David Gemmell - The Legend of the Deathwalker

Druss strode from the wall to the well, drawing up a bucket of clear, cool water. Pulling an old cloth from his belt, he sponged the blood from his face and jerkin, then emptied the bucket over his head.

From the battlements came the sound of laughter. 'You could do with a bath too, you whoresons!' he shouted. Dropping the bucket back into the well, he drew it forth again, then drank deeply. Talisman joined him. 'We killed or wounded seventy,' said the Nadir leader. 'For the loss of nine dead and fifteen wounded. What next, do you think?'

'The same again, but with fresh troops,' said Druss. 'And before dark too. My guess is there will be at least two more attacks today.'

'I agree with you. And we will hold — I know that now.'

Druss chuckled. 'They're a fine bunch of fighters. Tomorrow it will be the gates — a concerted attack.'

'Why not tonight?'

'They haven't learned their lesson yet,' said Druss.

Talisman smiled. 'You are a good teacher, axeman. I am sure they will learn before the day is over.'

Druss took another long drink, then pointed to a group of men working at the base of the old tower. They were separating blocks of granite and hauling them clear of the rubble. 'What is the purpose of that?' asked the axeman.

'The gates will fall,' said Talisman, 'but we will have a surprise for the first troops to get through!'

Nuang Xuan lay quietly on the floor with his head on a pillow stuffed with straw, a single blanket covering him. The stitches in his chest and shoulder were tight, his wounds painful, yet he felt at peace. He had stood beside the axeman, and had killed five of the enemy. Five! Across the room a man cried out. Nuang carefully rolled to his side, seeing that the surgeon was stitching wounds in a man's belly; the wounded warrior thrashed out and Niobe grabbed his arms. Waste of time, thought Nuang, and within moments the injured man gave a gurgling cry and was still. The surgeon swore. Niobe dragged the corpse from the table, and two men carried a freshly wounded man to take his place.

Sieben pulled open the man's jerkin. He had been cut across the chest and deep into the side; the sword had broken off above the hip. 'I need pliers for this,' said Sieben, wiping a bloodied hand across his brow, leaving a smear of crimson. Niobe handed him a rusty pair and Sieben dug his fingers into the wound, feeling for the broken blade. Once he had it, he pushed the pliers against the split flesh and with a great wrench dragged the iron clear. Elsewhere in the room two other Nadir women were applying stitches or bandages.

Nosta Khan entered, looked around and then moved across the room, past Nuang and into the small office beyond.

Nuang could just make out the conversation that followed. 'I leave tonight,' came the voice of the shaman. 'You must prepare the woman.'

'She stays,' said Talisman.

'Did you not understand what I said about destiny?'

'It is you who are without understanding,' roared Talisman. 'You do not know the future, shaman. You have had glimpses, tantalizing and incomplete. Despite your powers you cannot locate Ulric. How hard should it be to find a violet-eyed leader? You cannot find the Eyes of Alchazzar. And you did not warn me they would take Quing-chin. Go from here if you must. But you travel alone.'

'You fool!' shouted Nosta Khan. 'This is no time for betrayal. Everything you live for hangs in the balance. If I take her, she lives. Can you understand that?'

'Wrong again, shaman. If you take her, she will kill herself — she has told me this and I believe her. Go. Seek out the man with violet eyes. Let him build on what we accomplish here.'

'You will die here, Talisman,' said Nosta Khan. 'It is written in the stars. Druss will escape, for I have seen him in the many futures. For you there is no place.'

'Here is my place,' responded Talisman. 'Here I stand.'

The shaman said more, but Huang did not hear it for the voices within were suddenly lowered.

Niobe knelt beside Nuang handing him a clay cup full of lyrrd . 'Drink, old father,' she said. 'It will put strength back into your ancient bones.'

'Ancient they may be, but my blood runs true, Niobe. Five I killed. I feel so strong I could even survive a night with you.'

'You were never that strong,' she said, patting his cheek. 'Anyway Chisk told us you killed at least a dozen.'

'Ha! Good men, these Lone Wolves.'

Rising, she moved back to the table. Taking a fresh cloth, she wiped the blood and sweat from Sieben's brow. 'You are working good,' she said. 'No mistakes.'

From outside came the screams of wounded men and the clash of swords. 'It is vile,' he said. 'All vile.'

'They say your friend is a god of battle. They call him the Deathwalker.'

'The name suits him.'

The doors opened'and two men were carried inside. 'More bandages and thread,' he told Niobe.

Outside on the walls Druss relaxed; the enemy had pulled back for the second time. Chisk came alongside him. 'You hurt, Deathwalker?'

'The blood is not mine,' Druss told him.

'You are wrong; your shoulder bleeds.'

Druss glanced down to the gash in his jerkin. Blood was leaking from it. Doffing the jerkin he examined the cut beneath, which was no more than two inches long, but deep. He swore. 'You hold this damned wall till I get back,' he said.

'Till the mountains crumble to dust,' promised Chisk. As Druss walked away he added, 'But you don't take too long, hey?'

Inside the hospital Druss called out to Niobe and she ran across to him. 'Don't bother Sieben with it,' he said. 'It's no deeper than a dog-bite. Get a needle and thread for me; I'll do it myself.'

She returned with the implements and a long stretch of bandage. The wound was just below the collar-bone and Druss fumbled his way through the stitching, drawing the lips of the gash together.

'You have many scars,' said Niobe, staring at his upper body.

'All men get careless,' he told her. The wound was beginning to throb now. Pushing himself to his feet, he strode from the room and out into the fading sunlight. Behind the gates some thirty warriors were manhandling blocks to form a semi-circular wall. The work was back-breaking and slow, yet no word of complaint came from them. They had erected a rough hoist and pulley on the ramparts, and the blocks of granite were being hauled into place, blocking the gates. Suddenly the pulley gave way and a huge block fell, hurling two men to the ground. Druss ran over to where they lay. The first was dead, his skull crushed, but the other man was merely winded. Pulling the corpse aside the other warriors continued with their work, their faces grim. The blocks were being laid four deep, forming a curved wall eight feet wide.

'They'll get a nasty shock as they come through,' said Lin-tse, striding down the rampart steps to join Druss.

'How tall can you get it?'

'We think twelve feet at the front, ten at the back. But we need a stronger hoist bar and supports.'

'Tear up the floorboards in the upper lodging-rooms,' advised Druss. 'Use the cross joists.'

Returning to the wall, Druss put on his jerkin and silver-skinned gauntlets. Talisman's man, Gorkai, joined him. 'The Curved Horn will stand with you for the next attack,' he said. 'This is Bartsai, their leader.' Druss nodded, then reached out and shook hands with the stocky Nadir.

'Well, lads,' he said, with a wide smile, 'do you fight as well as the Lone Wolves?'

'Better,' grunted a young warrior.

'Would you care to make a wager on that, laddie?'

The moon was bright as Talisman and Lin-tse watched the Gothir carrying away their dead and wounded. The stretcher-bearers worked with great efficiency and no little courage, coming in close to the walls to pick up the wounded. The Nadir did not loose shafts at them. Talisman had forbidden it — not for any reason of mercy, but simply because every wounded Gothir soldier needed to be tended and fed, and that would help to exhaust the enemy's supplies. The Nadir dead had been wrapped in blankets and placed in the cool of the Shrine.