Drenai Series 07 - The Legend of Deathwalker by David Gemmell

had once been.
    From his position in the alleyway he had watched Druss enter The Broken Sword tavern, and had followed him inside, listening as he ordered his meal and noting the tavern maid telling him that the house was almost full and that the food would take a little time to prepare.
    Jarid had left the tavern and run to where Copass waited; he gave the man his orders and stood back in the shadows, waiting. Copass soon returned with a dozen men, tough capable fighters mostly armed with knives and clubs. The last man carried a short crossbow. Jarid took the thin faced bowman by the arm and led him away from the others, then he spoke to him in a low voice. 'You don't shoot unless all else fails. You will be paid whether you loose a bolt or no. Your target is a black-bearded Drenai in a dark leather shirt - you will have no trouble picking him out.'
    'Why don't I just kill him as he appears in the doorway?'
    'Because I am telling you not to, half-wit. He is the Drenai Champion. It will suit our purposes if he is merely injured — you understand?'
    'Whose purposes are we talking about?'
    Jarid smiled. 'Large sums have been wagered on tomorrow's fight. If you wish, I shall speak the name of my master. Know, however, that once I have done so I will take your neck in my hands and snap the bones beneath. Your choice. You wish to know?'
    'No. I understand. But you have to understand that if your men fail then I'll be sending a bolt into the darkness at a moving target. I can't guarantee I won't kill him! What happens then?'
    'You'll still get paid. Now take up your position.' Swinging to the others, Jarid gathered them in a tight group and spoke, his voice scarcely above a whisper. 'The Drenai is a fearsome fighter, very powerful. Once any of you have planted a knife in his upper body, shoulders, chest or arm, the rest of you must break away and run. You understand? This is not a fight to the death; a deep wound is all we require.'
    'Begging your pardon, sir,' said a lean man with missing front teeth, 'but I've bet on Klay. Won't that bet be voided if the Drenai can't fight?'
    Jarid shook his head. 'The bet would be on Klay taking gold. If the Drenai doesn't fight then the gold is automatically given to Klay.'
    'What if a knife goes too deep and he dies?' asked another man.
    Jarid shrugged. 'All life is a game of chance.'
    Moving away from the men he ducked into an alley, then cut left across a section of waste ground, ducking into a shadowed doorway. Tall Tess was standing by a broken mirror, her red dress unfastened at the breast and pushed down to her hips. She was sponging cool water to her naked upper body.
    'It's hot tonight,' she said, grinning at Jarid. He did not return the smile but stepping in close he grabbed her arm, twisting it painfully. Tess cried out.
    'Shut up!' he ordered. 'I told you no other clients tonight, my girl. I like my women fresh.'
    'There haven't been any, lovely man,' she said. 'I had to run from the hospice, all the way. That's why I'm sweating!'
    'Hospice? What you talking about, girl?' Releasing her arm he took a step back. Tess rubbed at her scrawny bicep.
    'Loira. They took her in today. Klay come for her. Took her in his carriage, he did. It was wonderful, Jarid. All dark wood, lacquered black, and padded leather seats and cushions of satin. And she's in a bed now, with linen so white it could have been spun from clouds.'
    'I didn't know Klay was one of her marks?'
    'He wasn't. Her snipe, Fastfinger, went and begged him to help. And he did. So Loira's being looked after now, with medicines and food.'
    'You'd better be telling me the truth, girl,' said Jarid huskily, moving in close and cupping his hand to Tess's sagging breast.
    Td never lie to you, lovely man,' she whispered. 'You're my darling. My only darling.' Tess slid her hand downwards and allowed her mind to drift. Everything now was performance, and so mind-numbingly familiar was every move that she no longer needed to think. Instead,