manage."
"You couldn't even gut the thing. You looked green when the entrails popped out."
Rek hurled the rest of his oatcake in the direction of the hapless rabbit. "The badgers will probably appreciate dessert," he said. Virae giggled happily.
"You're wonderful, Rek. You're unlike any man I ever met."
"I don't think I'm going to like what's coming next," he said. "Why don't we just go to sleep?"
"No. Listen to me. I'm serious. All my life I have dreamt of finding the right man: tall, kind, strong, understanding. Loving. I never thought he existed. Most of the men I've known have been soldiers - gruff, straight as spears and as romantic as a bull in heat. And I've met poets, soft of speech and gentle. When I was with soldiers I longed for poets, and when with poets I longed for soldiers. I had begun to believe the man I wanted could not exist. Do you understand me?"
"All your life you've been looking for a man who couldn't cook rabbits? Of course I understand you."
"Do you really?" she asked, softly.
"Yes. But explain it to me anyway."
"You're what I've always wanted," she said, blushing. "You're my Coward - Hero - my love."
"I knew there would be something I wouldn't like," he said.
As she placed some logs on the blaze he held out his hand. "Sit beside me," he said. "You'll be warmer."
"You can share my blanket," she told him, moving round the fire and into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder. "You don't mind if I call you my Coward-Hero?"
"You can call me what you like," he said, "so long as you're always there to call me."
"Always?"
The wind tilted the flames and he shivered.
"Always isn't such a long time for us, is it? We only have as much time as Dros Delnoch holds. Anyway - you might get tired of me and send me away.'"
"Never!" she said.
"'Never' and 'always.' I had not thought about those words much until now. Why didn't I meet you ten years ago? The words might have meant something then."
"I doubt it, I would only have been nine years old."
"I didn't mean it literally. Poetically."
"My father has written to Druss," she said. "That letter and this mission are all that keep him alive."
"Druss? But even if he's alive he will be ancient by now; it will be obscene. Skeln was fifteen years ago and he was old then - they will have to carry him into the Dros."
"Perhaps. But my father sets great store by the man. He was awed by him. He feels he's invincible. Immortal. He once described him to me as the greatest warrior of the age. He said Skeln Pass was Druss's victory and that he and the others just made up the numbers. He used to tell that story to me when I was young. We would sit by a fire like this and toast bread on the flames. Then he'd tell me about Skeln. Marvellous days." She lapsed into silence, staring into the coals.
"Tell me the story," he said, drawing her closer to him, his right hand pushing back-the hair that had fallen across her face.
"You must know it. Everyone knows about Skeln."
"True. But I've never heard the story from someone who was there. I've only seen the plays and listened to the saga-poets."
"Tell me what you heard and I will fill in the detail."
"All right. There were a few hundred Drenai warriors holding Skeln Pass while the main Drenai army massed elsewhere. It was the Ventrian king, Gorben, they were worried about. They knew he was on the march but not where he would strike. He struck at Skeln. They were outnumbered fifty to one, and they held on until reinforcements arrived. That's all."
"Not quite," said Virae. "Gorben had an inner army of 10,000 men called the Immortals. They had never been beaten, but Druss beat them."
"Oh, come," said Rek. "One man cannot beat an army. That's saga-poet stuff."
"No, listen to me. My father said that on the last day, when the Immortals were finally sent in, the Drenai line had begun to fold. My father has been a warrior all his life. He understands battles and the shift and flow between courage and panic. The Drenai
"You couldn't even gut the thing. You looked green when the entrails popped out."
Rek hurled the rest of his oatcake in the direction of the hapless rabbit. "The badgers will probably appreciate dessert," he said. Virae giggled happily.
"You're wonderful, Rek. You're unlike any man I ever met."
"I don't think I'm going to like what's coming next," he said. "Why don't we just go to sleep?"
"No. Listen to me. I'm serious. All my life I have dreamt of finding the right man: tall, kind, strong, understanding. Loving. I never thought he existed. Most of the men I've known have been soldiers - gruff, straight as spears and as romantic as a bull in heat. And I've met poets, soft of speech and gentle. When I was with soldiers I longed for poets, and when with poets I longed for soldiers. I had begun to believe the man I wanted could not exist. Do you understand me?"
"All your life you've been looking for a man who couldn't cook rabbits? Of course I understand you."
"Do you really?" she asked, softly.
"Yes. But explain it to me anyway."
"You're what I've always wanted," she said, blushing. "You're my Coward - Hero - my love."
"I knew there would be something I wouldn't like," he said.
As she placed some logs on the blaze he held out his hand. "Sit beside me," he said. "You'll be warmer."
"You can share my blanket," she told him, moving round the fire and into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder. "You don't mind if I call you my Coward-Hero?"
"You can call me what you like," he said, "so long as you're always there to call me."
"Always?"
The wind tilted the flames and he shivered.
"Always isn't such a long time for us, is it? We only have as much time as Dros Delnoch holds. Anyway - you might get tired of me and send me away.'"
"Never!" she said.
"'Never' and 'always.' I had not thought about those words much until now. Why didn't I meet you ten years ago? The words might have meant something then."
"I doubt it, I would only have been nine years old."
"I didn't mean it literally. Poetically."
"My father has written to Druss," she said. "That letter and this mission are all that keep him alive."
"Druss? But even if he's alive he will be ancient by now; it will be obscene. Skeln was fifteen years ago and he was old then - they will have to carry him into the Dros."
"Perhaps. But my father sets great store by the man. He was awed by him. He feels he's invincible. Immortal. He once described him to me as the greatest warrior of the age. He said Skeln Pass was Druss's victory and that he and the others just made up the numbers. He used to tell that story to me when I was young. We would sit by a fire like this and toast bread on the flames. Then he'd tell me about Skeln. Marvellous days." She lapsed into silence, staring into the coals.
"Tell me the story," he said, drawing her closer to him, his right hand pushing back-the hair that had fallen across her face.
"You must know it. Everyone knows about Skeln."
"True. But I've never heard the story from someone who was there. I've only seen the plays and listened to the saga-poets."
"Tell me what you heard and I will fill in the detail."
"All right. There were a few hundred Drenai warriors holding Skeln Pass while the main Drenai army massed elsewhere. It was the Ventrian king, Gorben, they were worried about. They knew he was on the march but not where he would strike. He struck at Skeln. They were outnumbered fifty to one, and they held on until reinforcements arrived. That's all."
"Not quite," said Virae. "Gorben had an inner army of 10,000 men called the Immortals. They had never been beaten, but Druss beat them."
"Oh, come," said Rek. "One man cannot beat an army. That's saga-poet stuff."
"No, listen to me. My father said that on the last day, when the Immortals were finally sent in, the Drenai line had begun to fold. My father has been a warrior all his life. He understands battles and the shift and flow between courage and panic. The Drenai
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