David Gemmell - The Swords of Night and Day

Stavut moved on to the next wounded man, only to find that he had bled to death. A number of the injured had broken arms, or legs. Several Drenai soldiers brought enemy shields back to the poolside, and began breaking them up to make splints. Even as he stitched wounds and offered comfort to the bleeding men Stavut found himself wondering why. The beasts were coming, and there was no way they could be turned back. All this effort was a waste of energy. Every man here would be killed when the end came. Yet around him he could hear wounded men making jokes, and chatting to one another.

He worked on. Druss came by to talk to the wounded, then stripped off his armour and waded into the pool, washing the blood from his face and body.

Druss.

Stavut no longer thought of him as Harad. How could he? What he had seen today had been awesome. The axeman had stood like a great rock against an onrushing sea. The immovable against the unstoppable. Druss emerged from the pool and sat in the sunshine for a while. Then, once dry, he pulled on his clothing and hauberk. There was still blood upon his face. The water had washed away the forming scabs. Stavut walked over to him. ‘I’ll stitch those cuts,’ he said.

‘Just the one above the eye,’ said Druss. ‘It was damned annoying trying to fight and blink away the blood.’

‘What will happen to Harad?’ asked Stavut.

‘Do not fret, laddie. When this day is done he will return. I am not a thief.’

‘I didn’t think you were. Not for a heartbeat,’ said Stavut, with a smile.

‘He didn’t have the experience to survive this — especially not with a cracked skull.’

Stavut suddenly laughed. ‘You really still think we are going to win?’

Druss looked at him. ‘Winning is not everything, Stavut. Men like to think it is. Sometimes it is more important to stand against evil than to worry about beating it. When I was a young man, serving with Gorben’s Immortals, we took a city. Its ruler was a vile man. I heard a story there. His soldiers had rounded up a group of Source priests, and they decided to burn them all. One citizen stepped out from the crowd and spoke against the deed. He told them that what they were doing was evil, and that they should be ashamed of themselves.’

‘And did he save the priests?’

‘No. And they killed him too. But that’s what I am saying, laddie. I remember that man’s deed and it inspired me. Others who saw it would have been inspired too. Evil will always have the worst weapons.

Evil will gather the greatest armies. They will burn, and plunder and kill. But that’s not the worst of it.

They will try to make us believe that the only way of destroying them is by becoming like them. That is the true vileness of evil. It is contagious. That one man reminded me of that, and helped me keep to the code.’

Stavut inserted the needle into the split flesh above Druss’s eye, and carefully sealed the cut. ‘You believe that you can defeat evil with an axe? Is that not a contradiction in terms?’

‘Of course it is, laddie. That’s always the danger. However, in this instance I am merely standing my ground. If they come at me I will cut them down. I am not invading their land, or burning their cities, or ravaging their women. I am not trying to force them to bend the knee, or accept my philosophy or religion. Do I think we can win today? I think we have already won. I have seen it in the eyes of the Guards. Will we die? Probably.’

Stavut tied the knot in the stitch, then cut the thread.

‘Almost time,’ said Druss, glancing at the sky. ‘Best get your armour on.’

‘I don’t think so, Druss. I shall help the wounded. I’ll stand my ground without a sword in my hand.’

‘Good for you, laddie,’ said the axeman.

Taking up his axe he strode away towards the road.

Alahir stood and watched as the last of the bodies was carried down the hill road. The battleground was clear again, and if Druss was right, the Jiamads would come next. There were less than a hundred Drenai warriors to face them, and many of those were carrying wounds. Even those who had escaped injury were exhausted. Had the troop been at full strength it was unlikely they would be able to defeat a hundred Jiamads. Alahir’s heart grew heavy. He had learned much in these last few days, about leadership, and courage, and the nobility of spirit that so often characterized fighting men. He had also learned what separated the ordinary warrior from legends like Druss. Earlier today he had been knocked from his feet, and a warrior had loomed over him, ready for the death blow. In that moment Alahir saw Druss glance in his direction. But the axeman did not come to his aid. Instead it had been Gilden who flung himself at the attacker, blocking the blow, and killed the guardsman. After the battle Alahir had replayed the scene in his mind. Druss was holding his ground. To turn away and aid Alahir would have meant showing his back to the enemy. He had made an instant judgement. Alahir’s death, while — Alahir hoped — regrettable, was less important than containing the Guards. Such intensity of focus was beyond Alahir. In fact it is beyond most men, he thought. Druss in combat was a killing machine of relentless power and determination. He radiated a kind of invincibility that cowed those facing him. Alahir hoped he would have the same effect on the Jiamads.

Even as the thought came to him he glanced down the long road. The Jiamads were forming up. Many of them carried huge swords, others clubs. Swinging round Alahir called out: ‘Form ranks!’

Drenai soldiers gathered up their bows and ran along the road. Druss approached, walking past Alahir and scanning the advancing beasts. ‘We need to hit them from here, then fall back line by line to the poolside,’ said Druss. ‘The entrance is narrow. Easier to defend.’ Alahir agreed, and issued orders to his riders. Forty men gathered, notching shafts to the string. Twenty paces behind them fifteen more bowmen stood in line. Alahir organized three more ranks of fifteen, spaced all the way back to the pool entrance.

Then he walked forward to stand with the first group, leaving Druss standing by the entrance.

The Jiamads were halfway up the slope when the Drenai sent the first volley sailing through the air. The arrows rose and curved then flew down into the Jiamad ranks. The range was long, and only two Jiamads fell, and one of those rose again. Others ignored the arrows jutting from their flesh, or ripped them clear. Then they began to run. Another volley hit them. This time three went down, and did not rise.

They were closer now, and their roaring echoed through the mountains. As they neared the defenders so the arrows struck them harder, and with more penetrating force. Alahir counted at least ten dead.

Not enough, he thought.

One last volley hit them. They were only twenty paces away when the shafts struck.

‘Back!’ bellowed Alahir.

The archers spun on their heels and sprinted up the road, moving between the next rank, who loosed another volley before themselves turning and running.

The beasts charged, their speed incredible. They overran the fourth rank of bowmen, smashing through them. One archer was dragged from his feet and hurled out over the precipice. Others were ripped or hacked to pieces. Throwing aside their bows, the Drenai who had made it to the pool entrance drew their sabres. Druss hefted Snaga. The first of the beasts rushed at the waiting men. Druss leapt to meet it, Snaga crunching through its skull. As it fell Druss wrenched the axe clear, sweeping it out in a murderous cut that clove through the ribcage of a second beast. Alahir surged forward to support the axeman, spearing his golden blade through the heart of a huge creature bearing a massive sword. In its death throes the beast hammered his weapon against the bronze breastplate. Alahir was lifted from his feet and thrown against the cliff wall. Around him the soldiers were fighting courageously, but the numbers of dead were mounting. The beasts were just too large and powerful. Only Druss was able to hold his ground. Two of the creatures burst through the Drenai lines, and, maddened by the smell of blood from the wounded, raced into the pool area. Several of the wounded, armed with bows, shot them down.