Drenai 06 - Druss the Legend by David Gemmell

Author:David Gemmell
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-12-16T16:34:08+00:00

Chapter Six

Gorben leaned back in his chair as his servant, Mushran, carefully shaved the stubble from his chin. He glanced up at the old man. 'Why do you stare so?' he asked.

'You are tired, my boy. Your eyes are red-rimmed and there are purple patches beneath them.'

Gorben smiled. 'One day you will call me, "great Lord" or "my Emperor". I live for that day, Mushran.'

The old man chuckled. 'Other men can bestow upon you these titles. They can fall to the ground before you and bounce their brows from the stone. But when I look upon you, my boy, I see the child that was before the man, and the babe who was before the child. I prepared your food and I wiped your arse. And I am too old to crash my poor head to the stones every time you walk into a room. Besides, you are changing the subject. You need more rest.'

'Has it escaped your notice that we have been under siege for a month? I must show myself to the men; they must see me fight, or they will lose heart. And there are supplies to be organised, rations set - a hundred different duties. Find me some more hours in a day and I will rest, I promise you.'

'You don't need more hours,' snapped the old man, lifting the razor and wiping oil and stubble from the blade. 'You need better men. Nebuchad is a good boy - but he's slow-witted. And Jasua. . .' Mushran raised his eyes to the ceiling. 'A wonderful killer, but his brain is lodged just above his . . .'

'Enough of that!' said Gorben amiably. 'If my officers knew how you spoke of them, they'd have you waylaid in an alley and beaten to death. Anyway, what about Bodasen?'

'The best of them - but let's be fair, that isn't saying much.'

Gorben's reply was cut off as the razor descended to his throat and he felt the keen blade gliding up over his jawline and across to the edge of his mouth. 'There!' said Mushran proudly. 'At least you look like an Emperor now.'

Gorben stood and wandered to the window. The fourth attack was under way; it would be repulsed, he knew, but even from here he could see the huge siege-towers being dragged into place for tomorrow. He pictured the hundreds of men pulling them into position, saw in his mind's eye the massive attack ramps crashing down on to the battlements, and heard the war-cries of the Naashanite warriors as they clambered up the steps, along the ramp, and hurled themselves on to the defenders. Naashanites? He laughed bitterly. Two-thirds of the enemy soldiers were Ventrians, followers of Shabag, one of the renegade Satraps. Ventrians killing Ventrians! It was obscene. And for what? How much richer could Shabag become? How many palaces could a man occupy at one time? Gorben's father had been a weak man, and a poor judge of character, but for all that he had been an Emperor who cared for his people.

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