David Gemmell - Legend

"I do regret it already. But my mind is set," said Dorian. "I am heading south to join Woundweaver. Now there's a soldier!"

"Is Earl Delnar still alive?" asked Druss. The young warrior nodded absently. "How many men still hold their positions?"

"What?" said Pinar, realising Druss was speaking to him.

"How many men have you at Delnoch?"

"What concern is it of yours?"

"It's where I am heading."

"Why?"

"Because I have been asked, young laddie," said Druss. "And in more years than I care to remember, I have never turned down a request from a friend."

"This friend asked you to join us at Dros Delnoch? Is he mad? We need soldiers, archers, pikemen, warriors. I haven't time to be respectful, old man. But you should go home — we have no need of greybeards."

Druss smiled grimly. "You are a blunt speaker, boy. But your brains are in your breeches. I have handled an axe for twice your lifetime. My enemies are all dead, or wished they were." His eyes blazed and he stepped closer towards the younger man. "When your life has been spent in one war after another for forty-five years, you have to be pretty handy to survive. Now you, laddie — your lips scarce dry from your mother's milk — are just a beardless boy to me. Your sword looks pretty there at your side. But if I chose, I could kill you without breaking sweat."

A silence had fallen on the room and the watchers noted the bright sheen on Pinar's brow.

"Who invited you to Dros Delnoch?" he said at last.

"Earl Delnar."

"I see. Well, the earl has been ill, sir. Now you may or may not be a mighty warrior still. And I most certainly am a beardless boy to you. But let me tell you this: Gan Orrin commands at Dros Delnoch, and he will not allow you to stay, Earl Delnar or no. I am sure your heart is in the right place, and I am sorry if I sounded disrespectful. But you are too old for a war."

"The judgement of youth!" said Druss. "It is seldom of value. All right, much as it goes against the grain, I can see I still have to prove myself. Set me a task, boy!"

"I don't understand you," said Pinar.

"Set me a task. Something no man here can do. And we will see how 'the old man' fares."

"I have no time for these games. I must return to the Dros." He turned to go, but Druss's words hit him like a blow, chilling his blood.

"You don't understand, boy. If you do not set me that task, I will have to kill you. For I will not be shamed."

The young man turned again. "As you say. Very well, shall we adjourn to the market-place?"

The inn emptied, the crowd forming a circle about the two men in the deserted village square. The sun beat down and Druss sucked in a deep breath, glorying in the warmth of spring.

"It will be pointless giving you a test of strength," said Pinar, "for you are built like a bull. But war, as you know, is a test of stamina. Do you wrestle?"

"I have been known to," said Druss, doffing his jerkin.

"Good! Then you may test your skill, one at a time, against three men of my choice. Do you agree?"

"All too simple against these soft, fat runners," said Druss. An angry murmur arose from the crowd but Pinar silenced them with a raised hand.

"Dorian. Hagir. Somin. Will you give old father here a trial?"

The men were the first three Dross had met at the bar. Dorian removed his cloak and tied his shoulder-length hair behind his neck with a leather thong. Druss, unnoticed, tested his knee: it was not strong.

"Are you ready?" asked Pinar.

Both men nodded and immediately Dorian rushed the older man. Druss lashed out, grabbing the other's throat, then stooped to push his right hand between the man's legs and lifted. With a grunt and a heave, he hurled him ten feet through the air to land like a sack on the hard-packed earth. Dorian half rose, than sat back shaking his head. The crowd hooted with laughter.

"Who's next?" asked Druss.

Pinar nodded to another youngster; then, observing the fear on the lad's face, he stepped forward. "You have made your point, greybeard. You are strong and I am at fault. But Gan Orrin will not allow you to fight."

"Laddie, he will not stop me. If he tries, I will tie him to a fast horse and send him back to his uncle." All eyes turned as a hoarse cry split the air.

"You old bastard!" Dorian had gathered up his longsword and was advancing Towards Druss, who stood with arms folded, waiting.

"No," said Pinar. "Put up your blade, Dorian."

"Back off or draw your sword," Dorian told him. "I have had enough of these games. You think you are a warrior, old man? Then let us see you use that axe. Because if you don't, I will put some air in your belly."

"Boy," said Druss, his eyes cold, "think well about this venture. For make no mistake, you cannot stand before me and live. No man ever has." The words were spoken softly, yet no one disbelieved the old man.

Except Dorian.

"Well, we shall see. Draw your blade!"

Druss slipped Snaga from its sheath, his broad hand curling round its black haft. Dorian attacked!

And died.

He lay on the ground, head half-severed from his neck. Druss hammered Snaga deep into the earth, cleansing the blade of blood, while Pinar stood in stunned silence. Dorian had not been a great swordsman, but he was certainly skilled. Yet the old man had batted aside the slashing sword and in one flowing motion had returned the attack — all without moving his feet. Pinar looked down at the body of his former companion. You should have stayed at the Dros, he thought.

"I did not want that to happen," said Druss, "but I gave him fair warning. The choice was his."

"Yes," said Pinar. "My apologies for speaking the way I did. You will be a great help to us, I think. Excuse me, I must help them to remove the body. Will you join me for a drink?"

"I will see you in the long bar," said Druss.

The tall dark-haired youngster whom Druss had been scheduled to wrestle approached him as he walked through the crowd.

"Excuse me, sir," he said. "I am sorry about Dorian. He's hot-tempered. Always has been."

"Not any more," said Druss.

"There will be no blood feud," said the man.

"Good. A man with wife and daughters has no place losing his temper. The man was a fool. Are you a friend of the family?"

"Yes. My name is Hagir. Our farms are close. We are… were… neighbours."

"Then, Hagir, when you get home I hope you will see that his wife is cared for."

"I am not going home. I'm going back to the Dros."

"What changed your mind?"

"With respect, you did, sir. I think I know who you are."

"Make your own decisions, don't place them on my shoulders. I want good soldiers at Dros Delnoch, but also I want men who will stand."

"I didn't leave because I was frightened. I was just fed up with the crazy rules. But if men like you are prepared to be there, I will stick it out."

"Good. Join me for a drink later. Now I am going to have a hot bath."

Druss pushed his way past the men in the doorway and went inside.

"Are you really going back, Hagir?" asked one of the men.

"Yes. Yes, I am."

"But why?" urged another. "Nothing has changed. Except that we shall all be on report and probably flogged."

"It's him — he's going there. The Captain of the Axe."

"Druss! That was Druss?"

"Yes, I am sure of it."

"How sickening!" said the other.

"What do you mean, Somin?" asked Hagir.

"Dorian — Druss was Dorian's hero. Don't you remember him talking about him? Druss this and Druss that. It is one reason he joined up — to be like Druss, and maybe even to meet him."

"Well, he met him," said Hagir sombrely.

Druss, dark-haired Pinar, tall Hagir and blunt-featured Somin sat at a corner table in the long room of the inn. Around them a crowd gathered, drawn by the legend of the grizzled old man.