Free The First Chronicles of Druss the Legend by David Gemmell

were killed by the girls.” Druss turned and stared out over the campsite. Somewhere to his left a man groaned and the tallest of the girls ran to him, plunging a dagger into his throat. Druss turned back to Shadak. “Will you see the women get safely to Padia?”
    “You’re going on to Mashrapur?”
    “I’m going to find her.”
    Shadak laid his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “I hope that you do, Druss. Seek out the White Bear Inn—that’s where Collan will stay. But be warned, my friend. In Mashrapur, Rowena is his property. That is their law.”
    “This is mine,” answered Druss, raising the double-headed axe.
    Shadak took the young man’s arm and led him back to Harib’s tent, where he poured himself a goblet of wine and drained it. One of Harib’s linen tunics was draped over a small chest, and Shadak threw it to Druss. “Wipe off the blood. You look like a demon.”
    Druss smiled grimly and wiped his face and arms, then cleaned the double blades.
    “What do you know of Mashrapur?” asked Shadak.
    The axeman shrugged. “It is an independent state, ruled by an exiled Ventrian Prince. That’s all.”
    “It is a haven for thieves and slavers,” said Shadak. “The laws are simple: those with gold to offer bribes are considered fine citizens. It matters not where the gold comes from. Collan is respected there; he owns property and dines with the Emir.”
    “So?”
    “So if you march in and kill him, you will be taken and executed. It is that simple.”
    “What do you suggest?”
    “There is a small town around twenty miles from here, due south. There is a man there, a friend of mine. Go to him, tell him I sent you. He is young and talented. You won’t like him, Druss; he is a fop and a pleasure-seeker. He has no morals. But it will make him invaluable in Mashrapur.”
    “Who is this man?”
    “His name is Sieben. He’s a poet, a saga-teller, and he performs at palaces; he’s very good as a matter of fact. He could have been rich. But he spends most of his time trying to bed every pretty young woman who comes into his line of vision. Henever concerns himself with whether they are married or single—that has brought him many enemies.”
    “Already I don’t like the sound of him.”
    Shadak chuckled. “He has good qualities. He is a loyal friend, and he is ridiculously fearless. A good man with a knife. And he knows Mashrapur. Trust him.”
    “Why should he help me?”
    “He owes me a favor.” Shadak poured a second goblet of wine and passed it to the young man.
    Druss sipped it, then drained the goblet. “This is good. What is it?”
    “Lentrian Red. Around five years old, I’d say. Not the best, but good enough on a night like this.”
    “I can see that a man could get a taste for it,” Druss agreed.

4
     
    S IEBEN WAS ENJOYING himself. A small crowd had gathered around the barrel, and three men had already lost heavily. The green crystal was small and fitted easily under one of the three walnut shells. “I’ll move a little more slowly,” the young poet told the tall, bearded warrior who had just lost four silver pieces. His slender hands slid the shells around the smooth barrel top, halting them in a line across the center. “Which one? And take your time, my friend, for that emerald is worth twenty golden raq.”
    The man sniffed loudly and scratched at his beard with a dirty finger. “That one,” he said at last, pointing to the center shell. Sieben flipped the shell. There was nothing beneath it. Moving his hand to the right, he covered a second shell, expertly palmed the stone under it, and showed it to the audience.
    “So close,” he said, with a bright smile. The warrior swore, then turned and thrust his way through the crowd. A short swarthy man was next; he had body odor that could have felled an ox. Sieben was tempted to let him win. The fake emerald was only worth a tenth of what he had already cheated from the crowd. But he was enjoying himself too much. The