Part 46 (2/2)

Diagoras strolled over to where Skilgannon and Druss were talking. Carefully he skirted the beast. 'Would it not be better to wait until full nightfall?' he asked Skilgannon. 'At least some of them will be sleeping then.'

'Dusk will be better,' said Druss.

'Why?'

'Less traditional,' said the axeman.

'What does that mean?'

Skilgannon stepped in. 'Night attacks are standard. They know we are coming. Because we are so few they will expect either that we stay close to the Citadel and ambush them, or that we attack at night and seek to surprise them. Therefore night is when they will be ready for us.'

'I don't wish to sound critical at this late juncture,' said Diagoras, 'but how many of us do you expect to survive this plan?'

'I would be amazed if any of us did,' said Skilgannon.

'That's what I thought.'

'I intend to survive,' said Druss. 'That little girl needs to be taken home. I think it a good plan.'

'If we are still discussing its merits tomorrow I will agree with you,' said Diagoras.

'Cheer up, laddie. n.o.body lives for ever.'

'Oh, I expect you will, Druss, old horse. It's the mortals around you who always seem to kiss the granite.'

'Once Boranius is dead his men will be less likely to want to go on fighting,' said Druss.

'Simple fact of life among mercenaries. No-one to pay them, then they don't fight. We just need to get to him fast. Anyhow, there won't be seventy men inside. They've got men in the hills scouting for us. I'd say there were around forty inside. Maybe less.'

'I am hugely comforted,' muttered Diagoras sarcastically.

Druss grinned at him. 'You can always wait here, laddie.'

'Don't tempt me!' He glanced at the setting sun. Just under an hour to wait. Diagoras guessed the time would race by.

CHAPTER TWENTY

IPPELIUS WAS NINETEEN YEARS OF AGE. HIS FATHER HAD BEEN A CAPTAIN in the King's army, killed in the last battle, when Bokram fell. The months following the Witch Queen's victory had been harsh for the families whose men had served the King.

Ippelius's mother had been driven from the family home, her goods and wealth seized by the crown. A crowd had gathered outside, hurling dirt and dung at the family as they were marched away. Ippelius had been thirteen years old, and hugely frightened. Many of the widows had left the capital, seeking sanctuary with relatives in outlying towns and villages.

Others had journeyed to Naashanite communities in other lands. His mother had gone to Mellicane.

Ippelius had finished his education there. It was a fine city, and the horrors of the past, though powerful in his nightmares, seemed insubstantial in the city sunlight. When Ironmask had come to power he promised a chance for revenge. One day the outcasts would return to Naashan. The Witch Queen would be overthrown. It seemed to Ippelius a golden opportunity to avenge his father's death, and his mother's shame.

Now, as he sat in the miserable tavern, with some twenty or so soldiers, he realized the dream was dead. As dead as poor Codis on the walls. He had been stunned when Morcha stabbed his friend.

The action was sudden and murderous. Codis had been dead before he knew it.

Ippelius sipped his ale. It was sour and he did not like the taste. Yet all men drank it, and Ippelius did not wish to seem less than the men around him. Also if he forced himself to drink enough of it his fears did, at least, lessen. Codis had been like a brother to the young soldier, helping him in the early days, when he made a fool of himself during training.

Ippelius was constantly tripping over his sword, and falling flat on his face. His horsemans.h.i.+p was not of the highest quality, and he would bounce around in the saddle like a sack of vegetables. Through it all Codis had offered advice and support. As had Morcha, who had always appeared to be good-natured and understanding. Ippelius felt his stomach churn. Codis had liked Morcha and respected him. How terrible it must have been to be killed by a man you liked.

Then there was Boranius. How impressed Ippelius had been when first he had been introduced to the general. A man of power and courage, who radiated purpose. When this man said they would overthrow the Witch Queen it sounded a certainty.

Ippelius shuddered. A little while ago he and Codis had been ordered to remove a body from the Citadel. It was wrapped in canvas, which had been hastily st.i.tched. Blood was seeping through the cloth. Halfway down the stairs the canvas had split. What fell from it was the hideously mutilated body of a woman. Ippelius had vomited at the sight. He was no help to Codis, who forced the remains back into the canvas.

Later, after they had buried her, Ippelius had sunk to the ground in tears. 'How could any man do that to a woman?' he asked Codis.

'Boranius is not any man.'

'That is no answer.'

'G.o.ds, man, what do you expect me to say? I have no answers. He always was a torturer.

Best to put it from your mind.'

Ippelius had gazed down on the grave. 'There's not even a marker,' he said. 'I thought they were lovers.'

'They were lovers. Then he killed her. End of story. Now get a grip on your emotions, lad.

We are not going to talk about this to anyone. You understand that? Boranius tortures men too. I don't want to have my fingers cut off or my eyes put out.'

'You think he killed the little girl too?'

'I don't know and I don't care. Neither should you. We are going to bide our time and then get out of here.'

'Why can't we leave now?'

'What, with patrols everywhere looking for Druss? How far would we get? No. When Druss is dead, and things calm down. Then we'll slip away east. Head for the coastal cities.'

Ippelius drank more of his ale. The bitterness of the taste was pa.s.sing now. He looked around him at the other soldiers. There was little laughter in the tavern this evening. The murder of Codis had affected them, as had the news that Skilgannon was coming. Some of them had fought against the man in the past. They all had stories to tell.

A burly soldier named Rankar came into the tavern. He strolled through the dining area and came to where Ippelius sat. Easing himself down he waved his hand at the barman, calling out for a jug of ale.

'How goes it?' he asked Ippelius.

'Fine. You?'

'Fine. Barracks is empty. They've moved a lot of the men into the Citadel. I'm heading there after I've eaten.'

Ippelius looked at the man. His heavy face was pockmarked and a jagged white scar cut down from his brow to his cheekbone. His left eyelid drooped over a bright green eye.

Ippelius found himself staring at the scar. 'You were really lucky,' he said.

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