Legend - David Gemmell

Rowena, his child bride, taken by slavers soon after the wedding at the great oak. Druss had followed them, not even stopping to bury his parents. For months he had travelled the land until, at last, in the company of Sieben the Poet, he had discovered the slavers' camp. Having found out from them that Rowena had been sold to a merchant who was heading east, he slew the leader in his tent and set out once more. For five years he wandered across the continent, a mercenary, building a reputation as the most fearsome warrior of his time, becoming at last the champion of Ventria's God-king, Gorben.

Finally he had found his wife in an eastern palace and had wept. For without her he had always been only half a man. She alone made him human, stilling for a while the dark side of his nature, making him whole, showing him the beauty in a field of flowers, where he looked for perfection in a blade of steel.

She used to wash his hair, and stroke the tension from his neck and the anger from his heart.

Now she was gone and the world was empty, a shifting blur of shimmering grey where once had been colours of dazzling brightness.

Outside a gentle rain began to fall. For a while Druss listened to it pattering on the roof. Then he slept.

Caessa sat in the open air, hugging her knees. Had anyone approached her, they could not have seen where the rain ended and the tears began.

22

For the first time all members of The Thirty manned Eldibar as the Nadir massed for the charge. Serbitar had warned Rek and Druss that today would be different: no bailistae bombardment, merely an endless series of charges to wear down the defenders. Druss had refused all advice to rest for the day and stood at the centre of the wall. Around him were The Thirty in their silver steel armour and white cloaks. With them was Hogun, while Rek and Virae stood with the men of Group Fire forty paces to the left. Orrin remained with Karnak on the right. Five thousand men waited, swords in hands, shields buckled, helms lowered.

The sky was dark and angry, huge clouds bunching to the north. Above the walls a patch of blue waited for the storm. Rek smiled suddenly as the poetry of the moment struck him.

The Nadir began to move forward in a seething furious mass, their pounding feet sounding like thunder.

Druss leapt to stand on the crenellated battlements above them.

"Come on, you whore-sons!" he bellowed. "Death-walker waits!" His voice boomed out over the valley, echoed by the towering granite walls. At that moment lightning split the sky, a jagged spear above the Dros. Thunder followed.

And the blood-letting began.

As Serbitar had predicted, the centre of the line suffered the most ferocious of attacks, wave upon wave of tribesmen breasting the walls to die under the steel defence of The Thirty. Their skill was consummate. A wooden club knocked Druss from his feet and a burly Nadir warrior aimed an axe blow for his skull. Serbitar leapt forward to block the blow, while Menahem despatched the man with a throat slash. Druss, exhausted, stumbled over a fallen body and pitched to the feet of three attackers. Arbedark and Hogun came to the rescue as he scrabbled for his axe.

The Nadir burst through the line on the right, forcing Orrin and Group Karnak away from the battlements and back on to the grass of the killing ground. As Nadir reinforcements swept over the wall unopposed, Druss saw the danger first and bellowed a warning. He cut two men from his path and raced alone to fill the breach. Hogun desperately tried to follow him, but his way was blocked.

Three young Culs from Karnak joined the old man as he hammered and cut his way to the walls, but they were soon surrounded. Orrin — his helm lost, his shield splintered — stood his ground with the remnants of his group. He blocked a wide, slashing cut from a bearded tribesman and lanced a return thrust through the man's belly. Then he saw Druss. And knew that save for a miracle he was doomed.

"With me, Karnak!" he yelled, hurling himself into the advancing mass. Behind him Bregan, Gilad and twenty others surged forward, joined by Bar Britan and a squad of stretcher guards. Serbitar, with fifteen of The Thirty, clove a path along the walls.

The last of Druss's young companions fell with a broken skull and the old warrior stood alone as the Nadir circle closed about him. He ducked beneath a swinging sword, grabbed the man's jerkin and smashed a head butt to his nose. A sword blade cut his upper arm and another sliced his leather jerkin above the hip. Using the stunned Nadir as a shield, Druss backed to the battlements, but an axe blade thudded into the trapped tribesman and tore him from Druss's grasp. With nowhere to go, Druss braced his foot against the battlements and dived forward into the mass; his great weight carried them back and several tumbled to the earth with him. He lost hold of Snaga, grabbed at the neck of the warrior above him and crushed his windpipe, then hugging the body to him waited for the inevitable killing thrust. As the body was kicked away, Druss lashed out at the leg beside him, sweeping the man from his feet.

"Whoa, Druss! It's me — Hogun."

The old man rolled over and saw Snaga lying several yards away. He stood and snatched up the axe.

"That was close," said the Legion Gan.

"Yes," said Druss. "Thank you! That was good work!"

"I would like to take the credit, but it was Orrin and the men from Karnak. They fought their way to you, though I don't know how."

It had begun to rain and Druss welcomed it, turning his face to the sky with mouth open, eyes closed.

"They're coming again!" someone yelled. Druss and Hogun walked to the battlements and watched the Nadir charge. It was hard to see them through the rain.

To the left Serbitar was leading The Thirty from the wall, marching silently back towards Musif.

"Where in hell's name are they going?" muttered Hogun.

"There's no time to worry about that," snarled Druss, cursing silently as his shoulder flamed with fresh agonies.

The Nadir horde swept forward. Then thunder rumbled and a huge explosion erupted at the centre of the Nadir ranks. Everything was confusion as the charge faltered.

"What happened?" asked Druss.

"Lightning struck them," said Hogun, removing his helm and unbuckling his breastplate. "It could happen here next — it's all this damned metal."

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."

"There is another point," said Rek, "and one equally important. Sooner or later we will be pushed back from the wall, and despite the fire gullies our losses will be enormous. If we retire during the night, we will save lives."

"And let us not forget morale," Hogun pointed out. "The loss of the wall will hit the Dros badly. If we give it up as a strategic withdrawal, however, we will turn the situation to our advantage."

"What of you, Orrin? How do you feel about this?" asked Rek.

"We have about five hours. Let's get it started," answered the Gan.

Rek turned lastly to Druss. "And you?"

The old man shrugged. "Sounds good," he said.

"It's settled then," said Rek. "I leave you to begin the withdrawal. Now I must meet the Council."

Throughout the long night the silent retreat continued. Wounded men were carried on stretchers, medical supplies loaded on to hand-carts and personal belongings packed hastily into kitbags. The more seriously injured had long since been removed to the Musif field hospital, and Eldibar barracks had been little used since the siege began.