David Gemmell - Legend

My dear friend,

Even as you read this, our intelligence is that Nadir will be upon you. We have tried repeatedly to secure peace, having offered all that we have save the right to govern ourselves as a free people. Ulric will have none of this — he wishes to secure for himself a kingdom stretching between the northern and southern seas.

I know the Dros cannot hold and I therefore rescind my order that you fight to the last. It will be a battle without profit and without hope.

Woundweaver is — needless to say — against this policy, and has made it clear that he will take his army into the hills as a raiding force should the Nadir be allowed to pass to the Sentran Plain.

You are an old soldier and the decision must be yours.

Pin the blame for surrender upon me. It is mine by right, since I have brought the Drenai people to this parlous state.

Do not think of me unkindly. I have always tried to do that which was best for my people.

But perhaps the years have told more heavily upon me than I realised, for my wisdom has been lacking in my dealings with Ulric.

It was signed simply "Abalayn', and below the signature was the red seal of the Drenai dragon.

Rek re-folded the scroll and returned it to his saddle bag.

Surrender… A helping hand at the brink of the abyss.

Virae returned from the stream, her hair dripping and her features flushed.

"Ye gods, that was good!" she said, sitting beside him. "Why the long face? Serbitar not awake yet?"

"No. Tell me, what would your father have done if Abalayn had told him to surrender the Dros?"

"He would never have given that order to my father."

"But if he had?" insisted Rek.

"The point does not arise. Why do you always ask questions that have no relevance?"

He put a hand on her shoulder. "Listen to me. What would he have done?"

"He would have refused. Abalayn would know that my father is the lord of Dros Delnoch, the High Warden of the North. He can be relieved of command — but not ordered to give up the fortress."

"Suppose Abalayn had then left the choice to Delnar. What then?"

"He would have fought to the last; it was his way. Now will you tell me what all this is about?"

"The despatch Degas gave me for your father. It is a letter from Abalayn withdrawing his 'fight to the last' order."

"How dare you open that?" stormed Virae. "It was addressed to my father and should have been given to me. How dare you!" Her face red with fury, she suddenly struck out at him. When he parried the blow, she launched another and without thinking he struck her, flat-handed, sprawling her to the grass.

She lay there, eyes blazing.

"I'll tell you how I dare," he said, suppressing his anger with great effort. "Because I am the Earl. And if Delnar is dead, then it was addressed to me. Which means that the decision to fight is mine. As is the decision to open the gates to the Nadir."

"That's what you want, isn't it? A way out?" She rose to her feet, snatching up her leather jerkin.

"Think what you like," he said. "It doesn't matter to me. Anyway, I should have known better than to talk to you about the letter. I'd forgotten how much this war means to you. You can't wait to see the crows feast, can you? Can't wait for the bodies to start swelling and rotting! You hear me?" he shouted at her back as she walked away.

"Trouble, my friend?" asked Vintar as he sat down opposite the angry Rek.

"Nothing whatsoever to do with you," snapped the new Earl.

"Of that I don't doubt," said Vintar calmly. "But I might be able to help. After all, I've known Virae for many years."

"I'm sorry, Vintar. That was unforgivable of me."

"I have found in my life, Rek, that there are a few actions which are unforgivable. And certainly there are no words said that carry such a penalty. It is a man's lot, I fear, to strike out when he has suffered hurt. Now, can I help?"

Rek told him about the despatch and Virae's reaction.

"A thorny problem, my boy. What will you do?"

"I have not yet made up my mind."

"That is as well. No one should make a hasty decision over such a weighty matter. Do not be too hard on Virae, she is now sitting by the stream and feeling very miserable. She is desperately sorry for what she said and is merely waiting for you to apologise so that she can tell you it was all her own fault."

"I'll be damned if I will apologise," said Rek.

"It will be a frosty ride if you do not," said the Abbot.

A soft moan came from the sleeping Serbitar. Instantly Vintar, Menahem, Arbedark and Rek moved over to him. The albino's eyes fluttered and opened… Once more they were the green of rose leaves. He smiled at Vintar.

"Thank you, Lord Abbot," he whispered. Vintar patted his face gently.

"Are you all right?" asked Rek.

Serbitar smiled. "I am well. Weak but well."

"What happened?" asked Rek.

"Nosta Khan. I tried to force entry at the fortress and was flung into the outer mists. I was lost… broken. I saw futures that were terrible and chaos beyond all imagining. I fled." He lowered his eyes. "I fled in panic, I know not where or when."

"Speak no more, Serbitar," said Vintar. "Rest now."

"I cannot rest," said the albino, struggling to rise. "Help me, Rek."

"Maybe you should rest, as Vintar says," Rek told him.

"No. Listen to me. I did enter Delnoch and I saw death there. Terrible death!"

"The Nadir are there already?" asked Rek.

"No. Be silent. I could not see the man clearly, but I saw the Musif well being poisoned behind Wall Two. Anyone who drinks from that well will die."

"But we should arrive before the fall of Wall One," said Rek. "And surely they will not need the Musif well until then?"

"That is not the point. Eldibar, or Wall One as you call it, is indefensible. It is too wide; any capable commander will give it up. Don't you understand? That's why the traitor poisoned the other well. Druss is bound to fight his first battle there and the men will be fed that day at dawn. By midday the deaths will begin, and by dusk you will have an army of ghosts."

"We must ride," said Rek. "Now! Get him on a horse."

Rek ran to find Virae as The Thirty saddled their mounts. Vintar and Arbedark helped Serbitar to his feet.

"There was more, was there not?" said Vintar.

"Aye, but some tragedies are best left unspoken."

For three days they rode in the shadow of the Delnoch range into deep glens, and over wooded hills. They rode swiftly but with caution, Menahem scouting ahead and pulsing messages to Serbitar. Virae had said little since the argument and avoided Rek studiously. He in turn gave no ground and made no attempt to breach the silence, though it hurt him deeply.

On the morning of the fourth day, as they breasted a small hill above thick woods, Serbitar held up a hand to halt the column.

"What's wrong?" asked Rek, drawing alongside.

"I have lost contact with Menahem."

"Trouble?"

"I don't know. He could have been thrown from his horse."

"Let us go and find out," said Rek, spurring the mare.

"No!" called Serbitar, but the horse was already on the move downhill and gathering speed. Rek tugged at the reins to bring the animal's head up, then leaned back in the saddle as the beast slithered to the foot of the hill. Once more on firm ground Rek glanced about him. Amongst the trees he could see Menahem's grey standing with head down, and beyond the warrior himself lying face down on the grass. Rek cantered the mare towards him, but as he passed under the first tree a whisper of movement alerted him and he flung himself from his saddle as a man leapt from the branches. Rek landed on his side, rolled and regained his feet, dragging his sword free of its scabbard. His attacker was joined by two others, all wore the flowing white robes of the Sathuli.