David Gemmell - Legend

A distant trumpet sounded and the Nadir marched back to their tents. At the centre of the plain was a vast crater surrounded by blackened bodies. Smoke rose from the hole.

Druss turned and watched The Thirty enter the postern gate at Musif.

"They knew," he said softly. "What manner of men are they?"

"I don't know," answered Hogun. "But they fight like devils, and at the moment that's all I care about."

"They knew," Druss said again, shaking his head.

"So?"

"How much more do they know?"

"Do you tell fortunes?" the man asked Antaheim as they crouched together beneath the makeshift canvas roof with five others from Group Fire. Rain pattered on the canvas and dripped steadily to the stones below. The roof, hastily constructed, was pinned to the battlements behind them and supported by spears at the two front corners. Within, the men huddled together. They had seen Antaheim walking alone in the rain, and one of the men, Cul Rabil, had called him over, despite the warnings of his comrades. Now an uncomfortable atmosphere existed within the canvas shelter.

"Well, do you?" asked Rabil.

"No," said Antaheim, removing his helm and untying the battle knot in his long hair. He smiled. "I am not a magician. Merely a man as you — all of you — are. My training is different, that is all."

"But you can speak without talking," said another man. "That's not natural."

"It is to me."

"Can you see into the future?" asked a thin warrior, making the sign of the Protective Horn beneath his cloak.

"There are many futures. I can see some of them, but I do not know which will come to pass."

"How can there be many futures?" asked Rabil.

"It is not an easy concept to explain, but I will try. Tomorrow an archer will shoot an arrow. If the wind drops, it will hit one man — if the wind rises, it will hit another. Each man's future therefore depends on the wind. I cannot predict which way the wind will blow, for that too depends on many things. I can look into tomorrow and see both men die, whereas only one may actually fall."

"Then what is the point of it all? Your talent, I mean?" asked Rabil.

"Now that is an excellent question, and one which I have pondered for many years."

"Will we die tomorrow?" asked another.

"How can I tell?" answered Antaheim. "But all men must die eventually. The gift of life is not permanent."

"You say "gift"," said Rabil. "This implies a giver?"

"Indeed it does."

"Which then of the gods do you follow?"

"We follow the Source of all things. How do you feel after todays' battle?"

"In what way?" asked Rabil, pulling his cloak closer about him.

"What emotions did you feel as the Nadir fell back?"

"It's hard to describe. Strong." He shrugged. "Filled with power. Glad to be alive." The other men nodded at this.

"Exultant?" offered Antaheim.

"I suppose so. Why do you ask?"

Antaheim smiled. "This is Eldibar, Wall One. Do you know the meaning of the word 'Eldibar?'"

"Is it not just a word?"

"No, it is far more. Egel, who built this fortress, had names carved on every wall. "Eldibar" means "Exultation", it is there that the enemy is first met. It is there he is seen to be a Man. Power flows in the veins of the defenders. The enemy falls back against the weight of our swords and the strength of our arms. We feel, as heroes should, the thrill of battle and the call of our heritage. We are exultant! Egel knew the hearts of men. I wonder did he know the future?"

"What do the other names mean?"

Antaheim shrugged. "That is for another day. It is not good luck to talk of Musif while we shelter under the protection of Eldibar." Antaheim leaned back into the wall and closed his eyes, listening to the rain and the howling wind.

Musif. The Wall of Despair! Where strength has not been great enough to hold Eldibar, how can Musif be held? If we could not hold Eldibar, we cannot hold Musif. Fear will gnaw at our vitals. Many of our friends will have died at Eldibar and once more we will see, in our minds, the laughing faces. We wll not want to join them. Musif is the test.

And we will not hold. We will fall back to Kania, the Wall of Renewed Hope. We did not die on Musif and Kania is a narrower fighting place. And anyway, are there not three more walls? The Nadir can no longer use their ballistae here, so that is something, is it not? In any case, did we not always know we would lose a few walls?

Sumitos, the Wall of Desperation, will follow. We are tired, mortally weary. We fight now by instinct, mechanically and well. Only the very best will be left to stem the savage tide.

Valteri, Wall Five, is the Wall of Serenity. Now we have come to terms with mortality. We accept the inevitability of our deaths, and find in ourselves depths of courage we would not have believed possible. The humour will begin again and each will be a brother to each other man. We will have stood together against the common enemy, shield to shield, and we will have made him suffer. Time will pass on this wall more slowly. We will savour our senses, as if we have discovered them anew. The stars will become jewels of beauty we never saw before, and friendship will have a sweetness never previously tasted.

And finally Geddon, the Wall of Death…

I shall not see Geddon, thought Antaheim.

And he slept.

"Tests! All we keep hearing about is that the real test will come tomorrow. How many damn tests are there?" stormed Elicas. Rek raised a hand, as the young warrior interrupted Serbitar.

"Calm down!" he said. "Let him finish. We have only a few moments before the City Elders arrive."

Elicas glared at Rek, but was silent after looking at Hogun for support and seeing his almost imperceptible shake of the head. Druss rubbed his eyes and accepted a goblet of wine from Orrin.

"I am sorry," said Serbitar, gently. "I know how irksome such talk is. For eight days now we have held the Nadir back, and it is true I continue to speak of fresh tests. But you see, Ulric is a master strategist. Look at his army — it is twenty thousand tribesmen. This first week has seen them blooded on our walls. They are not his finest troops. Even as we have trained our recruits, so does he. He is in no hurry; he has spent these days culling the weak from his ranks, for he knows there are more battles to come when, and if, he takes the Dros. We have done well — exceedingly well. But we have paid dearly. Fourteen hundred men have died and four hundred more will not fight again.

"I tell you this. Tomorrow his veterans will come."

"And where do you gain this intelligence?" snapped Elicas.

"Enough, boy!" roared Druss. "It is sufficient that he has been right till now. When he is wrong, you may have your say."

"What do you suggest, Serbitar?" asked Rek.

"Give them the wall," answered the albino.

"What?" said Virae. "After all the fighting and dying? That is madness."

"Not so, my lady," said Bowman, speaking for the first time. All eyes turned to the young archer, who had forsaken his usual uniform of green tunic and hose. Now he wore a splendid buckskin top-coat, heavy with fringed thongs, sporting an eagle crafted from small beads across the back. His long blond hair was held in place by a buckskin headband, and by his side hung a silver dagger with an ebony haft shaped like a falcon, whose spread wings made up the knuckle guard.

He stood. "It is sound good sense. We knew that walls would fall. Eldibar is the longest and therefore the most difficult to hold. We are stretched there. On Musif we would need fewer men, and therefore would lose fewer. And we have the killing ground between the walls. My archers could create an unholy massacre among Ulric's veterans before even a blow is struck."