Klay stood and smiled at the blushing young woman. 'He is a fine boy,' said the Champion. Taking her hand he kissed it, then moved away, pausing to study the paintings on the far wall. Many were landscapes of the desert and the mountains, others depicted young women in various stages of undress. Some were of hunting scenes, while two, which caught Klay's eyes, were of wild flowers. At the far end of the gallery was a long stall, behind which stood an elderly Chiatze. Klay made his way to the man, and studied the artefacts laid out so neatly. They were mostly small statuettes, surrounded by brooches, amulets, bracelets, bangles and rings. Klay lifted a small ivory figurine, no more than four inches tall. It was of a beautiful woman in a flowing dress. There were flowers in her hair, and in her hand she held a snake, its tail coiled around her wrist.
'This is very lovely,' he said.
The small Chiatze nodded and smiled. 'She is Shul-sen, the bride of Oshikai Demon-bane. The figurine is close to a thousand years old.'
'How can you tell?'
'I am Chorin-Tsu, Lord, the Royal Embalmer — and a student of history. I found this piece during an archaeological survey near the site of the fabled Battle of Five Armies. I am certain that is no less than nine centuries old.' Klay lifted the figurine close to his eyes. The woman's face was oval, her eyes slanted; she seemed to be smiling.
'She was Chiatze, this Shul-sen?' he asked.
Chorin-Tsu spread his hands. 'That depends, Lord, on your perspective. She was, as I told you, the wife of Oshikai, and he is considered the father of the Nadir. It was he who led the rebel tribes from the lands of the Chiatze, and fought his way to the lands now ruled by the Gothir. After his death the tribes roamed free, warring upon one another, even as now. So, if he was the first Nadir, then Shul-sen was. . what? Nadir or Chiatze?'
'Both,' said Klay. 'And beautiful too. What happened to her?'
The Chiatze shrugged, and Klay saw sorrow in the dark, slanted eyes. 'That depends on which version of historical events you happen to believe. For myself I think she was murdered soon after Oshikai's death. All the records point to this, though some stories have her sailing to a mythic land beyond the sea. If you are of romantic leanings perhaps that is the story you should cling to.'
'I tend to hold to the truth where I can,' said Klay. 'But in this case I would like to believe she lived happily somewhere. I would guess we will never know.'
Chorin-Tsu spread his hands once more. 'As a student I like to think that one day the mists will be opened. Perhaps I might find some documentary evidence.'
'If you do so, let me know. Meanwhile I shall purchase this figurine. Have it delivered to my house.'
'You wish to know the price, Lord?'
'I am sure it will be a fair one.'
'Indeed it will, sir.'
Klay turned away, then swung back. 'Tell me, Chorin-Tsu, how is it that the Royal Embalmer runs a stall of antiquities?'
'Embalming, Lord, is my profession. History is my passion. And as with all passions they must be shared to be enjoyed. Your delight in the piece brings me great pleasure.'
Klay moved on, through the gallery arch and through to the Hall of Cuisine. Two guards opened the door to the beautifully furnished dining room of the nobility. Klay had long since lost any sense of nervousness upon entering such establishments, for despite the lowliness of his birth his legend was now so great among the people that he was considered higher than most nobles. There were few diners present, but Klay spotted the Drenai ambassador, Majon, engaged in a heated discussion with a fop in a bejewelled blue tunic. The fop was tall and slim, and very handsome, his hair light brown and held in place by a silver headband adorned with an opal. Klay approached them. Majon did not at first notice the fighter, and continued to rail at his companion.
'I do think this is unfair, Sieben, after all you won. .' At that moment he saw Klay and instantly his face changed, a broad smile appearing. 'My dear chap, so good to see you again. Please do join us. It would be such an honour. We were talking about you dnly moments ago. This is Sieben the Poet.'
'I have heard your work performed,' said Klay, 'and I have read, with interest, the saga of Druss the Legend.'
The poet gave a wolfish smile. 'You've read the work, and soon you'll face the man. I have to tell you, sir, that I shall be wagering against you.'
'Then you will forgive me for not wishing you luck,' said Klay, sitting down.
'Did you watch today's bout?' asked Majon.
'I did indeed, ambassador. Druss is an interesting fighter. It seems that pain spurs him to greater efforts. He is indomitable, and very strong.'
'He always wins,' said Sieben happily. 'It's a talent he has.'
'Sieben is particularly pleased today,' put in Majon icily. 'He has won sixty gold pieces.'
'I won also,' said Klay.
'You bet on Druss?' asked Sieben.
'Yes. I had studied both men, and did not feel the Lentrian had the heart to match your man. He also lacked speed in his left, which gave Druss the chance to roll with the punches. But you should advise him to change his attacking stance. He tends to duck his head and charge, which makes for an easy target with an uppercut.'
'I'll be sure to tell him,' promised Sieben.
'I have a training ground at my house. He is welcome to use it.'
'That is a very kind offer,' put in Majon.
'You seem very confident, sir,' said Sieben. 'Does it not concern you that Druss has never lost?'
'No more than it concerns me that I have never lost. Whatever else happens, one of us will surrender that perfect record. But the sun will still shine, and the earth will not topple. Now, my friends, shall we order some food?'
The air was fresh and clean, and a slight wind whispered across the fountain pool, cooling the air as Sieben and Druss climbed the steep path to the summit of the highest hill in the Grand Park. Above them the sky was the glorious blue of late summer, dotted with thick white clouds drifting slowly from the east. Shafts of sunlight in the distance, breaking clear of the clouds, suddenly illuminated a section of the eastern mountains, turning them to deep shadowed red and gold, glowing like jewels in torchlight. And just as swiftly the wandering clouds blocked the sun, the golden rocks returning to grey. Druss gazed longingly at the mountains, remembering the smell of the pine and the song of the stream in his own high homeland. The clouds drifted on, and the sun shone down on the far mountains once more. The sight was beautiful, but Druss knew there would be no pine forests there. To the east of Gulgothir were the Nadir steppes, an enormous stretch of desert, dry, harsh and inhospitable.
Sieben sat beside the fountain, trailing his hand in the water. 'Now you can see why this is called the Hill of the Six Virgins,' he said. At the centre of the pool was a statue of six women, exquisitely carved from a single block of marble. They stood in a circle, each leaning forward and extending their arms, as if in entreaty. Behind and above them was the figure of an old man, holding a huge urn from which came the fountain, spilling out over the white statues and flowing down to the pool. 'Several hundred years ago,' continued Sieben, 'when a raiding army from the north surrounded Gulgothir, six virgins were sacrificed here to appease the Gods of War. They were ritually drowned. After that the Gods favoured the defenders, and they beat off the attack.'
Sieben smiled as he saw Druss's pale blue eyes narrow. The warrior's huge hand came up and idly tugged at his square-cut black beard — a sure sign of his growing irritation. 'You don't believe in appeasing the Gods?' asked Sieben innocently.
'Not with the blood of the innocent.'
'They went on to win, Druss. Therefore the sacrifice was worthwhile, surely?'
The axeman shook his head. 'If they believed the sacrifice would appease the Gods, then they would have been inspired to fight harder. But a good speech could have done that.'