Part 29 (1/2)

'Oh, I don't mind questions. Not when it is me. Not when I am alone. When they are with me questions make them all speak at once. I cannot think. Then my head swells with pain.

It is uncomfortable. You understand?'

'I cannot say that I do. Who is with you?'

She walked to the bed and slumped down. Wine spilled from the goblets in her hands.

Carefully she placed them on the bedside table. 'I don't want to speak of them. I just want to enjoy these moments of peace.'

She pushed herself to her feet, swayed slightly, then began untying the waist band of her leggings. Pus.h.i.+ng them down over her hips, she sat back on the bed and struggled to tug them over her ankles. Skilgannon moved across the room and sat down beside her. 'You are drunk,' he said. 'You do not want to be doing this. Get into bed and sleep it off. I'll take a walk and leave you to . . . enjoy your privacy.'

Reaching up, she curled an arm round his neck. 'Don't go,' she said softly. 'I want to be alone inside my head. But not out here. Here I need to touch, to hold. To be held. Just for a while. Then I will sleep. Then I will be Garianne again, and I will carry them all with me. I am not drunk, Skilgannon. Or at least not much.' Tilting her head she kissed him lightly on the lips. He did not draw away. She kissed him again, more deeply.

The walls he had built during three years of abstinence crumbled away in an instant. The scent of her golden hair, the softness of her lips, the warmth of her skin overwhelmed him.

All cares and regrets vanished. The world shrank, until all that existed for Skilgannon was this one room, and this one woman. The first lovemaking was intense and swift, the second slower, the pleasure extended. The afternoon faded into evening, and then into night. Finally, all pa.s.sion exhausted, he lay back, Garianne's head on his shoulder, her left leg resting on his thigh. She fell asleep. Skilgannon stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. She murmured, then rolled away from him. Rising silently from the bed he covered her with a sheet, then dressed. Looping the Swords of Night and Day over his shoulder he walked from the room.

Earlier that afternoon Diagoras was sitting opposite Druss in the tavern, planning the route to Pelucid and discussing the supplies they would need. One of the difficulties was that Druss did not ride. On foot it would take half as long again to make the journey, and, logistically, require the travellers to carry more food. Diagoras patiently explained this to the warrior, who just shrugged and smiled. 'When I ride it is painful for both me and the horse. In the saddle I can make a sack of grain look graceful. I walk, laddie.'

It was at that moment that Garianne, who had been sitting quietly with them, her expression serene, put down her wine goblet and walked to the dais on the eastern side of the tavern.

'I think she is going to sing,' said Druss, with a wide smile.

'No-one will hear her in here,' replied Diagoras, glancing around at the packed tavern, full of men talking and laughing, or arguing, or pitching dice on several long tables.

'Would you like a small wager?' asked the older warrior.

'No. I always lose when I bet with you.'

Garianne carried a chair onto the dais then stood upon it silently, her arms outstretched towards the rafters. Diagoras gazed at her longingly. The Drenai officer had always been attracted to long-legged women - and Garianne was also strikingly attractive. Several other men noticed her standing there, and nudged their companions. A hush settled on the room.

And Garianne began to sing.

It was one of Diagoras's favourite ballads, and always brought a lump to his throat. But this girl's rendition made it heartbreaking.

Every man in the tavern sat entranced. As she finished the song she lowered her arms and bowed her head. For a moment there was silence. Then rapturous applause. Garianne moved back to the table, swept up a flagon of wine and two goblets and walked from the room, the applause following her.

'Where is she going?' asked Diagoras.

Druss shrugged and looked uncomfortable. Raising his hand he summoned a serving girl and asked for another flagon of Lentrian red. 'What does she need two goblets for?'

continued Diagoras.

'She's an unusual la.s.s,' said Druss. 'I like her.'

'I like her too. But why don't you answer my questions?'

'Because I don't care to, laddie. Her life is for her to live, as she sees fit.'

'I didn't say it wasn't. And now I'm getting confused.' Realization dawned. 'Oh,' he said. 'I see. She has an a.s.signation. Lucky man.' Then his mood darkened as he guessed the ident.i.ty of said lucky man. He swore softly. 'Tell me she is not seeking Skilgannon,' he said.

'Don't let it irritate you,' Druss told him. 'If it had been you up in that room, and him down here, she'd have gone to you. It's not about the man. If neither of you had been here she'd have picked someone from the tavern.'

'You?' asked Diagoras.

'No,' answered Druss, with a wry chuckle. 'd.a.m.n it, laddie, my boots are older than her.

And she's not so drunk that she'd want someone old and ugly. Now what were you saying about supplies?'

Diagoras took a deep breath and tried - without success - to force Garianne from his mind.

'What about a wagon? A two-wheeler. It would travel fast. You could drive it.'

'Aye. A wagon sounds fine,' agreed the axeman.

Diagoras was about to speak when he glanced beyond Druss, and grinned. 'Look what we have here, my friend. A new warrior joins the throng.' The axeman swung in his chair. The youth Rabalyn was moving across the tavern floor towards them. He was wearing a new green tunic of thick wool, and buckskin leggings. s.h.i.+ning leather strips had been added to the shoulders of the tunic. By his side hung a bone-handled hunting knife and an old short-sword in a ragged leather scabbard.

'Going to war, young Rabalyn?' asked Diagoras. The youngster stood for a moment, looking self-conscious and embarra.s.sed. Then he tried to sit down. The scabbard struck the chair, the hilt of the weapon rising and thudding into Rabalyn's armpit. Adjusting the sword he slumped down into the chair, his face reddening.

'Let me see the weapons,' said Druss. Rabalyn drew the knife and laid it on the table. Druss hefted it and examined the blade. It was double-edged, the tip sharply curved like a crescent moon. 'Good steel,' said the axeman. 'And the sword?' Rabalyn pulled it from its scabbard. The hilt was polished wood, the pommel of heavy bra.s.s. The blade itself was pitted and scarred. 'Gothir infantry. Probably older than me,' said Druss. 'But it will serve you well until you can afford better. How did you come by them?'

'Brother Lantern gave me money. I have decided not to stay in the city.'

'Where will you go?' asked Druss.

'I don't know. Thought I might travel with you.' Rabalyn tried to sound confident and a.s.sured, but the effort failed.

'It would not be a wise choice, Rabalyn,' said the axeman. 'But I leave it to you.'

'Truly?'

'Go and get some rest. We'll talk more this evening. For now I need to speak with Diagoras.'

'Thank you, Druss. Thank you!' said Rabalyn happily. Sheathing his weapons, he moved away towards the stairs.

'Oh, that was nice,' said Diagoras. 'Perhaps we should also bring a puppy and a troupe of minstrels.'

'This will soon be a city under siege,' said Druss. 'The Naashanites will come. He'll be no safer here. It could be another Perapolis.'

'That is unlikely,' snapped Diagoras. 'They don't have the d.a.m.ned with them any more.'

Druss's pale eyes narrowed. 'You are an intelligent man. You know that nothing that happened in that city could have taken place without the direct orders of the Queen.'

'You think him innocent then?'

'Pah! Innocent? Are any of us innocent? I was here twenty-five years ago. I took part in attacks on cities. I killed men who were defending their lands and their loved ones.