mellicane.

Now, it seemed, the war was over, and for young Cadis the prospect of glory and advancement was receding by the hour.

Instead of fighting the enemy, and earning respect, admiration and elevated rank, he now led his forty lancers across the hills, seeking escaped arena beasts. There was no glory to be had in hunting down these abominations, and Cadis was in a foul mood. It was not helped by the sergeant who had been foisted on him. The man was insufferable. The colonel had a.s.sured Cadis that the sergeant was a sound fighter and a veteran of three campaigns. 'He will be invaluable to you, young man. Learn from him.'

Learn from him? The man was a peasant. He had no understanding of philosophy or literature, and he swore constantly -always a sign of ill breeding.

At nineteen Cadis Patralis cut a handsome figure in his tailored cuira.s.s and golden cloak.

His chain mail glistened, and his padded helm fitted to perfection. His cavalry sabre had been made by the greatest swordsmith in Dospilis, and his thigh-length boots, reinforced around the knee, were of finest shimmering leather. By contrast Sergeant Shialis looked like a vagabond. His breastplate was dented, his cloak - once gold, but now a pale urine yellow -was tattered and much repaired. And his boots were beyond a joke. Even his sabre was standard issue, with a wooden hilt, strongly wrapped with leather strips. Cadis glanced at the man's face. Unshaven, his eyes red-rimmed, he looked ancient and worn out. How such a man could have fooled the colonel was beyond the understanding of Cadis Patralis.

Leaning forward in the saddle Cadis heeled his grey gelding up a slope, pausing at the crest and scanning the land. Some quarter of a mile to the south he saw a group of refugees struggling across a valley.

'Rider coming, sir,' said Sergeant Shialis. 'It's one of the scouts.'

Cadis swung in his saddle. A small man riding a pinto pony rode up the hill, drawing rein before the officer. 'Found 'em,' he said. 'Wish I hadn't.' Cadis fought to control his temper.

The man was a private citizen, paid to scout, and therefore not obliged to salute or follow military protocol. Even so the lack of respect in his manner was infuriating.

'Where are the others?' he asked tightly.

'Dead. I would have been too, if I hadn't stopped to p.i.s.s.'

'Dead?' echoed Cadis. 'All three of them?'

'Rode into a trap. They come from all sides. Tore down the horses, then butchered the men. I was behind, but they almost had me. I grabbed the pommel of me saddle and let the pinto drag me clear of them.'

'How could beasts have sprung a trap?' snapped Cadis. 'It is preposterous.'

'I agree with you, general. I wouldn't have believed it myself unless I'd seen it.'

'I am not a general, as you well know, and I will not tolerate insubordinate behaviour.'

Tolerate what you like,' replied the man. 'I'm quitting anyway. There's no amount of money that would take me back to those creatures.'

'How do you know it was a trap?' asked Sergeant Shialis.

'Trust me, Shialis. Four of them were crouched down in the long gra.s.s. Didn't emerge until the others had ridden by. It's the grey one. I tell you, he's smart, that one. When the others attacked he just stood back and watched. Gives me the shivers just to remember it.'

'How many were there?' asked the sergeant.

'If you don't mind I will conduct this interrogation,' said Cadis, glaring at the soldier. A silence grew. He stared hard at the scout. 'Well?'

'Well what?'

'How many were there?'

'Fifteen - counting the grey one.'

'And where was this?'

Twenty miles northeast, just where the land rises towards the mountains.'

There were more than twenty reported missing,' said Cadis.

'Aye. We found three of them dead back in the woods to the south. Looked like they'd been struck by an axe - or a d.a.m.n big sword. Don't think there's no live ones around here now.'

Twenty miles northeast, you say. That is out of our jurisdiction,' said Cadis. 'I'll report this back to the colonel. You will make yourself available for his interrogation.'

At that moment the first of the refugees began to emerge onto the hill crest. Cadis stared at them. Many of the women and children were glancing nervously at him and his men. A child began to cry. The sound was shrill and spooked Cadis's mount. 'Shut that brat up!' he snarled, jerking on the reins. The horse reared. Cadis fell back, his feet slipping from the stirrups. He landed on the ground with a bone-jarring thud. Furious, he lurched to his feet, the sound of hastily curbed laughter from his soldiers adding fuel to the flames of his rage.

'You stupid cow!' he yelled at the frightened woman, who was trying to comfort the child.

A tall man stepped between them. 'Control yourself,' he said softly. 'These people are frightened enough.'

Cadis blinked. The man was wearing a fringed buckskin jacket, obviously well made and expensive, and good quality leggings and boots. The officer looked into the man's eyes.

They were startlingly blue and piercing. Cadis stepped back a pace. The silence grew. Cadis became aware that his men were waiting for him to say something. He felt foolish now - and this brought back his anger.

'Who do you think you are?' he stormed. 'You don't tell me to control myself. I am an officer in the victorious army of Dospilis.'

'You are a man who fell off your horse,' said the newcomer, his voice even. 'These people have been attacked by beasts, and also by men who behaved like beasts. They are weary, frightened and hungry. They seek only the shelter of the city.' Without another word the man walked past Cadis and approached Sergeant Shialis. 'I remember you,' he said. 'You led a counter attack on a bridge in Pashturan five . . . six years ago. Took an arrow in the thigh.'

'Indeed I did,' said Shialis. 'Though I don't remember you being there.'

'It was a brave move. Had you not held that bridge your flanks would have been turned and what was merely a defeat would have become a rout. What is it that you do here?'

'We're hunting beasts.'

'We fought them last night. They moved off towards the north.'

Behind the two men Cadis Patralis had almost reached breaking point. He had fallen from his horse, been laughed at, and now he was being ignored. Gripping the hilt of his cavalry sabre he made to move forward. A huge hand descended on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

'Been a soldier long, laddie?' Cadis turned and looked into eyes the colour of a winter sky.

The face that framed them was old, deep lines carved on the features. The man had a black and silver beard, and wore a black helm, emblazoned with an axe, flanked by grinning silver skulls. 'I've been a soldier most of my life,' continued the man. 'I've carried this axe across . . . well, I don't rightly know how many lands.' The warrior raised the weapon and Cadis found himself looking at his own reflection in the shining blades. 'Never learned as much as I should. One truth, though, that I have found, is that it's always best to leave anger at home. Angry men are stupid men, you see, laddie. And in wars it's usually the stupid who die first. Not always, mind. Sometimes the stupid ensure that others die first.

But the principle remains. So, how long have you been a soldier?'

Cadis felt a trembling begin in his stomach. There was something about the man that was leaching away his courage. He made one last attempt to regain control of the situation.

'Unhand me,' he said. 'Do it now.'

'Ah, laddie, if I do that,' said the man amicably, his voice low, 'then within a few heartbeats you'll be dead. And we don't want that, do we? You'll insult that fine young fellow talking to your sergeant, and he'll kill you. Then matters will turn ugly and I'll be obliged to use old Snaga on your troops. They seem like good boys, and it would be a shame to see so much unnecessary bloodshed.'

'There are forty of us,' said Cadis. 'It would be insane.'

'There won't be forty at the close, laddie. However, I am now done talking. What happens now is up to you.' The huge hand lifted from Cadis's shoulder and the ma.s.sive figure stepped away.

The young man stood for a moment, then took a deep breath. A cool breeze touched his skin and he shivered. He looked across at the woman and the child, saw the fear in her eyes, and felt the first heavy touch of shame. He walked over to them, offering a bow. 'My apologies, lady,' he said. 'My behaviour was boorish. I am sorry if I frightened your child.'

Then he walked to his horse and stepped up into the saddle. Angling his mount he approached his sergeant. 'Time to leave,' he said.

'Yes, sir.'

Cadis led the troop back down the hill and off towards the northwest and the waiting city.

'What did he say, sir?' asked Shialis, riding alongside.

'Who?'

'Druss the Legend.'

Cadis felt suddenly light-headed. 'That was Druss? The Druss? Are you sure?'

'I knew him, sir. Years ago. No mistaking him. What did he say? If you don't mind me asking?'

'I don't mind, sergeant. He gave me some advice about soldiering. Said to leave anger at home.'

'Good advice. You mind if I say something else, sir?'

'Why not?'

'That was a n.o.ble gesture, when you apologized to the mother. A lesser man wouldn't have done that.' Shialis suddenly smiled. 'Advice from Druss the Legend, eh? Something to tell the kids one day.'

There would be no children to tell.

Four months later Cadis Patralis would die fighting, back to back with Shialis, against the invading army of the Witch Queen.

Rabalyn missed the company of the twins. They had said goodbye at the city gates, and had left with Garianne, heading for the southern quarter. He had enjoyed talking to them.

Jared treated him like an adult, never speaking down to him. And Nian, though simple, was always warm and friendly.

His feeling of loss soon evaporated, replaced by a sense of wonder. Having never before seen a city Rabalyn could scarce believe his eyes. The buildings were monstrously large, towering and immense. There were temples, topped by ma.s.sive statues, and houses boasting scores of windows and balconies. Rabalyn had always believed that the three- storey home of Councillor Raseev had been the height of magnificence. Here it would look like a tiny hovel. Rabalyn stared at one palace as they pa.s.sed, and counted the windows.

Sixty-six. It was hard to believe that any family could have grown so large as to need a home like this.

Beyond these magnificent buildings they came to narrower streets, the houses close packed and tall, the roads of cobbled stone. Rabalyn stayed close to Skilgannon, Druss and Braygan, and wondered how so many people could live in such a place without becoming lost. Roads met and intersected, flowing around the buildings like rivers. There were people everywhere, and many soldiers with bandaged wounds. Most of the shops were empty of produce, and people gathered in crowds to barter or beg for what food there was to be had.

The axeman led them out along a broad avenue, and down through a long stretch of parkland. It must have been beautiful before the war, thought Rabalyn, for there were statues and pathways, and even a fountain at the centre of a lake. Now, however, tents had been pitched on the gra.s.sy areas and hundreds of downcast and weary people were milling around them.

'They are so sad,' said Rabalyn. Skilgannon glanced at him.

'They'd have been sadder still if they'd had better leaders,' he said.

'How can that be true?' asked the youth.

'Think on it a while,' replied the former priest.

They walked on for more than a mile, coming at last to a gated area, before which stood two tall guards, dressed in red cloaks and silver helms. One of them saw Druss and smiled.

He was tall and slim, and sporting a black trident chin beard. 'Surprised to see no-one's killed you yet, axeman,' he said.

'Heaven knows they've tried,' answered Druss, with a grin. 'They just don't breed them tough any more. Milkmaids in armour now. Just like you, Diagoras.'

'Aye, you ancients always say things were better in the old days,' replied the man. 'I don't think it's true, though. I reckon young warriors look at you and are reminded of their grandfathers. Then they can't possibly fight you.'

'Maybe so,' agreed the axeman. 'At my age I'll take any advantage I can get. Any word on Orastes?'

The guard's expression changed, the smile fading. 'Not exactly. His servant has been found. He's alive, but barely. He was in the arena dungeons. The Datians discovered him there when they opened the prisons.'

'In the dungeons? That makes no sense. Where is he now?'

'Being cared for at the White Palace,' Diagoras told him. 'I'll arrange a pa.s.s for you tomorrow. Where are you heading?'

'The Crimson Stag on the west quay. Do they still have food?'

'Aye, but not the menu they had. Things will ease now the Datians have lifted the blockade.

Six ships have already unloaded. Old Shivas will have been prowling the dock to restock his larders. I'll come by after my Watch and help you down a flagon or ten.'