David Gemmell - Legend

"Great gods!" said Togi suddenly. "Just look at that!"

Gilad turned. Coming slowly towards them across the grass was Druss, leaning on the girl outlaw, Caessa. He staggered and almost fell, but she held him. As they came closer Gilad swallowed back the horror he felt. The old man's face had a sunken look; it was pallid and tinged with blue, like a two-day-old corpse. The men stepped aside as Caessa steered Druss to the centre of the line, then she drew a short sword and stood with him.

The gates opened and the Nadir poured through. Druss, with great effort, drew Snaga. He could hardly see through the mists of pain and each step had been a new agony as the girl brought him forward. She had dressed him carefully, crying all the while, then helped him to his feet. He himself had begun to weep, for the pain was unbearable.

"I can't make it," he had whimpered.

"You can," she told him. "You must."

"The pain…"

"You have had pain before. Fight through it."

"I cannot. I'm finished."

"Listen to me, damn you! You are Druss the Legend, and men are dying out there. One last time, Druss. Please. You mustn't give up like an ordinary man. You are Druss. You can do it. Stop them. You must stop them. My mother's out there!"

His vision cleared momentarily and he saw her madness. He could not understand it, for he knew nothing of her life, but he sensed her need. With an effort that tore an agonising scream from him, he bunched his legs beneath him and stood, clamping a huge hand to a shelf on the wall to hold himself upright. The pain grew, but he was angry now and used the pain to spur him on.

Druss took a deep breath. "Come on, little Caessa, let's find your mother," he said. "But you will have to help me; I'm a little unsteady."

The Nadir swept through the gates and on to the waiting blades of the Drenai. Above them, Rek received word of the calamity. For the moment the attack on the wall had ceased as men massed below in the gate tunnel.

"Back!" he shouted. "Get to Wall Five." Men began to run across the grass, through the deserted streets of outer Delnoch, streets which Druss had cleared of people so many days before. There would be no killing ground now between walls, for the buildings still stood, haunted and empty.

Warriors raced for the transient security of Wall Five, giving no thought to the rearguard at the broken gate. Gilad did not blame them and, strangely, had no wish to be with them.

Only Orrin, as he ran, noticed the rearguard. He turned to join them, but Serbitar was beside him, grasping his arm. "No," he said. "It would be useless"

They ran on. Behind them the Nadir breasted the wall and raced in pursuit.

In the gateway the carnage continued. Druss, fighting from memory, hacked and slashed at the advancing warriors. Togi died as a short lance hammered into his chest; Gilad did not see him fall. For Caessa the scene was different: there were ten raiders and Druss was battling against them all. Each time he killed a man she smiled. Eight… Nine…

The last of the raiders, a man she could never forget for he had killed her mother, came forward. He had a gold earring and a scar running from eyebrow to chin. Lifting her sword she hurled herself forward, ramming the blade into his belly. The squat Nadir toppled backwards, pulling the girl with him. A knife sliced between her shoulder blades. But she did not feel it. The raiders were all dead, and for the first time since childhood she was safe. Her mother would come out of the trees now and take her home, and Druss would be given a huge meal and they would laugh. And she would sing for him. She would…

Only seven men still stood around Druss and the Nadir surrounded them. A lance thrust out suddenly, crushing Druss's ribs and piercing a lung. Snaga lashed back a murderous reply, cutting the lancer's arm from his shoulder. As he fell Gilad sliced his throat. Then Gilad himself fell, pierced through the back, and Druss stood alone. The Nadir fell back as one of their captains moved forward.

"Remember me, Deathwalker?" he said.

Druss tore the lance from his side, hurling it away from him.

"I remember you, lardbelly. The herald!"

"You said you would have my soul, yet I stand here and you die. What think you of that?"

Suddenly Druss lifted his arm to fling Snaga forward and the blade split the herald's head like a pumpkin.

"I think you talk too much," said Druss. He toppled to his knees and looked down to see the lifeblood flowing from him. Beside him Gilad was dying, but his eyes were open. "It was good to be alive, wasn't it, boy?"

Around them the Nadir stood, but no move was made against them. Druss looked up and pointed at a warrior.

"You, boy," he said in guttural dialect, "fetch my axe." For a moment the warrior did not move, then he shrugged and pulled Snaga from the head of the herald. "Bring it here," ordered Druss. As the young soldier advanced, Druss could see that he intended to kill him with his own weapon, but a voice barked out a command and the warrior stiffened. He handed Druss the axe and moved back.

Druss's eyes were misting now and he could not make out the figure looming before him.

"You did well, Deathwalker," said Ulric. "Now you can rest."

"If I had just one more ounce of strength I would cat you down," muttered Druss, struggling with his axe. But the weight was too great.

"I know that. I did not know Nogusha carried poison on his blade. Will you believe that?"

Druss's head bowed, and he toppled forward.

Druss the Legend was dead.

Six hundred Drenai warriors watched silently as the Nadir gathered about the body of Druss and lifted it gently, bearing it back through the gates he had striven to hold. Ulric was the last man to pass the portals. In the shadow of the broken timbers he turned, his violet eyes scanning the men at the wall, stopping at last to rest on a figure of bronze. Ulric lifted his hand as if in greeting, then slowly pointed at Rek. The message was clear enough.

First the Legend, now the Earl.

Rek made no reply, but merely watched as the Nadir warlord strode into the shadows of the gate and out of sight.

"He died hard," said Hogun as Rek turned and sat back on the ramparts, lifting his helm visor.

"What did you expect?" asked Rek, rubbing tired eyes with weary fingers. "He lived hard."

"We will follow him soon," said Hogun. "There's not a day's fighting left in the men we have. The city is deserted now: even the camp baker has left."

"What of the Council?" asked Rek.

"Gone, all of them. Bricklyn should be back in the next day or two with words from Abalayn. I think he will be bringing his message direct to Ulric — he'll be based in the Keep by then."

Rek did not answer — there was no need. It was true: the battle was over. Only the massacre remained.

Serbitar, Vintar and Menahem approached silently, their white cloaks tattered and bloody. But there was no mark of wounds upon them. Serbitar bowed.

"The end is come," he said. "What are your orders?"

Rek shrugged. "What would you have me say?"

"We could fall back to the Keep," offered Serbitar, "but we have not enough men to hold even that."

"Then we will die here," said Rek. "One place is as good as another."

"Truly," said Vintar, gently. "But I think we have a few hours' grace.

"Why?" asked Hogun, loosening the bronze brooch at his shoulder and removing his cloak.

"I think the Nadir will not attack again today. Today they have slain a mighty man, a legend even among their ranks. They will feast and celebrate. Tomorrow, when we die, they will feast again."

Rek removed his helm, welcoming the cool breeze on his sweat-drenched head. Overhead the sky was clear and blue, the sun golden. He drew in a deep breath of clear mountain air, feeling its power soaking into tired limbs. His mind flew back to days of joy with Horeb in the inn at Drenan — long-gone days, never to be revisited. He swore aloud, then laughed.