David Gemmell - The Legend of the Deathwalker

'Aye,' agreed Druss.

'It is a good fort now, yes?'

'A good fort with old gates,' said Druss. 'That's the weak spot.'

'That is my position,' said Nuang, his face devoid of expression. 'Talisman has told me to stand among the defenders at that point. If the gate is breached we are to fill it with bodies.' He forced a smile. 'A long time since I have known such fear — but it is a good feeling.'

Druss nodded. 'If the gate is breached, old man, you will find me beside you.'

'Ha! Then there will be plenty killing.' Nuang's expression softened. 'You will be fighting your own people again. How does this sit with you?'

Druss shrugged. 'They are not my people, and I do not go hunting them. They are coming for me. Their deaths are on their own heads.'

'You are a hard man, Druss. Nadir blood, maybe.'

'Maybe.' Nuang saw his nephew, Meng, below and called out to him. Without a word of farewell the old man strolled back down the steps. Druss transferred his gaze to the west and the line of hills. The enemy would be here soon. He thought of Rowena, back at the farm, and the days of work among the herds, the quiet of the nights in their spacious cabin. Why is it, he wondered, that when I am away from her I long for her company, and when I am with her I yearn for the call to arms? His thoughts ranged back to his childhood, travelling with his father, trying to escape the infamy of Bardan the Slayer. Druss glanced down at Snaga, resting against the battlement wall. The dread axe had belonged to his grandfather, Bardan. It had been demon-possessed then, and had turned Bardan into a raging killer, a butcher. Druss, too, had been touched by it. Is that why I am what I am, he thought? Even though the demon had long since been exorcized, still its malice had worked on him through the long years when he searched for Rowena.

Not normally introspective, Druss found his mood darkening. He had not come to the lands of the Gothir for war, but to take part in the Games. Now, through no fault of his own, he was waiting for a powerful army, and desperate to find two healing jewels that would bring Klay back to health.

'You look angry, old horse,' said Sieben, moving alongside him. Druss looked at his friend. The poet was wearing a pale blue shirt, with buttons of polished bone. His baldric was freshly polished, the knife-handles gleaming in their sheaths. His blond hair was newly combed, and held in place by a headband at the centre of which an opal was set.

'How do you do it?' asked Druss. 'Here we are in a dust-blown wilderness, and you look as if you've just stepped from a bathhouse?'

'Standards must always be maintained,' said Sieben, with a broad grin. 'These savages need to see how civilized men behave.'

Druss chuckled. 'You lift my spirits, poet. You always have.'

'Why so gloomy? War and death are but a few days away. I would have thought you would have been dancing for joy.'

'I was thinking of Klay. The jewels aren't here, and I can't keep my promise to him.'

'Oh, don't be too sure of that, old horse. I have a theory — but we'll say no more of it until the time is right.'

'You think you can find them?'

'As I said, I have a theory. But now is not the time. Nosta Khan wanted you to die, you know, and you almost did. We cannot trust him, Druss. Nor Talisman. The jewels are too important to them.'

'You are right there,' grunted Druss. 'The shaman is a loathsome wretch.'

'What's that?' exclaimed Sieben, pointing to the line of hills. 'Oh, sweet Heaven, they are here!'

Druss narrowed his eyes. A line of Lancers in bright armour were riding single file down the hillside. A cry went up on the walls and warriors ran from the com-pound to take their places, bows in hand.

'They are riding ponies,' muttered Druss. 'What in Hell's name. .?'

Talisman and Nosta Khan came alongside Druss. The riders beyond broke into a gallop and thundered across the plain with their lances held high. On each lance was a spitted head.

'It is Lin-tse!' shouted Talisman. The Nadir defenders began to cheer and shout as the thirty riders slowed to a canter and rode along the line of the wall, lifting their lances and showing their grisly trophies. One by one they thrust the lances into the ground, then rode through the newly opened gates. Lin-tse jumped from his pony and removed the Gothir helm. Warriors streamed from the walls to surround him and his Sky Riders.

Lin-tse began to chant in the Nadir tongue. He leapt and danced, to wild cheering from the warriors. On the battlements above Sieben watched in fascination, but could understand none of the words. He turned to Nosta Khan. 'What is he saying?'

'He is telling of the slaughter of the enemy, and how his men rode the sky to defeat them.'

'Rode the sky? What does it mean?'

'It means the first victory is ours,' snapped the shaman. 'Now be silent so I can listen.'

'Irritating man,' muttered Sieben, sitting back alongside Druss.

Lin-tse's story took almost a quarter of an hour to complete, and at the close the warriors swept in around him, lifting him shoulder-high. Talisman sat quietly until the roar of noise died down. When Lin-tse was lowered to the ground, he walked to Talisman and gave a short bow. 'Your orders were obeyed,' he said. 'Many Lancers are dead, and I have their armour.'

'You did well, my brother.'

Talisman strode to the rampart steps and climbed them, swinging back to stare down at the gathered men.

'They can be beaten,' he said, still speaking Nadir. 'They are not invincible. We have tasted their blood, and we will taste more. When they come to despoil the Shrine we will stop them. For we are Nadir, and our day is dawning. This is but the beginning. What we do here will become part of our legends. The story of your heroism will spread on the wings of fire to every Nadir tribe, every camp and village. It will bring the Day of the Uniter closer. And one day we will stand before the walls of Gulgothir, and the city itself will tremble before us.' Slowly he raised his right arm, with fist clenched. 'Nadir we!' he shouted. The warriors followed him, and the chant was taken up.

'Nadir we,

youth bom,

blood letters,

axe urielders,

victors still.'

'Chills the blood, rather,' observed Sieben.

Druss nodded. 'He's a clever man. He knows there are disasters to come, and he's filling them with pride at the outset. They'll fight like devils for him now.'

'I didn't know you could understand Nadir?'

'I can't. . but you don't need to be a linguist to understand what's happening here. He sent out Lin-tse to blood the enemy. To give them a victory. To bond them together. He's probably just told them they are all heroes, and that together they can withstand any force. Something like that.'

'And can they?'

'No way to judge, poet. Not until the first deaths. A fighting force is like a sword-blade. You can't test it until it has passed through fire.'

'Yes, yes, yes,' said Sieben irritably, 'but apart from the war-like analogies, what is your feeling? You know men. I trust your judgement.'

'I don't know these men. Oh, they are ferocious, right enough. But they are not disciplined — and they are superstitious. They have no history of success to fall back upon, to lift them in the dark hours. They have never defeated the Gothir. Everything depends on the first day of battle. Ask me again if we survive that!'

'Damn, but you are gloomy today, my friend,' said Sieben. 'What is it?'

'This is not my war, poet. I have no feeling for it, you know? I fought alongside Oshikai. I know that it doesn't matter a damn to him what happens to his bones. This is a battle over nothing, and nothing will be achieved by it, win or lose.'