David Gemmell - Legend

The communion began, their minds flowing, streaming into Vintar. He welcomed each by name in the halls of his subconscious.

And merged. The combined power rocked him and he struggled to retain the memory of himself. He soared like a ghostly giant, a new being of incredible power. The tiny thing that was Vintar clung on inside the new colossus, forcing down the combined essence of twenty-nine personalities.

Now there was only one.

It called itself Temple and was born under the Delnoch stars.

Temple reared high under the clouds, stretching ethereal arms across the Delnoch crags.

He soared exultant, new eyes drinking in the sights of the universe. Laughter welled within him. Vintar reeled at the centre, driving himself deeper into the core.

At last Temple became aware of the Abbot, more as a tiny thought niggling at the edge of his new reality.

"Dros Delnoch. West."

Temple flew west, high over the crags. Beneath him the fortress lay silent, grey and ghostly in the moonlight. He sank towards it and sensed the barrier.

Barrier?

To him?

He struck at it — and was hurled into the night, angry and hurt. His eyes blazed and he knew fury: the barrier had touched him with pain.

Again and again Temple launched himself towards the Dros, striking blows of fearful power. The barrier trembled and changed.

Temple drew back, confused, watching.

The barrier drew in on itself like swirling mist, reforming. Then it darkened into a thick plume, blacker than the night. Arms emerged, legs formed and a horned head grew with seven slanted red eyes.

Temple had learned much during his few minutes of life.

Joy, freedom, and knowledge of life had come first. Then pain and fury.

Now he knew fear and gained the knowledge of evil.

His enemy flew at him, curving black talons slashing the sky. Temple met him head on, curling his arms around its back. Sharp teeth tore at his face, talons ripping his shoulders. His own huge fists locked together at the creature's spine, drawing it in upon itself.

Below on Musif, Wall Two, three thousand men took up their positions. Despite all arguments, Druss had refused to surrender Wall One without a fight and waited there with six thousand men. Orrin had raged at him that such action was stupidity; the width of the wall made for an impossible task. Druss was obstinate, even when Hogun backed Orrin.

"Trust me," Druss urged them. But he lacked the words to convince them. He tried to explain that the men needed a small victory on the first day in order to hone that final edge to their morale.

"But the risk, Druss!" said Orrin. "We could lose on the first day. Can't you see that?"

"You are the Gan," snarled Druss then. "You can overrule me if you wish."

"But I will not, Druss. I will stand beside you on Eldibar."

"And I," said Hogun.

"You will see that I am right," said Druss. "I promise you."

Both men nodded, smiling to mask their despair.

Now the duty Culs were queuing by the wells, gathering the water buckets and making their way along the battlements, stepping over the legs and bodies of men still sleeping.

On Wall One Druss dipped a copper dish into a bucket and drank deeply. He wasn't sure that the Nadir would attack today. His instincts told him Ulric would allow another full day of murderous tension, the sight of his army preparing for battle draining the defenders of courage and sapping them of hope. Even so Druss had little choice. The move was Ulric's: the Drenai would have to wait.

Above them Temple suffered the fury of the beast, his shoulders and back shredded, his strength fading. The horned creature was also weakening. Death faced them both.

Temple did not want to die — not after such a short bitter-sweet taste of life. He wanted to see at close hand all those things he had glimpsed from afar, the coloured lights of expanding stars, the silence at the centre of distant suns.

His grip tightened. There would be no joy in the lights, no thrill amid the silence if this thing was left alive behind him. Suddenly the creature screamed — a high terrible sound, eerie and chilling. It's back snapped and it faded like mist.

Semi-conscious within Temple's soul, Vintar cried out.

Temple looked down watching the men, tiny frail creatures, preparing to break their fast with dark bread and water. Vintar cried out again and Temple's brow furrowed.

He pointed his finger at the wall.

Men began to scream, hurling water cups and buckets from the Musif battlements. In each vessel black worms wriggled and swam. Now more men surged to their feet, milling and shouting.

"What the devil's happening up there?" said Druss, as the noise flowed down to him. He glanced down at the Nadir and saw that men were streaming back from the siege engines towards the tent city. "I don't know what's going on," said Druss. "But even the Nadir are leaving. I'm going back to Musif."

In the city of tents Ulric was no less angry as he shouldered his way through to the wide tent of Nosta Khan. His mind was icy calm as he confronted the sentry outside.

The news was spreading through the army like a steppe gorse-fire: as dawn broke, the tents of Nosta Khan's sixty acolytes had been filled with soul-searing screams. Guards had rushed in to find men writhing broken backed on the dirt-floors, their bodies bent like overstrung bows.

Ulric knew that Nosta Khan had marshalled his followers, drawing on their combined power to thwart the white templars, but he had never truly understood the appalling dangers.

"Well?" he asked the sentry.

"Nosta Khan is alive," the man told him.

Ulric lifted the flap and stepped into the stench of Nosta Khan's home. The old man lay on a narrow pallet bed, his face grey with exhaustion, his skin bathed in sweat. Ulric pulled up a stool and sat beside him.

"My acolytes?" whispered Nosta Khan.

"All dead."

"They were too strong, Ulric," said the old man. "I have failed you."

"Men have failed me before," said Ulric. "It matters not."

"It matters to me!" shouted the shaman, wincing as the effort stretched his back.

"Pride," said Ulric. "You have lost nothing, you have merely been beaten by a stronger enemy. It will avail them little, for my army will still take the Dros. They cannot hold. Rest yourself — and take no risks, shaman. I order it!"

"I will obey."

"I know that. I do not wish you to die. Will they come for you?"

"No. The white templars are filled with notions of honour. If I rest, they will leave me be."

"Then rest. And when you are strong, we will make them pay for your hurt."

Nosta Khan grinned. "Aye."

Far to the south Temple soared towards the stars. Vintar could not stop him and fought to stay calm as Temple's panic washed over him, seeking to dislodge him. With the death of the enemy, Vintar had tried to summon The Thirty from within the new mind of the colossus. In that moment Temple looked inside himself and discovered Vintar.

Vintar had tried to explain his presence and the need for Temple to relinquish his individuality. Temple absorbed the truth and fled from it like a comet, seeking the heavens.

The Abbot again tried to summon Serbitar, seeking the niche in which he had placed him in the halls of his subconscious. The spark of life that was the albino blossomed under the Abbot's probing and Temple shuddered, feeling as if part of himself had been cut free. He slowed in his flight.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he asked Vintar.

"Because I must."

"I will die!"

"No. You will live in all of us."

"Why must you kill me?"

"I am truly sorry," said Vintar gently. With Serbitar's aid he sought Arbedark and Menahem. Temple shrank and Vintar closed his heart with grief to the overwhelming despair. The four warriors summoned the other members of The Thirty, and with heavy hearts returned to the hollows.