David Gemmell - The Legend of the Deathwalker

'I would have died,' said Druss softly. 'A knife was flashing towards my eye. In that moment I could do nothing. His hand moved like lightning, poet. I have never seen anything like it. He plucked the blade from the air.' Druss shook his head. 'I still do not believe it. Yet moments later a coward's bolt had smashed him to the ground. He'll not walk again, Sieben.'

'You can't say that, old horse. You are no surgeon.'

'I know his spine was smashed. I have seen that injury a score of times. There's no coming back from it. Not without. .' He fell silent.

'Without what?'

Druss moved away from the window. 'A Nadir shaman came to me — just before the fight. He told me of magical gems to heal any wound.'

'Did he also try to sell you a map to a legendary diamond mine?' asked Sieben, with a smile.

'I'm going out,' said Druss. 'I need to see Klay.'

'Out? Into that chaos? Come on, Druss, wait till morning.'

Druss shook his head.

'Then take a weapon,' Sieben urged. 'The rioters are still looking for blood.'

'Then they had better stay away from me,' snarled Druss, 'or I'll spill enough of it to drown them all!'

The grounds were deserted and the gates open. Druss paused and stared at the broken statue lying on the lawn. It looked as if the legs had been shattered by hammers. The neck was sheared away, the head lying on the grass, its stone eyes staring unseeing at the black-bearded warrior standing in the gateway.

Druss gazed around him. The flower-beds had been uprooted, the lawn churned into mud around the statue. He strode to the front door, which was open. No servants greeted him as he moved through to the training area. There was no sound. The sand circles were empty of fighters, the fountains silent. An old man came in sight, carrying a bucket of water; he was the servant who had looked after the beggar boy. 'Where is everyone?' asked Druss.

'Gone. All gone.'

'What of Klay?'

'They moved him to a hospice in the southern quarter. The scum-sucking bastards!'

Druss wandered back into the main building. Couches and chairs had been smashed, the curtains ripped down from the windows. A portrait of Klay had been slashed through, and the place smelt of stale urine. Druss shook his head in puzzlement. 'Why would the rioters do this? I thought they loved the man.'

The old man set down the bucket, righted a chair and slumped down. 'Oh aye, they loved him, until his back broke. Then they hated him. People had wagered their life savings on him. They heard he was involved in a drunken brawl and that all bets were dead. Their money gone, they turned on him. Turned on him like animals! After all he'd won for them — done for them. You know,' he said, glancing up, his ancient face flushed with anger, 'the hospice they carried him to was built from money donated by Klay. Many of the people who came here and screamed abuse had been helped by him in the past. No gratitude. But the worst of them was Shonan.'

'Klay's trainer?'

'Pah!' spat the old man. 'Trainer, handler, owner? Call him what you will, but I call him a blood-sucking parasite. Klay's gone now — and so has his wealth. Shonan even says that this house belongs to him. Klay, it seems, had nothing. Can you believe that? The bastard didn't even pay for the carriage that took Klay to the hospice. He will die there penniless.' The old man laughed bitterly. 'One moment he was the hero of the Gothir — loved by all, flattered by all. Now he is poor, alone and friendless. By the gods, it makes you think, doesn't it?'

'He has you,' said Druss. 'And he has me.'

'You? You're the Drenai fighter, you hardly knew him.'

'I know him and that is enough. Can you take me to him?'

'Aye, and gladly. I'm finished here now. I'll gather my gear and meet you at the front of the house.'

Druss strolled through to the front lawn. A group of about a dozen athletes were coming through the gate and the sound of laughter pricked Druss's anger. At the centre of the group was a bald-headed man wearing a gold torque studded with gems. They stopped by the statue and Druss heard a young man say, 'By Shemak, that monstrosity cost over 3,000 raq. Now it is just rubble.'

'What's past is past,' said Gold Torque.

'So what will you do now, Shonan?' asked another.

The man shrugged. 'Find another fighter. It will be hard, mind, for Klay was gifted. No doubt about that.'

The old man moved alongside Druss. 'Doesn't their grief move you to tears? Klay supported them all. See the young blond one? Klay paid off his gambling debts no more than a week ago. Just over a thousand raq. And this is the way they thank him!'

'Aye, they're a shoddy bunch,' said Druss. Striding across the lawn, he approached Shonan.

The man grinned at Druss. 'How fall the mighty,' he said, pointing to the statue.

'And the not so mighty,' said Druss, his fist thundering into the man's face and catapulting him from his feet. Several of the athletes surged forward but Druss glared at them — and they stopped in their tracks. Slowly they backed away and Druss moved to the fallen Shonan. Both the man's front teeth had been smashed through his lips, and his jaw was hanging slack. Druss ripped the gold torque from his neck and tossed it to the old man. 'This might pay a bill or two at the hospice,' he said.

'It will that,' agreed the old man. The athletes were still standing close by. Druss pointed to the young man with long blond hair.

'You, come here.' The man blinked nervously, but then stepped forward.

'When this piece of offal wakes, you tell him that Druss is going to find him again. You tell him that I expect Klay to be looked after. I expect him to be back in his own house, with his own servants, and with money enough to pay them. If this is not done I will come back and kill him. And after that I will find you, and I will rip your pretty face from your skull. You understand me?' The young man nodded and Druss swung to the others. 'I have marked all you maggots in my mind. If I find that Klay wants for anything I shall come looking for each of you. Make no mistake: if Klay suffers one more ounce of indignity you will all die. I am Druss and that is my promise.'

Druss walked away from them, the old man alongside him. 'My name is Carmol,' said the servant, with a broad grin. 'And it is a pleasure to meet you again!'

Together they walked across the riot-torn city. Here and there bodies could be seen lying by the wayside, and the smell of burning buildings wafted to them on the wind.

The hospice was sited in the centre of the poorest quarter, its white walls out of place among the squalid buildings that surrounded it. The riots had begun near here, but moved on days since. An elderly priest showed them to Klay's room, which was small and clean with a single cot bed placed beneath the window. Klay was asleep when they entered and the priest brought two chairs for the visitors. The fighter awoke as Druss sat beside the bed.

'How are you feeling?' asked the Drenai.

'I've known better days,' answered Klay, forcing a smile. His face was grey beneath his tan, his eyes sunken and blue-ringed.

Druss took hold of the fighter's hand. 'A Nadir shaman told me of a place to the east where there are magical jewels to heal any wound. I leave tomorrow. If they exist, I shall find them and bring them to you. You understand?'

'Yes,' said Klay, despair in his voice. 'Magical jewels to heal me!'

'Do not give up hope,' said Druss.

'Hope is not on offer here, my friend. This is a hospice and we come here to die. Throughout this building there are people waiting for death, some with cancers, others with lung rot, still more with wasting diseases for which there are no names. There are wives, husbands, children. If such jewels exist, there are other more deserving cases than mine. But I thank you for your words.'