David Gemmell - Legend

Khitan recalled how for more than a year he had worked harder than his slaves, sleeping less than three hours a night. He had strengthened the ceilings, but this had merely made the entire structure more heavy and less stable. In despair he had reported to Ulric. The Nadir warlord had sent him to Ventria, to study at the University of Tertullus. He felt that he had been disgraced, humiliated. Nevertheless he obeyed; he would suffer anything to please Ulric.

But he had been wrong and the year he had spent studying under Rebow, the Ventrian lecturer, proved to be the most glorious time of his life.

He learned of mass centres, parallel vectors and the need for equilibrium between external and internal forces. His appetite for knowledge was voracious and Rebow found himself warming to the ugly Nadir tribesman. Before long the slender Ventrian invited Khitan to share his home, where studies could be carried on long into the night. The Nadir was tireless. Often Rebow would fall asleep in his chair, only to wake several hours later and find the small, one-armed Khitan still studying the exercises he had set him. Rebow was delighted. Rarely had a student showed such aptitude, and never had he found a man with such a capacity for work.

Every force, learnt Khitan, has an equal and opposite reaction, so that, for example, a jib exerting a push at its top end must also exert an equal and opposite push at the foot of its supporting post. This was his introduction to the world of creating stability through understanding the nature of stress.

For him the University of Tertullus was a kind of paradise.

On the day he had left for home the little tribesman wept as he embraced the stricken Ventrian. Rebow had begged him to reconsider; to take a post at the university, but Khitan had not the heart to tell him he was not in the least tempted. He owed his life to one man, and dreamed of nothing but serving him.

At home once more, he set to work. Under construction the towers would be tiered, creating an artificial base five times the size of the structure. While being moved into position, only the first two levels would be manned, creating a mass weight low to the ground. Once positioned by a wall, ropes would be hurled from the centre of the tower and iron pins hammered into the ground, creating stability. The wheels would be iron-spoked and rimmed, and there would be eight to a tower, to distribute the weight.

Using his new knowledge, he designed catapults and ballistae. Ulric was well pleased and Khitan ecstatic.

Now, bringing his mind back to the present, Khitan climbed to the top of the tower, ordering the men to lower the hinged platform at the front. He gazed at the walls three hundred paces distant and saw the black-garbed Deathwalker leaning on the battlements.

The walls were higher than at Gulgothir and Khitan had added a section to each tower. Ordering the platform to be raised once more, he tested the tension in the support ropes and climbed down through the five levels, stopping here and there to check struts or ties.

Tonight his four hundred slaves would go to work beneath the walls, chipping away at the rocky floor of the Pass and placing the giant pulleys every forty paces. The pulleys, six feet high and cast around greased bearings, had taken months to design and years to construct to his satisfaction, finally being completed at the ironworks of Lentria's capital a thousand miles to the south. They had cost a fortune and even Ulric had blanched when the final figure was estimated. But they had proved their worth over the years.

Thousands of men would pull a tower to within sixty feet of a wall. Thereafter the line would shrink as the gap closed; the three-inch diameter ropes could be curled round the pulleys, passed under the towers and hauled from behind.

The slaves who dug and toiled to create the pulley beds were protected from archers by movable screens of stretched oxhide. But many were slain by rocks hurled from the walls above. This was of no concern to Khitan. What did concern him was possible damage to the pulleys, and these were not protected by iron casing.

With one last lingering look at the walls, he made his way back to his quarters in order to brief the engineers. Druss watched him until he entered the city of tents which now filled the valley for over two miles.

So many tents. So many warriors. Druss ordered the defenders to stand down and relax while they could, seeing in their faces the pinched edge of fear, the wide eyes of barely controlled panic. The sheer scale of the enemy had cut into morale. He cursed softly, stripped off his black leather jerkin, stepped back from the battlements and lowered his huge frame to the welcoming grass beyond. Within moments he was asleep. Men nudged one another and pointed; those closest to him chuckled as the snoring began. They were not to know that was his first sleep for two days, nor that he lay there for fear that his legs would not carry him back to his quarters. They knew only he was Druss: the Captain of the Axe.

And that he held the Nadir in contempt.

Bowman, Hogun, Orrin and Caessa also left the walls for the shade of the mess hall, the green-clad archer pointing at the sleeping giant.

"Was there ever such a one?" he said.

"He just looks old and tired to me," said Caessa. "I can't see why you regard him with such reverence."

"Oh yes, you can," said Bowman. "You are just being provocative as usual, my dear. But then that's the nature of your gender."

"Not so," said Caessa, smiling. "What is he after all? He is a warrior. Nothing more, nothing less. What has he ever done to make him such a hero? Waved his axe? Killed men? I have killed men. It is no great thing. No one has written a saga about me."

"They will, my lovely, they will," said Bowman. "Just give them time."

"Druss is more than just a warrior," said Hogun, softly. "I think he always has been. He is a standard, an example if you like…"

"Of how to kill people?" offered Caessa.

"No, that's not what I meant. Druss is every man who has refused to quit; to surrender when life offered no hope; to stand aside when the alternative was to die. He is a man who has shown other men there is no such thing as guaranteed defeat. He lifts the spirit merely by being Druss, and being seen to be Druss."

"Just words!" said Caessa. "You men are all the same. Always lofty words. Would you sing the praises of a fanner who fought for years against failed crops and floods?"

"No," admitted Hogun. "But then it is the life of a man like Druss which inspires the fanners to battle on."

"Garbage!" sneered Caessa. "Arrogant garbage! The farmer cares nothing for warriors or war."

"You will never win, Hogun," said Bowman, holding open the mess hall door. "Give up now, while you can."

"There is a fundamental error in your thinking, Caessa," said Orrin suddenly, as the group seated themselves around a trestle table. "You are ignoring the simple fact that the vast majority of our troops here are farmers. They have signed on for the duration of this war." He smiled gently and waved his hand for the mess servant.

"Then the more fool them," said Caessa.

"We are all fools," agreed Orrin. "War is a ridiculous folly, and you are right: men love to prove themselves in combat. I don't know why, for I have never desired it myself. But I have seen it too often in others. But even for me Druss is, as Hogun describes him, an example."

"Why?" she asked.

"I cannot put it into words, I'm afraid."

"Of course you can."

Orrin smiled and shook his head. He filled their goblets with white wine, then broke the bread and passed it round. For a while they ate in silence, then Orrin spoke again.

"There is a green leaf called Neptis. When chewed it will relieve toothache, or head pain. No one knows why, it just does. I suppose Druss is like that. When he is around, fear seems to fade. That's the best I can do to explain."