David Gemmell - The Legend of the Deathwalker

The walls of Klay's study were covered with drawings and paintings of the human form, showing muscle structures and attachments. Druss had never seen the like. 'Several of my friends are physicians,' said the Gothir fighter. 'Part of their training involves the dissection of corpses, and the study of the workings of the human body. Fascinating, is it not? Most of our muscles appear to work in an antagonistic fashion. For the biceps to swell, the triceps must relax and stretch.'

'How does this help you?' asked Druss.

'It enables me to find balance,' said Klay. 'Harmony, if you will. Both muscles are vital, one to the other. Therefore it would be foolish to develop one at the expense of the other. You see?'

Druss nodded. 'I had a friend back in Mashrapur, a fighter named Borcha. He would have been as impressed as I am.'

'I have heard of him. He trained you and helped you to become a champion. After you left Mashrapur, he was the first fighter in Circle history to regain his championship. He retired six years ago, after losing to Proseccis in a bout that lasted for almost two hours.'

A servant brought a jug and filled two goblets. 'Refreshing,' observed Druss, as he drank.

'The juices of four fruits,' said Klay. 'I find them invigorating.'

'I prefer wine.'

'They say red wine feeds the blood,' agreed Klay, 'but I have always found it inhibits full training.' For several heartbeats the men sat in silence, then Klay leaned back on his couch. 'You are wondering why I invited you here, are you not?'

'I had thought it was an attempt at intimidation,' said Druss. 'Now I do not believe that.'

'That is gracious of you. I wanted you to know that I was dismayed to hear of the prophecy. It must be galling for you. I know that I always find it hateful when politics intrudes on what should be honest competition. Therefore I wanted to set your mind at rest.'

'How do you plan to do that?'

'By convincing you to fight to win. To give it your very best.'

Druss leaned back and looked hard at the Gothir Champion. 'Why is it', he asked, 'that my own ambassador urges me to an opposite course of action? Do you wish to see your King humbled?'

Klay laughed. 'You misunderstand me, Druss. I have watched you fight. You are very good, and you have heart and instinct. When I asked Shonan how he saw us both, he said, "If I had to put all my money on a fighter it would be you, Klay. But if I had to have someone fight for my life, it would be Druss." I am an arrogant man, my friend, but it is not an arrogance born of false pride. I know what I am, and I know what I am capable of. In some ways, as my physician friends tell me, I am a freak of nature. My strength is prodigious, but my speed is extraordinary. Stand up for a moment.'

Druss did so, and Klay positioned himself an arm's length away. 'I shall pluck a hair from your beard, Druss. I want you to block me, if you can.' Druss readied himself.

Klay's hand snapped forward and back, and Druss felt the sting as several hairs were torn clear. His own arm had barely moved in response. Klay returned to his couch. 'You cannot beat me, Druss. No man can. That is why you must not concern yourself with prophecies.'

Druss smiled. 'I like you, Klay,' he said, 'and if there was gold to be won for plucking hairs, I think you'd win. But we can talk about that after the final bout.'

'You will fight to win?'

'I always do, laddie.'

'By Heavens, Druss, you are a man after my own heart. No give in you, is there? Is this why they call you the Legend?'

Druss shook his head. 'I made the mistake of befriending a saga poet. Now everywhere I go he makes new stories, each more outlandish than those that came before. What astonishes me is that they are believed. The more I deny them, the more widespread is the belief they are true.'

Klay led Druss back outside into the garden training area. The other athletes had gone now, but servants had lit torches. 'I know the feeling, Druss. Denial is seen as modesty. And people like to believe in heroes. I once lost my temper during training and I struck a stone statue with the blade of my hand. Broke three bones. There are now a hundred men who claim the power of my blow shattered the statue into a thousand pieces. And there are at least twenty more who swear they saw it done. Will you stay and dine with me?'

Druss shook his head. 'There's a tavern I passed coming here. I smelt a spiced meat dish being prepared, and have had a taste for it ever since.'

'Were the windows of the place stained blue?'

'Yes. You know it?'

'It's called The Broken Sword and has the finest chef in Gulgothir. I wish I could join you, but I have business to discuss with my trainer, Shonan.'

'I would have been glad of the company. My friend, Sieben, is entertaining a lady at our quarters, and would not relish the sight of me arriving home early. Perhaps after tomorrow's final?'

'That would be pleasant.'

'By the way, you have a guest. An urchin I found waiting outside. I would be grateful if you treated him kindly, and offered him a word or two.'

'Of course. Enjoy your meal.'

Kells licked his fingers, then tore another chunk of dark bread with which to scour the bowl for the last of the stew. The old servant chuckled. 'It's all right, boy, there is more where that came from.' Lifting the pot from the stove he ladled the bowl full. Kells's pleasure was undisguised. Taking up his spoon, he attacked the stew with renewed gusto and within moments it had vanished. He belched loudly.

'I am Carmol,' said the old servant, holding out his hand.

Kells looked at it, then reached out with his own grimy palm. Carmol shook hands. 'I think this is the point where you tell me your name,' he said.

Kells looked up into the old man's face. It was heavily lined, especially around the eyes, which were blue and merry. 'Why?' There was no insolence in Kells's tone, merely innocent enquiry.

'Why? Well, it is considered polite when two people share a meal. It is also the way friendships begin.' The old man was friendly, and his smile was not sly.

'I am called Fastfinger,' said Kells.

'Fastfinger,' echoed Carmol. 'Is that what your mother calls you?'

'No, she calls me Kells. But everyone else calls me Fastfinger. The stew is very good. And the bread is soft. Fresh. I've had fresh bread and I know the taste.' Kells climbed down from the bench and belched again. The kitchen was warm and cosy, and it would have been nice to curl up on the floor beside the stove and sleep. Yet he could not, for his mission was not yet complete. 'When can I see. . the Lord Klay?'

'What is your business with him?' enquired Carmol.

'I have no business with him,' said Kells. 'I have no business. I am. . a beggar,' he announced, thinking it sounded better than thief, or cut-purse.

'So you have come to beg?'

'Yes, to beg. When can I see him?'

'He is a very busy man. But I can give you a coin or two — and another bowl of stew.'

'I don't want coins. .' He stumbled to silence, his brow furrowing. 'Well, I do want coins from you, but not from him. Not from the Lord Klay.'

'Then what do you want?' asked Carmol, sitting down at the bench.

Kells leaned in close. It could surely do no harm to tell the Lord Klay's servant of his mission? The old man might even prove an ally. 'I want him to lay his hands on my mother.'

The old man laughed suddenly, which embarrassed Kells; this was no subject for laughter and his eyes narrowed. Carmol saw his expression and his smile faded. 'I am sorry, boy. You took me by surprise. Tell me why you require such. . such an act from my master?'

'Because I know the truth,' said Kells, dropping his voice. 'I haven't told anyone, the secret is safe. But I thought that he could spare a little magic for my mam. He could make the lump go away. Then she could walk again, and laugh. And she could work and buy food.'