David Gemmell - Legend

"Our strength must be to achieve maximum efficiency with total economy of effort. Withdrawals must be meticulously timed. Every officer must be not only aware but totally sure of his role."

"And we must," said Arbedark, "develop an aggressive attitude to defence. We have seen ourselves that Ulric is stripping whole forests in order to build his ballistae and siege towers. We must have inflammables, also containers for them."

For over an hour, as the dawn breasted the eastern horizon, the leaders set about their plans: eliminating some ideas, refining and expanding others.

Finally Serbitar called on them to join hands. Arbedark, Menahem and Vintar relaxed their control, drifting down into the darkness, as Serbitar drew their power to him.

"Druss! Druss!" he pulsed, his mind soaring across the ocean, past Dros Purdol, the port fortress, on along the Delnoch range past the Sathuli settlements, over the vast Sentran plain — faster and faster he flew.

Druss awoke with a start, blue eyes scanning the room, nostrils flared to scent danger in the air. He shook his head. Someone was saying his name, but there was no sound. Swiftly he made the sign of the Claw over his heart. Still someone called him.

Cold sweat appeared on his brow.

He reached across the bed, snatching Snaga from the chair by the wall.

"Listen to me, Druss," pleaded the voice.

"Get out of my head, you whore-son!" bellowed the old man, rolling from the bed.

"I am of The Thirty. We are travelling to Dros Delnoch to aid you. Listen to me!"

"Get out of my head!"

Serbitar had no choice, for the pain was incredible. He released the old warrior and returned to the ship.

Druss staggered to his feet, fell and rose again. The door opened and Calvar Syn moved swiftly to him.

"I told you not to get up before noon," he snapped.

"Voices," said Druss. "Voices… Inside my head!"

"Lie down. Now listen. You are the Captain and you expect men to obey you. That's what discipline is about. I am the Surgeon and I expect to be obeyed by my patients. Now tell me about the voices."

Druss laid his head on the pillow and closed his eyes. His head ached abominably and his stomach was still queasy. "There was only one voice. It said my name. Then it said it was from The Thirty and that they were coming to aid us."

"Is that all?"

"Yes. What is happening to me, Calvar? I've never had this before from a blow on the head."

"It could be the blow; concussion can cause some very strange effects — including seeing visions and hearing voices. But they rarely last. Take my advice, Druss. The worst thing you can do at the moment is get over-excited. You could black out… or worse. Blows to the head can be fatal, even after a period of several days. I want you to rest and relax, and if the voice comes again listen to it — even reply to it. But do not become alarmed. Understand?"

"Of course I understand," said Druss. "I don't normally panic, doctor, but some things I do not like."

"I know that, Druss. Do you need something to help you sleep now?"

"No. Wake me at noon. I have to judge a contest of swordsmanship. And don't fret," he said, seeing the gleam of annoyance in the surgeon's one good eye, "I shall not get excited, and I will come straight back to bed afterwards."

Outside the room, Hogun and Orrin waited. Calvar Syn joined them, signalled for silence and beckoned them to a nearby office.

"I'm not happy," he told them. "He's hearing voices, and believe me, that is not a good sign. But he's strong as a bull."

"Is he in any danger?" asked Hogun.

"It's hard to say. This morning I didn't think so. But he has been under a lot of strain recently and that may not help his condition. And, although it is easy to forget, he is no longer a young man."

"What about the voices?" said Orrin. "Could he go mad?"

"I think I would bet against that," replied Calvar. "He said it was a message from The Thirty. Earl Delnar told me he had sent Virae to them with a message and it could be that they have a Speaker among them. Or it could be someone of Ulric's; he also has Speakers among his shaman. I have told Druss to relax and listen to any future voices, and report them to me."

"That one old man is vital to us," said Orrin, softly.

"Do everything you can, Calvar. It would be a hammer blow to morale if anything happened to him."

"Do you think I don't know that?" snapped the surgeon.

The banquet to celebrate the Open Swords was a raucous affair. All who had reached the Last Hundred were invited; officers and enlisted men were seated side by side, swapping jests, tales and tall, tall, stories.

Gilad was seated between Bar Britan, who had beaten him soundly, and Dun Pinar who had in turn vanquished Britan. The black-bearded Bar was cursing Pinar good-humouredly, and complaining that the latter's wooden sword lacked the balance of his own cavalry sabre.

"I'm surprised you didn't ask to be allowed to fight on horseback," said Pinar.

"But I did," protested Britan, "and they offered me the target pony." The three men burst into laughter which others joined as the joke spread around the table. The target pony was a saddle, tied to a moving rail and pulled by ropes. It was used for archery practice and jousting.

As the wine flowed Gilad relaxed. He had seriously considered missing the banquet, fearing that his background would leave him ill at ease with the officer class. He had only agreed to come when the men of his group had lobbied him, pointing out that he was the only member of Karnak who had reached the Last Hundred. Now he was glad he had been persuaded. Bar Britan was a dry, witty companion, while Pinar, despite his breeding — or perhaps because of it — made Gilad feel among friends.

At the far end of the table sat Druss, flanked by Hogun and Orrin, while beside them sat the archer leader from Skultik. Gilad knew nothing about the man, save that he had brought 600 bowmen to the Dros.

Hogun, in full Legion dress armour of silver breastplate edged with ebony, and black and silver mail-shirt, stared at the silver sword lying on the table before Druss.

The final had been watched by more than five thousand soldiers as Hogun and Orrin took their places. The first strike had been Hogun's, a neat parry and riposte after a four-minute duel. The second had been Orrin's, following a feint to the head. Hogun had blocked swiftly, but a subtle twist of the wrist sent his opponent's wooden blade down to touch Hogun's side. After some twenty minutes Hogun led by two strikes to one — one strike from victory.

During the first break Druss strolled to where Hogun and his seconds sat drinking watered wine in the shade of Wall One.

"Nice work," said Druss. "He's good, though."

"Yes," said Hogun, wiping the sweat from his brow with a white towel. "But he is not as strong on the right."

"True. But you are slow against the leg cut."

"A Lancer's main fault. It comes from too much work in the saddle," said Hogun. "He is shorter than I, which gives him an advantage in that respect."

"True. It has done Orrin good to reach the final. His cheers outnumber yours, I think?"

"Yes, but that will not disturb me," said Hogun.

"I hope it does not," said Druss. "Still, nothing could be better for morale than seeing the Fortress Gan perform so well." Hogun glanced up, holding Druss's gaze, then the old warrior smiled and moved back to his judge's seat.

"What was that about?" asked Elicas, walking behind Hogun and kneading the muscles of his neck and shoulder. "Encouraging words?"

"Yes," said Hogun. "Do some work on the forearm, will you? The muscles are knotted there."

The young general grunted as Elicas probed the flesh with his powerful thumbs. Was Druss asking him to lose? Surely not. And yet…