David Gemmell - The Legend of the Deathwalker

'The lands of the Drenai, the far blue mountains to the south.'

'You are far from home, Drenai. Why do you seek the Shrine?'

'A Nadir shaman told me I might find something there to help a dying friend.'

'You take a great risk to help this friend; these are not hospitable lands. I considered killing you myself, and I am among the more peaceable of my people.'

'I am not an easy man to kill.'

'I knew that when I looked into your eyes, Drenai. You have seen many battles, eh? Behind you there are many graves. Once, a long time ago, another Drenai came among my people. He too was a fighter; they called him Old-Hard-To-Kill and he fought a battle against the Gothir. Years later he came to live among us. I was told these stories when I was a child; they are the only stories I have heard of Drenai. His name was Angel.'

'I have heard the name,' said Druss. 'What more do you know of him?'

'Only that he was wed to the daughter of Ox-skull, and they had two sons. One was tall and handsome, and did not look like Angel, but the other was a powerful warrior. He married a Nadir maiden, and they left the tribe to journey south. That is all I know.'

Two women came and knelt beside them, offering bowls of meat to the men. A short series of keening cries came from the tent of Niobe, and the women laughed. Druss reddened and ate his meal in silence. The women moved away. 'Your friend will be a tired man come the dawn,' said Nuang.

Druss lay quietly looking up at the stars. He rarely found sleep difficult, but tonight he was restless. Sitting up, he threw back his blanket. The camp was silent, the fires faded to glowing ash. -Nuang had offered him the shelter of his own tent, but Druss had refused, preferring to sleep in the open.

Gathering his axe and helm and silver-skinned gauntlets, he stood and stretched. The night was cold, and a chill breeze whispered under the wind-breaks stretching between the tents. Druss was uneasy. Pushing his helm into place and pulling on his gauntlets, he silently strode through the camp, easing himself past a stretched canvas wind-break and out on to the open steppes. A sentry was sitting by a creosote bush, a goatskin cloak drawn about him. As Druss approached him he saw it was the slender boy, Meng, whom Nuang had introduced as his youngest nephew. The youth looked up, but said nothing.

'All quiet?' asked Druss. The boy nodded, obviously ill at ease.

Druss strolled on towards the towers of black rock, and sat down on a boulder some fifty feet from the boy. By day the steppes were hot and inhospitable, but the cold magic of the night gave the land a sense of brooding malevolence that spoke of nameless horrors stalking the shadow-haunted rocks. The eyes played tricks upon the brain. Gnarled boulders became crouching demons that seemed to shimmer and move, and the wind hissing over the steppes became a sibilant voice, promising pain and death. Druss was not oblivious to this lunar sorcery. Pushing such thoughts from his mind he gazed up at the moon and thought of Rowena, back on the farm. He had tried so hard, during the years since the rescue, to make her feel loved, needed. But deep down there was a gnawing pain in him that he could not ignore. She had loved the warrior Michanek, and he had loved her. It was not jealousy that hurt Druss, it was a deep sense of shame. When the raiders had stolen her so many years before, Druss had set out to find her with a single-minded determination that would brook no opposition. He had journeyed to Mashrapur and there, to gain enough money for passage to Ventria, had become a fist-fighter. After that he had crossed the ocean, engaged in battles with corsairs and pirates and had joined the demoralized army of Prince Gorben, becoming his champion. All this so that he could find Rowena, and rescue her from what he perceived as a life of abject slavery.

At the last, though, he had learned the truth. Her memory lost to her, she had fallen in love with Michanek, and was a respected and loved wife, living in luxury, happy and content. Yet knowing this, Druss had still fought alongside the soldiers who destroyed the city in which she lived, and butchered the man she loved.

Druss had watched Michanek stand against the best of the Immortals, and had seen them fall back in awe as he stood bleeding from a score of wounds, a dozen assailants dead around him.

'You were a man, Michanek,' whispered Druss, with a sigh. Rowena had never once shown bitterness for his part in Michanek's death. Indeed, they had never spoken of the man. Out here in this lonely wilderness Druss realized that this was wrong. Michanek deserved better. As did Rowena — sweet, gentle Rowena. All she had wanted was to marry the farmer Druss would have become, build a house and raise children. Druss had been a farmer once, but never could be again. He had tasted the joys of battle, the exhilarating narcotic of violence, and not even his love for Rowena could keep him chained to the mountains of home. And as for children? They had not been blessed. Druss would have liked a son. Regret touched him, but he swiftly blocked it from his mind. His thoughts drifted to Sieben, and he smiled. We are not so different, he thought. We are both skilled in a dark sterile art. I live for battle without need of a cause, you live for sex without thought of love. What do we offer this tormented world, he wondered? The breeze picked up and Druss's restlessness increased. Narrowing his eyes, he scanned the steppes. All was silent. Standing, he walked back to the boy. 'What do the riders report?' he asked.

'Nothing,' replied Meng. 'No sign of gajin or Chop-backs.'

'When is the next change of watch?'

'When the moon touches the tallest peak.'

Druss glanced up. That would be soon. Leaving the boy, he strolled out once more, his unease growing. They should have camped within the rocks, and to Hell with fears of demons! A rider came into sight; he waved at Meng and then cantered into the camp. Minutes later his replacement rode out. Another rider came in, then another. Druss waited for some time, then returned to the boy. 'Were not four sent out?'

'Yes. I expect Jodai is sleeping somewhere. My uncle will not be pleased.'

The breeze shifted. Druss's head came up and he sniffed the air. Grabbing the boy by his shoulder, he hauled him to his feet. 'Wake your uncle, now! Tell him to get everyone back into the rocks.'

'Take your hand off me!' Feebly the boy lashed out but Druss dragged him in close. 'Listen to me, boy, death is coming! You understand? There may be no time left. So run as if your life depended on it, for it probably does.'

Meng turned and sprinted back towards the camp. Druss, axe in hand, stared out at the seemingly empty steppes. Then he too turned and loped back to the camp. Nuang was already moving as Druss ducked under the wind-break. Women were hastily gathering blankets and food, and shushing the children into silence. Nuang ran to Druss. 'What have you seen?' he asked.

'Not seen, smelt . Thickened goose-grease. The Lancers use it to protect the leather on their mounts, and also to prevent rust on their chain-mail. They have hidden their horses, and they are close.'

Nuang swore and moved away. As Sieben emerged from a tent, looping his knife baldric over his shoulder, Druss waved to him, pointing to the rocks some hundred paces away. Leaving their tents, the Nadir opened a gap in the wind-breaks and ran across the open ground. Druss saw the remaining warriors leading the ponies into a deep cleft in the rocks. Taking up the rear he moved behind the column. A running woman fell and Druss helped her to her feet. She was carrying a baby, and also holding the hand of a toddler. Druss swept the boy into his arms and ran on. There were only a handful of Nadir women still short of the rocks when fifty Lancers emerged from a nearby gully. On foot they charged, blades bright in the moonlight.