'My best may not be good enough,' muttered Shalitar.
*
Three days passed. Druss ate little and slept by the bedside. There was no change in Rowena's condition, and Shalitar grew ever more despondent. The priest of Pashtar Sen returned on the morning of the fourth day.
'The poison is gone from her body,' said Shalitar, 'yet she does not wake.'
The priest nodded sagely. 'When first I came, as she was sinking into the coma, I touched her spirit. It was fleeing from life; she had no will to live.'
'Why?' asked Druss. 'Why would she want to die?'
The man shrugged. 'She is a gentle soul. She first loved you, back in your own lands, and carried that love within as something pure in a tarnished world. Knowing you were coming for her, she was ready to wait. Her Talents grew astonishingly swiftly and they overwhelmed her. Shalitar, and some others, saved her life by closing the pathways of that Talent, but in doing so they also took her memory. So here she woke, in the house of Michanek. He was a good man, Druss, and he loved her - as much as you love her. He nursed her to health, and he won her heart. But he did not tell her his greatest secret - that she had, as a seeress, predicted his death . . . one year to the day after he was wed. For several years they lived together, and she succumbed to the plague. During her illness and, as I have said, with no knowledge of her life as a seeress, she asked Michanek why he had never married her. In his fear at her condition, he believed that a marriage would save her. Perhaps he was right. Now we come to the taking of Resha. Michanek left her a gift - this gift,' he said, passing the brooch to Druss.
Druss took the delicate brooch in his huge hand and closed his fingers around it. 'I made this,' he said. 'It seems like a lifetime ago.'
'This was the key which Michanek knew would unlock her memory. He thought, as I fear men will, that a return of memory would help her assuage her grief at his passing. He believed that if she remembered you, and that if you still loved her, she would have a safe future. His reasoning was flawed, for when she touched the brooch what struck her most was a terrible guilt. She had asked Michanek to marry her, thus assuring - as she saw it - his death. She had seen you, Druss, at the house of Kabuchek, and had run away, frightened to find out her past, terrified it would destroy her new-found happiness. In that one moment she saw herself as a betrayer, and as a harlot and, I fear, as a killer.'
'None of it was her fault,' said Druss. 'How could she think it was?'
The priest smiled, but it was Shalitar who spoke. 'Any death produces guilt, Druss. A son dies of plague, and the mother will berate herself for not taking the child away to somewhere safe before the disease struck. A man falls to his death, and his wife will think, "If only I had asked him to stay home today." It is the nature of good people to draw burdens to themselves. All tragedy could be avoided, if only we knew it; therefore when it strikes we blame ourselves. But for Rowena, the weight of guilt was overpowering.'
'What can I do?' the axeman asked.
'Nothing. We must just hope she returns.'
The priest of Pashtar Sen seemed about to speak, but instead stood and walked to the window. Druss saw the change in the man. 'Speak,' he said. 'What were you about to say?'
'It doesn't matter,' he said softly.
'Let me be the judge of that, if it concerns Rowena.'
The priest sat down and rubbed his tired eyes. 'She hovers,' he said at last, 'between death and life, her spirit wandering in the Valley of the Dead. Perhaps, if we could find a sorcerer, we could send his spirit after her to bring her home.' He spread his hands. 'But I do not know where to find such a man - or woman. And I don't think we have the time to search.'
'What about your Talent?' asked Druss. 'You seem to know of this place.'
The man's eyes swung away from Druss's gaze. 'I. . . I do have the Talent, but not the courage. It is a terrible place.' He forced a smile. 'I am a coward, Druss. I would die there. It is no place for men of little spirit.'
'Then send me. I'll find her.'
'You would have no chance. We are talking of a . . .a realm of dark magic and demons. You would be defenceless against them, Druss; they would overwhelm you.'
'But you could send me there?'
'There is no point. It would be madness.'
Druss turned to Shalitar. 'What will happen to her if we do nothing?'
'She has maybe a day . . . perhaps two. Already she is fading.'
'Then there are no choices, priest,' said Druss, rising and moving to stand before the man. 'Tell me how I reach this Valley.'
'You must die,' the priest whispered.
*
A grey mist swirled, though there was no discernible breeze, and strange sounds echoed eerily from all around him.
The priest was gone now, and Druss was alone.
Alone?
Around him shapes moved in the mist, some huge, some low and slithering. 'Keep to the path,' the priest had said. 'Follow the road through the mist. Under no circumstances allow yourself to be led from the road.'
Druss glanced down. The road was seamless and grey, as if it had been created from molten stone. It was smooth and flat and the mist held to it, floating and swaying in cold tendrils that swirled around his legs and lower body.
A woman's voice called to him from the side of the road. He paused and glanced to his right. A dark-haired woman, scarce more than a girl, was sitting on a rock with legs apart, her right hand stroking her thigh. She licked her lips and tossed her head. 'Come here,' she called. 'Come here!'
Druss shook his head. 7 have other business.'
She laughed at him. 'Here? You have other business here?' Her laughter rang out and she moved closer to him, but he saw that she did not set foot upon the road. Her eyes were large and golden but there were no pupils, merely black slits in the gold. When her mouth opened a forked tongue darted between her lips, which Druss now saw were grey-blue. Her teeth were small and sharp.
Ignoring her he walked on. An old man was sitting in the centre of the road with shoulders hunched. Druss paused. 'Which way, brother?' asked the old man. 'Which way do I go? There are so many paths.'
'There is only one,' said Druss.
'So many paths,' repeated the other man. Again Druss moved on, and behind him he heard the woman's voice speaking to the old man. 'Come here! Come here!' Druss didn't look back, but only moments later he heard a terrible scream.
The road moved ever on through the mist, level and straight as a spear. There were others on the road, some walking tall, others shuffling. No one spoke. Druss moved through them silently, scanning their faces, seeking Rowena.
A young woman stumbled from the path, falling to her knees. Instantly a scaled hand caught at her cloak, dragging her back. Druss was too far back to help, and he cursed and moved on.
Many pathways merged with the road and Druss found himself travelling with a multitude of silent people, young and old. Their faces were blank, their expressions preoccupied. Many left the path and wandered through the mist.
It seemed to the axeman that he had walked for many days. There was no sense of time here, nor any fatigue, nor hunger. Gazing ahead, he could see vast numbers of souls wending their way through the mist-enveloped road.
Despair touched him. How would he find her among so many? Ruthlessly he pushed the fear from his mind, concentrating only on scanning the faces as he moved ever on. Nothing would ever have been achieved, he thought, if men had allowed themselves to be diverted by the scale of the problems faced.
After a while Druss noted that the road was rising. He could see further ahead, and the mist was thinning. There were no more merging pathways now; the road itself was more than a hundred feet wide.
On and on he moved, forcing his way through the silent throng. Then he saw that the road was beginning to diverge once more, into scores of pathways leading to arched tunnels, dark and forbidding.
A small man in a robe of coarse brown wool was moving back through the river of souls. He saw Druss
and smiled. 'Keep moving, my son,' he said, patting Druss's shoulder.
'Wait!' called the axeman as the man moved past him. Brown Robe swung back, surprised. Stepping to Druss, he gestured him to the side of the road.
'Let me see your hand, brother,' he said.
'What?'
'Your hand, your right hand. Show me the palm!' The little man was insistent. Druss held out his hand and Brown Robe grasped it, peering intently at the calloused palm. 'But you are not ready to pass over, brother. Why are you here?'
'I am looking for someone.'
'Ah,' said the man, apparently relieved. 'You are the despairing heart. Many of you try to pass through. Did your loved one die? Has the world treated you savagely? Whatever the answer, brother, you must return whence you came. There is nothing for you here - unless you stray from the path. And then there is only an eternity of suffering. Go back!'
'I cannot. My wife is here. And she is alive - just like me.'
'If she is alive, brother, then she will not have passed the portals before you. No living soul can enter. You do not have the coin.' He held out his own hand. Nestling there was a black shadow, circular and insubstantial. 'For the Ferryman,' he said, 'and the road to Paradise.'
'If she could not pass the tunnels, then where could she be?' asked Druss.
7 don't know, brother. I have never left the path and I know not what lies beyond, save that it is inhabited by the souls of the damned. Go to the Fourth Gateway. Ask for Brother Domitori. He is the Keeper.'
Brown Robe smiled, then moved away to be swallowed up by the multitude. Druss joined the flow and eased his way through to the Fourth Gateway where another man in a brown, hooded robe stood silently by the entrance. He was tall and round-shouldered, with sad, solemn eyes. 'Are you Brother Domitori?' asked Druss.
The man nodded, but did not speak.
'I am looking for my wife.'
'Pass on, brother. If her soul lives you will find her.'
'She had no coin,' said Druss. The man nodded and pointed to a narrow, winding path that led up and around a low hill.
'There are many such,' said Domitori, 'beyond the hill. There they flicker and fade, and rejoin the road when they are ready, when their bodies give up the fight, when the heart ceases.'
Druss turned away, but Domitori called out to him. 'Beyond the hill the road is no more. You will be in the Valley of the Dead. Best you arm yourself.'
'I have no weapons here.'
Domitori raised his hand and the flow of souls ceased to move through the Gateway. He stepped alongside Druss. 'Bronze and steel have no place here, though you will see what appear to be swords and lances. This is a place of Spirit, and a man's spirit can be steel or water, wood or fire. To cross the hill - and return - will require courage, and so much more. Do you have faith?'
'In what?'
The man sighed. 'In the Source? In yourself? What do you hold most dear?'
'Rowena - my wife.'
'Then holdfast to your love, my friend. No matter what assails you. What do you fear most?'
'Losing her.'
'What else?'
'I fear nothing.'
'All men fear something. And that is your weakness. This place of the Damned and the Dead has an uncanny talent for bringing a man face to face with what he fears. I pray that the Source will guide you. Go in peace, brother.'
Returning to the Gateway he lifted his hand once more, and the entrance opened, the grim, silent flow of souls continuing without pause.
*
'You gutless whoreson!' stormed Sieben. 'I should kill you!'
The surgeon Shalitar stepped between Sieben and the priest of Pashtar Sen. 'Be calm,' he urged. The man has admitted to lacking courage and has no need to apologise for it. Some men are tall, some short, some brave, others not so brave.'
That may be true,' conceded Sieben, 'but what chance does Druss have in a world of enchantment and sorcery? Tell me that!'
'I don't know,' Shalitar admitted.
'No, but he does,' said Sieben. 'I have read of the Void; a great many of my tales are centred there. I have spoken to Seekers and mystics who have journeyed through the Mist. All agree on one point - without access to the powers of sorcery a man is finished there. Is that not true, priest?'
The man nodded, but did not look up. He was sitting beside the wide bed upon which lay the still figures of Druss and Rowena. The axeman's face was pale, and he did not seem to be breathing.
'What will he face there?' insisted Sieben. 'Come on, man!'
'The horrors of his past,' answered the priest, his voice barely audible.
'By the gods, priest, I tell you this: If he dies, you will follow him.'
*
Druss had reached the brow of the hill and gazed down into a parched valley. There were trees, black and dead, silhouetted against the slate-grey earth, as if sketched there with charcoal. There was no wind, no movement save for the few souls who wandered aimlessly across the face of the valley. A little way down the hill he saw an old woman sitting on the ground with head bowed and shoulders hunched. Druss approached her. 'I am looking for my wife,' he said.
'You are looking for more than that,' she told him.
He squatted down opposite her. 'No, just my wife. Can you help me?'
Her head came up and he found himself staring into deep-set eyes that glittered with malice. 'What can you give me, Druss?'
'How is it you know me?' he countered.
'The Axeman, the Silver Slayer, the man who fought the Chaos Beast. Why should I not know you? Now, what can you give me?'
'What do you want?'
'Make me a promise.'
'What promise?'
'You will give me your axe.'
'I do not have it here.'
'I know that, boy,' she snapped. 'But in the world above you will give me your axe.'
'Why do you need it?'
'That is no part of the bargain. But look around you, Druss. How will you begin to find her in the time that is left?'
'You can have it,' he said. 'Now, where is she?'
'You must cross a bridge. You will find her there. But the bridge is guarded, Druss, by an awesome warrior.'
'Just tell me where it is.'
A staff lay beside the old woman and she used it to lever herself to her feet. 'Come,' she said, and began to walk towards a low line of hills. As they walked, Druss saw many new souls wandering down into the valley.
'Why do they come here?' he asked.
'They are weak,' she told him. 'Victims of despair, of guilt, of longing. Suicides, mostly. As they wander here their bodies are dying - like Rowena.'
'She is not weak.'
'Of course she is. She is a victim of love - just as you are. And love is the ultimate downfall of Man. There is no abiding strength in love, Druss. It erodes the natural strength of man, it taints the heart of the hunter.'
'I do not believe that.'
She laughed, a dry sound like the rattling of bones.'Yes, you do,'' she said. ''You are not a man of love, Druss. Or was it love that led you to leap upon the decks of the corsair ship, cutting and killing? Was it love that sent you over the battlements at Ectanis? Was it love that carried you through the battles in the sand circles of Mashrapur?' She halted in her stride and turned to face him.'Was it?'
'Yes. Everything was for Rowena - to help me find her. I love her.'
'It is not love, Druss; it is perceived need. You cannot bear what you are without her - a savage, a killer, a brute. But with her it is a different story. You can leach from her purity, suck it in like fine wine. And then you can see the beauty in a flower, smell the essence of life upon the summer breeze. Without her you see yourself as a creature without worth. And answer me this, axeman: If it was truly love, would you not wish for her happiness above all else?'
'Aye, I would. And I do!'
'Really? Then when you found that she was happy, living with a man who loved her, her life rich and secure, what did you do? Di
d you try to persuade Gorben to spare Michanek?'
'Where is this bridge?' he asked.
'It is not easy to face, is it?' she persisted.
'I am no debater, woman. I only know that I would die for her.'
'Yes, yes. Typical of the male - always look for the easy solutions, the simple answers.' She walked on, cresting the hill, and paused, resting on her staff. Druss gazed down into the chasm beyond. Far, far below a river of fire, at this distance a slender ribbon of flame, flowed through a black gorge. Across the gorge stretched a narrow bridge of black rope and grey timber. At the centre stood a warrior in black and silver with a huge axe in his hands.
'She is on the far side,' said the old woman. 'But to reach her you must pass the guardian. Do you recognise him?'
'No.'
'You will.'
The bridge was secured by thick black ropes tied to two blocks of stone. The wooden slats that made up the main body of the structure were, Druss judged, around three feet long and an inch thick. He stepped out on to the bridge, which immediately began to sway. There were no guiding ropes attached by which a man could steady himself and, looking down, Druss felt a sick sense of vertigo.
Slowly he walked out over the chasm, his eyes fixed to the boards.He was half-way to the man in black and silver before he looked up. Then shock struck him like a blow.
The man smiled, bright teeth shining white against the black and silver beard. 'I am not you, boy,' he said. 'I am everything you could have been.'
Druss stared hard at the man. He was the very image of Druss himself, except that he was older and his eyes, cold and pale, seemed to hold many secrets.
'You are Bardan,' said Druss.
'And proud of it. I used my strength, Druss. I made men shake with fear. I took my pleasures where I wanted them. I am not like you, strong in body but weak in heart. You take after Bress.'
'I take that as a compliment,' said Druss. 'For I would never have wanted to be like you - a slayer of babes, an abuser of women. There is no strength in that.'
'I fought men. No man could accuse Bardan of cowardice. Shemak's balls, boy, I fought armies!'