David Gemmell - Legend

The sound of knuckles rapping at his door brought him back to the present. "Come!"

It was Druss, minus his black and silver jerkin. Strange how he looked like an old man, thought Orrin, without his legendary garb. The warrior's beard was combed and he wore a flowing white shirt-tunic with billowing sleeves gathered in at the wrists. About his middle was a thick black belt with silver buckle. He was carrying a large bottle of Lentrian Red.

"I thought, if you were awake, I might join you for a drink," said Druss, pulling up a chair and reversing it, as Orrin had seen Hogun do on many occasions.

"Why do you do that?" asked Orrin.

"What?" said Druss.

"Turn the chair round."

"Old habits die hard — even among friends. It's a warrior's habit. With your legs astride the chair, it is easier to rise. Also it puts a thick layer of wood between your belly and the man you are talking to or sitting with."

"I see," said Orrin. "I had always meant to ask Hogun, but I never got round to it. What makes men adopt habits like that?"

"The sight of a friend with a knife in his belly!" said Druss.

"I can see that it would. Will you teach me your tricks, Druss, before the Nadir arrive?"

"No. You will have to learn them the hard way. Little things I will help you with at the right time — they may make a difference."

"Little things? You intrigue me, Druss. Tell me something now." Orrin accepted a cup of Lentrian and settled back. Druss drank from the bottle.

"All right," said the axeman, half the bottle drained, "answer me this, why are the men issued with oranges every morning?"

"It keeps them fit and helps prevent dysentery. It's refreshing and cheap. Is that it?" asked Orrin puzzled.

"Some of it," said Druss. "The Earl of Bronze introduced oranges to the army, partly for the reasons you mention, but mainly because if you rub the juice into the palm of your hand your sword will not slip as the hand sweats. Also, if you rub it on your brow, sweat will not drop into your eyes."

"I never knew that. I expect I should have done, but I didn't. How simple! Give me another."

"No," said Druss, "another time. Tell me, why have you joined in the training with the Culs?"

Orrin sat up, his dark eyes fixed on Druss's face. "You don't think it's a good idea?"

"It depends on what you are trying to achieve. Are you seeking respect?"

"Great Gods no!" said Orrin. "I have left it too late for that, Druss. No, it was something you said the other night when the men were turfed out of bed for that night run. I asked you if it was wise and you said, 'They need to know their limitations.' Well, so do I. I've never been in a battle. I want to know what it's like to be woken from sleep after a full day's training and to be expected to fight again.

"I've let down a lot of people here. I may let them down again when tbe Nadir are scaling the wall, though I hope not. But I need to be fitter and faster. And I shall be. Is that such a bad idea?"

Druss tilted the bottle, licked his lips and smiled. "No. It's a good idea. But when you are a little fitter, spread yourself around the groups more. It will pay off."

"Pay off?"

"You'll see."

"Have you seen the Earl?" asked Orrin suddenly. "Syn says he's bad. Very bad indeed."

"I don't think I have seen worse. He's constantly delirious now — how he hangs on I don't know."

The two men talked on for over an hour, Orrin questioning the old man about his life and the many battles he had taken part in, returning always to the immortal story of Skeln and the fall of King Gorben.

When the Keep alarm bell sounded, both men reacted instantly. Druss cursed, threw the bottle aside and raced for the door. Orrin heaved himself from his bunk and followed. Across the parade ground square and up the short hill to the Keep Druss ran, pounding under the portcullis gate and up the long winding stone stairs to the Earl's bedchamber. Calvar Syn was at his bedside, with Dun Mendar, Pinar and Hogun. An old servant stood weeping by the window.

"Is he dead?" asked Druss.

"No. Soon," answered Calvar Syn.

Druss moved to the bedside, sitting beside the frail figure. The Earl's eyes opened and blinked twice.

"Druss?" he called, his voice weak. "Are you there?"

"I am here."

"He's coming. I see him. He is hooded and black."

"Spit in his eye for me," said Druss, his huge hand stroking the Earl's fevered brow,

"I thought… after Skeln… I would live for ever."

"Be at peace, my friend. One thing I have learned about Death is that his bark's worse than his bite."

"I can see them, Druss. The Immortals. They're sending in the Immortals!" The dying man grabbed Druss's arm, and tried to haul himself upright. "Here they come! Gods, will you look at them, Druss!"

"They're just men. We will see them off."

"Sit by the fire, child, and I'll tell you of it. But don't tell your mother I told you — You know how she hates the bloodthirsty tales. Ah, Virae, my little love! You will never understand what it has meant to me just being your father…" Druss bowed his head as the old Earl rambled on, his voice thin and wavering. Hogun gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, Calvar Syn sat slumped in an armchair and Orrin stood by the door, remembering his own father's death so many years before.

"We were at the pass for many days, holding out against everything they could throw at us. Tribesmen, chariots, infantry, cavalry. But always the threat of the Immortals hung over us. Never beaten! Old Druss stood at the centre of our first line, and as the Immortals marched towards us we froze. You could feel panic in the air. I wanted to run and I could see the same feeling reflected on the faces around me. Then old Druss lifted his axe in the air and bellowed at the advancing line. It was wonderful. Magical almost. The spell broke. The fear passed. He raised his axe for them to see, then he shouted. I can hear him now: "Come on, you fat bellied whore-sons! I am Druss, and this is Death!"

"Virae? Virae? I waited for you… just one more time. See you. So much… So much wanted…" The frail body trembled, then lay still. Druss closed the dead man's eyes and wiped a hand across his own.

"He should never have sent her away," said Calvar Syn. "He loved that girl, she was all he lived for."

"Maybe that's why he sent her," said Hogun.

Druss pulled the silk sheet up and over the Earl's face, and walked to the window. Now he was alone — the last survivor of Skeln. He leaned on the window sill and sucked in the night air.

Outside the moon bathed the Dros Delnoch light, grey and ghostly, and the old man gazed towards the north. Overhead a fluttering pigeon flew in and circled a loft beneath the Keep. It had come out of the north.

He turned from the window.

"Bury him quietly tomorrow," he said. "We will not interrupt training for a full funeral."

"But Druss, this is Earl Delnar!" said Hogun, eyes blazing.

"That," said Druss, pointing at the bed, "is a cancer-ridden corpse. It isn't anyone. Just do as I say."

"You cold-hearted bastard," said Dun Mendar.

Druss turned his icy gaze on the officer.

"And just you remember that, laddie, the day you — or any of you — go against me."

Rek leaned on the starboard rail with one arm about Virae's shoulders and stared at the sea. Strange, he thought, how night changed the mood of the ocean. A vast, semi-solid mirror reflecting the stars, while the moon's twin floated, fragmented and ethereal, a mile or so away. Always a mile or so away. A gentle breeze billowed the triangular sail as the Wastrel cut a white path through the waves, gently dipping and rising with the swell. Aft stood the mate at the spoked wheel, his silver eye-patch glinting in the moonlight. Forward a young seaman cast his lead into the waves, calling out the changes in depth as they passed over the hidden reef.