Part 21 (1/2)

'Ah, laddie,' chuckled Druss, 'in your dreams. One sniff of a wine cork and youngsters like you slide under the table. However, you buy the wine, and I'll teach you how it should be drunk.'

'Let's say that the last person standing can forget the bill,' offered Diagoras.

'That's what I did say.'

Rabalyn watched the exchange. As the two men spoke he saw the Drenai soldier's eyes constantly flick towards Skilgannon, who was standing some distance away, chatting to Braygan.

'Will your companions be travelling with you to the Crimson Stag?' asked Diagoras.

'Not all of us. The little priest is heading for the Street of Vines, and his church elders. Is there a problem?'

'The warrior with him. I have seen him before, Druss. I was stationed in Perapolis for two years. We left just before the end. The Naashanites granted the emba.s.sy and its staff safe pa.s.sage through their lines. I saw the d.a.m.ned as we rode through. Not a man I'd soon forget.' Druss glanced back at Skilgannon.

'Maybe you are wrong.'

'I don't believe so. I'll let him through if you vouch for him.'

'Aye, I'll do that. Best you report his presence to your superiors, though.'

Diagoras nodded, and pushed open the gates. 'I'll see you after dark.'

'Bring enough coin to pay the bill.'

'I'll bring a pillow too, so that your old head can rest on it as you sleep under the table.'

Druss clapped the man on the shoulder and strolled through the gates. Skilgannon and Braygan followed him, Rabalyn bringing up the rear.

The light was fading as they reached a second set of gates, blocking the way across an arched bridge over a river. Here there were more guards, powerful men with blond beards and pale blue eyes. They were wearing long mail-ring tunics and horned helms.

Druss spoke to them, and once more the gates were opened. 'The Street of Vines is across the bridge and the first turning on the left,' Druss told Braygan. 'Your church building is a short way along.' The little priest thanked him, then swung to Skilgannon, offering his hand. The warrior shook it.

'Thank you for all you have done for me, Brother,' said Braygan. 'May the Source be with you on your travels.'

Skilgannon smiled wryly, but did not answer. 'Will you take your vows?' he asked after a moment.

'I think that I will. Then I will return to Skepthia, and try to be of service.' Braygan offered his hand to Rabalyn. 'You are welcome to come with me,' he said. 'The elders may know the whereabouts of your parents. If not they can give you shelter while you try to find them.'

Rabalyn shook his head. 'I don't want to find them.'

'If you change your mind I shall be here for some days.' With that the little priest walked through the gates. He paused once on the bridge to look back and wave. And then he was gone.

CHAPTER TEN

THE CRIMSON STAG TAVERN WAS AN OLD BUILDING, L-SHAPED AND double- storeyed, constructed close to the west quay, overlooking the harbour and the sea beyond.

It had long been the haunt of Drenai officials and soldiers stationed in the emba.s.sy quarter of the city. Such was its reputation for food, wine and ale that even Vagrian officers used it.

Normally the antipathy between soldiers of Vagria and Drenan would have precluded any such common ground. Though none now living could recall the Vagrian-Drenai wars the ancient enmity between the peoples continued. Occasionally there were even border skirmishes.

There were, however, no fights at the Crimson Stag. Not one man from either camp would risk being barred by s.h.i.+vas, the sour-faced owner. His cooking was as sublime as his temper was dark. Added to which his memory was known to be long indeed, and a man refused custom once would never be forgiven.

Druss and Skilgannon sat at a table overlooking the moonlit harbour. Despite the coming of night, s.h.i.+ps were still being unloaded at the quayside, and wagons were drawn up to ferry food back out into the hungry city.

Skilgannon sat quietly watching the dockers. His heart was heavy. He had not expected to miss the little priest. Yet he did.

Braygan was the last link to a gentle life Skilgannon had tried so hard to embrace.

'We are what we are, my son. And wolves is what we are.'

The tavern was filling up. By the far wall a group of Vagrian soldiers were drinking and laughing. Skilgannon glanced across at them. Many still wore their tunic-length mails.h.i.+rts, and one still had on his horned helm of reinforced bra.s.s. Elsewhere soldiers and officials of other races were sitting quietly, some already eating, others enjoying a goblet of wine or a tankard of ale. 'How many nations are stationed in the emba.s.sy quarter?' he asked the axeman. Druss shrugged.

'Never counted them.' He glanced around the tavern. 'Mostly I only know those from Lentria and Drenan. There must be more than twenty emba.s.sies. Even one from Chiatze.'

Druss lifted his wine goblet and drained it. Skilgannon looked at him. Without his helm and steel-reinforced jerkin the axeman looked what he was - a powerful fifty-year-old man.

He could have been a farmer, or a stonemason. Save for the eyes. There was something deadly in that iron gaze. This was a man - as the Naashanites would say - who had looked into the eyes of the Dragon. 'Are you the d.a.m.ned, laddie?' asked Druss suddenly.

Skilgannon took a deep breath, and met Druss's gaze. 'I am,' he replied.

'Do they lie when they talk of Perapolis?'

'No. There is not a lie which could make it any worse.'

Druss signalled a serving maid. The menu was not extensive and the axeman ordered eggs and salt beef. He glanced at Skilgannon. 'What are you eating?'

'The same will be fine.'

When the serving maid had departed Druss refilled his goblet from a flagon and sat quietly, staring out of the window. 'What are you thinking?' asked Skilgannon.

'I was thinking of old friends,' said Druss. 'One in particular. Bodasen. Great swordsman.

We fought side by side all across this land. No give in the man. A fine soldier and a true friend. I think of him often.'

'What happened to him?'

'I killed him at Skein. Can't change it. Can't help regretting it. The boy tells me you were a priest for a while. Brother Lantern, I think he said.'

'A man should always try new things,' said Skilgannon.

'Don't make light of it, laddie. Were you touched by faith, or haunted by guilt?'

'Probably more guilt than faith,' admitted Skilgannon. 'Are you intending some subtle lecture at this point?'

Druss laughed, the sound unforced and full of genuine humour. 'In all my long life no-one has ever accused me of that, boy. A man who uses an axe doesn't generally build a reputation for subtlety. You want me to lecture you?'

'No. There is nothing anyone could say to me that I haven't already told myself.'