Part 42 (2/2)

'She is not here,' said the Nadir woman.

'Bring her back then.'

The woman laughed. 'I do not know where she is.'

Boranius rose from the chair, and left the room in search of Nygor. The little shaman would know what to do with the child. It would be such a waste if she couldn't scream for Uncle Druss. He strode through the armoury, and up to the roof hall. Here he found Nygor, sitting in a window seat, scanning some old scrolls. 'The child's mind has snapped,'

said Boranius.

'You gave her the mother's fingers to play with,' said Nygor. 'What else do you expect?'

'I thought it amusing. How can we bring the child back?'

Nygor shrugged. 'Opiates, maybe. We'll find a way when the time comes.'

'The girl is soft like her father. His wife told me he was one of the heroes of Skein. You saw him, Nygor, blubbing away about his little girl. How could such a man have taken part in the defeat of the Immortals?'

The shaman sighed and put aside his scroll. 'I knew a warrior once who tackled a lion with a knife. Yet he was afraid of rats. All men have their fears, their strong points and their weaknesses. Orastes was terrified of the dark. The dungeon was dark. You told him you were going to kill his daughter, cut her into little pieces. The girl was everything to him. He loved her.'

'I have no weaknesses, shaman,' said Boranius, moving to a chair and sitting down.

'If you say so.'

'I do say so. You wish to disagree?'

'I need my fingers, Ironmask, so, no, I will not disagree. You are a strong man. Cursed by the stars, though.'

'That is true enough,' said Boranius, with feeling. 'I never met a man with such ill luck.

Bokram should have won, you know. We did everything right. He panicked in that last battle. Had he not been a coward he would now have ruled all of Naashan. And as for the Tantrian King . . . his stupidity was beyond reason. I wish I had taken longer to kill him.'

'As I recall he screamed for several hours.'

'It should have been days. I warned him not to invade Datia. We weren't ready. If he had but waited.'

'The Old Woman got to him with that cursed sword. We could not have predicted that. It corrupted his mind.'

Boranius swore. 'Why does that hag haunt me? What did I ever do to her?'

'My guess would be that you killed someone she had some use for.'

'Ah, well, it matters not. If the best she can do is to send an old man with an axe then I see little to fear.'

Nygor's face darkened. 'I feel her presence at all times. She constantly tests my defences.

Do not take her lightly, Ironmask. She has the power to kill us all.'

A cold breeze rippled through the roof hall. Two of the lanterns went out. Boranius leapt from his seat. Nygor cried out and sprang towards the open door. It slammed shut in his face.

A hooded, translucent figure appeared in the shadows by the doorway. 'So pleasing to be appreciated,' said the Old Woman. Boranius drew a dagger from his belt and threw it across the hall. It pa.s.sed through the figure and clattered against the wall.

'How did you breach my spells?' asked Nygor, his voice echoing his despair.

'I found another opening, Nadir. Up there in the roof. A tiny hole I forced some rats to make. And now it is time for you to join your friend Raesha. Burn, little man.' The hooded figure pointed at Nygor. The shaman tried to run to the window, to hurl himself to the stones far below, but a holding spell closed around him. Flames leapt up from his leggings, igniting his s.h.i.+rt. He screamed and screamed. Boranius watched as Nygor's hair flared away, his scalp and face turning black, the skin bubbling. Still the screams filled the hall.

Men began pounding on the door. Finally the screams ended. Nygor's blackened corpse fell to the floor. It continued to burn, filling the hall with acrid black smoke. At the last there was nothing left upon the floor that was remotely human.

The pounding continued. 'Be silent,' said the Old Woman, flicking her hand towards the entrance. The pounding ceased.

'You want to see me burn, wh.o.r.e?' shouted Boranius. 'Come then! Work your magic! I spit on you!'

'Oh, I shall watch you die, Boranius. I shall take great pleasure in it. First, however, you will do me a service.'

'Never!'

'Oh, I think you will. Druss the Legend is coming for you. And with him a man you have not seen for some time. An old friend. What a merry meeting that will be. You remember Skilgannon? How could you not? He cut your face off, as I recall.'

'I'll kill them both, and p.i.s.s on their corpses.'

The Old Woman's laughter rang out. 'Ah, but I could like you, Boranius. Truly I could.

Such a shame we are enemies.'

'We do not need to be.'

'Ah, but we do. I was not always as you see me now. A few centuries ago I was young and men considered me comely. In that heady time of youth I had a child. I left it to be raised by others. I have never been maternal. As time pa.s.sed I watched over that child, and the children she had. There were not many. Easy to keep track of. At first it was an amus.e.m.e.nt for me. My gift to the future. The fruit of my loins. Quietly - so quietly - I manoeuvred their lives, bringing them a little luck when they needed it. I could not watch them all the time, however. They got old and died. Despite my best efforts the line ran thin. Until there was only one. A girl. Sweet child. She married the Emperor of Naashan after I slipped him a love potion. There was no way he would ever betray her. She then had a daughter. The last of my line. And you, Boranius, killed the mother and hunted the daughter. In your wildest imaginings can you believe I will forgive you?'

'I care nothing for your forgiveness. I'll kill Skilgannon for the pleasure of it. I'll kill Druss to avenge the Immortals and their defeat at Skein Pa.s.s. If I live long enough I'll kill Jianna - and rid the world of your get.'

'But you will not live long enough, Boranius. And I will be here, in the flesh, to see your soul torn screaming from your body. Until then, something to remember me by.'

Fire swept across Boranius's face, searing lips and nose and cheeks. With a strangled cry he fell back.

'A man with a soul as ugly as yours has no right to a second face,' said the Old Woman. 'So let us remove the flesh Ustarte gave you.'

When Skilgannon awoke he was alone. He yawned and stretched. His arm brushed against the splintered wood of the bedhead. The bolt had gone - as had Garianne. Rising from the bed he pulled on his leggings and boots, and then his cream-coloured s.h.i.+rt and fringed jerkin. Lastly he hooked the ebony scabbard over his shoulder. The dawn was breaking, the land outside the window bathed in gold.

Moving to the door he stepped out into the corridor beyond, making his way back towards the antechamber. He pa.s.sed a yellow-robed priest and stopped him, asking where he might find the boy, Rabalyn. The shaven-headed priest said nothing, but indicated that Skilgannon should follow him. They walked through a bewildering series of tunnels, down circular stairs, and along corridors, until, at last, they came to a wider hall. At the end of the hall the priest opened a door, and gestured for Skilgannon to enter.

Druss was sitting at Rabalyn's bedside. The lad was asleep. Skilgannon leaned over him.

Rabalyn was pale, but he was breathing well. Pulling up a chair Skilgannon sat down beside the axeman.

'He is deeply asleep,' said Druss. 'It does my heart good to see him well.'

'He is a fine lad.'

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