The First Chronicles of Druss the Legend (45 page)

“If she could not pass the tunnels, then where could she be?” asked Druss
.

“I 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 hold fast 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 apologize 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 centered 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-gray 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 not 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 toward 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? Did 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 gray timber. At the center 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 recognize 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 halfway 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!”

“I say you were a coward,” said Druss. “The worst kind. What strength you had came from
that,”
he said, pointing to the axe. “Without it you were nothing. Without it you
are
nothing.”

Bardan’s face reddened, then grew pale. “I don’t need this to deal with you, you weak-kneed whoreson. I could take you with my hands.”

“In your dreams,” mocked Druss
.

Bardan made as if to lay down the axe, but then hesitated. “You can’t do it, can you?” taunted Druss. “The mighty Bardan! Gods, I spit on you!”

Bardan straightened, the axe still in his right hand. “Why should I lay aside my only friend? No one else stood by me all those lonely years. And here—even here he has been my constant aid.”

“Aid?” countered Druss. “He destroyed you, just as he destroyed Cajivak and all others who took him to their hearts. But I don’t need to convince you, Grandfather. You know it, but you are too weak to acknowledge it.”

“I’ll show you weakness!” roared Bardan, leaping forward with axe raised. The bridge swayed perilously, but Druss leaped in under the swinging axe, hammering a ferocious punch to Bardan’s chin. As the other man staggered, Druss took one running step and leaped feet first, his boots thudding into Bardan’s chest to hurl him back. Bardan lost his grip on the axe and teetered on the edge
.

Druss rolled to his feet and dived at the man. Bardan, recovering his footing, snarled and met him head-on. Druss smashed a blow to the other man’s chin, but Bardan rolled with the punch, sending an uppercut which snapped the axeman’s head back. The power in the blow was immense and Druss reeled. A second blow caught him above the ear, smashing him to the boards. Rolling as a booted foot slashed past his ear, he grabbed Bardan’s leg and heaved. The warrior fell heavily. As Druss pushed himself upright, Bardan launched himself from the boards, his hands circling
Druss’s throat. The bridge was swaying wildly now and both men fell and rolled toward the edge. Druss hooked his foot into the space between two boards, but he and Bardan were hanging now over the awesome drop
.

Druss tore himself free of Bardan’s grip and thundered a punch to the warrior’s chin. Bardan grunted and toppled from the bridge. His hand snaked out to grab Druss’s arm—the wrenching grasp almost pulled Druss over the edge
.

Bardan hung above the river of fire, his pale eyes looking up into Druss’s face
.

“Ah, but you’re a bonny fighter, laddie,” said Bardan softly. Druss got a grip on the other man’s jerkin and tried to pull him up on to the bridge
.

“Time to die at last,” said Bardan. “You were right. It was the axe, always the axe.” Releasing his hold, he smiled. “Let me go, boy. It’s over.”

“No! Damn you, take my hand!”

“May the gods smile on you, Druss!” Bardan twisted up and hit out at Druss’s arm, dislodging his grip. The bridge swayed again and the black and silver warrior fell. Druss watched him fall, spinning down, down, until he was just a dark speck swallowed up by the river of fire
.

Pushing himself to his knees he glanced at the axe. Red smoke swirled from it to form a crimson figure—the skin scaled, the head horned at the temples. There was no nose, merely two slits in the flesh above a sharklike mouth
.

“You were correct, Druss,” said the demon affably. “He was weak. As was Cajivak, and all the others. Only you have the strength to use me.”

“I want no part of you.”

The demon’s head lifted and his laughter sounded. “Easy to say, Mortal. But look yonder.” At the far end of the bridge stood the Chaos Beast, huge and towering, its taloned paws glinting, its eyes glowing like coals of fire
.

Druss felt a swelling of despair and his heart sank as the axe-demon stepped closer, his voice low and friendly. “Why do you hesitate, Man? When have I failed you? On the ship of Earin Shad, did I not turn away the fire? Did I not slip in Cajivak’s grasp? I am your friend, Mortal. I have always been your friend. And in these long and lonely centuries I have waited for a man with your strength and determination. With me you can conquer
the world. Without me you will never leave this place, never feel the sun upon your face. Trust me, Druss! Slay the beast—and then we can go home.”

The demon shimmered into smoke, flowing back into the black haft of the axe
.

Druss glanced up to see the Chaos Beast waiting at the far end of the bridge. It was even more monstrous now: massive shoulders beneath the black fur, saliva dripping from its huge maw. Stepping forward, Druss gripped the haft of Snaga, swinging the blades into the air
.