David Gemmell - Legend

As the men set off for the gruelling half-mile, someone yelled from the crowd: "What about you, fat man? Coming?"

"Not this time," Druss yelled back. "Don't be last."

"They're exhausted," said Orrin. "Is this wise, Druss?"

"Trust me. When the attacks come, men will be dragged from sleep fast enough. I want them to know their limits."

Three more days passed. Tunnel one was almost filled, and work had begun on tunnel two. No one cheered now as Druss walked by, not even among the townsfolk. Many had lost their homes, others were losing business. A deputation had visited Orrin, begging for demolition to cease. Others found that sight of the clear ground between walls only emphasised that Druss expected the Nadir to take the Dros. Resentment grew, but the old warrior swallowed his anger and pushed on with his plan.

On the ninth day something happened which gave the men a fresh topic of conversation.

As Group Karnak assembled for their run Gan Orrin approached Dun Mendar, the officer commanding.

"I shall be running with your group today," he said.

"You are taking over, sir?" said Mendar.

"No, no. Just running. A Gan must be fit too, Mendar."

A sullen silence greeted Orrin as he joined the ranks, his bronze and gold armour setting him apart from the waiting soldiers.

Throughout the morning he toiled with the men, scaling ropes, sprinting between walls. Always he was last. As he ran some of the men laughed, others jeered. Mendar was furious. The man's making an even greater fool of himself, he thought. And he's making us the laughing stock, too. Gilad ignored the Gan, except at one point to pull him over the battlements when it looked as if he might fall.

"Let him drop," yelled a man further along the wall.

Orrin gritted his teeth and carried on, staying with the troop throughout the day and even working on the demolition. By afternoon he was working at half the speed of the other soldiers. No one had yet spoken to him. He ate apart from the other men, but not by choice — where he sat, they did not.

At dusk he made his way to his quarters, body trembling, muscles on fire and slept in his armour.

At daybreak he bathed, put on his armour and rejoined Group Karnak. Only at sword practice did he excel, but even then he half thought the men were letting him win. And who could blame them?

An hour before dusk Druss arrived with Hogun, ordering four groups to assemble by the gate of Wall Two: Karnak, Sword, Egel and Fire.

From atop the battlements Druss called down to the two hundred men: "A little race to stretch your muscles, lads. It's a mile from this gate and round the perimeter and back. You will run it twice. Last man's group runs again. Go!"

As they hurtled off, bunching and pushing, Hogun leaned forward.

"Damn!" he said.

"What's wrong?" asked Druss.

"Orrin. He's running with them. I thought he would have had enough yesterday. What's the matter with the man? Is he mad?"

"You run with the men," said Druss. "Why not him?"

"Come on, Druss, what sort of a question is that? I'm a soldier and I train every day of my life. But him! Look at him — he's last already. You will have to pick the last man apart from Orrin.

"I can't do that, lad. It would shame him. He made his choice and I expect he has his reasons."

At the first mile Orrin was thirty yards behind the last man and struggling hard. He fastened his gaze to the back of the man's breastplate, he ran on, ignoring the pain in his side. Sweat stung his eyes and his white horse-hair creasted helm fell from his head. It was a relief.

At a mile and a half he was forty yards adrift.

Gilad glanced back from the centre of the leading pack, eased out and turned, jogging back to the breathless Gan. Once alongside he joined him stride for stride.

"Listen," he said, breathing easily. "Unclench your fists, it will help with the breathing. Think of nothing else except sticking to me. No, don't try to answer me. Count your breaths. Take a deep breath and blow out as fast as possible. That's it. A deep breath every two strides. And keep counting. Think of nothing except the number of breaths. Now stay with me."

He moved in front of the general, keeping to the same slow pace, then increased it gently.

Druss sat back on the battlements as the race drew near its end. Orrin was being drawn along by the slim under-leader. Most of the men had finished the race and were spread out watching the last few runners. Orrin was still last, but only ten yards adrift of the tiring Cul from Group Fire. Men started yelling for the Cul to sprint. Every group except Karnak was willing him on.

Thirty yards to go. Gilad dropped back alongside Orrin. "Give it everything," he said. "Run, you fat son of a bitch!"

Gilad increased his pace and sped by the Cul. Orrin gritted his teeth and took after him. Anger gave him strength. Fresh adrenalin flowed to tired muscles.

Ten yards to go and now he was at the man's shoulder. He could hear the encouragement screamed from the crowd. The man beside him pulled ahead with a last effort, his face twisted in agony.

Orrin drew level in the shadow of the gate and lurched ahead. He hurled himself forward, crashing to the earth and rolling into the crowd. He couldn't get up, but hands grabbed him, hauling him to his feet and pounding his back. He fought for breath… A voice said: "Keep walking. It will help. Come on, move your legs." Supported on both sides, he began to walk. Druss's voice came down from the battlements.

"That man's group, one more circuit."

Group Fire set off, this time at a slow jog.

Gilad and Bregan helped Orrin to a jutting foundation block and sat him upon it. His legs were shaking, but his breathing was less ragged.

"I am sorry I insulted you," said Gilad. "I wanted to make you angry. My father always said anger helps the strength."

"You don't have to make excuses," said Orrin. "I shall take no action."

"It's not an excuse. I could do that run ten times over; so could most of my men. I just thought it would help."

"It did. Thank you for dropping back."

"I think you did wonderfully well," said Bregan. "I know how you felt. But we've been doing this for nearly two weeks. Today is only your second day."

"Will you join us again tomorrow?" asked Gilad.

"No. I should like to, but I do have other work to do." He smiled suddenly. "On the other hand," he said, "Pinar is very good at paperwork, and I am damned tired of having complaining deputations knocking at my door every five minutes. Yes, I'll be here."

"May I make a suggestion?" said Gilad.

"Of course."

"Get yourself some ordinary armour. You will stand out less."

"I'm supposed to stand out," said Orrin, smiling. "I am the Gan."

High above them, Druss and Hogun shared a bottle of Lentrian Red.

"It took nerve for him to come out today after the jeering yesterday," said Druss.

"Yes, I suppose so," said Hogun. "No, dammit, I'll agree with you and praise the man. But it goes against the grain. You gave him the backbone."

"You can't give a man something that isn't there," said Druss. "he just never looked for it." Druss grinned and took a long swig from the bottle, passing it to Hogun half-drained.

"I like the little man," said Druss. "He's game!"

Orrin lay back on his narrow bunk, his back cushioned by soft pillows, his hand curled around a clay cup. He tried to tell himself there was no glory in coming second from last. Happily he failed. He had never been athletic, even as a child. But he came from a family of warriors and Drenai leaders and his father had insisted he take part in all soldierly pursuits. He had always handled a sword well, which, in his father's eyes, made up for the other, mightier, shortcomings. Like not being able to stand physical pain. Or not being able to understand, even after patient explanation, the great mistake made by Nazredas at the battle of Plettii. He wondered if his father would have been pleased at his hurling himself to the floor in order to beat a Cul in a foot race. He smiled: he would think him mad.