David Gemmell - Legend

Rek hurried across to Vintar as the Abbot opened his eyes and moved.

"Were you in time?" he asked.

"Yes," muttered Vintar, wearily. "Let me rest now."

It was an hour short of dusk when Rek, Virae and The Thirty rode under the great portcullis gate set beneath the Delnoch Keep. Their horses were weary, lather-covered and wet-flanked. Men rushed to greet Virae, soldiers doffing helms and citizens asking for news from Drenan. Rek stayed in the background until they were inside the Keep. A young officer escorted The Thirty to the barracks while Rek and Virae made their way to the topmost rooms. Rek was exhausted.

Stripping off his clothes, he bathed himself with cold water and then shaved, removing the four-day stubble and cursing as the keen razor — a gift from Horeb — nicked his skin. He shook most of the dust from his garments and dressed once more. Virae had gone to her own rooms and he had no idea where these were. Strapping on his sword belt, he made his way back to the main hall, stopping twice to ask servants the way. Once there he sat alone, gazing at the marble statues of ancient heroes. He felt lost: insignificant and overpowered.

As soon as they had arrived, they heard the news that the Nadir horde was before the walls. There was a tangible air of panic among the townsfolk and they had seen refugees leaving by the score, with carts piled high — a long, sorrowful convoy heading south.

Rek was unsure whether tiredness or hunger was predominant in him at that moment. He heaved himself to his feet, swayed slightly, then cursed loudly. Near the door was a full-length oval mirror. As he stood before it, the man who stared back at him appeared tall, broad-shouldered and powerful. His grey-blue eyes were purposeful, his chin strong, his body lean. The blue cape, though travel worn, still hung well and the thigh-length doeskin boots gave him the look of a cavalry officer.

As Rek gazed at the Earl of Dros Delnoch, he saw himself as others would see him. They were not to know of his inner doubts and would see only the image he had created.

So be it.

He left the hall and stopped the first soldier he met to ask him where Druss was to be found. Wall One, the soldier said, and he described the location of the postern gates. The tall young Earl set out for Eldibar as the sun sank; going through the town, he stopped to buy a small loaf of honey cake which he ate as he walked. It was growing darker as he reached the postern gate of Wall Two, but a sentry showed him the way through and at last he entered the killing ground behind Wall One. Clouds obscured the moon and he almost fell into the fire-pit that stretched across the pass. A young soldier hailed him and showed him the first wooden bridge across it.

"One of Bowman's archers, are you?" asked the soldier, not recognising the tall stranger.

"No. Where is Druss?"

"I have no idea. He could be on the battlements, or you might try the mess hall. Messenger, are you?"

"No. Which is the mess hall?"

"See the lights over there? That's the hospital. Past there is the store room; keep walking until you hit the smell of the latrines, then turn right. You can't miss it."

"Thank you."

"It's no trouble. Recruit, are you?"

"Yes," said Rek. "Something like that."

"Well, I'd better come with you."

"There is no need."

"Yes, there is," said the man and Rek felt something sharp in the small of his back. "This is a Ventrian dagger, and I suggest you just walk along with me for a short way."

"What's the point of all this?"

"First, someone tried to kill Druss the other day — and second, I don't know you," said the man. "So walk on and we will find him together."

The two men moved on towards the mess hall. Now that they were closer, they could hear the sounds from the buildings ahead. A sentry hailed them from the battlements; the soldier answered, then asked for Druss.

"He's on the wall near the gate tower," came the answer.

"This way," said the soldier, and Rek climbed the short steps to the battlement walls. Then he stopped dead. On the plain thousands of torches and small fires illuminated the Nadir army. Siege towers straddled the pass like wooden giants from mountain wall to mountain wall. The whole valley was lit as far as the eye could see — it was like a view of the second level of hell itself.

"Not a pretty sight, is it?" said the soldier.

"I don't think it will look any better by daylight," said Rek.

"You are not wrong," agreed the other. "Let's move."

Ahead of them Druss was seated on the battlements talking to a small group of soldiers. He was telling a wonderfully embroidered tall story which Rek had heard before. The punch line evoked the desired effect and the night silence was broken by the sound of laughter.

Druss laughed heartily with the men, then noticed the newcomers. He turned and studied the tall man in the blue cape.

"Well?" he asked the soldier.

"He was looking for you, captain, so I brought him along."

"To be more precise," said Rek, "he thought I might be an assassin. Hence the dagger behind me."

Druss raised an eyebrow. "Well, are you an assassin?"

"Not recently. Can we talk?"

"We appear to be doing just that."

"Privately."

"You start talking and I will decide how private it is to be," said Druss.

"My name is Regnak. I have just arrived with warriors from the Temple of The Thirty and Virae, the daughter of Delnar."

"We will talk privately," decided Druss. The men wandered away out of earshot.

"So speak," said Druss, his cold grey eyes fixed on Rek's face,

Rek seated himself on the battlement wall and stared out over the glowing valley.

"A little on the large side, isn't it?"

"Scare you, does it?"

"To the soles of my boots. However, you're obviously in no mood to make this an easy meeting, so I will simply spell out my position. For better or worse, I am the Earl. I'm not a fool, nor yet a general — though often the two are synonymous. As yet I will make no changes. But bear this in mind… I will take a back seat to no man when decisions are needed."

"You think that bedding an Earl's daughter gives you that right?" asked Druss.

"You know it does! But that's not the point. I have fought before and my understanding of strategy is as sound as any here. Added to that I have The Thirty, and their knowledge is second to none. But even more important: if I have to die at this forsaken place it will not be as a bystander. I shall control my own fate."

"You seek to take a lot on yourself, laddie."

"No more than I can handle."

"Do you really believe that?"

"No," said Rek frankly.

"I didn't think you did," said Druss with a grin.

"What the hell made you come here?"

"I think fate has a sense of humour."

"She always had in my day. But you look like a sensible young fellow. You should have taken the girl to Lentria and set up home there."

"Druss, nobody takes Virae anywhere she does not want to go. She has been reared on war and talk of war; she can cite all your legends and the facts behind every campaign you ever fought. She's an Amazon — and this is where she wants to be."

"How did you meet?"

Rek told him about the ride from Drenan, through Skultik, the death of Reinard, the Temple of The Thirty, the shipboard wedding and the battle with the Sathuli. The old man listened to the straightforward story without comment.

"… and here we are," concluded Rek.

"So you're baresark," said Druss.

"I didn't say that!" retorted Rek.

"But you did, laddie — by not saying it. It doesn't matter. I have fought beside many such. I am only surprised the Sathuli let you go; they're not known for being an honourable race."