drenai saga 01 - legend -...
TRANSCRIPT
“Legend is a damnedgood book. DavidGemmell isadeliciouswriter—a master offantasy with an edge,theroguewho’sdriventoheroism.Oneofthebest pure reads inmanyaday.”
—ALLANCOLEand
CHRISBUNCH
“[Gemmell’s] booksstrike me as heroicfantasy in the truestsense.… The settingsare convincing, withthe level of detailyou’d find in ahistorical novel. Thestorieshave a realistic
feel and present themore mundane factsupon which idealizedlegendsarelaterbuilt.This reader will belooking for the nextone.”
—JULIEDEANSMITH
“David Gemmell isvery talented: his
characters are vividand very convincinglyrealistic. [Morningstar]kept my interest fromthe first chapter.Watching a commonthief become engulfedin a growing legendwas a fascinatingexperience. I’m verymuch looking forward
tohisnextbook.”
—CHRISTOPHERSTASHEFF
“Legend is a rousingtale, all primarycolors:thinkofRobertE. Howard meetingDavid Eddings. If youlike headlongadventure, this one’s
foryou.”
—HARRYTURTLEDOVE
“[Legend]isapowerfulnovel, intense andmoving—militaryfantasy at its finest.…Sweeping in itsscope … Thedepictions of courage,
honor, and fortitudearesecondtonone.”
—LAWRENCEWATT-EVANS
ByDavidGemmellPublishedbyTheRandomHousePublishingGroup
LIONOFMACEDONDARKPRINCEECHOES OF THE GREATSONGKNIGHTS OF DARKRENOWNMORNINGSTAR
DARKMOONIRONHAND’SDAUGHTERTHEHAWKETERNAL
TheDrenaiSagaLEGENDTHE KING BEYOND THEGATEQUEST FOR LOST
HEROESWAYLANDERIN THE REALM OF THEWOLFTHE FIRST CHRONICLESOFDRUSSTHELEGENDTHE LEGEND OFDEATHWALKERWINTERWARRIORS
HEROINTHESHADOWSWHITEWOLFTHE SWORDS OF NIGHTANDDAY
TheStonesofPowerCycleGHOSTKINGLASTSWORDOFPOWERWOLFINSHADOW
THELASTGUARDIANBLOODSTONE
TheRiganteSWORDINTHESTORMMIDNIGHTFALCONRAVENHEARTSTORMRIDER
TroyLORD OF THE SILVERBOWSHIELDOFTHUNDERFALLOFKINGS
ADelRey®BookPublishedbyTheRandomHousePublishingGroup
Copyright©1984byDavidA.GemmellExcerptfromWhiteWolfcopyright©2003byDavidGemmell
Allrightsreserved.
PublishedintheUnitedStatesbyDelReyBooks,animprintofTheRandomHousePublishingGroup,adivisionofRandomHouse,Inc.,NewYork,andsimultaneouslyinCanadabyRandomHouseofCanadaLimited,Toronto.OriginallypublishedinGreatBritainbyCenturyin1984.PreviouslypublishedintheUnitedStates
byNewInfinitybooksunderthetitleAgainsttheHorde.
DelReyisaregisteredtrademarkandtheDelReycolophonisatrademarkofRandomHouse,Inc.
www.delreybooks.com
eISBN:978-0-307-79749-0
v3.1_r1
This book is dedicatedwith love to three veryspecial people. My father,Bill Woodford, withoutwhom Druss the Legendwouldneverhavestoodonthe wall of Dros Delnoch.My mother, Olive, whoinstilled in me a love of
stories in which heroesnever lied, evil rarelytriumphed, and love wasalwaystrue.
Andmywife,Valerie,whoshowedmethatlifecanbelikestories.
Grateful thanks are alsodue to Russell Claughton,
Tim Lenton, Tom Taylor,Nick Hopkins, and StellaGraham for their helpthroughouttheproject.
TPrologue
he Drenai heraldwaited nervously
outside the great doors ofthe throne room, flankedby two Nadir guards whostared ahead, slanted eyesfixed on the bronze eagleemblazoned on the dark
wood.Helickeddrylipswitha
dry tongue and adjustedhis purple cape about hisbony shoulders. He hadbeen so confident in thecouncilchamberatDrenansix hundred miles southwhen Abalayn had asked
him to undertake thisdelicatemission:ajourneyto distant Gulgothir toratify the treaties madewith Ulric, Lord of theNadir tribes.Bartellushadhelped to draft treaties inthe past and twice hadbeen present at talks in
western Vagria and southin Mashrapur. All menunderstood the value oftrade and the necessity ofavoiding such costlyundertakings aswar.Ulricwould be no exception.True, he had sacked thenations of the northern
plain, but then, they hadbled his people dry overthe centuries with theirtaxes and raids; they hadsown the seeds of theirowndestruction.NotsotheDrenai.They
had always treated theNadir with tact and
courtesy. Abalayn himselfhad twice visited Ulric inhis northern tent city andhadbeenroyallyreceived.But Bartellus had been
shockedatthedevastationinGulgothir.Thatthevastgates had been sunderedwasnosurprise,butmany
of the defenders had beensubsequently mutilated.The square within themainkeepboastedasmallmound of human hands.Bartellus shivered andwrenched his mind fromthememory.Forthreedaystheyhad
kepthimwaiting,buttheyhad been courteous—evenkindly.He adjusted his cape
again,awarethathislean,angular frame did littlejusticetotheherald’sgarb.Taking a linen cloth fromhis belt, he wiped the
sweat from his bald head.Hiswifeconstantlywarnedhim that his head shonedazzlingly whenever hegrew nervous. It was anobservationhewouldhavepreferred to be leftunspoken.He slid a glance at the
guard to his right,suppressingashudder.Theman was shorter than he,wearing a spiked helmfringed with goatskin. Hewore a lacquered woodenbreastplate and carried aserrated spear. The facewasflatandcruel,theeyes
dark and slanted. IfBartellus ever needed aman to cut off someone’shand…Heglancedtohis left—
andwishedhehadnot,forthe other guard waslookingathim.Hefeltlikea rabbit beneath a
plunginghawkandhastilyreturned his gaze to thebronzeeagleonthedoor.Mercifully, the wait
ended and the doorsswungopen.Taking a deep breath,
Bartellusmarchedinside.The room was long,
twenty marble pillarssupporting a frescoedceiling.Eachpillarcarrieda burning torch that castgaunt dancing shadows tothe walls beyond, and byeach pillar stood a Nadirguard bearing a spear.Eyes fixed firmly ahead,
Bartellusmarchedthefiftypacestothethroneonthemarbledais.Upon it sat Ulric,
WarlordoftheNorth.Hewas not tall, but he
radiated power, and asBartellus moved into thecenteroftheroom,hewas
struck by the sheerdynamismof theman.Hehad the high cheekbonesand midnight hair of theNadir,buthisslantedeyeswere violet and striking.The face was swarthy, atrident beard creating ademonic appearance that
was belied by thewarmthoftheman’ssmile.But what impressed
BartellusmostwasthattheNadir lord was wearing awhite Drenai robeembroidered withAbalayn’s family crest: agoldenhorserearingabove
asilvercrown.The herald bowed
deeply.“My lord, I bring you
the greetings of LordAbalayn, elected leader ofthefreeDrenaipeople.”Ulric nodded in return,
waving a hand for him to
continue.“My lord Abalayn
congratulates you on yourmagnificentvictoryagainsttherebelsofGulgothirandhopes that with thehorrorsofwarnowbehindyou, you will be able toconsider the new treaties
and trade agreements hediscussedwith you duringhis most enjoyable staylast spring. I have here aletter from Lord Abalayn,and also the treaties andagreements.” Bartellusstepped forward,presenting three scrolls.
Ulric took them, placingthem gently on the floorbesidethethrone.“Thank you, Bartellus,”
he said. “Tellme, is theretruly fear among theDrenai that my army willmarchonDrosDelnoch?”“Youjest,mylord?”
“Not at all,” said Ulricinnocently, his voice deepandresonant.“Traderstellme there is greatdiscussioninDrenan.”“Idle gossip merely,”
saidBartellus.“Ihelpedtodraft the agreementsmyself, and if I can be of
any help with the morecomplexpassages, Iwouldconsider it a pleasure toassistyou.”“No, Iamsure theyare
in order,” said Ulric. “ButyoudorealizemyshamanNosta Khanmust examinethe omens. A primitive
custom, I know, but I amsureyouunderstand.”“Of course. Such things
are amatter of tradition,”saidBartellus.Ulric clapped his hands
twice, and from theshadowstotheleftcameawizenedoldmaninadirty
goatskin tunic. Under hisskinny right arm hecarried a white chicken,and inhis lefthandwasawide, shallow woodenbowl. Ulric stood as heapproached, holding outhis hands and taking thechicken by the neck and
legs.Slowly Ulric raised it
above his head—then, asBartellus’ eyeswidened inhorror, he lowered thebird and bit through itsneck, tearing the headfrom the body. Thewingsflapped madly, and blood
gushed and spattered,drenching the white robe.Ulric held the quiveringcarcass over the bowl,watching as the last of itslifebloodstainedthewood.Nosta Khan waited untilthe last drop oozed fromthe flesh and then lifted
the bowl to his lips. Helooked up at Ulric andshookhishead.The warlord tossed the
bird aside and slowlyremoved the white robe.Beneathitheworeablackbreastplate and a beltedsword. From beside the
throne he lifted the warhelmofblacksteel,fringedwith silver fox fur, andplaced it on his head. Hewiped his bloody mouthon the Drenai robe andcarelessly tossed it towardBartellus.Theheraldlookeddown
at the blood-covered clothathisfeet.“I am afraid the omens
are not pleasant,” saidUlric.
R1
ek was drunk. Notenough to matter but
enough not to matter, hethought, staring at theruby wine casting bloodshadowsintheleadcrystalglass. A log fire in the
hearth warmed his back,the smoke stinging hiseyes, the acrid smell of itmixing with the odor ofunwashed bodies,forgotten meals, andmusty, damp clothing. Alantern flame dancedbrieflyintheicywindasa
shaft of cold air brushedthe room. Then it wasgone as a newcomerslammed shut thewoodendoor, muttering hisapologies to the crowdedinn.Conversation, which
had died in the sudden
blast of frosty air, nowresumed, a dozen voicesfrom different groupsmerging into a babble ofmeaningless sounds. Reksipped his wine. Heshivered as someonelaughed; thesoundwasascold as the winter wind
beating against thewooden walls. Likesomeone walking overyourgrave,hethought.Hepulledhisbluecloakmoretightlyabouthisshoulders.He did not need to hearthe words to know thetopic of every
conversation: It had beenthesamefordays.War.Sucha littleword, such
a depth of agony. Blood,death, conquest,starvation, plague, andhorror.More laughter burst
upon the room.“Barbarians!” roared avoice above the babble.“Easy meat for Drenailances.”Morelaughter.Rekstaredatthecrystal
goblet. So beautiful. Sofragile. Crafted with care,even love, multifaceted
like a gossamer diamond.He lifted the crystal closetohisface,seeingadozeneyesreflectedthere.Andeachaccused.Fora
secondhewantedtocrushthe glass into fragments,destroy the eyes and theaccusation.Buthedidnot.
I am not a fool, he toldhimself.Notyet.Horeb, the innkeeper,
wiped his thick fingers onatowelandcastatiredyetwary eye over the crowd,alert for trouble, ready tostep inwithawordandasmilebeforea snarl anda
fist became necessary.War. What was it aboutthe prospect of suchbloody enterprises thatreduced men to the levelof animals? Some of thedrinkers—most, in fact—werewellknowntoHoreb.Many were family men:
farmers, traders, artisans.All were friendly; mostwere compassionate,trustworthy, even kindly.Andheretheyweretalkingof death and glory andreadytothrashorslayanysuspected of Nadirsympathies. The Nadir—
even the name spoke ofcontempt.But they’ll learn, he
thought sadly. Oh, howthey’ll learn! Horeb’s eyesscanned the large room,warming as they lightedupon his daughters, whowere clearing tables and
delivering tankards. TinyDori blushing beneath herfreckles at some ribaldjest;Besa,theimageofhermother, tall and fair;Nessa, fat and plain andlovedbyall,soontomarrythe baker’s apprenticeNorvas.Goodgirls.Giftsof
joy. Then his gaze fell onthe tall figure in the bluecloak seated by thewindow.“Damn you, Rek, snap
out of it,” he muttered,knowing the man wouldnever hear him. Horebturned away, cursed, then
removedhis leather apronand grasped a half-emptyjug of ale and a tankard.As an afterthought heopened a small cupboardand removed a bottle ofport he had been savingforNessa’swedding.“A problem shared is a
problemdoubled,”hesaid,squeezing into the seatoppositeRek.“A friend in need is a
friendtobeavoided,”Rekcountered, accepting theproffered bottle andrefillinghis glass. “I knewa general once,” he said,
staring at the wine,twirling the glass slowlywith his long fingers.“Neverlostabattle.Neverwonone,either.”“Howso?”askedHoreb.“You know the answer.
I’vetoldyoubefore.”“I have a badmemory.
Anyway, I like to listen toyoutellstories.Howcouldhe never lose and neverwin?”“He surrendered
whenever threatened,”saidRek.“Clever,eh?”“How come men
followed him if he never
won?”“Because he never lost.
Neitherdidthey.”“Would you have
followed him?” askedHoreb.“I don’t follow anyone
anymore. Least of allgenerals.” Rek turned his
head, listening to theinterweaving chatter. Heclosed his eyes,concentrating. “Listen tothem,” he said softly.“Listen to their talk ofglory.”“They don’t know any
better, Rek, my friend.
They haven’t seen it,tasted it. Crows like ablack cloud over abattlefieldfeastingondeadmen’s eyes, foxes jerkingat severed tendons,worms…”“Stop it,damnyou…I
don’t need reminding.
Well,I’mdamnedifI’llgo.When’s Nessa gettingmarried?”“In three days,”
answered Horeb. “He’s agood boy; he’ll look afterher. Keeps baking hercakes. She’ll be like a tubbeforelong.”
“One way or another,”saidRekwithawink.“Indeed,yes,”answered
Horeb, grinning broadly.The men sat in their ownsilence, allowing thenoiseto wash over them, eachdrinking and thinking,secure within their circle
of two. After a while Rekleanedforward.“Thefirstattackwillbe
atDrosDelnoch,”he said.“Doyouknowthey’veonlytenthousandmenthere?”“Ihearditwaslessthan
that. Abalayn’s beencutting back on the
regularsandconcentratingon militia. Still, there’resixhighwallsandastrongkeep.AndDelnar’snofool—he was at the Battle ofSkeln.”“Really?” said Rek. “I
heard that was one managainst ten thousand,
hurling mountains on thefoe.”“The saga of Druss the
Legend,” said Horeb,deepening his voice. “Thetaleof agiantwhoseeyeswere death and whose axwasterror.Gatheraround,children, and keep from
theshadowslestevil lurksasItellmytale.”“Youbastard!”saidRek.
“That used to terrify me.Youknewhim,didn’t you—theLegend,Imean?”“A long time ago. They
say he’s dead. If not, hemust be over sixty. We
were in three campaignstogether, but I only spoketohimtwice.Isawhiminactiononce,though.”“Was he good?” asked
Rek.“Awesome. It was just
before Skeln and thedefeat of the Immortals.
Justaskirmish,really.Yes,hewasverygood.”“You’re not terribly
strongondetail,Horeb.”“Youwantmetosound
liketherestofthesefools,jabbering about war anddeathandslaying?”“No,”saidRek,draining
hiswine.“No,Idon’t.Youknowme,don’tyou?”“Enough to like you.
Regardless.”“Regardlessofwhat?”“Regardless of the fact
that you don’t likeyourself.”“On the contrary,” said
Rek,pouringafreshglass,“Ilikemyselfwellenough.It’sjustthatIknowmyselfbetterthanmostpeople.”“You know, Rek,
sometimes I thinkyouasktoomuchofyourself.”“No. No, I ask very
little. I know my
weaknesses.”“It’safunnythingabout
weakness,” said Horeb.“Most peoplewill tell youthey know theirweaknesses. When asked,they tell you, ‘Well, forone thing I’movergenerous.’ Come on,
then; list yours if youmust. That’s whatinnkeepersarefor.”“Well,foronethingI’m
overgenerous,especiallytoinnkeepers.”Horeb shook his head,
smiled, and lapsed intosilence.
Too intelligent to be ahero, too frightened to bea coward, he thought. Hewatched his friend emptyhisglass,liftittohisface,and peer at his ownfragmented image. For amomentHorebthoughthewould smash it, such had
been the anger on Rek’sflushedface.Then the younger man
gently returned the goblettothewoodentable.“I’mnotafool,”hesaid
softly. He stiffened as herealized he had spokenaloud. “Damn!” he said.
“The drink finally got tome.”“Letmegiveyouahand
to your room,” offeredHoreb.“Is there a candle lit?”
asked Rek, swaying in hisseat.“Ofcourse.”
“Youwon’tletitgooutonme,willyou?Notkeenon the dark. Notfrightened, youunderstand.Justdon’t likeit.”“I won’t let it go out,
Rek.Trustme.”“I trust you. I rescued
you,didn’tI?Remember?”“I remember. Give me
yourarm.I’llguideyoutothestairs.Thisway.That’sgood.One foot in front oftheother.Good!”“I didn’t hesitate.
Straight inwithmy swordraised,didn’tI?”
“Yes.”“No,Ididn’t.Istoodfor
twominutes,shaking.Andyougotcut.”“But you still came in,
Rek. Don’t you see? Itdidn’tmatteraboutthecut—youstillrescuedme.”“It matters to me. Is
there a candle in myroom?”
Behindhimwasthefortress,grim and gray, outlined inflame and smoke. Thesounds of battle filled hisears, and he ran, heartpounding, his breathing
ragged. He glanced behindhim. The fortresswas close,closer than it had been.Ahead were the green hillssheltering the SentranPlain.They shimmered andretreated before him,taunting him with theirtranquility.Heranfaster.A
shadow fell acrosshim.Thegatesof the fortressopened.Hestrainedagainsttheforcepulling him back. He criedand begged. But the gatesclosed, and he was back atthe center of the battle, abloody sword in his shakinghand.
He awoke, eyes wide,nostrils flared, thebeginning of a screamswelling his lungs. A softhandstrokedhis face,andgentlewords soothedhim.His eyes focused. Dawnwasnearing,thepinklightofavirgindaypiercingthe
ice on the inside of thebedroom window. Herolledover.“You were troubled in
the night,” Besa told him,her hand stroking hisbrow. He smiled, pulledthe goosedown quilt overhisshoulder,anddrewher
tohimunderthecovers.“I’mnottroublednow,”
said Rek. “How could Ibe?” The warmth of herbodyarousedhim,andhisfingerscaressedherback.“Not today,” she said,
kissing him lightly on theforehead and pulling
away. She threw back thequilt, shivered, and ranacrosstheroom,gatheringherclothes.“It’scold,”shesaid. “Colder thanyesterday.”“It’s warm in here,” he
offered, raising himself towatchherdress. Sheblew
himakiss.“You’re fine to romp
with,Rek.ButI’llhavenochildrenbyyou.Now, getout of that bed. We’ve aparty of travelers comingin this morning, and theroomislet.”“You’re a beautiful
woman,Besa. If Ihadanysense,I’dmarryyou.”“Then it’s a good job
youhavenone,forI’dturnyou down and your egowould never stand it. I’mlooking for someonemoresolid.” Her smile took thesting from her words.
Almost.The door opened, and
Horebbustledinbearingacopper tray containingbread, cheese, and atankard.“How’s the head?” he
asked, placing the tray onthe wooden table by the
bed.“Fine,” said Rek. “Is
thatorangejuice?”“It is, and it’ll cost you
dear. Nessa waylaid theVagrian trader as he leftthe ship. She waited anhour and risked frostbitejusttogetorangesforyou.
I don’t think you’reworthit.”“True.” Rek smiled.
“Sadbuttrue.”“Areyoureallyheading
south today?” asked Besaas Rek sipped his fruitjuice. He nodded. “You’reafool.Ithoughtyou’dhad
enoughofReinard.”“I’ll avoid him. Aremy
clothescleaned?”“Dori spent hours on
them,”saidBesa.“Andforwhat?Sothatyoucangetthem filthy in GravenForest.”“That’s not the point.
One should always lookone’s best when leaving acity.” He glanced at thetray. “I can’t face thecheese.”“Doesn’t matter,” said
Horeb. “It’s still on thebill!”“In that case I’ll force
myselftoeatit.Anyothertravelerstoday?”“There’saspicecaravan
heading for Lentria thatwill go through Graven.Twenty men, well armed.They’retakingthecircularroute south and west.There’sawomantraveling
alone, but she’s alreadyleft,” said Horeb. “Lastlythere’sagroupofpilgrims.But they don’t leave untiltomorrow.”“Awoman?”“Not quite,” said Besa.
“Butalmost.”“Now,girl,”saidHoreb,
smiling broadly, “it’s notlikeyoutobecatty.Atallgirlwithafinehorse.Andshe’sarmed.”“I could have traveled
with her,” said Rek. “Itmight have made thejourneymorepleasant.”“And she could have
protected you fromReinard,” said Besa. “Shelookedthepart.Nowcomeon, Regnak, get dressed.I’venotthetimetosithereand watch you breakfastlike a lord. You’ve causedenough chaos in thishouse.”
“I can’t get up whileyou’re here,” protestedRek. “It wouldn’t bedecent.”“You idiot,” she said,
gatheringupthetray.“Gethim up, Father, else he’llliethereallday.”“She’s right, Rek,” said
Horeb as the door closedbehind her. “It’s time foryoutomove,andknowinghow long it takes you toprepare your publicappearance, I think I’llleave you to get on withit.”“One must look one’s
best—”“When leaving a city. I
know. That’s what youalways say, Rek. I’ll seeyoudownstairs.”Once he was alone,
Rek’smannerchanged,thelaughter lines about hiseyes easing into marks of
tension, sorrow almost.The Drenai were finishedas a world power. Ulricand the Nadir tribes hadalreadybeguntheirmarchupon Drenan, and theywould ride into the citiesof the plains on rivers ofblood. Should every
Drenai warrior kill thirtytribesmen, still therewould be hundreds ofthousandsleft.The world was
changing, and Rek wasrunning out of places tohide.He thought of Horeb
and his daughters. For sixhundred years the Drenairace had stampedcivilization on a world illsuited to it. They hadconquered savagely,taught wisely, and in themain ruled well. But theyhadarrivedattheirsunset,
and a new empire waswaiting,readytorisefromthebloodandashesoftheold. He thought again ofHoreb and laughed.Whateverhappens,thereisone old man who willsurvive, he thought. EventheNadir need good inns.
And the daughters? Howwould they fare when thehordes burst the citygates? Bloody imagesfloodedhismind.“Damn!” he shouted,
rolling from the bed topush open the ice-sealedwindow.
The winter wind struckhis bed-warmed body,snatchinghismindbacktothe reality of today andthe long ride south. Hecrossed to the bench onwhichhisclotheshadbeenlaid out and swiftlydressed.Thewhitewoolen
undershirt and the bluehoseweregiftsfromgentleDori, the tunic with goldembroidered collar alegacy of better days inVagria, the reversedsheepskin jerkin and goldtiesapresent fromHoreb,and the thigh-length
doeskin boots a surprisegift from aweary travelerat anoutland inn.Andhemust have been surprised,thoughtRek,rememberingthe thrill of fear andexcitementashehadcreptinto the man’s room tosteal them only a month
earlier. By the wardrobestood a full-length bronzemirror, where Rek took along lookathis reflection.He saw a tall man withshoulder-length brownhair and a well-trimmedmustache, cutting a finefigure in his stolen boots.
Heloopedhisbaldricoverhis head and placed hislongswordintheblackandsilversheath.“What a hero,” he told
his reflection, a cynicalsmile on his lips. “What agem of a hero.” He drewtheswordandparriedand
thrust at the air, one eyeonhisreflection.Thewristwas still supple, the graspsure. Whatever else youare not, he told himself,you are a swordsman.From the sill by thewindowhe took the silvercirclettalisman—hisgood-
luck charm since he hadstolen it fromabrothel inLentria—and placed itover his forehead,sweeping his dark hairbackoverhisears.“You may not actually
be magnificent,” he toldhis reflection, “but by all
the gods in Missael youlookit!”Theeyessmiledbackat
him.“Don’tyoumockme,Regnak Wanderer,” hesaid. Throwing his cloakover his arm, he strolleddownstairs to the longroom, casting an eye over
the early crowd. Horebhailedhimfromthebar.“Now, that’s more like
it, Rek my lad,” he said,leaning back in mockadmiration. “You couldhavesteppedstraightfromone of Sieben’s poems.Drink?”
“No.IthinkIwillleaveit a while yet—like tenyears. Last night’s brew isstill fermenting in mygullet. Have you packedmesomeofyourvilefoodforthejourney?”“Maggoty biscuits,
mildewed cheese, and a
two-year-oldbackofbaconthat will come when youcall it,” answered Horeb.“And a flask of the worst—”Conversation ceased as
the seer entered the inn,his faded blue habitflappingagainstbonylegs,
hisquarterstaff tappingonthe wooden boards. Rekswallowed his disgust attheman’s appearance andavoided glancing at theruinedsocketswhereoncetheman’seyeshadbeen.Theoldmanpushedout
ahandonwhichthethird
fingerwasmissing.“Silverfor your future,” he said,his voice like a dry windwhisperingthroughwinterbranches.“Why do they do it?”
whisperedHoreb.“Theireyes,youmean?”
counteredRek.
“Yes. How can a manputouthisowneyes?”“Damned if I know.
They say it aids theirvisions.”“Sounds about as
sensibleascuttingoffyourstaff in order to aid yoursexlife.”
“It takes all sorts,Horeb,oldfriend.”Drawn by the sound of
their voices, the old manhobbled nearer, handoutstretched. “Silver foryour future,” he intoned.Rekturnedaway.“Go on, Rek,” urged
Horeb. “See if the journeybodes well. Where’s theharm?”“Youpay. Iwill listen,”
saidRek.Horeb thrust a hand
deepintothepocketofhisleatherapronanddroppedasmallsilvercoinintothe
old man’s palm. “For myfriend here,” he said. “Iknowmyfuture.”The old man squatted
on the wooden floor andreached into a tatteredpouch, producing a fistfulof sand, which hesprinkledabouthim.Then
he produced sixknucklebones bearingcraftedrunes.“They’re human bones,
aren’t they?” whisperedHoreb.“Sotheysay,”answered
Rek.Theoldmanbegantochant in theElder tongue,
his quavering voiceechoing in the silence. Hethrew the bones to thesandy floor, then ran hishandsovertherunes.“I have the truth,” he
saidatlast.“Never mind the truth,
old man. Give me a tale
full of golden lies andgloriousmaidens.”“I have the truth,” said
the seer, as if he had notheard.“The hell with it!” said
Rek. “Tell me the truth,oldman.”“Do you desire to hear
it,man?”“Never mind the
damned ritual, just speakandbegone!”“Steady, Rek, steady!
It’shisway,”saidHoreb.“Maybe. But he’s going
alongwaytowardspoilingmy day. They never give
good news, anyway. Theold bastard’s probablygoing to tell me I shallcatchtheplague.”“He wishes the truth,”
said Horeb, following theritual, “and will use itwiselyandwell.”“Indeedhedoesnotand
will not,” said the seer.“But destiny must beheard.Youdonotwishtohearwords of your death,Regnak theWanderer, sonof Argas, and so I willwithhold them. You are amanofuncertaincharacterand only a sporadic
courage. You are a thiefand a dreamer, and yourdestiny will both hauntandhuntyou.Youwillrunto avoid it, yet your stepswill carry you toward it.But then, this you know,Longshanks, for youdreamedityester-eve.”
“Is that it, old man?Thatmeaninglessgarbage?Is that fair trading for asilvercoin?”“The earl and the
legendwill be together atthe wall. And men shalldream, andmen shall die,butshallthefortressfall?”
Theoldmanturnedandwasgone.“What was your dream
last night, Rek?” askedHoreb.“You surely don’t
believe that idiocy,Horeb?”“What was your
dream?” the innkeeperpersisted.“I didn’t dreamat all. I
slept likea log.Except forthat bloody candle. Youleft it on all night, and itstank. You must be morecareful. It could havestartedafire.EverytimeI
stop here, I warn youabout those candles. Youneverlisten.”
R2
ek watched insilence as the groom
saddled the chestnutgelding. He did not likethe horse; it had a meaneye, and its ears lay flatagainst its skull. The
groom, a young slim boy,was crooning gently to itas his shaking fingerstightenedthegirth.“Whycouldn’tyougeta
gray?” asked Rek. Horeblaughed.“Because it would have
taken you one step too
many toward farce.Understatement is thething, Rek. You alreadylooklikeapeacock,andasit is, every Lentrian sailorwillbechasingyou.No,achestnut’sthething.”Moreseriously he added, “AndinGravenyoumaywishto
be inconspicuous. A tallwhite horse is not easilymissed.”“I don’t think it likes
me.Seethewayitlooksatme?”“Its sirewas one of the
fastest horses in Drenan;itsdamwasawar-horsein
Woundweaver’s lancers.You couldn’t get a betterpedigree.”“What is it called?”
asked Rek, stillunconvinced.“Lancer,” answered
Horeb.“Thathasaniceringto
it. Lancer … Well,maybe…justmaybe.”“Daffodil’s ready, sir,”
said the groom, backingaway from the chestnut.Thehorse swung its head,snapping at the retreatingboy,whostumbledandfellonthecobbles.
“Daffodil?” said Rek.“You bought me a horsecalledDaffodil?”“What’s in a name,
Rek?” answered Horebinnocently. “Call it whatyou like; you must admitit’safinebeast.”“If I didn’t have a fine
sense for the ridiculous, Iwould have it muzzled.Wherearethegirls?”“Toobusytobewaving
good-byetolayaboutswhorarelypaytheirbills.Now,beoffwithyou.”Rek advanced gingerly
toward the gelding,
speakingsoftly.Itturnedabaleful eye on him butallowedhim to swing intothehigh-backedsaddle.Hegathered the reins,adjusted his blue cloak tojust the right angle overthe horse’s back, andswung the beast toward
thegate.“Rek, I almost forgot,”
calledHoreb,pushingbacktoward thehouse.“Waitamoment!” The burlyinnkeeper disappearedfrom sight, emergingseconds later carrying ashortbowofhornandyew
and a quiver of black-shafted arrows. “Here. Acustomer left this behindin part payment somemonthsago.Itlookslikeasturdyweapon.”“Wonderful,” said Rek.
“I used to be a finebowman.”
“Yes,”saidHoreb.“Justrememberwhenyouuseitthat the sharp end ispointed away from you.Now begone—and takecare.”“Thanks, Horeb. You,
too.AndrememberwhatIsaidaboutcandles.”
“I will. On your way,boy.Beluckynow.”Rekrodefromthesouth
gate as the watchmentrimmedthelanternwicks.The dawn shadows wereshrinkingon the streetsofDrenan, and youngchildren played beneath
the portcullis. He hadchosen the southern routefor the most obvious ofreasons. The Nadir weremarching from the north,andthefastestwayfromabattlewasastraightlineintheoppositedirection.Flicking his heels, he
urged the gelding forwardtoward the south. To hisleft the rising sun wasbreastingthebluepeaksoftheeasternmountains.Thesky was blue, birds sang,and the sounds of anawakeningcitycame frombehind him. But the sun
was rising, Rek knew, onthe Nadir. For the Drenaiitwasduskonthelastday.Toppingarise,hegazed
down on Graven Forest,white and virginal underthe winter snow. And yetit was a place of evillegends that normally he
would have avoided. Thefact that instead he choseto enter showed he knewtwo things: First, thelegendswere built aroundthe activities of a livingman;second,heknewthatman.Reinard.
He and his band ofbloodthirstycutthroatshadtheir headquarters inGravenandwereanopen,festering sore in the bodyof trade. Caravans weresacked, pilgrims weremurdered, women wereraped. Yet an army could
notseekthemout, sovastwastheforest.Reinard. Sired by a
prince of hell, born to anoblewoman of Ulalia. Orso he told it. Rek hadheard thathismotherwasa Lentrian whore and hisfather a nameless sailor.
Hehadneverrepeatedthisintelligence;hedidnot,asthe phrasewent, have thegutsforit.Evenifhehad,he mused, he would notkeep them long once hetried it. One of Reinard’sfavorite pastimes withprisoners was to roast
sections of them over hotcoalsandservethemeattothose poor unfortunatestaken prisoner with them.IfhemetReinard,thebestthing would be to flatterthehelloutofhim.Andifthat didnotwork, to givehim the latest news, send
himinthedirectionofthenearest caravan, and rideswiftlyfromhisdomain.Rek had made sure he
knewthedetailsofall thecaravans passing throughGravenand theirprobableroutes. Silks, jewels,spices, slaves, cattle. In
truth he had no wish topartwiththisinformation.NothingwouldpleasehimbetterthantoridethroughGraven quietly, knowingthecaravaners’fatewasinthelapofthegods.The chestnut’s hooves
made little sound on the
snow, and Rek kept thepace to a gentle walk incase hidden roots shouldcausethehorsetostumble.Thecoldbegantoworkitsway through his warmclothing,andhisfeetweresoon feeling frozenwithinthe doeskin boots. He
reached into his pack andpulled out a pair ofsheepskinmittens.The horse plodded on.
AtnoonRekstoppedforabrief, cold meal, hobblingthe gelding by a frozenstream. With a thickVagriandaggerhechipped
awaytheice,allowingthebeast to drink, then gavehim a handful of oats. Hestrokedthelongneck,andthe chestnut’s head cameup sharply, teeth bared.Rek leapt backward,falling into a deepsnowdrift.Helaytherefor
amoment,thensmiled.“I knew you didn’t like
me,” he said. The horseturned to look at himandsnorted.As he was about to
mount,Rekglancedatthehorse’s hindquarters.Deepswitchscarsshowedbythe
tail.Gently,hishandmoved
over them. “So,” he said,“someone took a whip toyou, eh, Daffodil? Didn’tbreakyourspirit,didthey,boy?” He swung into thesaddle. With luck, hereckoned, he should be
free of the forest in fivedays.Gnarled oaks with
twistedrootscastominousdusk shadows across thetrack, and night breezesset the branches towhispering as Rek walkedthegeldingdeeperintothe
forest. The moon wasrising above the trees,casting a ghostly light onthe trail.Teeth chattering,hebegantocastabout fora good camping site,finding one an hour laterin a small hollow by anice-covered pool. He built
a stall in some bushes tokeeptheworstofthewindfromthehorse, fedit,andthenbuiltasmallfirebyafallen oak and a largeboulder. Out of the wind,theheatreflectedfromthestone, Rek brewed tea tohelp down his dried beef;
thenhepulledhis blanketover his shoulders, leanedagainst the oak, andwatchedtheflamesdance.A skinny fox poked its
snout through a bush,peering at the fire. Onimpulse, Rek threw it astrip of beef. The animal
flicked its eyes from theman to the morsel andback again before dartingout to snatch the meatfrom the frozen ground.Then it vanished into thenight. Rek held out hishands to the fire andthoughtofHoreb.
The burly innkeeperhad raisedhimafterRek’sfather had been killed inthe northern wars againstthe Sathuli. Honest, loyal,strong, and dependable—Horeb was all of those.Andhewaskind,aprinceamongmen.
Rek had managed torepay him one well-remembered night whenthree Vagrian desertershad attacked him in analleyneartheinn.Luckily Rek had been
drinking,andwhenhehadfirst heard the sound of
steel on steel, he hadrushedforward.Withinthealley Horeb had beenfightingalosingbattle,hiskitchenknifenomatchforthree swordsmen. Yet theold man had been awarrior and had movedwell.Rekhadbeen frozen
tothespot,hisownswordforgotten. He had tried tomoveforward,buthislegshad refused the order.Then a sword had cutthrough Horeb’s guard,opening a huge wound inhisleg.Rek had screamed, and
thesoundhadreleasedhisterror.The bloody skirmish
was over in seconds. Rektookout the firstassailantwithathroatslash,parrieda thrust from the second,and shoulder-charged thethirdintoawall.Fromthe
groundHorebgrabbed thethird man, pulling himdown and stabbing outwithhiskitchenknife.Thesecond man fled into thenight.“You were wonderful,
Rek,” saidHoreb.“Believeme, you fight like a
veteran.”Veterans don’t freeze
withfear,thoughtRek.Nowhe fed some twigs
to the flames. A cloudobscuredthemoon,andanowl hooted. Rek’s shakinghand curled around hisdagger.
Damn the dark, hethought. And curse allheroes!He had been a soldier
for a while, stationed atDros Corteswain, and hadenjoyed it. But then theSathuli skirmishes hadbecomeaborderwar,and
the enjoyment had palled.He had done well, beenpromoted; his seniorofficers had told him hehad a fine feel for tactics.But they did not knowabout the sleepless nights.His men had respectedhim, he thought. But that
was because he wascareful, even cautious. Hehad left before his nervecouldbetrayhim.“Are you mad, Rek?”
Gan Javi had asked himwhen he had resigned hiscommission. “The war isexpanding. We’ve got
moretroopscoming,andafineofficerlikeyoucanbesure of promotion. You’lllead more than a centuryin six months. You couldbeofferedtheganeagle.”“Iknowallthat,sir,and
believe me, I’m reallysorryIshallbemissingthe
action. But it’s a questionoffamilybusiness.Damn,Iwouldcutoffmyrightarmtostay;youknowthat.”“I do, boy. And we’ll
missyou,byMissael.Yourtroop will be shattered. Ifyou change your mind,there will be a place for
youhere.Anytime.You’reabornsoldier.”“I’ll remember that, sir.
Thank you for all yourhelpandencouragement.”“Onemore thing, Rek,”
said Gan Javi, leaningback in his carved chair.“You know there are
rumors that the Nadir arepreparing a march on thesouth?”“There are always
rumors of that, sir,”answeredRek.“I know; they’ve been
circulating for years. Butthis Ulric is a canny one.
He’sconqueredmostofthetribes now, and I thinkhe’salmostready.”“But Abalayn has just
signeda treatywithhim,”saidRek.“Mutualpeaceinreturn for tradeconcessions and financingforhisbuildingprogram.”
“That’s what I mean,lad.I’llsaynothingagainstAbalayn; he’s ruled theDrenai for twenty years.But you don’t stop a wolfby feeding it—believeme!Anyway, what I’m sayingisthatmenlikeyourselveswillbeneededbeforelong,
sodon’tgetrusty.”The last thing the
Drenai needed nowwas amanwhowasafraidofthedark. What they neededwas another Karnak theOne-Eyed—a score ofthem.AnEarlofBronze.Ahundred like Druss the
Legend. And even if, bysomemiracle, thisweretohappen, would even thesestem the tide of half amilliontribesmen?Whocouldevenpicture
suchanumber?They would wash over
DrosDelnochlikeanangry
sea,Rekknew.If I thoughttherewasa
chance,Istillwouldn’tgo.Faceit,hethought.Evenifvictorywascertain,stillhewouldavoidthebattle.Who will care in a
hundredyearswhethertheDrenai survived? It would
be like Skeln Pass,shrouded in legend andglorifiedbeyondtruth.War!Flies settling like a
black stain over a man’sentrails as he wept withthepainandheldhisbodytogether with crimson
fingers, hoping for amiracle. Hunger, cold,fear, disease, gangrene,death!Warforsoldiers.The day he had left
Dros Corteswain, he hadbeenapproachedbyoneofthe culs, who had
nervously offered him atightly-wrappedbundle.“Fromthetroop,sir,”he
hadsaid.He had opened it,
embarrassedandemptyofwords, to seeabluecloakwith an eagle clasp incraftedbronze.
“I, don’t know how tothankyouall.”“The men want me to
say … well, we’re sorryyou’re leaving. That’s all,sir.”“I’m sorry, too, Korvac.
Family business, youknow?”
The man had nodded,probably wishing he hadfamilybusinessthatwouldallow him to depart theDros. But culs had nocommissiontoresign;onlythedunclasscouldleaveafortressduringawar.“Well, good luck, sir.
Seeyousoon,Ihope…weallhope.”“Yes!Soon.”That had been two
years ago. Gan Javi haddied from a stroke, andseveral of Rek’s brotherofficershadbeenkilled inthe Sathuli battles. No
message had reached himofindividualculs.The days passed—cold,
gloomy, but mercifullywithout incident—untilthe morning of the fifthday,when,onahigh trailskirtingagroveofelm,heheard the one sound he
disliked above all others:the clashof steel on steel.Heshouldhaveriddenon;heknewheshould.Butforsome reason his curiosityfractionally outweighedhis fear. He hobbled thehorse,swungthequivertohis back, and strung the
horn bow. Then carefullyhe worked his waythrough the trees anddown into the snow-covered glen. Movingstealthily, with catlikecare, he came to aclearing. Sounds of battleechoedintheglade.
A young woman inarmorofsilverandbronzestood with her back to atree, desperately fendingoff a combined assaultfrom three outlaws, burlymen and bearded, armedwith swords and daggers.Thewomanheldaslender
blade,aflickering,dancingrapier that cut and thrustwithdevastatingspeed.The three, clumsy
swordsmen at best, werehamperingeachother.Butthegirlwastiringfast.These were Reinard’s
men, Rek knew, cursing
his own curiosity. One ofthem cried out as therapier lanced across hisforearm.“Take that, you dung
beetle,”shoutedthegirl.Rek smiled. Not a
beauty, but she couldfence.
Henotchedanarrowtohisbowandwaitedfortheright moment to let fly.The girl ducked under aviciouscutandflashedherblade through the eye ofthe swordsman. As hescreamed and fell, theother two fell back, more
wary now; they movedapart,readytoattackfromboth flanks. The girl hadbeen dreading thismoment, for therewas nodefense but flight. Hergazeflickeredfrommantoman. Take the tall onefirst, forget about the
other, and hope his firstthrustisnotmortal.Maybeshe could take them bothwithher.The tall one moved to
the leftwhilehis comradecrossed to the right. AtthatmomentRek loosedashaft at the tall outlaw’s
back that lanced throughhis left calf. Swiftly henotchedasecondarrowasthe bewildered man spunaround, saw Rek, andhobbled toward him,screaminghatred.Rek drew back the
string until it touched his
cheek, lockedhis leftarm,andloosedtheshaft.This time the aim was
slightly better. He hadbeen aiming for the chest—the largest target—butthe arrow was high, andnowtheoutlawlayonhisback, the black shaft
jutting from his foreheadandbloodbubbling to thesnow.“You took your time
getting involved,” said thegirlcoolly,steppingacrossthe body of the thirdoutlaw and wiping herslenderbladeonhisshirt.
Rek tore his eyes fromthefaceofthemanhehadkilled.“I just saved your life,”
hesaid,checkinganangryretort.She was tall and well
built,almostmannish,Rekthought,herhairlongand
mousy blond, unkempt.Her eyes were blue anddeep-set beneath thickdark brows that indicatedan uncertain temper. Herfigurewasdisguisedbythesilver steel mail shirt andbronze shoulder pads; herlegs were encased in
shapeless green woolentrews laced to the thighwithleatherstraps.“Well, what are you
staringat?”shedemanded.“Never seen a womanbefore?”“Well, that answers the
firstquestion,”hesaid.
“Whatdoesthatmean?”“You’reawoman.”“Oh, very dry!” She
retrieved a sheepskinjerkin from beneath thetree,dustingoff the snow,and slipping it on. It didnothing to enhance herappearance,thoughtRek.
“Theyattackedme,”shesaid.“Killedmyhorse,thebastards! Where’s yourhorse?”“Your gratitude
overwhelmsme,”saidRek,an edge of anger in hisvoice.“ThoseareReinard’smen.”
“Really? Friend ofyours,ishe?”“Not exactly. But if he
knewwhat Ihaddone,hewould roastmy eyes on afire and serve them tomeasanappetizer.”“All right, I appreciate
your point. I’m extremely
grateful. Now, where’syourhorse?”Rek ignored her,
gritting his teeth againsthis anger. He walked tothe dead outlaw anddragged his arrows clear,wiping themon theman’sjerkin. Then he
methodically searched thepocketsofall three.Sevensilver coins and severalgold rings the richer, hethenreturnedtothegirl.“My horse has one
saddle. I ride it,” he saidicily.“I’vedoneaboutallIwanttodoforyou.You’re
onyourownnow.”“Damned chivalrous of
you,”shesaid.“Chivalry isn’t my
strong point,” he said,turningaway.“Neither is
marksmanship,” sheretorted.
“What?”“You were aiming for
his back from twentypaces,andyouhithis leg.It’sbecauseyouclosedoneeye, ruined yourperspective.”“Thanks for thearchery
instruction.Goodluck!”
“Wait!” she said. Heturned. “I need yourhorse.”“SodoI.”“Iwillpayyou.”“He’snotforsale.”“All right. Then I will
pay you to take me towhereIcanbuyahorse.”
“Howmuch?”heasked.“OnegoldenRaq.”“Five,”hesaid.“I could buy three
horses for that,” shestormed.“It’s a seller’s market,”
heretorted.“Two,andthat’sfinal.”
“Three.”“All right, three. Now,
where’syourhorse?”“First the money, my
lady.”Heheldoutahand.Her blue eyes were frostyas she removed the coinsfrom a leather pouch andplaced them in his palm.
“My name is Regnak, Rektomyfriends,”hesaid.“That’sofnointerestto
me,”sheassuredhim.
T3
heyrodeinasilenceas frosty as the
weather, the tall girlbehind Rek in the saddle.He resisted the urge tospurthehorseonatspeeddespitethefeargnawingat
his belly. It would beunfair to sayhewas sorryhe had rescued her; afterall, it had done wondersforhisself-esteem.Hisfearwas of meeting Reinardnow.Thisgirlwouldneversitsilentwhileheflatteredand lied. And even if by
some stroke of goodfortune she did keep hermouth shut, she wouldcertainly report him forgiving information oncaravanmovements.The horse stumbled on
ahiddenroot,andthegirlpitched sideways. Rek’s
hand lanced out, catchingher arm and hauling herbackinthesaddle.“Put your arms around
my waist, will you,” hesaid.“Howmuchwill it cost
me?”“Justdo it. It’s toocold
toargue.”Her arms slid around
him, her head restingagainsthisback.Thick, dark clouds
bunched above them, andthe temperature began todrop.“We ought to make an
early camp,” he stated.“Theweather’sclosingin.”“Iagree,”shesaid.Snowbegantofall,and
the wind picked up. Rekdipped his head againstthe force of the storm,blinking against the coldflakes that blew into his
eyes. He steered thegelding away from thetrailandintotheshelterofthe trees, gripping thepommel of his saddle asthe horse climbed a steepincline.An open campsite
would be folly, he knew,
in this freak storm. Theyneeded a cave, or at leastthe leeof a rock face. Forover an hour they movedon until at last theyentered a clearing circledbyoakandgorse.Withinitwas a crofter’s hut of logwalls and earthen roof.
Rek glanced at the stonechimney:nosmoke.He heeled the tired
gelding forward. At thesideofthehutwasathree-sidedlean-towithawickerroofbentbytheweightofthe snow upon it. Hesteeredthehorseinside.
“Dismount,”he told thegirl,butherhandsdidnotmove from his waist. Heglanced down. The handswere blue, and he rubbedat them furiously. “Wakeup!” he shouted. “Wakeup,damnyou!”Pullingherhands free, he slid from
the saddle and caught heras she fell. Her lips wereblue, her hair thick withice. Lifting her over oneshoulder, he removed thepacks from the gelding,loosened the girth, andcarriedthegirl to thehut.The wooden door was
open, snow drifting intothe cold interior as hesteppedinside.The hut was one-
roomed. He saw a cot inthe corner beneath theonly window, a hearth,some simple cupboards,andawoodstore—enough
for two, maybe threenights—stacked againstthe far wall. There werethree crudelymade chairsandabench table roughlycutfromanelmtrunk.Rektippedtheunconsciousgirlontothecot,foundastickbroom under the table,
and swept the snow fromthe room. He pushed thedoor shut, but a rottenleather hinge gave wayand it tiltedopenagainatthetop.Cursing,hepulledthe table to the doorwayand heaved it against theframe.
Tearing open his pack,Rek pulled his tinderboxfree and moved to thehearth. Whoever hadownedorbuilttheholdinghad left a fire ready laid,as was the custom in thewild.Rekopenedhissmalltinder pouch, making a
mound of shredded dryleavesbeneaththetwigsinthe grate. Over this hepoured a little lantern oilfrom a leather flask andthen struck his flint. Hiscold fingers were clumsyand the sparks would nottake, so he stopped for a
moment,forcinghimselftotake slow deep breaths.Then again he struck theflint,andthistimeasmallflame flickered in thetinder and caught. Heleaned forward, gentlyblowing it; then, as thetwigs flared, he turned to
sortsmallerbranchesfromthe store, placing themgently atop the tiny fire.Flamesdancedhigher.Hecarriedtwochairsto
the hearth, placed hisblankets over them beforethe blaze, and returned tothe girl. She lay on the
crude cot, scarcelybreathing.“It’s thebloodyarmor,”
he said. He fumbled withthe straps of her jerkin,turningher over to pull itloose. Swiftly he strippedoffherclothingandset toworkrubbingwarmthinto
her.Heglancedatthefire,placed three more logs tofeed the blaze, and thenspreadtheblanketsonthefloor before it. Lifting thegirl from the cot, he laidherbackbeforethehearth,turningherovertorubherback.
“Don’t you die onme!”he stormed, pummelingthe flesh of her legs.“Don’t you damn welldare!” He wiped her hairwitha towelandwrappedher in the blankets. Thefloor was cold, and frostseeped up from beneath
the hut, so he pulled thecot to the hearth, thenstrainedtoliftherontothebed. Her pulse was slowbutsteady.He gazed down at her
face. Itwas beautiful. Notin any classic sense, heknew, for the brows were
too thick and thunderous,the chin too square, andthe lips too full. Yet therewas strength there, andcourage anddetermination. But morethanthis:Insleepagentle,childlike quality foundexpression.
Hekissedhergently.Buttoning his sheepskin
jacket, hepulled the tableasideandsteppedout intothe storm. The geldingsnorted as he approached.There was straw in thelean-to; taking a handful,he rubbed the horse’s
back.“Going to be a cold
night,boy.Butyoushouldbe all right in here.” Hespread the saddle blanketover the gelding’s broadback, fed him some oats,andreturnedtothehut.The girl’s color was
better now, and she sleptpeacefully.Searching the
cupboards, Rek found anold iron pan. From hispack,hetookoutapoundofdriedbeefandsetaboutmaking soup. He waswarmernowand removed
his cloak and jacket.Outside the wind beatagainst the walls as thestorm’s fury grew, butinside the fire blazedwarmth and a soft redlight filled the cabin. Rekpulled off his boots andrubbed his toes. He felt
good.Alive.Anddamnedhungry!He took a leather-
coveredclaymugfromhispack and tried the soup.The girl stirred, and hetoyed with the idea ofwaking her but dismissedit. As she was, she was
lovely. Awake, she was aharridan. She rolled overand moaned, a long legpushing from the blanket.Rek grinned as herememberedherbody.Notat all mannish! She wasjust big but wonderfullyproportioned.Hestaredat
her leg, the smile fading.Hepicturedhimselfnakedalongsideher…“No, no, Rek,” he said
aloud.“Forgetit.”Hecoveredherwiththe
blanketandreturnedtohissoup.Beprepared,hetoldhimself. When she wakes,
she will accuse you oftaking advantage of herandcutyoureyesout.Taking his cloak, he
wrappeditaroundhimselfand stretched out besidethe fire. The floor waswarmernow.Addingsomelogs to the blaze, he
pillowed his head on hisarm and watched thedancers in the flamescircleand jump, twistandturn…Heslept.
He awoke to the smell offryingbacon.Thehutwas
warm, and his arm feltswollen and cramped. Hestretched,groaned,andsatup. The girl was nowherein sight. Then the dooropened, and she steppedinside,brushingsnowfromherjerkin.“I’ve seen to your
horse,” she said. “Are youfittoeat?”“Yes.Whattimeisit?”“Sun’s been up for
about three hours. Thesnow’slettingup.”He pushed his aching
body upright, stretchingthe tight muscles of his
back. “Too much time inDrenan in soft beds,” hecommented.“Thatprobablyaccounts
forthepaunch,”shenoted.“Paunch? I’ve a curved
spine.Anyway,it’srelaxedmuscle.”He looked down.“Allright, it’sapaunch.A
fewmoredaysof thisanditwillgo.”“I don’t doubt it,” she
said. “Anyway, we wereluckytofindthisplace.”“Yes, we were.” The
conversation died as sheturnedthebacon.Rekwasuncomfortable in the
silence,and theybegan tospeakatthesametime.“This is ridiculous,” she
saidfinally.“Yes,” he agreed.
“Baconsmellsgood.”“Look … I want to
thank you. There—it’ssaid.”
“Itwasapleasure.Whatabout starting again, as ifwe had never met? MynameisRek.”Heheldoutahand.“Virae,” she said,
grasping his wrist in thewarrior’sgrip.“My pleasure,” he said.
“And what brings you toGravenForest,Virae?”“None of your damned
business,”shesnapped.“I thought we were
startingafresh,”hesaid.“I’msorry.Really!Look,
it’snoteasybeingfriendly—I don’t like you very
much.”“Howcanyousaythat?
We’ve only said about tenwordstoeachother.Abitearly for characterassessment,isn’tit?”“Iknowyourkind,”she
said. Taking two platters,she deftly flipped the
bacon from the pan andhanded him a plate.“Arrogant. Think you’rethegods’gifttotheworld.Footloose.”“Andwhat’swrongwith
that?”heasked.“Nobody’sperfect.Ienjoymylife;it’stheonlyoneI’vegot.”
“It’s people like youwho have wrecked thiscountry,” she told him.“People who don’t care,peoplewholivefortoday.Thegreedyandtheselfish.Weusedtobegreat.”“Rubbish.Weusedtobe
warriors, conquering
everybody, stampingDrenai ruleson theworld.Apoxonit!”“There was nothing
wrong with that! Thepeople we conqueredprospered,didn’tthey?Webuilt schools, hospitals,roads. We encouraged
trade and gave the worldDrenailaw.”“Then you shouldn’t be
too upset,” he told her,“that the world ischanging. Now it will beNadirlaw.Theonlyreasonthe Drenai conqueredwasthat the outlying nations
had had their day. Theywere fat and lazy, full ofselfish,greedypeoplewhodidn’tcare.Allnationsfallthatway.”“Oh, so you’re a
philosopher,areyou?”shesaid.“Well,Iconsideryouropinionstobeasworthless
asyouare.”“Oh, now I’m
worthless? What do youknow of ‘worthless,’prancing around dressedas a man? You’re animitationwarrior.Ifyou’reso eager to upholdDrenaivalues, why don’t you get
off to Dros Delnoch withthe other fools and waveyour pretty little sword attheNadir?”“I’ve just come from
there, and I’m going backas soon as I haveaccomplished what I setouttodo,”shesaidicily.
“Then you’re an idiot,”hesaidlamely.“You were a soldier,
weren’tyou?”shesaid.“What’sthattoyou?”“Whydidyou leave the
army?”“None of your damned
business.” He paused,
then, to break theawkwardsilence,wenton:“We should be at GlenFrenae by this afternoon;it’s only a small village,buttheydosellhorses.”Theyfinishedtheirmeal
without speaking, Rekfeeling angry and
uncomfortable yet lackingthe skill to pierce the gapbetweenthem.Sheclearedthe platters and cleanedout the pan, awkward inhermailshirt.Virae was furious with
herself.Shehadnotmeantto quarrel with him. For
hours as he slept she hadcreptaboutthecabinsoasnottodisturbhim.Atfirstwhen she woke she hadbeen angry andembarrassed by what hehad done, but she knewenoughaboutfrostbiteandexposuretorealizehehad
savedherlife.Andhehadnot takenadvantage. Ifhehad done so, she wouldhave killed him withoutregret or hesitation. Shehad studied him as heslept. In a strangeway hewas handsome, shethought,thendecidedthat
although he was good-looking after a fashion, itwas some indefinablequality that made himattractive—a gentleness,perhaps? A certainsensitivity? Itwas hard topinpoint.Why should he be so
attractive? It angered her;she had no time now forromance. Then a bitterthought struck her: Shehad never had time forromance. Or was it thatromance had never hadtime for her? She wasclumsy as a woman,
unsure of herself in thecompanyofmen,unlessincombat or comradeship.His words came again inher mind: “What do youknow of ‘worthless,’prancing around dressedasaman?”Twicehehadsavedher
life.Whyhadshesaidshedisliked him? Because shewasfrightened?She heard him walk
from the hut and thenheardastrangevoice.“Regnak,my dear! Is it
true you have a womaninside?”
She reached for hersword.
T4
he abbot placed hishands on the head of
the young albino kneelingbefore him and closed hiseyes. He spoke, mind tomind,inthemanneroftheorder.
“Areyouprepared?”“How can I tell?”
answeredthealbino.“Release your mind to
me,” said the abbot. Theyoung man relaxed hiscontrol; the image of theabbot’s kindly faceoverlapped his thoughts.
His thoughts swam,interweaving with thememories of the olderman.Theabbot’spowerfulpersonality covered hisown like a comfortingblanket,andheslept.Release was painful,
and his fears returned as
theabbotwokehim.OnceagainhewasSerbitar,andhisthoughtswerehisown.“Am I prepared?” he
asked.“You will be. The
messengercomes.”“Isheworthy?”“Judge for yourself.
FollowmetoGraven.”Their spirits soared,
entwined, high above themonastery, free as thewinter wind. Below themlaythesnow-coveredfieldsat the edge of the forest.The abbot pulsed themonward, over the trees. In
a clearing by a crofter’shut stood a group ofmenfacingadoorwayinwhichstood a tall young man,and behind him was awoman,swordinhand.“Which is the
messenger?” asked thealbino.
“Observe,” answeredtheabbot.
Reinardhadnothadthingsgoing his way justrecently. An attack on acaravan had been beatenoffwith heavy losses, andthenthreemoreofhismen
had been found dead atdusk, among them hisbrother Erlik. A prisonerhe had taken two dayspreviously had died offright long before the realentertainmentcouldbegin,and the weather hadturned for the worse. Bad
luck was haunting him,and he was at a loss tounderstandwhy.Damn the speaker, he
thought bitterly as he ledhismen toward thecabin.If he had not been in oneofhisthree-daysleeps,theattack on the caravan
would have been avoided.Reinard had toyed withthe idea of removing hisfeet as he slept, but goodsense and greed had justheld sway. Speaker wasinvaluable. He had comeout of his trance asReinardhadcarriedErlik’s
bodybacktothecamp.“Do you see what has
happened while youslept?” Reinard hadstormed.“Youlosteightmenina
bad raid, and a womanslew Erlik, and anotherafter they killed her
horse,” answered Speaker.Reinardstaredhardat theold man, peering at thesightlesssockets.“Awoman,yousay?”“Yes.”“Therewasathirdman
killed.Whatofhim?”“Slain by an arrow
throughtheforehead.”“Whofiredit?”“The man called
Regnak. The Wandererwho comes here onoccasions.”Reinardshookhishead.
A woman brought him agobletofmulledwine,and
he satona large stonebyablazingfire.“Itcan’tbe;hewouldn’tdare!Areyousureitwashim?”“It was him,” said
Speaker. “Andnow Imustrest.”“Wait! Where are they
now?”
“I shall find out,” saidthe old man, returning tohishut.Reinardcalled forfood and summonedGrussin. The axmansquatted on the groundbeforehim.“Did you hear?” he
asked.
“Yes. Do you believeit?”answeredGrussin.“It’s ridiculous. But
when has the old manbeenwrong?Am I gettingold? When a craven likeRek can attackmymen, Imust be doing somethingwrong. I will have him
roasted slowly over thefireforthis.”“We’re getting short of
food,”saidGrussin.“What?”“Shortoffood.It’sbeen
a long winter, and weneeded that damncaravan.”
“There will be others.FirstwewillfindRek.”“Is it worth it?” asked
Grussin.“Worth it? He helped
some woman kill mybrother. I want thatwoman staked out andenjoyed by all the men. I
wantthefleshcutfromherbody in tiny strips fromher feet to her neck. Andthen the dogs can haveher.”“Whateveryousay.”“You don’t sound very
enthusiastic,”saidReinard,hurling his now-empty
plateacrossthefire.“No? Well, maybe I’m
gettingold.Whenwecamehere,thereseemedtobeareason for it all. I’mbeginningtoforgetwhatitwas.”“Wecameherebecause
Abalayn and his mangy
crew hadmy farm sackedandmy familykilled.AndI haven’t forgotten.You’renotturningsoft,areyou?”Grussinnotedthegleam
inReinard’seyes.“No, of course not.
You’re the leader, andwhatever you say is fine
by me. We will find Rekandthewoman.Whydon’tyougetsomerest.”“A curse on rest,”
muttered Reinard. “Yousleep if you have to. Weleave as soon as the oldmangivesusdirections.”Grussin walked to his
hut andhurledhimself onhisfern-filledbed.“You are troubled?” his
woman, Mella, asked himasshekneeledbyhisside,offeringhimwine.“Howwouldyouliketo
leave?”heasked,placingahuge hand on her
shoulder. She leanedforward and kissed him.“Wherever you go, I shallbewithyou,”shesaid.“I’mtiredofit,”hesaid.
“Tiredofthekilling.Itgetsmore senseless with everyday.Hemustbemad.”“Hush!” she whispered,
warynow.Sheleanedintohis bearded face andwhispered in his ear.“Don’t voice your fears.Wecanleavequietlyinthespring. Stay calm and dohisbiddinguntilthen.”Henodded, smiled, and
kissed her hair. “You’re
right,” he said. “Get somesleep.” She curled besidehim, and he gathered theblanket around her. “Idon’tdeserveyou,”hesaidashereyesclosed.Where had it gone
wrong? When they hadbeenyoungandfulloffire,
Reinard’scrueltyhadbeenan occasional thing, adevice to create a legend.Or so he had said. Theywould be a thorn inAbalayn’s side until theyachieved justice. Now itwas ten years. Tenmiserablebloodyyears.
Andhad thecauseeverbeenjust?Grussinhopedso.“Well,areyoucoming?”
asked Reinard from thedoorway. “They’re at theoldcabin.”The march had been a
longoneandbitterlycold,
but Reinard had scarcelyfelt it. Anger filled himwith warmth, and theprospectofrevengefedhismuscles so that the milesspedby.His mind filled with
pictures of sweet violenceand themusic of screams.
Hewouldtakethewomanfirst and cut her with aheated knife. Arousalwarmedhisloins.And as for Rek … He
knew what Rek’sexpressionwouldbeashesawthemarrive.Terror! Mind-numbing,
bowel-looseningterror!Buthewaswrong.
Rek had stalked from thehut,furiousandtrembling.The scorn on Virae’s facewas hard to bear. Onlyanger could blank it out.Andeven then,barely.He
could not help what hewas, could he? Somemenwere born to be heroes.Others to be cowards.What right had she tojudgehim?“Regnak,my dear! Is it
true you have a womaninside?”
Rek’s eyes scanned thegroup. More than twentymen stood in a half circlebehind the tall, broad-shouldered outlaw leader.Beside him stood Grussinthe axman, huge andpowerful, his double-headedaxinhishand.
“Morning, Rein,” saidRek. “What brings youhere?”“I heard you had a
warm bedmate, and Ithought,GoodoldRek,hewon’t mind sharing. AndI’dliketoinviteyoutomycamp.Whereisshe?”
“She’snotforyou,Rein.But I’ll make a trade.There’s a caravan headed—”“Never mind the
caravan!”shoutedReinard.“Just bring out thewoman.”“Spices,jewels,furs.It’s
abigone,”saidRek.“Youcantellusaboutit
as we march. Now I’mlosing patience. Bring herout!”Rek’s angerblazed, and
his sword snaked from itsscabbard.“Come and get her,
then,youbastards!”Virae stepped from the
doorway to stand besidehim,bladeinhand,astheoutlaws drew theirweaponsandadvanced.“Wait!” ordered
Reinard, lifting his hand.He stepped forward,
forcing a smile. “Nowlisten to me, Rek. This issenseless. We’ve nothingagainstyou.You’vebeenafriend. Now, what’s thiswoman to you?Shekilledmybrother,soyouseeit’sa matter of personalhonor. Put up your sword
and you can ride away.ButIwantheralive.”Andyou,too,hethought.“Youwanther,youtake
her!” said Rek. “And me,too. Come on, Rein. Youstill remember what asword’s for, don’t you?Orwill you do what you
normally do and scuttleback into the trees whileother men do your dyingfor you? Run, you dungworm!”Rekleaptforward,and Reinard backed awayatspeedandstumbledintoGrussin.“Kill him—but not the
woman,” he said. “I wantthatwoman.”Grussinwalkedforward,
hisaxswingingathisside.Virae advanced to standbeside Rek. The axmanstopped tenpaces shortofthepair, andhis eyesmetRek’s: there was no give
there. He turned his gazeto the woman. Young,spirited—notbeautifulbutahandsomelass.“What are you waiting
for, you ox!” screamedReinard.“Takeher!”Grussin turned and
walkedback to thegroup.
A sense of unrealitygripped him. He sawhimself again as a youngman, saving for his firstholding; he had a plowthat was his father’s, andthe neighbors were readytohelphimbuildhishomenear the elm grove. What
had he done with theyears?“You traitor!” shouted
Reinard, dragging hisswordintotheair.Grussin parried the
blowwithease.“Forgetit,Rein.Let’sgohome.”“Kill him!” Reinard
ordered. The men lookedat one another, somestarting forward whileothers hesitated. “Youbastard! You treacherousfilth!” Reinard screamed,raising his sword oncemore.Grussin tookadeepbreath, gripped his ax in
both hands, and smashedthe sword into shards, theaxbladeglancingfromtheshattered hilt andhammering into theoutlaw leader’s side. Hefell to his knees, doubledover.ThenGrussinsteppedforward; the ax lifted and
chopped, and Reinard’shead rolled to the snow.Grussin let the weaponfall, then walked back toRek.“He wasn’t always as
youknewhim,”hesaid.“Why?” asked Rek,
lowering his blade. “Why
didyoudoit?”“Who knows? It wasn’t
just for you—or her.Maybe something insideme had just had enough.Wherewasthiscaravan?”“Iwaslying,”liedRek.“Good. We will not
meet again. I’m leaving
Graven. Is she yourwoman?”“No.”“Youcoulddoworse.”“Yes.”Grussin turned and
walked to the body,retrievinghisax.“Wewerefriendsforalongtime,”he
said.“Toolong.”Without a backward
glance he led the groupbackintotheforest.“I simply don’t believe
it,”saidRek.“Thatwasanabsolutemiracle.”“Let’s finish breakfast
now,”saidVirae.“I’llbrew
sometea.”Inside the hut Rek
began to tremble. He satdown,hisswordclatteringtothefloor.“What’s the matter?”
askedVirae.“It’s just the cold,” he
said, teeth chattering. She
knelt beside him,massaging his hands,sayingnothing.“The teawillhelp,”she
said. “Did you bring anysugar?”“It’s in my pack,
wrapped in red paper.Horeb knows I’ve a sweet
tooth.Colddoesn’tusuallygettomelikethis—sorry!”“It’sallright.Myfather
always says sweet tea iswonderfulfor…cold.”“I wonder how they
found us,” he said. “Lastnight’s snow must havecovered our tracks. It’s
strange.”“I don’t know. Here,
drinkthis.”He sipped the tea,
holding the leather-covered mug in bothhands.Hot liquidsplashedover his fingers. Viraebusied herself clearing
away and repacking hissaddlebags. Then sheraked the ashes in thehearth and laid a firereadyforthenexttravelertousethehut.“Whatareyoudoingat
DrosDelnoch?”Rekasked,the warm sweet tea
soothinghim.“I am Earl Delnar’s
daughter,”shesaid.“Ilivethere.”“Did he send you away
because of the comingwar?”“No. I brought a
message to Abalayn, and
nowI’vegotamessageforsomeone else. When I’vedelivered it, I’m goinghome. Are you feelingbetter?”“Yes,” said Rek. “Much
better.” He hesitated,holding her gaze. “Itwasn’t just the cold,” he
said.“I know: it doesn’t
matter. Everybodytrembles after an action.It’swhathappensduringitthatcounts.MyfathertoldmethatafterSkelnPasshecouldn’t sleep withoutnightmaresforamonth.”
“You’renotshaking,”hesaid.“That’s because I’m
keeping busy. Would youlikesomemoretea?”“Yes. Thanks. I thought
weweregoingtodie.Andjust for amoment I didn’tcare—it was a wonderful
feeling.”Hewantedtotellher how good it was tohave her standing besidehim, buthe couldnot.Hewanted towalk across theroom and hold her—andknew he would not. Hemerelylookedatherwhileshe refilled his mug,
stirringinthesugar.“Wheredidyouserve?”
sheasked,consciousofhisgaze and uncertain of itsmeaning.“Dros Corteswain.
UnderGanJavi.”“He’s dead now,” she
said.
“Yes,astroke.Hewasafine leader. He predictedthe coming war. I’m sureAbalayn wishes he hadlistenedtohim.”“Itwasn’tonlyJaviwho
warned him,” said Virae.“All the northerncommanders sent reports.
My father has had spiesamongtheNadirforyears.It was obvious that theyintended to attack us.Abalayn’safool;evennowhe’s sending messages toUlricwithnewtreaties.Hewon’t accept that war’sinevitable. Do you know
we’ve only ten thousandmenatDelnoch?”“I had heard it was
less,”saidRek.“Therearesixwallsand
a town to defend. Thecomplement in wartimeshould be four times asstrong. And the discipline
isnotwhatitwas.”“Why?”“Because they’re all
waiting to die,” she said,anger in her voice.“Because my father’s ill—dying. And because GanOrrin has the heart of aripetomato.”
“Orrin? I’ve not heardofhim.”“Abalayn’s nephew. He
commands the troops, buthe’s useless. If I’d been aman…”“I’m glad you’re not,”
hesaid.“Why?”
“I don’t know,” he saidlamely.“Justsomethingtosay…I’mgladyou’renot,that’sall.”“Anyway, if I had been
a man, I would havecommanded the troops. Iwould have done adamned sight better than
Orrin.Whyareyoustaringatme?”“I’m not staring. I’m
listening,dammit!Whydoyoukeeppressingme?”“Do you want the fire
lit?”sheasked.“What? Are we staying
thatlong?”
“Ifyouwantto.”“I’ll leaveit toyou,”he
said.“Let’s stay for today.
That’sall. Itmightgiveustime to … get to knoweach other better. We’vemade a pretty bad start,after all. And you have
savedmylifethreetimes.”“Once,”hesaid.“Idon’t
thinkyouwouldhavediedof the cold; you’re tootough. And Grussin savedus both. But yes, I wouldlike to stay just for today.Mind you, I don’t fancysleeping on the floor
again.”“You won’t have to,”
shesaid.
The abbot smiled at theyoung albino’sembarrassment. Hereleased his hands fromthemindholdandwalked
backtohisdesk.“Joinme,Serbitar,” he said aloud.“Do you regret your oathofcelibacy?”“Sometimes,” said the
youngman,risingfromhisknees. He brushed dustfromhiswhitecassockandseatedhimselfoppositethe
abbot.“The girl is worthy,”
Serbitarreplied.“Themanis an enigma. Will theirforce be lessened by theirlovemaking?”“Strengthened,”saidthe
abbot. “They need eachother. Together they are
complete,as in theSacredBook.Tellmeofher.”“WhatcanItell?”“You entered hermind.
Tellmeofher.”“She is an earl’s
daughter. She lacksconfidence in herself as awoman,andsheisavictim
ofmixeddesires.”“Why?”“She doesn’t know
why,”hehedged.“OfthatIamaware.Do
youknowwhy?”“No.”“Whatoftheman?”“I did not enter his
mind.”“No. But what of the
man?”“He has great fears. He
fearstodie.”“Is this a weakness?”
askedtheabbot.“It will be at Dros
Delnoch. Death is almost
certainthere.”“Yes. Can it be a
strength?”“Idonotseehow,”said
Serbitar.“What does the
philosophersayofcowardsandheroes?”“The prophet says, ‘By
nature of definition onlythe coward is capable ofthehighestheroism.’”“You must convene the
Thirty,Serbitar.”“Iamtolead?”“Yes. You shall be the
voiceoftheThirty.”“But who shall my
brothersbe?”The abbot leaned back
inhischair.“Arbedarkwillbe theheart.He is strong,fearless, and true; therecould be none other.Menahem shall be theeyes, for he is gifted. Ishallbethesoul.”
“No!” said the albino.“It cannot be, master. Icannotleadyou.”“Butyoumust.Youwill
decide the other numbers.I shall await yourdecision.”“Why me? Why must I
lead?Ishouldbetheeyes.
Arbedarkshouldlead.”“Trust me. All will be
revealed.”
“I was raised at DrosDelnoch,” Virae told Rekas they lay before theblazing fire. His headrested on his rolled cloak,
her head nestled on hischest.Hestrokedherhair,saying nothing. “It’s amajestic place. Have youeverbeenthere?”“No. Tell me about it.”
He did not really want tohear, but neither did hewishtospeak.
“It has six outer walls,each of them twenty feetthick.The first threewerebuilt by Egel, the Earl ofBronze.But then the townexpanded, and graduallytheybuilt threemore.Thewhole fortress spans theDelnoch Pass. With the
exception of Dros PurdoltothewestandCorteswainto the east, it is the onlyroute for an army to passthrough the mountains.My father converted theold keep and made it hishome. The view isbeautiful from the upper
turrets. To the south insummer the whole of theSentran Plain is goldenwith corn. And to thenorthyoucan see forever.Areyoulisteningtome?”“Yes.Goldenviews.You
can see forever,” he saidsoftly.
“Areyousureyouwanttohearthis?”“Yes.Tellmeabout the
wallsagain.”“Whataboutthem?”“Howthickarethey?”“They are also up to
sixtyfeethigh,withjuttingtowers every fifty paces.
Any army attacking theDros would suffer fearfullosses.”“Whataboutthegates?”
he asked. “A wall is onlyas strong as the gate itshields.”“The Earl of Bronze
thought of that. Eachgate
is set behind an ironportcullis and built oflayered bronze, iron, andoak. Beyond the gates aretunnels which narrow atthe center before openingoutontothelevelbetweenwalls. You could hold thetunnels against an
enormousnumberofmen.ThewholeoftheDroswasbeautifully designed; it’sonlythetownwhichspoilsit.”“Inwhatway?”hesaid.“Originally Egel
designed the gap betweenthe walls to be a killing
ground with no cover. Itwas uphill to the nextwall, which would slowdown the enemy. Withenoughbowmenyoucouldhave a massacre. It wasgood psychologically, too:By the time they came totakethenextwall—ifthey
ever did—they’d knowthere was more killinggroundtocome.”“So how did the town
spoilit?”“It just grew. Now we
havebuildingsall thewayto Wall Six. The killingground’s gone. Quite the
opposite, in fact—nowthere’scoveralltheway.”He rolled over and
kissedherbrow.“What was that for?”
sheasked.“Does it have to be for
something?”“There’s a reason for
everything,”shesaid.He kissed her again.
“That was for the Earl ofBronze,” he said. “Or thecoming of spring. Or avanishedsnowflake.”“You don’t make any
sense,”shetoldhim.“Why did you let me
make love to you?” heasked.“Whatsortofaquestion
isthat?”“Why?”“None of your damned
business!”shesaid.He laughed and kissed
her again. “Yes, my lady.
Quite right. None of mybusiness.”“You’re mocking me,”
shesaid,strugglingtorise.“Nonsense,” he said,
holdingherdown.“You’rebeautiful.”“I’m not. I never have
been. You are mocking
me.”“Iwillnevermockyou.
Andyouarebeautiful.AndthemoreIlookatyou,themorebeautifulyouare.”“You’re a fool. Let me
up.”He kissed her again,
easing his body close to
hers. The kiss lingered,andshereturnedit.“TellmeabouttheDros
again,”hesaidatlast.“I don’t want to talk
about it now. You’reteasing me, Rek; I won’thave it. I don’t want tothinkabout it tonight,not
anymore. Do you believeinfate?”“Idonow.Almost.”“I’mserious.YesterdayI
didn’t mind about goinghome and facing theNadir. I believed in theDrenai cause, and I waswilling to die for it. I
wasn’tscaredyesterday.”“Andtoday?”heasked.“Today, if you asked
me, I wouldn’t go home.”Shewaslying,butshedidnotknowwhy.A surgeoffear welled in her as Rekclosedhiseyesandleanedback.
“Yes, you would,” hesaid.“Youhaveto.”“Whataboutyou?”“Itdoesn’tmakesense,”
hesaid.“Whatdoesn’t?”“Idon’tbelieve inwhat
I’mfeeling.Ineverhave.Iamalmostthirtyyearsold,
andIknowtheworld.”“What are you talking
about?”“I’m talking about fate.
Destiny. An old man intatteredbluerobeswithoutanyeyes.I’mtalkingaboutlove.”“Love?”
He opened his eyes,reached out, and strokedherface.“Ican’t tellyouwhat it
meant to me when youstood beside me thismorning. It was thehighest point in my life.Nothing else mattered. I
could see the sky—it wasmore blue than I’ve everseen it. Everythingwas insharp focus. I was moreawareoflivingthanIhaveeverbeen.Doesthatmakeanysense?”“No,” she said gently.
“Not really. Do you truly
thinkI’mbeautiful?”“You are the most
beautifulwomanwhoeverwore armor,” he said,smiling.“That’snoanswer.Why
amIbeautiful?”“BecauseIloveyou,”he
said, surprised at the ease
withwhichhecouldsayit.“Does thatmean you’re
coming with me to DrosDelnoch?”“Tell me about those
lovely high walls again,”hesaid.
T5
he monasterygrounds were split
into training areas, someof stone, some of grass,others of sand ortreacherous slime-coveredslate. The abbey itself
stood at the center of thegrounds, a convertedkeepof gray stone andcrenellated battlements.Four walls and a moatsurrounded the abbey, thewalls a later addition ofsoft, golden sandstone. Bythewesternwall,sheltered
byglassandbloomingoutof season,were flowers ofthirty different shades.Allwereroses.The albino Serbitar
knelt before his tree, hismind at one with theplant.Hehadstruggledforthirteen years with the
rose and understood it.Therewasempathy.Therewasharmony.There was fragrance
that pulsed for Serbitaralone.Greenflies upon therose shriveled and died asSerbitar gazedupon them,andthesoftsilkybeautyof
thebloomsfilledhissenseslikeanopiate.Itwasawhiterose.Serbitar sat back, eyes
closed, mentally followingthe surge of new lifewithin the tree. He worefull armor of silver mailshirt,sword,andscabbard,
leather leggings workedwith silver rings; by hissidewasanewsilverhelmbearing the figure “1” inElderrunes.Hiswhitehairwasbraided.Hiseyesweregreen,thecoloroftheroseleaves. His slender face,translucent skin over high
cheekbones, had themystic beauty of theconsumptive.He made his farewells,
gentlyeasingthegossamerpanic of the plant. It hadknown him since its firstleafhadopened.Andnowhewastodie.
A smiling face grew inhis mind, and Serbitarsense-recognizedArbedark. We await you,pulsedtheinnermessage.I am coming, he
answered.Within the great hall a
tablehadbeenset,ajugof
water and a barley cakebefore each of thirtyplaces. Thirty men in fullarmor sat silently asSerbitarentered,takinghisplace at the head of thetable and bowing to theabbot,Vintar,whonowsatonhisright.
In silence the companyate,eachthinkinghisownthoughts, each analyzinghis emotions at thisculmination of thirteenyearsoftraining.Finally Serbitar spoke,
fulfillingtheritualneedoftheorder.
“Brothers, the search isupon us. We who havesought must obtain thatwhich we seek. Amessenger comes fromDrosDelnoch to ask us todie.Whatdoestheheartofthe Thirty feel on thismatter?”
Alleyesturnedtoblack-bearded Arbedark. Herelaxedhismind,allowingtheir emotions to washover him, selectingthoughts, analyzing them,forging them into oneunifyingconceptagreedonbyall.
Thenhespoke,hisvoicedeepandresonant.“Theheartofthematter
is that the children of theDrenai face extinction.UlrichasmassedtheNadirtribes under his banner.The first attack on theDrenai empire will be at
Dros Delnoch, which EarlDelnar has orders to holduntil theautumn.Abalaynneeds time to raise andtrainanarmy.“We approach a frozen
moment in the destiny ofthe continent. The heartsays we should seek our
truthsatDrosDelnoch.”Serbitar turned to
Menahem, a hawk-nosedyoung man, dark andswarthy, his hair braidedin a single ponytailintertwined with silverthread. “And how do theeyesoftheThirtyviewthis
thing?”“Should we go to the
Dros, the city will fall,”saidMenahem.“Shouldwerefuse, the city will stillfall. Our presence willmerely delay theinevitable. Should themessenger be worthy to
askofusourlives,thenweshouldgo.”Serbitar turned to the
abbot. “Vintar, how saysthesouloftheThirty?”The older man ran a
slender hand through histhinning gray hair, thenstood and bowed to
Serbitar.Heseemedoutofplaceinhisarmorofsilverandbronze.“Wewillbeaskedtokill
men of another race,” hesaid, his voice gentle, sadeven.“Wewillbeaskedtokillthemnotbecausetheyare evil, merely because
their leaders wish to dowhat the Drenaithemselves did sixcenturiesago.“We stand between the
sea and the mountains.The sea will crush usagainst themountain, andthuswedie.Themountain
will hold us against thesea, allowing us to becrushed.Stillwedie.“We are all weapon
mastershere.We seek theperfect death tocounterpoint the perfectlife. True, the Nadiraggressiondoesnotposea
new concept in history.But theiractionwillcauseuntold horror to theDrenaipeople.Wecansaythattodefendthosepeoplewe are upholding thevalues of our order. Thatour defensewill fail is noreasontoavoid thebattle.
Forit is themotivethat ispure,nottheoutcome.“Sadly,thesoulsayswe
must ride for DrosDelnoch.”“So,”saidSerbitar.“We
are agreed. I, too, feelstrongly on this matter.Wecametothistempleas
outcasts from the world.Shunned and feared, wecame together to createtheultimatecontradiction.Our bodieswould becomelivingweapons,topolarizeour minds to extremes ofpacifism. Warrior-priestsweare,astheEldersnever
were.Therewillbenojoyin our hearts as we slaytheenemy,forwelovealllife.“As we die, our souls
will leap forward,transcending the world’schains.Allpettyjealousies,intrigues, and hatredswill
be left behind us as wejourneytotheSource.“The voice says we
ride.”
A three-quarter moonhunginthecloudlessnightsky, casting pale shadowsfrom the trees around
Rek’s campfire. A lucklessrabbit,guttedandencasedinclay,layonthecoalsasVirae came back from thestream, wiping her nakedupper body with one ofRek’sspareshirts.“If only you knew how
much that cost me!” he
saidasshesatonarockbythe fire,herbodyglowinggoldastheflamesdanced.“Itneverservedabetter
purpose,” she said. “Howmuch longer before thatrabbitisready?”“Not long. You will
catch your death of cold,
sitting half-naked in thisweather. My blood’schilling to ice justwatchingyou.”“Strange!” she said.
“Just this morning youwere tellingme how yourblood ran hot just to lookatme.”
“That was in a warmcabin with a bed handy.I’ve never been much formaking love in the snow.Here, I’ve warmed ablanket.”“When I was a child,”
she said, taking theblanket and wrapping it
aroundher shoulders, “weused to have to run threemiles across the downs inthe midwinter wearingonly a tunic and sandals.That was bracing. Andextremelycold.”“Ifyou’resotough,how
wasitthatyouturnedblue
before we found thecabin?” he asked, a broadsmilerobbingthequestionofmalice.“The armor,” she said.
“Too much steel, notenough wool beneath it.Mind you, if I had beenriding in front, I wouldn’t
have gotten so bored andfallen asleep. How longdid you say that rabbitwouldbe?I’mstarving.”“Soon.Ithink…”“Have you ever cooked
a rabbit thiswaybefore?”sheasked.“Not exactly. But it is
the rightway; I’ve seen itdone. All the fur comesaway as you crack theclay.It’seasy.”Virae was not
convinced. “I stalked thatskinnybeastforages,”shesaid, recalling withpleasure the single arrow
from forty paces that haddowned it. “Not a badbow,ifalittleonthelightside. It’s an old cavalrybow, isn’t it? We haveseveral at Delnoch. Themodern ones are all silversteelnow,betterrangeanda stronger poundage. I’m
starving.”“Patience aids the
appetite,”hetoldher.“You’d better not ruin
that rabbit. I don’t likekilling the things at thebest of times. But at leastthere’s a purpose if onecaneatit.”
“I’m not sure how therabbit would respond tothat line of reasoning,”saidRek.“Can they reason?”
askedVirae.“I don’t know. I didn’t
meanitliterally.”“Then why say it? You
areastrangeman.”“It was just an abstract
thought. Do you neverhave an abstract thought?Doyouneverwonderhowa flower knows when it’stime togrow?Orhowthesalmonfindtheirwaybacktothespawninggrounds?”
“No,” she said. “Is therabbitcooked?”“Well, what do you
think about when you’renot planning how to killpeople?”“Eating,” she said.
“Whataboutthatrabbit?”Rek tipped the ball of
clay fromthecoalswithastick,watchingitsizzleonthesnow.“Well, what do you do
now?” she asked. Heignoredherandpickedupa fist-sized rock, thencrackedithardagainsttheclay, which split to
disgorge a half-cooked,half-skinnedrabbit.“Looks good,” she said.
“Whatnow?”He poked the steaming
meatwithastick.“Can you face eating
that?”hesaid.“Of course. Can I
borrowyourknife?Whichbitdoyouwant?”“I’ve got some oatcake
leftinmypack.IthinkI’llmake do with that. Willyouputsomeclotheson!”Theywere camped in a
shallowdepressionunderarockface,notdeepenough
to be a cave but largeenough to reflect heatfrom the fire and cut outtheworstofthewind.Rekchewed his oatcake andwatched the girl devourthe rabbit. It was not anedifying sight. She hurledtheremnantsofthecarcass
into the trees. “Badgersshould enjoy it,” she said.“That’s not a bad way tocookrabbit.”“I’m glad you enjoyed
it,”hesaid.“You’re not much of a
woodsman, are you?” shetoldhim.
“Imanage.”“You couldn’t even gut
the thing. You lookedgreen when the entrailspoppedout.”Rek hurled the rest of
hisoatcakeinthedirectionofthehaplessrabbit.“Thebadgers will probably
appreciate dessert,” hesaid. Virae giggledhappily.“You’rewonderful,Rek.
You’reunlikeanymanI’veevermet.”“Idon’t think I’mgoing
to like what’s comingnext,”hesaid.“Whydon’t
wejustgotosleep.”“No. Listen to me. I’m
serious.Allmy life I havedreamed of finding theright man: tall, kind,strong, understanding.Loving.Ineverthoughtheexisted. Most of the menI’ve known have been
soldiers—gruff, straight asspears,andasromanticasa bull in heat. And I’vemet poets, soft of speechand gentle. When I waswith soldiers, I longed forpoets, and when withpoets,Ilongedforsoldiers.Ihadbeguntobelievethe
man I wanted could notexist. Do you understandme?”“All your life you’ve
been looking for a manwhocouldn’tcookrabbits?Of course I understandyou.”“Do you really?” she
askedsoftly.“Yes. But explain it to
meanyway.”“You’re what I’ve
always wanted,” she said,blushing. “You’re mycoward-hero—mylove.”“Iknewtherewouldbe
somethingIwouldn’tlike,”
hesaid.Assheplacedsomelogs
on the blaze, he held outhis hand. “Sit besideme,”he said. “You’ll bewarmer.”“You can share my
blanket,” she told him,moving around the fire
and into his arms, restingher head on his shoulder.“You don’t mind if I callyoumycoward-hero?”“You can call me what
youlike,”hesaid,“solongas you’re always there tocallme.”“Always?”
The wind tilted theflames, and he shivered.“Always isn’t such a longtimeforus, is it?WeonlyhaveasmuchtimeasDrosDelnoch holds. Anyway,youmight get tired ofmeandsendmeaway.”“Never!”shesaid.
“‘Never’and‘always.’Ihad not thought aboutthose words much untilnow. Why didn’t I meetyou ten years ago? Thewords might have meantsomethingthen.”“Idoubtit.Iwouldonly
havebeennineyearsold.”
“I didn’t mean itliterally.Poetically.”“My father has written
to Druss,” she said. “Thatletter and thismission areallthatkeephimalive.”“Druss?Butevenifhe’s
alive,hewillbeancientbynow; it will be obscene.
Skeln was fifteen yearsago,andhewasoldthen—theywillhavetocarryhimintotheDros.”“Perhaps.Butmyfather
sets great store by theman.Hewasawedbyhim.He feels he’s invincible.Immortal. He once
describedhimtomeasthegreatestwarrioroftheage.He said that Skeln Passwas Druss’s victory andthatheandtheothersjustmade up the numbers. Heused to tell that story tomewhenIwasyoung.Wewouldsitbyafirelikethis
and toast bread on theflames. Then he’d tell meabout Skeln. Marvelousdays.” She lapsed intosilence, staring into thecoals.“Tell me the story,” he
said,drawingherclosertohim, his right hand
pushingbackthehairthathadfallenacrossherface.“You must know it.
Everyone knows aboutSkeln.”“True. But I’ve never
heard the story fromsomeone who was there.I’ve only seen the plays
and listened to the sagapoets.”“Tell me what you
heardandIwill fill in thedetail.”“Allright.Therewerea
few hundred Drenaiwarriors holding SkelnPasswhilethemainDrenai
armymassedelsewhere. Itwas the Ventrian king,Gorben,theywereworriedabout. They knew he wason the march but notwherehewouldstrike.HestruckatSkeln.Theywereout-numbered fifty toone,and they held on until
reinforcements arrived.That’sall.”“Not quite,” said Virae.
“Gorben had an innerarmyoftenthousandmencalledtheImmortals.Theyhadneverbeenbeaten,butDrussbeatthem.”“Oh, come,” said Rek.
“One man cannot beat anarmy. That’s saga-poetstuff.”“No, listen to me. My
fathersaidthatonthelastday, when the Immortalswere finally sent in, theDrenai line had begun tofold.Myfatherhasbeena
warrior all his life. Heunderstands battles andtheshiftandflowbetweencourage and panic. TheDrenai were ready tocrack.Butthen,justasthelinewasbeginningtogive,Drussbellowedabattlecryandadvanced,cuttingand
slashing with his ax. TheVentrians fell back beforehim. And then suddenlythose nearest to himturned to run. The panicspread like brushfire, andthe entire Ventrian linecrumbled. Druss hadturned the tide.My father
says he was like a giantthat day. Inhuman. Like agodofwar.”“That was then,” said
Rek. “I can’t see atoothlessoldmanbeingofmuch use. No man canresistage.”“I agree. But can you
seewhataboosttomoraleit will be just to haveDruss there? Men willflock to the banner. Tofight a battle alongsideDruss the Legend—there’sanimmortalityinit.”“Haveyouevermetthe
oldman?”askedRek.
“No. My father wouldnever tell me, but therewas something betweenthem. Druss would nevercome to Dros Delnoch. Itwas something to dowithmymother,Ithink.”“Shedidn’tlikehim?”“No. Something to do
with a friend of Druss’s.Sieben, I think he wascalled.”“What happened to
him?”“HewaskilledatSkeln.
He was Druss’s oldestfriend. That’s all I knowabout it.” Rek knew she
waslyingbut let itrest. Itwas all ancient history,anyway.Like Druss the
Legend…
Theoldmancrumpledtheletterandletitfall.It was not age that
depressed Druss. Heenjoyedthewisdomofhissixtyyears, theknowledgeaccrued,andtherespectitearned. But the physicalravages of time wereanother thing altogether.His shoulders were stillmighty above a barrel
chest,butthemuscleshadtaken on a stretched look—wiry lines thatcrisscrossed his upperback. His waist, too, hadthickenedperceptiblyoverthelastwinter.Andalmostovernight, he realized, hisblack beard streaked with
gray had become a graybeardstreakedwithblack.But the piercing eyes thatgazedattheirreflectioninthe silver mirror had notdimmed. Their stare haddismayed armies; causedheroicopponentstotakeabackward step, blushing
and shamed; caught theimagination of a peoplewhohadneededheroes.He was Druss the
Legend. Invincible Druss,Captain of the Ax. Thelegends of his life weretold to childreneverywhere, and most of
them were legends, Drussreflected. Druss the hero,immortal,godlike.His past victories could
haveensuredhimapalaceof riches, concubines bythe score. Fifteen yearsbefore Abalayn himselfhad showered him with
jewels following hisexploitsattheSkelnPass.By the following
morning, however, Drusshad gone back to theSkoda mountains, highinto the lonely countrybordering the clouds.Among the pine and the
snowleopardsthegrizzledold warrior had returnedtohislairtotasteagainofsolitude.Hiswifeof thirtyyears lay buried there.Hehad a mind to die there,though therewould be noonetoburyhim,heknew.During the past fifteen
years Druss had not beeninactive.Hehadwanderedvarious lands, leadingbattlecompaniesforminorprincelings.Lastwinterhehad retired to his highmountain retreat, there tothinkanddie.Hehadlongknownhewoulddieinhis
sixtieth year, even beforethe seer’s prediction allthosedecadesago.Hehadbeen able to picturehimselfatsixty—butneverbeyond.Wheneverhetriedtoconsidertheprospectofbeing sixty-one, he wouldexperienceonlydarkness.
His gnarled handscurled around a woodengoblet and raised it to hisgray-bearded lips. Thewine was strong, brewedhimselffiveyearsbefore;ithadagedwell—betterthanhe.Butitwasgone,andheremained … for a little
while.The heat within his
sparsefurnishedcabinwasgrowing oppressive as thenew spring sun warmedthe wooden roof. Slowlyhe removed the sheepskinjacket he had worn allwinter and the undervest
of horsehair. His massivebody, crisscrossed withscars, told of his age. Hestudied the scars,remembering clearly themen whose blades hadcaused them: men whowould never grow old ashehad,menwhohaddied
in their primebeneathhissinging ax. His blue eyesflicked to the wall by thesmallwooden door. Thereit hung, Snaga, which intheold tonguemeant“theSender.”Slimhaftofblacksteel, interwoven witheldritch runes in silver
thread, and a double-edgedbladesoshapedthatitsangasitslew.Evennowhecouldhear
its sweet song. One lasttime,brotherofmysoul,itcalled to him. One lastbloodydaybefore the sunsets.Hismind returned to
Delnar’s letter. It waswrittentothememoryandnottheman.Druss raised himself
from the wooden chair,cursing as his jointscreaked.“Thesunhasset,”whisperedtheoldwarrior,addressing the ax. “Now
onlydeathwaits, andhe’sa patient bastard.” Hewalked from the cabin,gazingoutoverthedistantmountains. His massiveframe and gray-black hairmirrored in miniature themountains he surveyed.Proud,strong,ageless,and
snow-topped, they defiedthe spring sun as it stroveto deny them theirwinterpeaksofvirginsnow.Druss soaked in their
savage splendor, suckingin the cool breeze andtastinglifeasifforthelasttime.
“Where are you,death?” he called. “Wheredo you hide on this fineday?” The echoes boomedaround thevalleys…DEATH,DEATH,Death, Death … DAY,DAY,Day,Day…“IamDruss!AndIdefy
you!”A shadow fell across
Druss’s eyes, the sun diedin the heavens, and themountains receded intomist.PainclampedDruss’smighty chest, soul deep,andhealmostfell.“Proud mortal!” hissed
a sibilant voice throughtheveilsofagony.“Ineversought you. You havehunted me through theselong,lonelyyears.Stayonthis mountain and Iguarantee you two scoremore years. Your muscleswill atrophy; your brain
will sink into dotage. Youwill bloat, oldman, and Iwill only come when youbegit.“Or will the huntsman
haveonemorehunt?“Seek me if you will,
oldwarrior.IstandonthewallsofDrosDelnoch.”
Thepainliftedfromtheold man’s heart. Hestaggered once, drewsoothingmountainairintohis burning lungs, andgazed about him. Birdsstill sang in the pine, noclouds obscured the sun,and the mountains stood,
tall and proud, as theyalwayshad.Druss returned to the
cabin andwent to a chestof oak, padlocked at theonset of winter. The keylay deep in the valleybelow.Heplacedhisgianthands about the lock and
began to exert pressure.Muscles writhed on hisarms, veins bulged on hisneck and shoulders, andthe metal groaned,changedshape,and—split!Druss threw the padlockaside and opened thechest. Within lay a jerkin
of black leather, theshoulderscoveredinaskinof shining steel, and ablack leather skull caprelievedonlybyasilveraxflanked by silver skulls.Long black leathergauntlets came into view,silver-skinned to the
knuckles. Swiftly hedressed, coming finally tothe long leather boots, apresent from Abalaynhimself so many yearsbefore.Lastly he reached for
Snaga, which seemed toleap from the wall to his
waitinghand.“One last time,
brother,” he told it.“Beforethesunsets.”
W6
ith Vintarstanding beside
him, Serbitar watchedfromahighbalconyasthetwo riders approached themonastery, cantering theirhorsestowardthenorthern
gate. Grass showed inpatches on the snow-covered fields as a warmspringwindeased in fromthewest.“Nota time for lovers,”
saidSerbitaraloud.“It is always a time for
lovers, my son. In war
most of all,” said Vintar.“Have you probed theman’smind?”“Yes. He is a strange
one. A cynic byexperience, a romantic byinclination, and now aherobynecessity.”“How will Menahem
testthemessenger?”askedVintar.“With fear,” answered
thealbino.Rek was feeling well.
The air he breathed wascrisp and clean, and awarm westerly breezepromised an end to the
harshest winter in years.The woman he loved wasbeside him, and the skywasblueandclear.“Whatagreatdaytobe
alive!”hesaid.“What’ssospecialabout
today?”askedVirae.“It’sbeautiful.Can’tyou
taste it? The sky, thebreeze,themeltingsnow?”“Someone is coming to
meet us. He looks like awarrior,”shesaid.The rider approached
themanddismounted.Hisface was covered by ablack and silver helm
crownedwithahorse-hairplume. Rek and Viraedismounted andapproachedhim.“Good morning,” said
Rek.Themanignoredhim;hisdarkeyes,seenthroughthe slits in the helm,focusedonVirae.
“You are themessenger?”heaskedher.“I am. I wish to see
AbbotVintar.”“First you must pass
me,” he said, steppingback and drawing alongswordofsilversteel.“Wait a moment,” said
Rek. “What is this? Onedoesnotnormallyhave tofight one’s way into amonastery.” Once againtheman ignoredhim, andVirae drew her rapier.“Stop it!” ordered Rek.“Thisisinsane.”“Stay out of this, Rek,”
saidVirae.“Iwillslicethissilver beetle into tinypieces.”“No, you won’t,” he
said, gripping her arm.“That rapier is no goodagainst an armored man.In any case, the wholething is senseless.Youare
nothere to fightanybody.You simply have amessage to deliver, that’sall. There must be amistake here somewhere.Waitamoment.”Rek walked toward the
warrior, his mind racing,hiseyescheckingforweak
points in the armoreddefenses. Themanwore amolded breastplate over amail shirt of silver steel.Protecting his neck was asilvertorque.Hislegswerecovered to the thigh inleather trews, cased withsilver rings, and upon his
shinswereleathergreaves.Only the man’s knees,hands,andchinwereopentoattack.“Will you tell me what
is happening?” Rek askedhim. “I think you mayhavethewrongmessenger.We are here to see the
abbot.”“Are you ready,
woman?”askedMenahem.“Yes,” said Virae, her
rapier cutting a figureeightinthemorningairassheloosenedherwrist.Rek’sblade flashed into
his hand. “Defend
yourself,”hecried.“No, Rek, he’s mine,”
shouted Virae. “I don’tneed you to fight for me.Stepaside!”“You can have him
next,”saidRek.Heturnedhis attention back toMenahem. “Come on,
then.Let’s see if you fightasprettilyasyoulook.”Menahem turned his
darkeyesonthetallfigurebeforehim.InstantlyRek’sstomach turned over: thiswas death! Cold, finalworm-in-the-eye-socketsdeath. Therewas no hope
in this contest. PanicwelledinRek’sbreast,andhislimbsbegantotremble.He was a child again,locked in a darkenedroom, knowing thedemonswerehidingintheblackshadows.Fearintheshape of bile rose in his
throat as nausea shookhim. He wanted torun…heneededtorun.Instead Rek screamed
and launched an attack,hisbladewhistlingtowardthe black and silver helm.Startled, Menahem hastilyparriedandasecondblow
almost got through. Thewarriorsteppedbackward,desperately trying toregain the initiative, butRek’s furious assault hadcaught him off balance.Menahem parried andmoved,tryingtocircle.Virae watched in
stunned silence as Rek’sblistering assaultcontinued. The two men’sswords glittered in themorning sunlight, adazzling web of whitelight,astunningdisplayofskill. Virae felt a surge ofpride.Shewantedtocheer
Rek on but resisted theurge,knowingtheslightestdistraction could sway thecontest.“Help me,” pulsed
MenahemtoSerbitar,“orImayhave tokillhim.”Heparriedablow,catchingitonly inches from his
throat. “If I can,” headded.“How can we stop it?”
SerbitaraskedVintar.“Themanisabaresark.Icannotget through to him. Hewill kill Menahem beforemuchlonger.”“The girl!” said Vintar.
“Joinwithme.”Virae shivered as she
watched Rek growing instrength. Baresark! Herfatherhadtoldherofsuchmen, butneverwould shehave placed Rek in theircompany. They were madkillerswholostallsenseof
reasonandfearincombat,becoming themostdeadlyof opponents. Allswordsmen gravitatedbetween defense andattack, fordespiteadesiretowin therewasanequaldesire not to lose.But thebaresark lost all fear; his
was an all-out attack, andinvariably he took hisopponentwithhimevenifhe fell. A thought struckher powerfully, andsuddenly she knew thatthewarriorwasnottryingto kill Rek—the contestwasbutatest.
“Put up your swords,”shescreamed.“Stopit!”Thetwomenbattledon.“Rek, listen tome!”she
shouted. “It’s only a test.He’s not trying to killyou.”Her voice came to Rek
as from a great distance,
piercing the red mistbefore his eyes. Steppingback, he felt rather thansawthe relief in theotherman; then he took a deepbreath and relaxed, hislegs shaky, his handstrembling.“Youenteredmymind,”
he accused the warrior,fixing theman’sdarkeyesin a cold gaze. “I don’tknowhow.Butifyoueverdoitagain,Iwillkillyou.Doyouunderstandme?”“I understand,”
Menahem told him softly,his voice muffled within
hishelm.Reksheathedhisblade at the secondattempt and turned toVirae,whowas lookingathimstrangely.“Itwasn’treallyme,”he
said.“Don’tlookatmelikethat,Virae.”“Oh, Rek, I’m sorry,”
shesaid,tearsinhereyes.“I’mtrulysorry.”A new kind of fear hit
himassheturnedherfaceaway.“Don’tleaveme,”hesaid. “It rarely happens,andIwouldneverturnonyou. Never! Believe me.”She turned to face him,
throwing her arms abouthisneck.“Leave you? What are
you talking about? Itdoesn’tmatter tome, youfool. I was just sorry foryou. Oh, Rek, you’re suchan idiot. I’m not sometavern girlwho squeals at
the sight of a rat. I’m awomanwhohasgrownupalongside men. Soldiers.Fighting men. Warriors.You think I would leaveyou because you arebaresark?”“I can control it,” he
said,holdinghertightlyto
him.“Where we are going,
Rek,youwillnothaveto,”shesaid.Serbitar left the
monastery balcony andpoured a goblet of springwaterfromastonejug.“Howdidhedoit?”
Vintar sat back on aleather chair. “There is awell of courage withinhim, fueled by manythings of which we canonly guess. But whenMenahemfedhimfear,heresponded with violence.Because what Menahem
couldnothaveunderstoodis that the man fears fearitself.Didyouglimpsethatmemory of his childhoodduringMenahem’sprobe?”“The tunnels, you
mean?”“Yes. What do you
makeof a childwho fears
thedarkandyetseeksoutdark tunnels to travelthrough?”“He tried to end his
fearsbyfacingthem,”saidSerbitar.“He still does. And
that’s why Menahemalmostdied.”
“He will be useful atDros Delnoch,” saidSerbitar,smiling.“More than you know,”
said Vintar. “More thanyouknow.”
“Yes,”SerbitartoldRekasthey sat within the oak-
paneled study overlookingthe courtyard. “Yes, wecan read minds. But Iassure you we will notagain attempt to readyours or that of yourcompanion.”“Whydidhedo that to
me?”askedRek.
“Menahemistheeyesofthe Thirty. He had to seethat you were worthy toask of us … the service.Youexpectustofightwithyour forces, to analyzeenemy tactics, and to useour skills in defense of afortress about which we
care nothing. Themessenger has to beworthy.”“But I am not the
messenger; I am merely acompanion.”“We shall see … How
long have you known ofyour…affliction?”
Rek turned his gaze tothe window and thebalcony beyond. A wrenlanded on the railing,sharpenedhisbeakon thestone, and then flew off.Lightcloudswereforming,fleece islands in the clearblueofthesky.
“It has happened onlytwice. Both times in theSathuli wars. Once whenwe were surrounded aftera dawn raid on a villageandthesecondtimewhenIwaspart of a guardunitforaspicecaravan.”“It is common among
warriors,”saidSerbitar.“Itisagiftoffear.”“It saved my life both
times, but it scares me,”said Rek. “It is as ifsomeone else takes overmymindandbody.”“But that is not so, I
assureyou.Itisyoualone.
Donot fearwhat you are,Rek—mayIcallyouRek?”“Ofcourse.”“I did not wish to be
overly familiar. It is anickname,isitnot?”“A shortened form of
Regnak. My foster father,Horeb,shorteneditwhenI
wasa child. Itwas akindof joke. I disliked robustgames and never wantedto explore or climb hightrees. Iwasn’t reckless, hesaid; so he dropped the‘less’ and called me Rek.AsIsaid,it’snotmuchofajoke,butthenamestuck.”
“Do you think,” askedSerbitar, “that youwill becomfortable at DrosDelnoch?”Rek smiled. “Are you
asking me if I have thenerve?”“Speaking bluntly? Yes,
IsupposeIam.”
“I don’t know. Haveyou?”The ghost of a smile
hovered on the pale,fleshlessfaceasthealbinoconsidered the question.His slender fingers tappedgentlyatthedesktop.“Thequestion isagood
one.Yes,Ihavethenerve.My fears are unconnectedwithdeath.”“You have read my
mind,” saidRek. “You tellme if I have the nerve. Imean it. I don’t know if Ican stand a drawn-outsiege; it is said that men
failundersuchpressure.”“I cannot tell you,”
Serbitar answered, “if youwill hold or fail. You arecapable of both. I cannotanalyze all thepermutations of a siege.Ask yourself this: What ifViraefell?Wouldyoustay
on?”“No,” said Rek
instantly. “I would saddleafasthorseandbegone.Idon’t care about DrosDelnoch. Or the Drenaiempire.”“The Drenai are
finished,” said Serbitar.
“Theirstarhasfallen.”“Then you think the
Droswillfall?”“Ultimatelyitmust.But
I cannot see that far intothefutureasyet.TheWayof the Mist is strange.Often it will show eventsstill to come, but more
often it will show eventsnevertobe.Itisaperilouspath which only the truemystic walks withcertainty.”“TheWayof theMist?”
askedRek.“I’m sorry, why should
youknow? It isa roadon
another plane… a fourthdimension? A journey ofthe spirit like a dream.Onlyyoudirectthedreamandseewhatyoudesiretosee.Itisaconcepthardtoverbalize to a non-speaker.”“Are you saying your
soulcantraveloutsidethebody?”askedRek.“Oh, yes, that is the
easy part. We saw you inGraven Forest outside thecabin.Wehelpedyouthenby influencing the axman,Grussin.”“You made him kill
Reinard?”“No.Ourpowersarenot
that great. We merelypushed him in a directionhe was consideringalready.”“I’m not sure I am
entirely comfortableknowing you have that
sort of power,” said Rek,avoidingthealbino’sgreeneyes.Serbitar laughed, his
eyes sparkling, his palefacemirroringhisjoy.“FriendRek,Iamaman
of my word. I promisednever to use my gift to
readyourmind,andIshallnot. Nor will any of theThirty. Do you think wewouldbepriests,forsakingthe world, if we wishedharm to others? I am theson of an earl, but if Iwished, I couldbe a king,an emperor mightier than
Ulric. Do not feelthreatened.Wemustbeatease one with the other.More,wemustbefriends.”“Why?”askedRek.“Because we are about
to share a moment whichcomes only once in alifetime,” said Serbitar.
“Wearegoingtodie.”“Speak for yourself,”
saidRek.“Idonotseethatgoing to Dros Delnoch isjust another way ofcommitting suicide. It’s abattle, that’sall.Nomore,no less than that. A wallcanbedefended.Asmaller
force can hold a larger.Historyisfullofexamples:SkelnPass,forexample.”“True,” said Serbitar.
“But theyare rememberedbecause they areexceptions. Let us deal infacts.TheDrosisdefendedbyaforcelessthanathird
of the full complement.Morale is low; fear is rife.Ulrichasa force inexcessof half amillionwarriors,allwilling—lustingeven—to die for him in battle. Iamaweaponmasterandastudent of war. DrosDelnoch will fall. Clear
your mind of any otherconclusion.”“Then why come with
us? What will you gainfromit?”“We die,” said Serbitar,
“and then live. But I shallsaynomoreofthatatthistime. I do not wish to
depress you, Rek. If itwould serve a purpose, Iwould fill you with hope.But my whole battlestrategy will be builtaround delaying theinevitable.OnlythencanIfunction—and serve yourcause.”
“I hope you will keepthat opinion to yourself,”said Rek. “Virae believeswe can hold. I knowenough of warfare andmorale to tell you plainlythatifyourtheoryweretospread among the men,there would be wholesale
desertions; we would loseonthefirstday.”“Iamnota fool,Rek. I
say this to you because itneedstobesaid.Ishallbeyour adviser at Delnoch,and you will need me tospeak the truth. I shallhavenorealdealingswith
the soldiers, neither willtheThirty.Menwillavoidus, anyway, once theyknowwhatweare.”“Perhaps. Why do you
say you will be myadviser? Earl Delnarcommands; I shall notevenbeanofficerthere.”
“Let us say,” saidSerbitar,“thatIwillbetheadviser to your cause.Time will explain all farbetter than I. Have Idepressedyou?”“Not at all. You have
told me everything ishopeless, we are all dead
men, and the Drenai arefinished.Depressed?Notatall!”Serbitar laughed and
clapped his hands. “I likeyou,Rek,”hesaid.“Ithinkyouwillholdfirm.”“I will hold firm, all
right,” said Rek, smiling.
“Because I will know thatatthelastwallIwillhavetwo horses waiting readysaddled. By the way, doyou not have anythingstronger than water todrink?”“Sadly, no,” answered
Serbitar. “Alcohol inhibits
our strength. If you needspirits,however,thereisavillage nearby, and I canhavesomeonerideout foryoutopurchasesome.”“Youdon’tdrink.There
arenowomen.Youeatnomeat.Whatdoyoudo forrecreation?”
“We study,” saidSerbitar. “And we train,and we plant flowers andraise horses. Our time iswelloccupied,Icanassureyou.”“No wonder you want
to go away and diesomewhere,”saidRekwith
feeling.
Virae sat with Vintar in asmall sparsely furnishedstudy awash withmanuscripts and leather-boundtomes.Therewasasmall desk littered withbrokenquillsandscrawled
parchment. She held backa smile as the older manfumbled with hisbreastplatestrap.Hecouldnothavelookedlesslikeawarrior.“Can I help you?” she
asked, standing up andleaningoverthedesk.
“Thank you, my dear,”he said. “It weighsheavily.” He balanced thearmoragainstthedeskandpoured himself somewater, offering the jug toVirae, who shook herhead. “I’m sorry the roomis suchamess, but Ihave
beenhurryingtofinishmydiary. So much to say, solittletime.”“Bringitwithyou,”she
said.“I think not. Toomany
other problems to wrestlewith once we are underway. You have changed
since I saw you last,Virae.”“Two years is a long
time, Abbot,” she saidcarefully.“I think it is the young
man with you,” he said,smiling. “He has a greatinfluence.”
“Nonsense. I am thesame.”“Your walk is more
assured. You are lessclumsy than I remember.He has given yousomething,Ithink.”“Nevermindthat.What
about the Dros?” she
snapped,blushing.“I am sorry,my dear. I
did notwish to embarrassyou.”“You have not
embarrassedme,”shelied.“Now, about DrosDelnoch. How can youhelpus?”
“As I told your fathertwo years ago, our helpwillbeinorganizationandplanning. We will knowtheenemy’splans.Wecanaidyouinthwartingthem.Tacticallywecanorganizethedefenses,andmilitarilywe can fight like a
hundred. But our price ishigh.”“My father has
deposited ten thousandgold Raq in Ventria,” shesaid. “With the merchantAsbidare.”“Good. Then that is
settled. We ride in the
morning.”“May I ask you
something?”saidVirae.Heopened his hands andwaited.“Whydoyouneedmoney?”“For thenext templeof
the Thirty. Each temple isfinanced by the death of
thelast.”“Oh. What happens if
you don’t die? I mean,supposing we win?” Hiseyes searched her face foramatterofmoments.“Then we return the
money,”hesaid.“Isee,”shesaid.
“Youareunconvinced?”“Itdoesn’tmatter.What
doyouthinkofRek?”“In what way?” asked
Vintar.“Let’s not play games,
Father Abbot. I know youcan readminds. Iwant toknow what you think of
Rek.”“The question is not
preciseenough—no,letmefinish,” he said, watchingher anger rise. “Do youmean as a man, as awarrior, or as aprospective husband forthedaughterofanearl?”
“All three, ifyou like. Idon’tknow.Justtellme.”“Very well. Do you
believeindestiny?”“Yes,” she said,
remembering that she hadaskedthesamequestionofRek.“Yes,Ido.”“Then believe this. You
were destined to meet.Youaretheperfectmatch.You boost his strengthsand counter hisweaknesses.What he doesforyou,youknowalready.Asamanheisnotuniqueor even very special. Hehasnogreattalents,isnot
a poet, a writer, or aphilosopher. As a warrior—well, he has a sporadiccourage that hides greatfears. But he is a man inlove. And that willincrease his strength andhis power to combat hisfears. As a husband? In
daysofpeaceandplenty,Ifeelhewouldbewayward.But for now … he lovesyouandispreparedtodiefor you. You can ask nomoreofamanthanthat.”“Why did I meet him
now, of all times?” sheasked, tears stinging her
eyes.“Idon’twanthimtodie. I would kill myself, Ithink.”“No, my dear. I don’t
thinkyouwould, thoughIagree that you would feellike doing so. Why now?Why not? Live or die, aman and a woman need
love.Thereisaneedintherace.Weneedtoshare.Tobelong. Perhaps you willdie before the year is out.But remember this: Tohave may be taken fromyou; to have had, never.Far better to have tastedlove before dying than to
diealone.”“I suppose so. But I
would have liked childrenand a settled home. Iwould like to have takenRek to Drenan and shownhim off a little. I wouldlike some of those bitchesatcourt to see thataman
couldloveme.”Shebitherlip, straining to hold backthetears.“They are
inconsequential. Whetherthey see you or not willnotalterthefactthattheywere wrong. And it is alittleearlyfordespair.Itis
spring,anditwillbemanyweeksbeforewereachtheDros. All things canhappen in that time.Ulricmayhaveaheartattackorfall from his horse andcrush his skull. Abalaynmay make another treaty.The attack may come at
another fortress. Whoknows?”“Iknow.Youareright.I
don’t know why I’msuddenly so full of self-pity. Meeting Rek wasmarvelous for me. Youshould have seen himstanding up to Reinard’s
outlaws. You know ofReinard?”“Yes.”“Well, you won’t have
to worry about himanymore. He’s dead.Anyway, Rek stood up totwenty of them becausethey were going to take
me. Twenty! He wouldhave fought them all.Damn,I’mgoingtocry!”“Why should you not
cry?Youareinlovewithamanwho adores you, andthe future looksbleakandempty of hope.” Hewalked to her, took her
hand, and pulled her toher feet. “Virae, it isalways harder for theyoung.”She rested her head on
his chest as the tears ran.He put his arms aroundher and patted her back.“CanDrosDelnoch hold?”
sheaskedhim.“All things can happen.
Did youknowDruss is onhiswaythere?”“He agreed? That is
good news.” She sniffedandwipedhereyesonthesleeve of her shirt. ThenRek’swords came back to
her. “He’s not senile, ishe?”Vintar laughed aloud.
“Druss! Senile? Certainlynot. What a wonderfulthought! That is one oldman who will never besenile. It would meangiving in to something. I
used to believe that ifDrusswantednight to lastlonger, he would justreachupanddragthesunback down over thehorizon.”“Youknewhim?”“Yes. And his wife,
Rowena.Abeautifulchild.
A speaker of rare talent.Gifted even beyondSerbitar.”“I always thought
Rowena was just part ofthe legend,” said Virae.“Did he really cross theworldtofindher?”“Yes,” said Vintar,
releasing Virae andreturningtohisdesk.“Shewas taken prisoner soonafter they wed, when thevillage was attacked byslavers.Hehuntedher foryears. They were ablissfully happy couple.Like you and Rek, I
shouldn’twonder.”“What happened to
her?”“She died. Soon after
SkelnPass.Aweakheart.”“Poor Druss,” she said.
“Buthe is still strong,yousay?” “ ‘When he stares,valleys tremble,’ ” quoted
Vintar.“ ‘Wherehewalks,beasts are silent; when hespeaks,mountains tumble;when he fights, armiescrumble.’”“But canhe still fight?”
shepressed.“Ithinkhewillmanage
a skirmish or two,” said
Vintar, roaring withlaughter.
T7
wodaysandtwenty-seven leagues from
Skoda and Druss, with amile-eatingsoldier’sstride,was nearing the lushvalleys at the edge ofSkultik forest. He was
three days march fromDros Delnoch, andevidence of the comingwar met his eyeseverywhere. Desertedhomes, untended fields,and the people he didmeet were wary andmistrustful of strangers.
They wore defeat like acloak, Druss thought.Topping a small rise, hefound himself lookingdown on a village ofmaybe thirtyhomes, somecrudely built, othersshowing signs of morecareful construction. At
the center of the hamletwasasquare,aninn,andastable.Druss rubbed his thigh,
trying to ease therheumatic pain in hisswollen right knee. Hisright shoulder ached, butthis was a dull throbbing
he could live with, areminder of past battleswhenaVentrianspearhadcut under his shoulderblade. But the knee! Thiswouldnot bearhimmanymore leagues without restandanicepack.He hawked and spit,
wipingahugehandacrosshisbeardedlips.You’reanold man, he told himself.There is no point inpretending otherwise. Helimped down the hilltowardtheinn,wonderingonce more whether heshould purchase a mount.
Hishead toldhimyes;hisheart said no. He wasDruss the Legend, and henever rode. Tireless, hecould walk all night andfight all day. It would begood for morale whenDruss walked into DrosDelnoch. Men would say:
“Great gods, the old boy’swalked from Skoda.” Andothers would answer: “Ofcourse he has. That’sDruss.Heneverrides.”Buthisheadtoldhimto
buyahorseandleaveitatthe forest’s edge, a mereten miles from the Dros.
And who would be thewiser?The inn was crowded,
but the innkeeper hadrooms to spare. Most ofthe customers werepassing through, headingsouth orwest into neutralVagria. Druss paid his
money,tookacanvassackoficetohisroom,andsaton the hard bed, pressingit to his swollen knee. Hehad not been in themainroom for long, but longenough to hear some ofthe conversations and torecognizemanyofthemen
thereassoldiers.Deserters.Always in war, he
knew,thereweremenwhowould sooner ride thandie.Butmanyoftheyoungmen downstairs hadseemed more demoralizedthancowardly.Were things so bad at
Delnoch?Heremovedtheiceand
massaged the fluid awayfrom the joint, his thickfingers pressing andprobing, his teeth grittedhard against the pain.Satisfiedatlast,heopenedhis small pack and
removedalengthofsturdycotton bandage, which hewound tightly about theknee, tucking theend intothe fold. Then he rolleddown his woolen leggingsand pulled his black bootonto his foot, grunting asthe injured knee tensed.
He stood and walked tothe window, pushing itopen. His knee felt better—not much, but enough.Theskywascloudlessandblue, and a soothingbreeze ruffled his beard.High overhead an eaglecircled.
Druss returned to hispack, removing thecrumpled letter fromDelnar. He walked to thewindow for better lightand smoothed theparchmentopen.The script was writ
large, and Druss chuckled
again. He was no reader,andDelnarknewit.
MyDearestComrade,EvenasIwriteIreceive
messages about the Nadirarmy being gathered atGulgothir. It is plain thatUlric is ready to expand
south. I have written toAbalayn, pleading formoremen.Therearenoneto be had. I have sentVirae to Vintar—youremember the Abbot ofSwords?—to request theThirty. I clutch at straws,myfriend.
I do not know in whathealth this letter will findyou, but it is written indesperation. I need amiracle or the Dros willfall. I know you sworenever again to enter thegates,butoldwoundshealandmywifeisdead.Asis
your friend Sieben. Youand I are the only menlivingtoknowthetruthofthe matter. And I haveneverspokenofit.Your name alone will
stop the desertions andrestore morale. I amplagued on all sides by
poor officers, politicallyappointed,butmyheaviestload is Gan Orrin, thecommander. He isAbalayn’s nephew and amartinet. He is despised,and yet I cannot replacehim. In truth, I no longercommand.
I have a cancer. Itconsumesmedaily.Itisunfairofmetotell
youof it, for I know Iamusing my own impendingdeath to ask of you afavor.Comeandfightwithus.
We need you, Druss.
Without you, we are lost.Just as at Skeln. Come assoonasyoucan.Yourcomradeinarms.
EarlDelnar
Druss folded the letter,pushing it into a deeppocket inside his leather
jerkin.“An old man with a
swollen knee and anarthritic back. If you’vepinned your hopes on amiracle, my friend, youwill need to seekelsewhere.”A silvered mirror stood
next toawashbasinonanoakchest,andDrussstaredhard at his reflection. Theeyes were piercing blue,the beard square-cut, thejaw beneath it firm. Hepulled his leather helmfrom his head andscratched the thickmatof
gray hair. His thoughtswere somber as hereplaced the helm andstrodedownstairs.At the long bar he
orderedaleandlistenedtothetalkaroundhim.“They say Ulric has a
millionmen,”saidonetall
youngster.“Andyouheardwhat he did at Gulgothir.When the city refused tosurrender and he hadtaken it, he had everysecond defender hangedand quartered. Sixthousand men. They saythe air was black with
crows. Imagine! Sixthousand!”“Do you know why he
did it?” Druss asked,breaking into theconversation. The menlooked at one another,thenbackatDruss.“OfcourseIknow.He’s
a bloodthirsty savage,that’swhy.”“Notatall,” saidDruss.
“Join me in a drink?” Hecalled the innkeeper andorderedmoreale. “Hedidit so that men like youcould spread the word toother cities.Wait!Mistake
menot,”saidDrussas theman’s anger flushed hisface.“Idonotcriticizeyoufor telling the story. It isnatural for these tales tobepassedon.ButUlricisacanny soldier. Assume hetook the city and treatedthe defenders heroically.
Other cities would defendjust as hard. But this wayhe sends fear ahead ofhim. And fear is a greatally.”“You talk like an
admirer,” said anotherman, shorter, with acurlingblondmustache.
“But I am,” said Druss,smiling. “Ulric is one ofthegreatestgeneralsoftheage. Who else in athousand years has unitedthe Nadir? Andwith suchsimplicity. It is the Nadirwaytofightanyonenotoftheir tribe. With a
thousand tribes thinkingthisway,theycouldneverbecome a nation. Ulrictook his own tribe, theWolfshead, and changedthe style ofNadirwar. Toeach tribe he conquered,he offered a choice: joinhimordie.Manychoseto
die, butmanymore chosetolive.Andhisarmygrew.Each tribe keeps its owncustoms, and they arehonored. You cannot takesuchamanlightly.”“The man is a
treacherouscur,”offeredamanfromanothergroupof
speakers. “He signed atreaty with us. Now he istobreakit.”“Iamnotdefendinghis
morals,” said Drussequably. “Merely pointingout that he’s a goodgeneral. His troopsworshiphim.”
“Well, I don’t like theway you speak, oldman,”said the tallest of thelisteners.“No?” said Druss. “Are
youasoldier,then?”The man hesitated,
glancedathiscompanions,then shrugged. “It doesn’t
matter,” he said. “Forgetit.”“Are you a deserter,
then?”“I said to forget it, old
man,” stormed theyoungster.“Areyoualldeserters?”
asked Druss, leaning back
against the bar andscanning the thirty or somengatheredthere.“No, not all,” said one
youngmanemergingfromthethrong.Hewastallandslim, dark hair braidedbeneathahelmofbronze.“But you cannot blame
thosewhoare.”“Don’t bother with it,
Pinar,”saidone.“Wehavetalkeditover.”“I know. Interminably,”
said Pinar. “But it doesn’tchange the situation. Thegan is a pig.Worse, he isincompetent. But in
leaving, you are justmaking sure yourcomrades have no chanceatall.”“They haven’t any
chance, anyway,” said theshort one with the blondmustache.“Iftheyhadanysense, they would leave
withus.”“Dorian, you are being
selfish,” said Pinar gently.“When the fighting starts,Gan Orrin will have toforget his idiot rules. Wewill all be too busy toworryaboutthem.”“Well, I’ve had enough
ofitalready,”saidDorian.“Shining armor. Dawnparades. Forced marches.Midnight inspections.Penalties for sloppysalutes, uncombed crests,talking after lights-out.Theman’smad.”“If you’re caught, you
willbehung,”saidPinar.“Hedoesn’tdaretosend
anyone after us. Theywould desert, too. I cameto Dros Delnoch to fighttheNadir. I left a farm, awife,andtwodaughters. Ididn’t come here for allthat shining armor
garbage.”“Then go, my friend,”
saidPinar.“Ihopeyoudonotlivetoregretit.”“I do regret it already.
But my mind is set,” saidDorian. “I am headingsouth to joinWoundweaver. Now,
there’sasoldier!”“Is Earl Delnar still
alive?” asked Druss. Theyoung warrior noddedabsently.“Howmanymenstillholdtheirpositions?”“What?” said Pinar,
realizing that Druss wasspeakingtohim.
“How many men haveyouatDelnoch?”“What concern is it of
yours?”“It’s where I am
heading.”“Why?”“Because I have been
asked, young laddie,” said
Druss.“And inmoreyearsthanIcaretoremember,Ihavenever turneddownarequestfromafriend.”“This friend asked you
tojoinusatDrosDelnoch?Is he mad? We needsoldiers, archers,pikemen,warriors. Ihaven’t timeto
berespectful,oldman.Butyou should go home; wehave no need ofgraybeards.”Druss smiled grimly.
“You are a blunt speaker,boy.Butyourbrainsareinyour breeches. I havehandled an ax for twice
your lifetime.My enemiesare all dead, or wishedthey were.” His eyesblazed, and he steppedcloser toward the youngerman. “When your life hasbeen spent in one warafteranother for forty-fiveyears, you have to be
pretty handy to survive.Now you, laddie—yourlipsscarcelydryfromyourmother’s milk—are just abeardless boy tome.Yourswordlooksprettythereatyourside.But if I chose, Icould kill you withoutbreakingasweat.”
A silence had fallen onthe room, and thewatchers noted the brightsheenonPinar’sbrow.“Who invited you to
DrosDelnoch?” he said atlast.“EarlDelnar.”“Isee.Well,theearlhas
beenill,sir.Nowyoumayor may not be a mightywarrior still. And I mostcertainly am a beardlessboytoyou.Butletmetellyou this: Gan Orrincommands at DrosDelnoch, and he will notallow you to stay, Earl
Delnar or no. I am sureyour heart is in the rightplace, and I am sorry if Isounded disrespectful. Butyouaretoooldforawar.”“The judgment of
youth!” said Druss. “It isseldomof value.All right,muchasitgoesagainstthe
grain,IcanseeIstillhaveto provemyself. Setme atask,boy!”“I don’t understand
you,”saidPinar.“Set me a task.
Something no man herecan do. And we will seehow‘theoldman’fares.”
“I have no time forthesegames.Imustreturnto theDros.”Heturnedtogo, but Druss’s words hithim like a blow, chillinghisblood.“You don’t understand,
boy. If you do not setmethattask,Iwillhavetokill
you. For I will not beshamed.”The young man turned
again. “As you say. Verywell, shall we adjourn tothemarketplace?”The inn emptied, the
crowd forming a circleabout the twomen in the
deserted village square.The sun beat down, andDruss sucked in a deepbreath, glorying in thewarmthofspring.“It will be pointless
giving you a test ofstrength,” said Pinar, “foryou are built like a bull.
Butwar,asyouknow,isatest of stamina. Do youwrestle?”“Ihavebeenknownto,”
said Druss, doffing hisjerkin.“Good! Then you may
test your skill, one at atime,against threemenof
mychoice.Doyouagree?”“All too simple against
these soft, fat runners,”said Druss. An angrymurmur arose from thecrowd, but Pinar silencedthemwitharaisedhand.“Dorian. Hagir. Somin.
Will you give old father
hereatrial?”The men were the first
threeDrusshadmetatthebar. Dorian removed hiscloak and tied hisshoulder-length hairbehind his neck with aleather thong. Druss,unnoticed,testedhisknee:
itwasnotstrong.“Are you ready?” asked
Pinar.Both men nodded, and
immediately Dorianrushed the older man.Drusslashedout,grabbingthe other’s throat, thenstooped to push his right
hand between the man’slegs and lifted. With agrunt and a heave, hehurled him ten feetthroughtheairtolandlikea sackon thehard-packedearth. Dorian half rose,then sat back, shaking hishead. The crowd hooted
withlaughter.“Who’s next?” asked
Druss.Pinarnoddedtoanother
youngster; then, observingthe fear on the lad’s face,he stepped forward. “Youhave made your point,graybeard.Youarestrong,
andIamatfault.ButGanOrrinwillnotallowyoutofight.”“Laddie,hewillnotstop
me. If he tries, I will tiehim to a fast horse andsend him back to hisuncle.”Alleyesturnedasahoarsecrysplittheair.
“You old bastard!”Dorian had gathered uphis longsword and wasadvancing toward Druss,who stood with armsfolded,waiting.“No,” said Pinar. “Put
upyourblade,Dorian.”“Back off or draw your
sword,” Dorian told him.“I have had enough ofthese games. You thinkyou are a warrior, oldman? Then let us see youusethatax.Becauseifyoudon’t, I will put some airinyourbelly.”“Boy,” said Druss, his
eyes cold, “think wellabout this venture. Formake no mistake, youcannot stand before meand live. No man everhas.” The words werespoken softly, yet no onedisbelievedtheoldman.ExceptDorian.
“Well, we shall see.Drawyourblade!”Druss slipped Snaga
from its sheath, his broadhand curling around itsblack haft. Dorianattacked!Anddied.He lay on the ground,
headhalf-severedfromhisneck. Druss hammeredSnagadeep into theearth,cleansing the blade ofblood,whilePinarstoodinstunned silence. Dorianhad not been a greatswordsman, but hecertainlyhadbeen skilled.
Yettheoldmanhadbattedaside the slashing swordandinoneflowingmotionhad returned the attack—all without moving hisfeet.Pinarlookeddownatthe body of his formercompanion. You shouldhavestayedattheDros,he
thought.“I did not want that to
happen,”saidDruss,“butIgavehimfairwarning.Thechoicewashis.”“Yes,” said Pinar. “My
apologies for speaking theway I did. You will be agreat help to us, I think.
Excuse me. I must helpthem to remove the body.Will you join me for adrink?”“I will see you in the
longbar,”saidDruss.The tall dark-haired
youngsterwhomDrusshadbeen scheduled to wrestle
approached him as hewalkedthroughthecrowd.“Excuse me, sir,” he
said. “I am sorry aboutDorian.He’shot-tempered.Alwayshasbeen.”“Not anymore,” said
Druss.“Therewillbenoblood
feud,”saidtheman.“Good. A man with a
wifeanddaughtershasnoplace losing his temper.The man was a fool. Areyou a friend of thefamily?”“Yes.MynameisHagir.
Our farms are close. We
are…were…neighbors.”“Then,Hagir,whenyou
gethome, I hope youwillsee that his wife is caredfor.”“I am not going home.
I’m going back to theDros.”“What changed your
mind?”“With respect, you did,
sir.IthinkIknowwhoyouare.”“Make your own
decisions;don’tplacethemon my shoulders. I wantgood soldiers at DrosDelnoch, but also I want
menwhowillstand.”“Ididn’tleavebecauseI
was frightened. I was justfed up with the crazyrules. But ifmen like youarepreparedtobethere,Iwillstickitout.”“Good. Join me for a
drink later. Now I am
goingtohaveahotbath.”Druss pushed his way
past the men in thedoorwayandwentinside.“Are you really going
back,Hagir?”askedoneofthemen.“Yes.Yes,Iam.”“But why?” urged
another. “Nothing haschanged. Except that weshall all be on report andprobablyflogged.”“It’s him—he’s going
there. The Captain of theAx.”“Druss! That was
Druss?”
“Yes,Iamsureofit.”“How sickening!” said
theother.“What do you mean,
Somin?”askedHagir.“Dorian—Druss was
Dorian’s hero. Don’t youremember him talkingabouthim?Druss thisand
Drussthat.Itisonereasonhe joined up—to be likeDruss and maybe even tomeethim.”“Well,hemethim,”said
Hagirsomberly.
Druss, dark-haired Pinar,tall Hagir, and blunt-
featured Somin sat at acorner table in the longroom of the inn. Aroundthem a crowd gathered,drawnbythelegendofthegrizzledoldman.“Just over nine
thousand, you say. Howmanyarchers?”
Dun Pinar waved ahand. “No more than sixhundred, Druss. The restare remnants of cavalrylancers, infantrymen,pikemen, and engineers.The bulk of thecomplementismadeupofvolunteerfarmersfromthe
Sentran Plain. They’repluckyenough.”“If I remember aright,”
said Druss, “the first wallisfourhundredpaceslongandtwentywide.Youwillneed a thousand archerson it. And I don’t justmean a thousand bows.
We need men who canpick a target from ahundredpaces.”“We just haven’t got
them,”saidPinar.“Onthecredit side, we do havealmost a thousand legionriders.”“Some good news at
least.Wholeadsthem?”“GanHogun.”“The same Hogun who
routed the Sathuli atCorteswain?”“Yes,” said Pinar, pride
in his voice. “A skilledsoldier, strong ondiscipline and yet
worshiped by his men.He’snotverypopularwithGanOrrin.”“He wouldn’t be,” said
Druss.“Butthat’samatterweshall settleatDelnoch.Whatofsupplies?”“There we have a few
problems.Thereisenough
food for a year, and wediscovered three morewells, one as far back asthekeep.Wehaveclosetosix hundred thousandarrows, a multitude ofjavelins, and severalhundredsparemailshirts.“But the biggest
problemis the town itself.It has spread from WallThree down to Wall Six,hundredsofbuildingsfromwall to wall. There is nokilling ground, Druss.Once over Wall Six, theenemy has cover all thewaytothekeep.”
“We will tackle that,too, when I arrive. Arethere still outlaws inSkultik?”“Of course. When have
therenotbeen?”answeredPinar.“Howmany?”“Impossible to say.Five
orsixhundred,perhaps.”“Do theyhaveaknown
leader?”“Again, hard to say,”
said Pinar. “According torumor, there is a youngnobleman who heads thelargest band. But youknow how these rumors
grow.Everyoutlaw leaderis an ex-nobleman or aprince. What are youthinking?”“I’m thinking they are
archers,”saidDruss.“But you cannot enter
Skultik now, Druss.Anything could happen.
Theycouldkillyou.”“True. All things could
happen. My heart couldgive out, my liver fail.Diseasecouldstrikeme.Aman cannot spend his lifeworrying about theunexpected. I needarchers. In Skultik there
are archers. It’s thatsimple,boy.”“Butit’snotthatsimple.
Send someone else. Youare too valuable to loselike this,” Pinar told him,gripping the old man’sarm.“I’m too long in the
tooth to change my waysnow. Direct action paysoff,Pinar.Believeme.Andthere’smore to it,whichIwill tell you about someothertime.“Now,”he said, leaning
back and addressing thecrowd, “you know who I
am and where I amheading. I will speakplainly to you; many ofyouare runners, somearefrightened, others aredemoralized. Understandthis:WhenUlrictakesDrosDelnoch, the Drenai landswill become Nadir lands.
Thefarmsyouarerunningto will be Nadir farms.Your wives will becomeNadir women. There aresome things no man canrunfrom.Iknow.“At Dros Delnoch you
riskdeath.Butallmendie.“Even Druss. Even
Karnak the One-Eyed.EventheEarlofBronze.“A man needs many
thingsinhislifetomakeitbearable. A good woman.Sons and daughters.Comradeship. Warmth.Food and shelter. Butabove all these things he
needs to be able to knowthatheisaman.“Andwhatisaman?He
issomeonewhoriseswhenlife has knocked himdown.He is someonewhoraises his fist to heavenwhen a storm has ruinedhis crop—and then plants
again. And again. A manremains unbroken by thesavagetwistsoffate.“That man may never
win. But when he seeshimself reflected, he canbe proud ofwhat he sees.For low hemay be in thescheme of things: peasant,
serf, or dispossessed. Butheisunconquerable.“Andwhatisdeath?An
end to trouble. An end tostrifeandfear.“I have fought inmany
battles. I have seen manymendie.Andwomen,too.In the main, they died
proud.“Bear this in mind as
youdecideyourfuture.”The old man’s fierce
blue eyes scanned thefaces in the crowd,gauging the reaction. Heknewhehad them. Itwastimetoleave.
HebadehisfarewellstoPinar and the rest, settledhis bill despite theprotestations of theinnkeeper, and set off forSkultik.He was angry as he
walked, feeling the stareson his back as the inn
emptied to watch him go.He was angry because heknewhis speechhadbeena falsehood, andhewas aman who liked the truth.Life,heknew,brokemanymen. Some as strong asoak withered as theirwivesdied,orleftthem,as
their children suffered orstarved. Other strongmenbroke if they lost a limbor,worse, theuse of theirlegsortheireyesight.Eachmanhadabreakingpoint,no matter how strong hisspirit. Somewhere, deepinside him, there was a
flaw that only the ficklecruelty of fate could find.A man’s strength wasultimately born of hisknowledge of his ownweakness,Drussknew.His own fear was of
dotage and senility. Thethought of it set him to
trembling. Did he reallyhear a voice at Skoda, orwas it merely his ownterror booming insidehim?Druss the Legend.
Mightiestmanofhisera.Akillingmachine,awarrior.Andwhy?
BecauseIneverhadthecourage to be a farmer,Drusstoldhimself.Then he laughed,
dismissing all somberthoughtsandself-doubt. Itwasatalenthehad.Today had a good feel
about it. He felt lucky. If
hekepttoknowntrails,hewould certainly meetoutlaws. One old manalonewasapackagenottobemissed. Theywould beasorelyinefficientlotifhewere to pass through theforest unnoticed andunattended.
The woods werebecoming thicker now ashereachedtheoutskirtsofSkultik. Huge, gnarledoaks,gracefulwillows,andslender elm interlinkedtheirbranchesforasfarasthe eye could see—andgreatly beyond, Druss
knew.The noon sun made
shafts of shimmering lightthrough thebranches, andthe breeze carried thesounds of miniaturewaterfalls from hiddenstreams. It was a place ofenchantmentandbeauty.
To his left a squirrelceased its hunt for foodand gazed warily at theold man as he marchedpast.Afoxcrouchedintheundergrowth, and a snakeslithered beneath a fallentrunk as he approached.Overhead birds sang, a
chorusfullofthesoundsoflife.Throughout the long
afternoon Druss marchedon, occasionally burstinginto song, full-bodied andlusty versions of battlehymns from a score ofnations.
Towardduskhebecameaware that he was beingwatched.How he was aware he
could never explain. Atightening of the skin onhis neck, a growingawareness that his backmade a broad target.
Whatever it was, he hadlearned to trust his sensesinthematter.HeloosenedSnagainitssheath.Somemoments later he
enteredasmallclearingina grove of beech trees,which were slender andwandlike against a
backgroundofoak.At the center of the
clearing,onafallentrunk,sat a young man, dressedin homespun garments ofgreen tunic and brownleather leggings. Upon hislegs lay a longsword, andbyhissidewasa longbow
and a quiver of goose-featheredarrows.“Good day, old man,”
hesaidasDrussappeared.Lithe and strong, thoughtDruss, noting with awarrior’s eye the catlikegrace of the man as hestood,swordinhand.
“Goodday,laddie,”saidDruss, spotting amovementtohisleftintheundergrowth. Anotherwhisperofbranchonclothcamefromhisright.“Andwhatbringsyouto
our charming forest?”asked the young man.
Drusscasuallywalkedtoanearby beech and sat,leaning his back againstthebark.“A desire for solitude,”
hesaid.“Ah, yes. Solitude! And
now you have company.Perhapsthisisnotalucky
timeforyou.”“Onetimeisasluckyas
another,” said Druss,returningtheother’ssmile.“Why don’t you ask yourfriends to joinus? Itmustbe damp skulking in thebushes.”“Howrudeofme,tobe
sure. Eldred, Ring, comeforward and meet ourguest.” Sheepishly twoother young men pushedtheir way through thegreenery to stand besidethe first. Both weredressed in identicalclothingofgreentunicand
leather leggings. “Nowweareallhere,”saidthefirst.“All except the bearded
one with the longbow,”saidDruss.The young man
laughed. “Come out,Jorak. Old father heremisses nothing, it seems.”
The fourthmancame intotheopen.Hewaslarge—aheadtallerthanDrussandbuilt like an ox, hismassive hands dwarfingthelongbow.“Now, dear sir, we are
all here. Be so kind as todivest yourself of all your
valuables, for we are in ahurry. There is a stagroasting at camp, andsweet new potatoesgarnished with mint. Idon’twant tobe late.”Hesmiled almostapologetically.Druss bunched his
powerfullegsbeneathhim,rising to his feet, his blueeyes glinting with battlejoy.“If youwantmy purse,
you will have to earn it,”hesaid.“Oh, damn!” said the
young man, smiling and
reseating himself. “I toldyou, Jorak, that this oldfellow had a warrior lookabouthim.”“AndItoldyouthatwe
should have merely shothim down and then takenhispurse,”saidJorak.“Unsporting,” said the
first. He turned to Druss.“Listen, oldman, itwouldbe churlish of us to shootyoudownfromadistance,and that sets us a prettyproblem. We must haveyourpurse,don’tyousee?Nopointinbeingarobberelse.” He paused, deep in
thought, then spoke oncemore. “You’re obviouslynot a rich man, sowhatever we get will notbe worth a great deal ofeffort.Howaboutspinningacoin?Youwin,youkeepyour money; we win, wetakeit.AndI’llthrowina
freemeal.Roaststag!Howdoesthatsound?”“How about if I win, I
get your purses and ameal?”askedDruss.“Now, now, old horse!
Nopointintakinglibertieswhen we’re trying to befriendly. All right! How
aboutthis?Honorneedstobe satisfied. How about alittle skirmish with Jorakhere? You look quitestrong, and he’s a dabhand at bare-knucklesquabbles.”“Done!” said Druss.
“Whataretherules?”
“Rules?Whoever is leftstandingwins.Winorlose,we’llstandyouasupper.Irather like you; youremind me of mygrandfather.”Druss grinned broadly,
reachedintohispack,andpulled on his black
gauntlets. “You don’tmind, do you, Jorak?” heasked.“It’stheoldskinonmy knuckles—it tends tosplit.”“Let’s get it overwith,”
saidJorak,advancing.Druss stepped in to
meet him, taking in the
awesome breadth of theman’s shoulders. Joraklunged, hurling a rightcross. Druss ducked andcrashed his own right fistinto the other’s belly. Awhoosh of air explodedfrom the giant’s mouth.Stepping back, Druss
thundered a right hook tothe jaw,andJorakhit theground face first. Hetwitched once, then laystill.“The youth of today,”
saidDrusssadly,“havenostamina!”The young leader
chuckled.“Youwin,FatherTime. But look. For thesake of my fast-diminishing prestige, giveme the opportunity ofbesting you at something.We will have a wager: Iwager my purse againstyours that I am a better
archer.”“Hardly a fair bet,
laddie. Iwill concede thatpoint. But I will make awagerwithyou: strike thetrunk of the tree behindmewithonearrowandI’llpayup.”“Come now, dear sir,
where is the art in that?Less than fifteen paces,andtheboleisthreehandswide.”“Tryitandsee,”offered
Druss.The young outlaw
shrugged, hefted his bow,and drew a long arrow
from his doeskin quiver.With a fluid motion hisstrong fingers drew backthestringandreleasedtheshaft.As theoutlaw’sbowbent, Druss drew Snagaand the ax sang throughtheairinaglitteringarcofwhitelightasheslicedthe
blade to his right. Theoutlaw’sshaftsplinteredasthe ax struck. The youngman blinked andswallowed. “I would havepaidtohaveseenthat,”hesaid.“You did!” said Druss.
“Whereisyourpurse?”
“Sadly,” said the youngman, pulling his pouchfromhisbelt,“itisempty.But the purse is yours, asweagreed.Wheredidyoulearnthattrick?”“InVentria,yearsago.”“I’veseensomeaxwork
in the past. But that
borderedontheincredible.MynameisBowman.”“IamDruss.”“Iknowthat,oldhorse.
Actions speak louder thanwords.”
H8
ogun swallowedback despair, his
mind working furiously.Heandtwohundredofhislegion riders faced morethanathousandNadirdogsoldiers, the cavalry wing
ofUlric’sforces.Sent out to gauge the
strengthanddispositionofthe Nadir horde, Hogunwas over 150 miles fromDelnoch. He had all butpleaded with Orrin toforsake this plan, but thefirst gan was not to be
dissuaded.“A refusal to obey a
direct order is punishableby instant dismissal forany of gan rank. Is thatwhatyouwish,Hogun?”“You know that’s not
what I’m saying. What Iam telling you is that this
missionis futile.Weknowfrom our spies andcountless refugees thestrength of Ulric’s forces.Sending twohundredmeninto that wasteland isinsane.”Orrin’s brown eyes had
blazed with anger, his fat
chin trembling in a bid tosuppress his fury. “Insane,is it? I wonder. Is it justthat you don’t like theplan, or is the famedCorteswain warrior afraidtomeettheNadir?”“The black riders are
theonlyseasonedtroopof
proven worth you havehere, Orrin,” he said aspersuasively as he could.“You could lose all twohundredmen with such ascheme and learn from itno more than we alreadyknow. Ulric has fivehundred thousand men
and more than twice thatin camp followers, cooks,engineers,andwhores.Hewill be here within sixweeks.”“Hearsay,” muttered
Orrin. “You leave at firstlight.”Hogun had come close
to killing him then, closeenough for Orrin to sensedanger.“I am your senior
officer,” he said, his voiceclosetoawhine.“Youwillobeyme.”And Hogun had. With
two hundred of his finest
men, mounted on blackhorses—bred forgenerations as the finestwar mounts on thecontinent—he hadthundered his troopnorthwardasthedawnsunbreasted the Delnochmountains.
OutofsightoftheDroshehadslowedthecolumnand signaled the men torideatease,freetotalktotheir riding companions.Dun Elicas canteredalongside him, reining hishorsetoawalk.“Abadbusiness,sir.”
Hogun smiled but didnot answer. He likedyoungElicas.Themanwasa warrior born and a finelieutenant. He sat a horseas if hehadbeenbornonone,atruecentaur.Andahellion in battle, with hiscustom-made silver steel
saber, two inches shorterthanthestandardversion.“What arewe supposed
to be finding out?” heasked.“The size and
disposition of the Nadirarmy,”answeredHogun.“We know that
already,” said Elicas.“What is the fat foolplayingat?”“Enoughofthat,Elicas,”
he said sternly. “Hewantsto be sure the spies werenot…exaggerating.”“He’s jealous of you,
Hogun; he wants you
dead.Faceit,man.Noonecan hear us. You knowwhat he is—a courtier.And he has no guts. TheDroswon’tlastaday;he’llopenthegatesforsure.”“He’s a man under
terrible pressure. Thewholeof theDrenai cause
rests on his shoulders,”said Hogun. “Give himtime.”“We don’t have time.
Look, Hogun, send me toWoundweaver. Let meexplain our situation. Hecouldbereplaced.”“No.Believeme,Elicas,
it would achieve nothing.He’sAbalayn’snephew.”“Thatoldmanhasalot
to answer for,” snarledElicas.“Ifwedosomehowget out of this businessalive,hewillfallforsure.”“Hehas ruled for thirty
years. It’s too long.Butas
you say, if we do get outalive, itwillbebecauseofWoundweaver. And it’scertain he will takecontrol.”“Then let me ride to
himnow,”urgedElicas.“The time isn’t right.
Woundweaver cannot act.
Now, leave it alone. Wewill do our job and, withluck, get away withoutbeingspotted.”But luck had not been
with them. Five days outfrom Delnoch they hadcome across three Nadiroutriders. They had killed
only two, the thirdducking down over theneck of his steppe ponyand riding like the windinto a nearby wood.Hogun had ordered animmediatewithdrawalandmight have pulled it offhad he enjoyed an ounce
ofluck.Elicashasbeenthefirst to spot the mirrormessages flashing frompeaktopeak.“What do you think,
sir?” he asked as Hogunreinedin.“I think we will need
good fortune. It depends
onhowmanydogsoldierstheyhaveinthevicinity.”The answer was not
long in coming. Towardlate afternoon they sawthe dust cloud south ofthem.Hogunglancedoverhisbacktrail.“Lebus!” he called, and
a young warrior canteredalongside.“You have eyes like a
hawk. Look back there.Whatdoyousee?”The young soldier
shieldedhis eyes from thesun,thensquintedattheirbacktrail.
“Dust, sir. From maybetwothousandhorses.”“Andahead?”“Perhapsathousand.”“Thank you. Rejoin the
troop.Elicas!”“Sir?”“Cloaks furled. We will
takethemwithlancesand
sabers.”“Yes, sir.” He cantered
back down the column.The black cloaks wereunpinnedandfoldedtobestrapped to saddles. Theblack and silver armorglinted in the sunlight asman after man began to
prepare for the charge.From saddlebags eachriderremovedablackandsilver forearm guard andslipped it in place. Thensmall roundbucklerswereliftedfromsaddlehornstobe fitted to the left arm.Straps were adjusted, and
armor tightened. Theapproaching Nadir couldnow be seen asindividuals, but the soundof their battle cries wasmuffled by the poundingofhorses’hooves.“Helms down!” yelled
Hogun. “Wedge
formation!”Hogun and Elicas
formed the point of thewedge, the other ridersslipping expertly intoposition a hundred oneitherside.“Advance!” yelled
Elicas. The troop broke
into a canter; then, at fullgallop,thelancestilted.Asthe distance narrowed,Hogun felt his bloodracing and could hear hispounding heart in timewiththerollingthunderoftheblackhorses’iron-shodhooves.
Now he could pick outindividualNadir faces andheartheirscreams.The wedge smashed
into the Nadir ranks, thelarger black war-horsescleaving a path throughthe mass of smaller hillponies. Hogun’s lance
speared aNadir chest andsnapped as the mancatapulted from his pony.Thenhissaberslashedintothe air; he cut one manfrom hismount, parried athrust from the left, andbackhanded his bladeacross the throat of the
horseman.ElicasscreamedaDrenaiwar cry fromhisright, his horse rearing,the fronthoovescaving inthechestofapiebaldponythat ditched his riderbeneath the milling massofblackriders.And then they were
through, racing for thedistant, fragile safety ofDrosDelnoch.Glancing back, Hogun
sawtheNadirre-formandcanter to the north. Therewasnopursuit.“Howmanymendidwe
lose?” he asked Elicas as
the troop slowed to awalk.“Eleven.”“It could have been
worse.Whowerethey?”Elicas recounted the
names. All good men,survivorsofmanybattles.“ThatbastardOrrinwill
pay for this,” said Elicasbitterly.“Forgetit!Hewasright.
More by luck than anyjudgment, but he wasright.”“What do you mean
‘right’? We’ve learnednothing, and we’ve lost
elevenmen,”saidElicas.“We have learned that
the Nadir are closer thanwe believed. Those dogsoldiers were Wolfsheadtribe. That’s Ulric’s own;they’rehispersonalguard.He’dneversendthemthatfar ahead of his main
force.I’dsaywenowhaveamonth—ifwe’relucky.”“Damn! I was going to
gut the pig and take theconsequences.”“Tell the men no fires
tonight,”saidHogun.Well, fat man, he
thought, this is your first
gooddecision.Mayitnotbethelast.
T9
he forest had anageless beauty that
touched Druss’s warriorsoul.Enchantmenthunginthe air. Gnarled oaksbecame silent sentinels inthe silver moonlight,
majestic, immortal,unyielding. What caredthey for man’s wars? Agentle breeze whisperedthrough the interwovenbranches above the oldman’s head. A shaft ofmoonlight bathed a fallenlog, granting it
momentarily an etherealsplendor. A lone badger,caught in the light,shuffled into theundergrowth.A raucous song began
among the men crowdedaround the blazing campfire, and Druss cursed
softly. Once again theforest was merely forest,the oaks outsize plants.Bowman wandered acrossto him, carrying twoleathergobletsandawinesack.“Finest Ventrian,” he
said. “It’ll turn your hair
black.”“I’m all for that,” said
Druss. The young manfilled Druss’s goblet, thenhisown.“You look melancholy,
Druss. I thought theprospect of anotherglorious battle would
lightenyourheart.”“Your men are the
worstsingersIhaveheardin twenty years. They’rebutchering that song.”Druss replied, leaning hisback against the oak,feeling the wine ease histension.
“Why are you going toDelnoch?”askedBowman.“The worst were a
bunchofcapturedSathuli.They just kept chantingthe same bloody verseover and over again. Weletthemgointheend—wethought that if they sang
like that when they gothome, they’d break thefightingspiritoftheirtribeinaweek.”“Now look here, old
horse,” said Bowman. “Iam a man not easilythrown. Give me ananswer—anyanswer!Lieif
you like. But tell me whyyoutraveltoDelnoch.”“Why do you want to
know?”“Itfascinatesme.Aman
withhalfaneyecouldseethatDelnochwill fall, andyou’reamanwithenoughexperience to know the
truth when you see it. Sowhygo?”“Have you any idea,
laddie, how many suchlost causes I have beeninvolvedinduringthepastfortyorsoyears?”“Precious few,” said
Bowman. “Or you would
not be here to tell ofthem.”“Not so. How do you
decide a battle is lost?Numbers, strategicadvantage, positioning?It’s all worth a sparrow’sfart.Itcomesdowntomenwho are willing. The
largest army will founderif its men are less willingtodiethantowin.”“Rhetoric,” snorted
Bowman. “Use it at theDros. The fools there willlapitup.”“One man against five,
andtheonedisabled,”said
Druss,holdinghis temper.“Wherewouldyourmoneygo?”“I’m ahead of you, old
man.What if the onewasKarnaktheOne-Eyed.Yes?Well, then my moneywouldbeonhim.ButhowmanyKarnaksarethereat
DrosDelnoch?”“Who knows? Even
Karnak was unknownonce. He made his nameon a bloody battlefield.Therewillbemanyheroescome the last at DrosDelnoch.”“Thenyouadmitit?The
Dros is doomed,” saidBowman, grinning intriumph. “At the last, yousaid.”“Damn you, boy! Don’t
put words in my mouth,”snarled Druss, cursinghimself. Where are younow, Sieben? he thought.
Now that I needyouwithyourglibwordsandreadywit.“Thendon’t try to treat
me likea fool.Admit thattheDrosisdoomed.”“As you say,” admitted
Druss, “anyone with halfan eye could see it. But I
don’tgiveadamn, laddie.Until the actual momentwhentheycutmedown,Ishall still be looking towin. And the gods of warare fickle at best. Wheredo you stand on thematter?”Bowman smiled and
refilledbothgoblets.Forawhile he was silent,enjoying thewineand theoldman’sdiscomfort.“Well?”saidDruss.“Now we come to it,”
answeredBowman.“Come to what?” said
Druss,illateaseunderthe
young archer’s cynicalgaze.“The reason for this
visit to my woods,” saidBowman, spreading hishands,hissmilenowopenand friendly. “Come now,Druss. I’ve too muchrespect for you to fence
any longer. You want mymenforyourinsanebattle.And theanswer isno.Butenjoythewine,anyway.”“Am I so transparent?”
askedtheoldwarrior.“When Druss the
Legend takes a strollthroughSkultikontheeve
oftheend,he’slookingformorethanacorns.”“Is this all you want
from life?” asked Druss.“Yousleep inawattlehutandeatwhenyoucanfindgame. When you cannot,you starve. In winteryou’re cold. In summer,
the ants crawl into yourclothes and the liceprosper. You were notmadeforalifelikethis.”“We are not made for
life at all, old horse. It ismadeforus.Weliveit.Weleave it. I’ll not throwmylife away in your bloody
madness. I leave suchheroics to men like you.All your years have beenspent in one squalid warafter another. And whathas changed? Have youthoughtthatifyouhadnotdefeated the Ventriansfifteen years ago at Skeln,
wewouldnowbepartofamighty empire and theywould have had to worryabouttheNadir?”“Freedom’s worth
fightingfor,”saidDruss.“Why?Noonecan take
away the freedom of aman’ssoul.”
“Liberty, then?” offeredDruss.“Liberty is valued only
when it is threatened;therefore, it is the threatthat highlights the value.We should be grateful tothe Nadir, since theyheighten the value of our
liberty.”“You’ve lost me, damn
you, with your prettywords. You’re like thosepoliticians in Drenan, asfullofwindasasickcow.Don’t tell me my life hasbeenwasted, Iwon’t havethat! I loved a good
woman, and I’ve alwaysbeentruetomyprinciples.I never did a shamefulthing,noryetacruelone.”“Ah, but Druss, not all
men are you. I will notcriticize your principles ifyou do not try to graftthem onto me. I have no
time for them. A prettyhypocrite I would be as arobber outlaw withprinciples.”“Thenwhy did you not
letJorakshootmedown?”“As I said, it was
unsporting. It lacked asense of style. But on
another day, when I wascolder or more badtempered…”“You are a nobleman,
aren’tyou?”saidDruss.“Arich boy playing atrobbers.WhydoI sithereandarguewithyou?”“Because you need my
archers.”“No.Ihavegivenupon
that thought,” said Druss,offering his goblet to thegreen-garbed outlaw.Bowmanfilledit,acynicalsmile oncemore upon hismouth.“Given up? Nonsense. I
will tell you what you’rethinking. You will arguesome more, offer mewagesandapardonformycrimes.IfIrefuse,youwillkill me and take yourchances with the sameoffertomymen.”Druss was shaken, but
hisfaceshowednothing.“Do you also read
palms?” he asked, sippinghiswine.“You’re too honest,
Druss. And I like you.That’swhyIwouldliketopoint out that Jorak isbehind the bushes there
withanarrownotched.”“Then Ihave lost,” said
Druss. “You keep yourarchers.”“Tut, tut, dear man, I
didn’t expect suchdefeatism from Druss theLegend.Putyouroffer.”“I’ve no time for your
games. I had a friend likeyou, Sieben the sagamaster. He could talk allday and convince you theseawassand.Ineverwonanargumentwithhim.Hetalked about having noprinciples—and like you,helied.”
“He was the poet whowrotethelegend.Hemadeyou immortal,” saidBowmansoftly.“Yes,” said Druss, his
mind drifting back overthelongyears.“Did you really hunt
your woman across the
world?”“That part at least was
true. We were wed whenwewereveryyoung.Thenmyvillagewasattackedbya slaver called Harib Ka,whosoldhertoaneasternmerchant. I missed theattack,asIwasworkingin
the woods. But I followedthem. In the end it tookmesevenyears,andwhenI found her, shewaswithanotherman.”“What happened to
him?” asked Bowmansoftly.“Hedied.”
“And she came backwithyoutoSkoda.”“Aye.Shelovedme.She
reallydid.”“An interesting
addendum to your saga,”said Bowman. Drusschuckled. “I must begetting melancholy in my
old age. I don’t usuallyprattleonaboutthepast.”“What happened to
Sieben?”askedtheoutlaw.“HediedatSkeln.”“Youwereclose?”“We were like
brothers.”“I can’t think why I
remind you of him,” saidBowman.“Maybe it is because
you both hide a darksecret,”saidDruss.“Perhaps,”admitted the
outlaw. “However, makeyouroffer.”“A pardon for every
man and five gold Raq ahead.”“Notenough.”“It’s my best offer, I’ll
gonofurther.”“Your offer must be
this: A pardon, five goldRaq a head for all 620men, and an agreement
thatwhenWallThreefalls,we leave with our moneyand our pardons stampedwiththeearl’sseal.”“WhyWallThree?”“Because that will be
thebeginningoftheend.”“Something of a
strategist,areyou,boy?”
“Youcouldsay that.Bytheway, how do you feelaboutwomenwarriors?”“I have known a few.
Whydoyouask?”“I shall be bringing
one.”“So? What difference
doesitmakeaslongasshe
canaimabow?”“I didn’t say it made a
difference. I just thought Ioughttomentionit.”“Is there something
about this woman that Ishould know?” askedDruss.“Only that she’s a
killer,”saidBowman.“Thenshe’sperfect,and
I will welcome her withopenarms.”“I wouldn’t recommend
it,”saidBowmansoftly.“Be at Delnoch in
fourteen days and I’llwelcomeyouallwithopen
arms.”
Rekawoke to see thenewsun breasting the distantmountains. His bodyadjusted swiftly fromdreamless sleep, and hestretchedandslidfromthecovers, thenwalkedtothe
tower window of thebedroom. In the courtyardbelow the Thirty wereassembling their mounts,great beasts with short-cropped manes andbraided tails. Apart fromthe sound of steel hooveson cobbles, an eerie
silence hung over thescene. None of the menspoke.Rekshivered.Virae moaned in her
sleep, her arm stretchingacrossthewidebed.Rek watched the men
below check their armorand tighten saddle girths.
Strange, he thought.Where are the jokes, thelaughter, all the soundssoldiers usually make astheyprepareforwar?Jeststo ease the fear, curses toeasethetension?Serbitar appeared, a
whitecloakoverhis silver
armor, his braided whitehair covered by a silverhelm. The Thirty salutedhim.Rekshookhishead.Itwas uncanny. Identicaltiming: like the samesaluteinthirtymirrors.Virae opened her eyes
and yawned. She rolled
over and saw Rek’s backsilhouetted against themorningsun.Shesmiled.“Your belly is receding
intomemory,”shesaid.“Mock not,” he said,
smiling. “Unless you aregoingtoappearinfrontofthirty warriors in your
skin, you need to hurry.They are already in thecourtyard.”“It’sonewaytofindout
if they’re human,” shesaid, sitting up. Rek torehiseyesfromherbody.“Youhave thestrangest
effect on me,” he said,
gazing intohereyes.“Youalways make me think oflovemaking at the wrongtimes.Nowgetdressed.”In the courtyard
Serbitar led the men inprayer, a silent joining ofminds.Vintarwatched theyoung albino fondly,
pleased with his swiftadjustment to theresponsibility ofleadership.Serbitar ended the
prayerandreturnedtothetower.Hewasuneasy,outof harmony. He mountedthe circular stone steps to
the tower bedroom,smiling as he rememberedhis promise to the tallDrenai and his woman. Itwouldhavebeen somucheasier to speak than tomountthesestairstocheckiftheywereready.Heknockedontheiron-
studded door. Rek openedit,beckoninghimin.“I see you are ready,”
he said. “We won’t belong.”Serbitar nodded. “The
Drenai have met theNadir,”hesaid.“They are already at
Delnoch?” asked Rek,alarmed.“No, no,” answered
Serbitar. “The legion metthemintheoutlands.Theydid well. Their leader iscalledHogun.He,at least,isquality.”“Whenwasthis?”
“Yesterday.”“Yourpowersagain?”“Yes. Does it distress
you?”“It makes me
uncomfortable. But onlybecauseIdonotsharethetalent.”“A wise observation,
Rek. It will come to bemore acceptable, believeme.” Serbitar bowed asVirae entered from therearwashroom.“Iamsorrytohavekept
you waiting,” she said.Dressed in her armor,silver mail shirt, and
bronze shoulder pads, shenow also sported a silverhelm,raven-winged,andawhite cloak—gifts fromVintar. Her fair hair wasbraided on either side ofherface.“You look like a
goddess,”Rektoldher.
They joined the Thirtyin the courtyard, checkedtheir mounts, and rodealongside Serbitar andMenahem,heading for theDrinnestuary.“Oncethere,”Menahem
told them, “we will bookpassageonaLentrianship
toDrosPurdol.Itwillsavetwoweeksof travel.FromPurdol we travel by riverandroadandshouldreachDelnoch in four weeks atthe outside. I fear battlewill be joined before wearrive.”Asthehourspassed,the
ride became a personalnightmare for Rek. Hisback was bruised and hisbuttocks numb beforeSerbitar called for a noonbreak. It was a short one,and the pain had becomeintensebydusk.Theycampedinasmall
grove of trees near astream. Virae almost fellfrom the saddle, fatigue—deep and numbing—showing in her everymovement. But she wasenough of a horsewomanto tend her mount beforeslumping to the ground,
her back against a tree.Rektookmoretimewipingthe lather from Lancer’sbackandshoulders.Hedidnotneedtosit!Hecoveredthe horse with a blanket,thenwalkedtothestream.Lancer was bearing up aswellasthepriests’mounts,
Rekthoughtwithpride.But he was still wary
around thegelding. Ithada tendency to snapathimeven now. Rek smiled,thinkingback.“Afinemount,”Serbitar
had said that morning,stepping forward to stroke
the mane. Lancer hadsnapped, and Serbitar hadleapt backward. “May Ispeak with him?” Serbitarhadasked.“Withahorse?”“It ismoreanempathic
bond. I shall tell him Imeannoharm.”
“Goahead.”After a little while
Serbitar smiled. “He isbeingveryfriendly,butheis waiting to snap at meagain.That,myfriend,isacantankerousanimal.”Rekwalkedback to the
campsite to find four fires
glowing merrily and theriders eating theiroatcakes.Viraewasasleepbeneathatree,wrappedina red blanket, her headrestingonherwhitecloak.He joinedSerbitar,Vintar,andMenahemattheirfire.Arbedark was talking
softlytoanearbygroup.“We’re pushing hard,”
said Rek. “The horseswon’tlast.”“We can rest aboard
ship,” said Serbitar. “Andwe will be aboard theLentrian vessel Wastrelearly tomorrow. It sails
with the morning tide,hencetheurgency.”“Even my bones are
tired,” said Rek. “Is thereany more news fromDelnoch?”“Wewillseelater,”said
Menahem, smiling. “I amsorry, friend Rek, for my
testing of you. It was amistake.”“Please forget it—and
what I said. The wordswerespokeninanger.”“Thatisgracious.Before
you joined us, we weretalking of the Dros. It isour belief that under
existing leadership itcannotlastaweek.Moraleis low, and their leader,Orrin, is overwhelmed byhis position andresponsibility. We need afairwindandnodelays.”“You mean it could be
over before we arrive?”
saidRek,hisheartleaping.“I think not,” said
Vintar. “But the end maybe near. Tell me, Regnak,why do you travel toDelnoch?”“The possibility of
stupidity can never beruled out,” Rek told him
without humor. “Anyway,we might not lose. Surelythere is at least a faintchance.”“Druss will be there
soon,” said Vintar. “Muchwill depend on hisreception.Ifitisgoodandwe can arrive while the
firstwallholds,weshouldbe able to harness thestrengths of the defendersand guarantee resistancefor about a month. Icannot see a mere tenthousand men holding forlonger.”“Woundweaver may
send reinforcements,” saidMenahem.“Perhaps,”saidSerbitar.
“But unlikely. Already hismarshals are scouring theempire. Virtually theentire army is gathered atDelnoch, with threethousand men holding
Dros Purdol and anotherthousandatCorteswain.“Abalayn has been
foolish these last years,running down the armyand cultivating tradeagreements with Ulric. Itwas folly.Had itnotbeentheNadirattackingnow,it
would have been Vagriabeforelong.“My father would love
to humble the Drenai. Hehasdreamedabout it longenough.”“Your father?” queried
Rek.“Earl Drada of Dros
Segril.Didyounotknow?”saidSerbitar.“No, Ididn’t.ButSegril
isonlyeightymileswestofDelnoch. Surely he willsendmenwhen he knowsyouarethere.”“No.MyfatherandIare
not friends; my talent
unnerveshim.However, ifI am killed, he will be inbloodfeudwithUlric.Thatmeans he will swing hisforces toWoundweaver. Itmay help the Drenai—butnotDrosDelnoch.”Menahem tossed twigs
to the fire, holding his
dark-skinnedhandstowardtheblaze. “Abalaynhasatleast got one thing right.This LentrianWoundweaverisquality.Awarrior of the old school,tough, determined, andpractical.”“There are times,
Menahem,” Vintar said,smiling gently, age sittingheavily on him followingthe hard ride, “when Idoubt you will achieveyour aim. Warriors of theoldschool,indeed!”Menahem grinned
broadly. “I can admire a
man for his talents whiledebating his principles,”hesaid.“Indeed you can, my
boy.ButdidInotnotethemerest hint of empathy?”askedVintar.“Youdid,MasterAbbot.
But only a hint, I assure
you.”“I hope so,Menahem. I
would not want to loseyou before the journey.Yoursoulmustbesure.”Rekshivered.Hehadno
idea what they weretalking about. Onreflection,hehadnowish
toknow.
DrosDelnoch’sfirstlineofdefense was the wallEldibar, spreadingsnakelike for almost aquarter of a mile acrossthe Delnoch Pass. Forty-eight feet high when
viewed from the north, amere five feet from thesouth, like a giant stepcarvedfromtheheartofamountain in seamedgranite.Cul Gilad sat on the
battlements, gazingsomberly past the few
trees toward the northernplains. His eyes scannedthe shimmering distanthorizon, searching for thetelltale dust clouds thatwouldheraldtheinvasion.There was nothing to see.Hisdarkeyesnarrowedashecaughtsightofaneagle
high in the morning sky.Giladsmiled.“Fly, you great golden
bird. Live!” he shouted.Giladpushedhimselftohisfeet and stretched hisback. His legs were longand slim, his movementsfluid, graceful. The new
army shoes were half asize too large and packedwith paper. His helm, awondrous thing of bronzeand silver, slipped overone eye. Cursing, hehurled it to the floor.Oneday he would write abattle hymn about army
efficiency,he thought.Hisbellyrumbled,andhecasthis eyes about for hisfriend Bregan, gone tofetch their midmorningfood. Black bread andcheese—bound to be.Endlesswagonsofsuppliesarriving daily at Delnoch,
yet the midmorning mealwas always black breadand cheese. Shielding hiseyes, he could just makeout Bregan’s tubby formambling from the messhall, bearing two plattersand a jug. Gilad smiled.Good-natured Bregan. A
farmer, a husband, afather. All these things hedid well in his own soft,kindly easygoingway.Butasoldier?“Black bread and
creamed cheese,” saidBregan, smiling. “We’vehad it only three times,
and I’m already tired ofit.”“Are the carts still
comingin?”askedGilad.“By the score. Still, I
expect they know bestwhat a warrior needs,”said Bregan. “I wonderhowLotisandtheboysare
bearingup.”“News should be in
later. Sybad always getsletters.”“Yes. I’ve been here
only two weeks and yet Imiss the family terribly,”saidBregan.“Ionlyjoinedup on the spur of the
moment,Gil.Thatofficer’sspeech just got to me, Isuppose.”Gilad had heard it
before—almost every dayfor the two weeks sincefirst they had been issuedwitharmor.Breganshouldnot be at Delnoch, he
knew; he was toughenough, but in a way helackedtheheart.Hewasafarmer, a man who lovedgrowingthings.Todestroywasalientohim.“By the way,” said
Bregan suddenly, his faceechoing his excitement,
“you’ll never guess who’sjustarrived!”“Who?”“Druss the Legend. Can
youbelieveit?”“Areyousure,Bregan?I
thoughthewasdead.”“No.Hearrivedanhour
ago. The whole mess hall
is buzzing with the news.Theysayhe’sbringingfivethousand archers and alegionofaxmen.”“Don’t count on it, my
friend,” said Gilad. “I’venot been here long, but Iwould like a copper coinfor every story I’ve heard
about reinforcements,peace plans, treaties, andleave.”“Well,even ifhebrings
noone,it’sstillgoodnews,isn’t it? I mean, he is ahero,isn’the?”“He certainly is. Gods,
hemustbeabout seventy,
though. That’s a bit old,isn’tit?”“But he’s a hero.”
Bregan stressed the word,his eyes gleaming. “I’veheardstoriesabouthimallmylife.Hewasafarmer’sson. And he’s never lost,Gil.Not ever.Andhewill
be with us. Us! The nextsong about Druss theLegendwill have us in it.Oh, I know we won’t benamed—but we’ll know,won’t we? I’ll be able totell little Legan that Ifought beside Druss theLegend. It makes a
difference,doesn’tit?”“Ofcourseitdoes,”said
Gilad, dipping his blackbread into the cheese andscanning the horizon. Stillnomovement. “Does yourhelmetfit?”heasked.“No, it’s too small.
Why?”
“Trymine.”“We’ve been through
that, Gil. Bar Kistrid saysit’s against the rules toswap.”“A pox on Bar Kistrid
andhisstupidrules.Tryiton.”“Theyallhavenumbers
stampedinside.”“Who cares? Try it on,
forMissael’ssake.”Bregan carefully looked
around, reached across,andtriedonGilad’shelm.“Well?”askedGilad.“It’s better. Still a little
tight,butmuchbetter.”
“Give me yours,” GiladplacedBregan’shelmoverhisownhead; itwasclosetoperfect.“Wonderful!”hesaid.“Thiswilldo.”“Buttherules…”“There is no rule that
says a helmmust not fit,”said Gilad. “How’s the
swordplaycomingalong?”“Not bad,” said Bregan.
“It’s when it’s in thescabbardthatIfeelstupid.It keeps flapping betweenmy legs and trippingme.”Giladburstintolaughter,afine lilting sound thatechoed high into the
mountains.“Ah,Breg,what arewe
doinghere?”“Fighting for our
country. It’s nothing tolaughat,Gil.”“I’m not laughing at
you,” he lied. “I’mlaughing at the whole
stupid business. We facethe biggest threat in ourhistory,andtheygivemeahelmet toobig, andyou ahelmet too small, and tellus we can’t exchangethem. It’s too much.Really. Two farmers on ahigh wall tripping over
their swords.” He giggled,thenlaughedaloudagain.“They probably won’t
notice we’ve swapped,”saidBregan.“No. All I need now is
tofindamanwithalargechest wearing mybreastplate.” Gilad leaned
forward, the laughterhurtinghisside.“It is good news about
Druss, isn’t it?” saidBregan, mystified byGilad’s sudden goodhumor.“What? Oh, yes.” Gilad
took a deep breath, then
smiledathisfriend.Yes,itwas good news if it couldso lift a man like Bregan,he thought. A hero,indeed. Not a hero,Bregan, you fool. Just awarrior.Youare thehero.You have left the familyand the farm you love to
comehereanddieinorderto protect them. Andwhowill sing your song—ormine? If they rememberDros Delnoch at all inyears to come, it will bebecauseawhite-manedoldman died here. He couldhear the psalmists and
saga poets chanting theirrhymes. And the teacherstelling young children—Nadir children andDrenai—the tale of Druss: “Andat the end of a long,glorious life Druss theLegend came at last toDros Delnoch, where he
foughtmightilyandfell.”“They say in the mess
hall,” said Bregan, “thatafteramonththisbreadisriddledwithworms.”“Do you believe
everything they tell you?”snapped Gilad, suddenlyangry.“IfIwassureI’dbe
alive in amonth, I wouldbe glad to eat wormybread.”“Not me,” said Bregan.
“Itcanpoisonyou,sotheysay.” Gilad bit back hisanger.“You know,” said
Bregan thoughtfully, “I
don’t know why so manypeopleseemtothinkwe’redoomed. Look at theheight of this wall. Andtherearesixofthem.Andattheendofitthere’sstillthe Dros itself. Don’t youthink?”“Yes.”
“What’s wrong, Gil?You’reactingso strangely.Laughing one minute,angrythenext.It’snotlikeyou; you’ve always beenso…cool,Isuppose.”“Don’t mind me, Breg.
I’mjustfrightened.”“So am I. I wonder if
Sybadgota letter. It’snotthe same, I know—asseeingthem,Imean.Butitlifts me to hear they’rewell. I’ll bet Legan isn’tsleeping too well withoutmethere.”“Don’t think about
that,” said Gilad, sensing
the emotional shift in hisfriend and knowing histears were not far away.Such a soft man. Notweak. Never weak. Butsoft, gentle, and caring.Not like himself. He hadnot come to Delnoch todefend theDrenai and his
family; he had comebecause he was bored.Bored with his life as afarmer, cold to his wife,and uncaring about theland. Up at first light totend the animals andprepare the fields, tillingand planting until late
afternoon. Repairingfences or leather hingestraps or leaking bucketsuntillongafterdusk.Thenslipping into a rush-mattressed bed beside afat, carpingwomanwhosecomplaints would droneon long after sleep had
carried himon the all tooshort journey to a newsunrise.Hehadbelievednothing
could be worse, but hecouldnothavebeenmorewrong.He thought of Bregan’s
words about Dros
Delnoch’s strength. Hismind’s eye picturedhundreds of thousands ofbarbarian warriorsswarming like ants over athin line of defenders. It’sfunny, he thought, howdifferent people view thesame event. Bregan can’t
see how they can takeDelnoch.Ican’tseehowtheycan
fail.All in all, he thought,
smiling, I think I wouldratherbeBregan.“I’ll bet it’s cooler at
DrosPurdol,” saidBregan.
“The sea air blowing inand all that. This passseems to make even thespringsunburn.”“It blocks the east
wind,”saidGilad,“andthegray marble reflects theheat down onto us. Iexpect it’s pleasant in
winter,though.”“Well, I shall not be
here to see that,” saidBregan. “I only signed onfor the summer, and I’mhoping to beback in timefor the harvest supper.That’swhatItoldLotis.”Gilad laughed, the
tension flowing from him.“Never mind Druss,” hesaid.“I’mgladyou’rewithme,Breg,Ireallyam.”Bregan’s brown eyes
searched Gilad’s face forany sign of sarcasm.Satisfied, he smiled.“Thanks for saying that.
Weneverhadmuch todowith one another at thevillage, and I always feltyouthoughtIwasdull.”“I was wrong. Here,
take my hand on it. Wewill stick together, youand I, see off the Nadir,and journey back to the
supperwithtalltales.”Bregan gripped his
hand,grinning, then:“Notlike that,” he saidsuddenly.“Ithastobethewarrior’s grip, wrist towrist.”Bothmenchuckled.“Nevermindaboutsaga
poets,” said Gilad. “Wewill compose our ownsong. Bregan of thebroadswordandGilad,thedemon of Dros Delnoch.How’sthat?”“I think you ought to
find another name foryourself. My Legan has
always been afraid ofdemons.”The sound of Gilad’s
laughterreachedtheeaglehigh above the pass. Itbankedsharplyandflewtothesouth.
D10
russ pacedimpatiently in the
great hall of the keep,gazing absently at themarble statues of pastheroes flanking the highwalls. No one had
questioned him as he hadentered the Dros, andeverywhere soldiers weresitting in the springsunshine, some dicingtheirmeagerwages,othersasleep in the shade. Thecityfolkmovedabouttheirbusiness as usual, and a
dull, apathetic air hungover the fortress. The oldman’s eyes had blazedwith a cold fury. Officerschattedamongtheenlistedmen; it was almost morethantheoldwarriorcouldbear. Angry beyondendurance, he had
marched to the keep andhailedayoungofficerinaredcloakwhostoodintheshade of the portcullisgate.“You!Wherewill I find
theearl?”“How should I know?”
answered the man,
walking past the black-garbed axman. A mightyhand curled around thefolds of the red cloak andtugged contemptuously.The officer checked hisstride,losthisfooting,andcrashed back into the oldman,whograbbedhimby
the belt and hoisted himfrom the floor. Hisbreastplate clanged as hisbackhitthegateway.“Maybeyoudidn’thear
me, you son of a slut!”hissed Druss. The youngmanswallowedhard.“Ithinkhe’sinthegreat
hall,” he said. “Sir!” headded hurriedly. Theofficer had never seenbattle or any degree ofviolence, yet he knewinstinctively the threatcontained in the ice-coldeyes. He’s insane, hethought as the old man
slowly loweredhim to theground.“Lead me to him and
announceme.ThenameisDruss. Do you think youcanrememberit?”Theyoungmannodded
so vigorously that hishorsehair-crested helm
slippedoverhiseyes.Minutes later Druss
pacedinthegreathall,hisangerbarelyheldincheck.Wasthishowempiresfell?“Druss, old friend, how
you delight my eyes!” IfDruss had been surprisedbythestateofthefortress,
hewasdoublyshockedbythe appearance of EarlDelnar, Lord Warden ofthe North. Supported bytheyoungofficer,themanwould not pass for theshadow he had cast atSkeln Pass a scant fifteenyears before. His skin
stretched like parchmentover a skull-likecountenance, yellow anddry, his eyes burningbrightly—feverishly—indark sockets. The youngofficer brought him closetotheoldwarrior,andtheearlextendedahandlikea
claw. Gods of Missael,thought Druss. He is fiveyearsyoungerthanI!“I do not find you in
goodhealth,mylord,”saidDruss.“Still theblunt speaker,
Isee!No,youdonot.Iamdying, Druss.” He patted
the young soldier’s arm.“Easemeintothatchairbythesunlight,Mendar.”Theyoung man pulled thechair into place. Oncesettled, theearl smiledhisthanks and dismissed himto fetch wine. “Youfrightened the boy, Druss.
HewasshakingmorethanI—and I have goodreason.” He stoppedspeakingandbegantotakedeep, shuddering breaths.His arms trembled. Drussleaned forward, resting ahuge hand on the frailshoulder,wishinghecould
pour strength into theman. “I will not lastanother week. But Vintarcame to me in a dreamyesterday. He rides withthe Thirty and my Virae.They will be here withinthemonth.”“SowilltheNadir,”said
Druss, pulling up a high-backed chair to sitoppositethedyingearl.“True. In the interim I
would like you to takeover theDros.Prepare themen. Desertions are high.Morale is low. Youmust … take over.” Once
more the earl paused tobreathe.“Icannotdothat—even
for you. I am no general,Delnar.Amanmustknowhis limitations. I am awarrior—sometimes achampionbutneveragan.I understand little of the
clerk’s work involved inrunning this city. No, Icannot do that. But I willstay and fight—that willhavetobeenough.”The earl’s fever-sick
eyes focused on the ice-blueorbsof theaxman.“Iknow your limitations,
Druss, and I understandyour fears.But there isnoone else.When the Thirtyarrive, they will plan andorganize.Untilthenitisasawarrior thatyouwill beneeded. Not to fight,although the gods knowhowwellyoudo that,but
to train: to pass on youryearsof experience.Thinkofthemenhereasarustyweapon which needs awarrior’s firm hand. Itneeds to be sharpened,honed, prepared. It’suselesselse.”“ImayhavetokillGan
Orrin,”saidDruss.“No! You must
understand that he is notevilorevenwillful.Heisaman out of his depth andstruggling hard. I don’tthinkhelackscourage.Seehim and then judge foryourself.”
A racking cough burstfromtheoldman’slips,hisbodyshudderingviolently.Bloodfrothedathismouthas Druss leapt to his side.The earl’s hand flutteredtoward his sleeve and thecloth held there. Drusspulled itclearanddabbed
the earl’s mouth, easinghim forward and gentlytapping his back. At lastthefitsubsided.“There is no justice
whensuchasyoumustdielike this,” said Druss,hating the feeling ofhelplessness that
overwhelmedhim.“None of us … can
choose … the manner ofourpassing.No,thatisnottrue … For you are here,old war-horse. I see thatyou at least have chosenwisely.”Druss laughed loudly
and heartily. The youngofficer, Mendar, returnedwith a flagonofwine andtwo crystal goblets. Hepoured for the earl, whoproduced a small bottlefromapocketinhispurpletunic; he uncorked it andpoured several drops of
dark liquid into his wine.As he drank, a semblanceof color returned to hisface.“Darkseed,” he said. “It
helpsme.”“It is habit-forming,”
said Druss, but the earlchuckled.
“Tell me, Druss,” hesaid, “why did you laughwhen I said you hadchosenyourdeath?”“BecauseIamnotready
to give in to the oldbastardyet.Hewantsme,but Iwillmake itdamnedhardforhim.”
“You have always seendeath as your ownpersonal enemy. Does heexist,doyouthink?”“Who knows? I like to
thinkso.Iliketothinkthisis all a game. All life is atestbetweenhimandme.”“Butisit?”
“No.But itgivesmeanedge. I have six hundredarchers joining us withinfourteendays.”“That is wonderful
news. How in heaven didyou manage it?Woundweaver sent wordhecouldsparenotaman.”
“Theyareoutlaws,andIhave promised them apardon—andfivegoldRaqahead.”“I don’t like it, Druss.
They are mercenaries andnottobetrusted.”“You have askedme to
takeover,”saidDruss.“So
trust me; I won’t let youdown. Order the pardonsto be drawn up andprepare notes against thetreasury in Drenan.” Heturnedtotheyoungofficerstanding patiently by thewindow. “You, youngMendar!”
“Sir?”“Go, and
tell…ask…GanOrrin ifhewillseemeinanhour.MyfriendandIhavemuchto talk over, but tell himthatIwouldbegratefulforameeting.Understand?”“Yes,sir.”
“Then get on with it.”The officer saluted andleft.“Now,beforeyoutire,myfriend,letusgetdownto business. How manyfightingmenhaveyou?”“Just over nine
thousand.Butsixthousandof those are recruits, and
only a thousand—thelegion—are battle-hardenedwarriors.”“Surgeons?”“Ten,ledbyCalvarSyn.
Yourememberhim?”“Aye. A point on the
creditside.”For therestof thehour
Druss questioned the earl,and by the end of thattime he was visiblyweaker.Hebegantocoughblood once more, eyessqueezed shut against thepain that wracked him.Druss lifted him from hischair. “Where is your
room?” he asked. But theearlwasunconscious.Druss strode from the
hall,bearingthelimpformof the Warden of theNorth.Hehailedapassingsoldier, gained directions,andorderedCalvarSyntobesummoned.
Druss sat at the foot ofthe earl’s bed as theelderly surgeonministeredto the dying man. CalvarSynhadchangedlittle;hisshaven head still gleamedlike polished marble, andhisblackeyepatchlookedeven more tattered than
Drussremembered.“How is he?” asked
Druss.“How do you think he
is,youoldfool?”answeredthe surgeon. “He is dying.Hecannotlastanothertwodays.”“Iseeyouhaveretained
yourgoodhumor,Doctor,”saidDruss,grinning.“What is there to be
good-humored about?”queried the surgeon. “Anold friend is dying, andthousands of young menwill followhimwithin thenextfewweeks.”
“Perhaps. It is good tosee you, anyway,” saidDruss,rising.“Well, it’s not good to
see you,” saidCalvar Syn,a gleam in his eye and afaint smile on his lips.“Where you go, the crowsgather. Anyway, how is it
that you seem soridiculouslyhealthy?”“You’re thedoctor.You
tellme.”“Because you are not
human! You were carvedout of stone on awinter’snight and given life by ademon. Now get out! I
haveworktodo.”“Where will I find Gan
Orrin?”“Main barracks. Now
go!”Drussgrinnedandlefttheroom.Dun Mendar took a
deep breath. “You don’tlikehim,sir?”
“Like him? Of course Ilike him!” snapped thesurgeon. “He kills menclean,boy.Savesmework.Nowyougetout,too.”
AsDrusswalkedacrosstheparade ground before themainbarracksbuilding,he
becameawareofthestaresof the soldiers and themuted whispers as hepassed. He smiledinwardly. It had begun!Fromnowonhewouldbeunable to relax for amoment. Never could heshow thesemenaglimpse
ofDruss theman.HewastheLegend.TheinvincibleCaptain of the Ax.IndestructibleDruss.He ignored the salutes
until he reached themainentrance, where twoguards snapped toattention.
“Where will I find GanOrrin?”heaskedthefirst.“Third doorway of the
fifthcorridorontheright,”answeredthesoldier,backstraight, eyes staringahead.Druss marched inside,
located the room, and
knockedonthedoor.“Come!” said a voice
from within, and Drussentered. The desk wasimmaculately tidy, theoffice Spartanly furnishedbutsmart.Themanbehindthe desk was tubby, withsoft doelike dark eyes. He
lookedout of place in thegold epaulets of a Drenaigan.“You are Gan Orrin?”
askedDruss.“I am. You must be
Druss. Come in, my dearfellow, and have a seat.You have seen the earl?
Yes,ofcourseyouhave.Ofcourse you have. I expecthehas toldyouaboutourproblems here. Not easy.Not easy at all. Have youeaten?” The man wassweating and ill at ease,and Druss felt sorry forhim.He had served under
countless commanders inhis lifetime. Many werefine, but as many wereincompetent, foolish,vain,or cowardly. He did notknow as yet into whichcategoryOrrin fell,buthesympathized with hisproblems.
On a shelf by thewindow stood a woodenplatterbearingblackbreadand cheese. “I will havesome of that, if I may,”saidDruss.“But of course.” Orrin
passed it to him. “How isthe earl? A bad business.
Such a fineman.A friendof his, weren’t you? AtSkeln together. Wonderfulstory.Inspiring.”Druss ate slowly,
enjoying the gritty bread.Thecheesewasgood, too,mellow and full-flavored.He rethought his original
plan to tackle Orrin bypointing out the shamblesinto which the Dros hadfallen,theapathy,andtheramshackle organization.A man must know hislimitations, he thought. Ifhe exceeds them, naturehasawayofplayingcruel
tricks. Orrin should neverhave accepted gan rank,butinpeacetimehewouldbe easily absorbed. Nowhestoodoutlikeawoodenhorseinacharge.“You must be
exhausted,” Druss said atlast.
“What?”“Exhausted. The work
load here is enough tobreak a lesser man.Organization of supplies,training, patrols, strategy,planning. You must becompletelywornout.”“Yes, it is tiring,” said
Orrin, wiping the sweatfrom his brow, his reliefevident.“Notmanypeoplerealize the problems ofcommand. It’s anightmare.CanIofferyouadrink?”“No, thank you. Would
ithelpifItooksomeofthe
weight from yourshoulders?”“Inwhat way? You are
not asking me to standdown,areyou?”“Great Missael, no,”
saidDrusswith feeling. “Iwouldbelost.No,Imeantnothingofthatkind.
“But time is short, andno one can expect you tobear this burden alone. Iwould suggest you turnover to me the trainingand all the responsibilityfor preparing the defense.We need to block thosetunnels behind the gates
and set work parties torazing the buildings fromWallFourtoWallSix.”“Block the tunnels?
Razethebuildings?Idon’tunderstand you, Druss,”said Orrin. “They are allprivately owned. Therewouldbeanuproar.”
“Exactly!” said the oldwarrior gently. “And thatis why you must appointan outsider to take theresponsibility. Thosetunnels behind the gateswere built so that a smallrear-guard could hold anenemy force long enough
to allow the defenders tomove back to the nextwall. I propose to destroythe buildings betweenWallsFourandSixandusethe rubble to block thetunnels. Ulric will expenda lot of men in order tobreach the gates. And it
willavailhimnothing.”“But why destroy the
buildings?” asked Orrin.“We can bring rubble infrom the south of thepass.”“There is no killing
ground,” said the oldwarrior. “We must get
backtotheoriginalplanofthe Dros. When Ulric’smenbreachthefirstwall,Iwant every archer in theDros peppering them.Everyyardofopengroundwillbe litteredwithNadirdead. We’re outnumberedfive hundred to one, and
we have to level the oddssomehow.”Orrin bit his lip and
rubbed his chin, his mindworking furiously. Heglanced at the white-bearded warrior seatedcalmlybeforehim.AssoonashehadheardDrusshad
arrived, he had preparedfor the certainty that hewould be replaced, sentback to Drenan indisgrace. Now he wasbeingofferedalifeline.Heshould have thought ofrazing the buildings andblocking the tunnels; he
knewit,justasheknewhewas miscast as a gan. Itwasahardfacttoaccept.Throughoutthelastfive
years, since his elevation,he had avoided self-examination. However,only days before he hadsent Hogun and two
hundred of his legionlancers into the outlands.At firsthehadheldto thebeliefthatitwasasensiblemilitary decision. But asthe days had passed andno word came, he hadagonizedoverhisorders.Ithad little to do with
strategy but everything todo with jealousy. Hogun,he had realized with sickhorror, was the bestsoldier in the Dros. Whenhe had returned and toldOrrinthathisdecisionhadproved a wise one, farfrom bolstering Orrin, it
hadfinallyopenedhiseyestohisowninadequacy.Hehad considered resigningbut could not face thedisgrace. He had evencontemplated suicide butcouldnotbearthethoughtof the dishonor it wouldbring to his uncle,
Abalayn. All he could dowas die on the first wall.And this he was preparedfor. He had feared Drusswould rob him even ofthat.“I have been a fool,
Druss,”hesaidatlast.“Enough of that talk!”
snapped the old man.“Listentome.Youarethegan. From this day on nomanwill speak ill of you.What you fear, keep toyourself, and believe inme. Everyone makesmistakes.Everyonefailsatsomething. The Dros will
hold, forIwillbedamnedif Iwill let it fall. If Ihadfelt you were a coward,Orrin, I would have tiedyou to a horse and sentyou packing. You havenever been in a siege orled a troop into battle.Well,nowyouwilldoboth
anddoitwell,forIwillbebesideyou.“Getridofyourdoubts.
Yesterday is dead. Pastmistakesarelikesmokeinthebreeze.Whatcounts istomorrow and everytomorrow untilWoundweaver gets here
withreinforcements.Makeno mistake, Orrin. Whenwe survive and the songsare sung, you will beworth your place in themandnoonewillsneer.Notasoul.Believeit!“Now I have talked
enough.Givemeyourseal
on parchment and I willstart today with myduties.”“Willyouwantmewith
youtoday?”“Best not,” said Druss.
“I have a few heads tocrack.”Minutes later Druss
marched toward theofficers’ mess flanked bytwo legion guards, tallmen and well disciplined.Theoldman’seyesblazedwithanger,andtheguardsexchangedaglanceastheymarched. They could hearthe sounds of singing
comingfromthemessandweresettoenjoythesightof Druss the Legend inaction.Heopenedthedoorand
stepped into the lavishlyfurnishedinterior.Atrestlebar had been set upagainst the far wall,
stretching out into thecenter of the room. Drusspushed his way past therevelers, ignoring thecomplaints, then placedone hand beneath thetrestle and hurled it intothe air, scattering bottles,goblets, and food to
shower on the officers.Stunned silence wasfollowedbyanangrysurgeof oaths and curses. Oneyoung officer pushed hisway to the front of thecrowd;dark-haired,sullen-eyed, and haughty, heconfronted the white-
beardedwarrior.“Who the hell do you
think you are, old man?”hesaid.Druss ignored him, his
eyesscanningthethirtyorso men in the room. Ahandgrabbedhisjerkin.“I said who—” Druss
backhanded the manacross the room to crashintothewallandslithertothefloor,half-stunned.“IamDruss.Sometimes
called Captain of the Ax.In Ventria they call meDruss the Sender. InVagria I am merely the
Axman.TotheNadirIamDeathwalker. In Lentria IamtheSilverSlayer.“Butwho are you?You
dung-eatinglumpsofoffal!Whothehellareyou?”Theoldman drew Snaga fromits sheath at his side. “Ihave a mind to set an
example today. I have amind to cut the fat fromthis ill-fated fortress.WhereisDunPinar?”The youngman pushed
himself from the back ofthecrowd,ahalfsmileonhisface,acoollookinhisdark eyes. “I am here,
Druss.”“Gan Orrin has
appointed me to takechargeof the training andpreparation of thedefenses.Iwantameetingwith all officers on thetraining ground in anhour. Pinar, you organize
it.Therestofyouclearupthis mess and getyourselves ready. Theholiday is over. Any manwhofailsmewillcursetheday he was born.”Beckoning Pinar to followhim, he walked outside.“Find Hogun,” he said,
“and bring him to me atonce in the main hall ofthekeep.”“Yes,sir!Andsir…”“Outwithit,lad.”“Welcome to Dros
Delnoch.”
The news flashed through
thetownofDelnochlikeasummer storm, fromtavern to shop to marketstall. Druss was here!Women passed themessage to their men;childrenchantedhisnamein the alleys. Tales of hisexploits were retold,
growing by theminute. Alarge crowd gatheredbefore the barracks,watching the officersmilling at the paradeground. Children werelifted high, perched onmen’sshoulderstocatchaglimpse of the greatest
Drenaiheroofalltime.When he appeared, a
huge roar went up fromthecrowdandtheoldmanpausedandwaved.They could not hear
what he told the officers,butthemenmovedwithapurpose as he dismissed
them. Then, with a finalwave, he returned to thekeep.Within the main hall
oncemore,Drussremovedhis jerkinandrelaxedinahigh-backed chair. Hisknee was throbbing, andhis back ached like the
devil.AndstillHogunhadnotappeared.Heorderedaservant to
prepare him a meal andinquiredaftertheearl.Theservant told him the earlwas sleeping peacefully.He returned with a hugesteak, lightly done, which
Druss wolfed down,following it with a bottleof finest Lentrian red. Hewiped the grease fromhisbeardandrubbedhisknee.After seeing Hogun, hewould have a hot bath,ready for tomorrow. Heknew his first day would
taxhim tohis limits—andhemustnotfail.“Gan Hogun, sir,”
announced the servant.“AndDunElicas.”The two men who
entered lifted Druss’sheart. The first—it had tobe Hogun—was broad-
shouldered and tall, clear-eyed,withasquarejaw.And Elicas, though
slimmer and shorter, hadthe look of eagles abouthim. Both men wore theblack and silver of thelegion without badges ofrank. It was a long-
standing custom, goingbacktothedayswhentheEarlofBronzehadformedthemfortheVagrianWars.“Be seated, gentlemen,”
saidDruss.Hogun pulled up a
chair,reversingit inordertoleanontheback.Elicas
perched himself on theedge of the table, armsfoldedacrosshischest.Elicas watched the two
mencarefully.Hehadnotknown what to expectfrom Druss, but he hadbegged Hogun to allowhim to be present at the
meeting. He worshipedHogun, but the grim oldmanseatedbeforehimhadalwaysbeenhisidol.“Welcome to Delnoch,
Druss,” said Hogun. “Youhaveliftedmoralealready.Themen speakof nothingelse. I am sorry to have
missed you earlier, but Iwas at the first wall,supervising an archerytourney.”“I understand you have
already met the Nadir,”saidDruss.“Yes. Theywill be here
inlessthanamonth.”
“Weshallbeready.Butit will need hard work.Themenarebadlytrained—if trained at all. Thatmust change. We haveonly ten surgeons, nomedical orderlies, nostretcher-bearers,andonlyone hospital—and that is
at Wall One, which is nogoodtous.Comments?”“An accurate appraisal.
AllIcanaddisthat,apartfrom my men, there areonly a dozen officers ofworth.”“I havenot yet decided
the worth of any man
here. But let us staypositive for themoment. Ineed a man ofmathematical persuasionto take chargeof the foodstores and to prepareration rotas. He will needto shift his equations tomatchour losses.Hemust
also be responsible forliaison and administrationwith Gan Orrin.” Drusswatched as the two menexchangedglancesbutsaidnothingofit.“Dun Pinar is your
man,” said Hogun. “Hevirtually runs the Dros
now.”Druss’s eyes were cold
as he leaned toward theyounggeneral.“Therewillbenomorecommentslikethat, Hogun. It does notbecome a professionalsoldier. We start todaywith a clean slate.
Yesterday is gone. I shallmake my own judgments,and I do not expect myofficers to make slycomments about eachother.”“I would have thought
you would want thetruth,” interposed Elicas
before Hogun couldanswer.“The truth is a strange
animal, laddie. Itseemstovary from man to man.Now keep silent.Understand me, Hogun, Ivalueyou.Yourrecordisagood one. But from now
onnoonespeaksillofthefirstgan.Itisnotgoodformorale, and what is notgood for our morale isgood for the Nadir. Wehave enough problems.”Druss stretched out alength of parchment andpushed it to Elicaswith a
quill and ink. “Makeyourself useful, boy, andtakenotes.PutPinaratthetop; he is ourquartermaster. Now, wewill need fifty medicalorderliesandtwohundredstretcher-bearers. The firstCalvar Syn can choose
from volunteers, but thebearerswillneedsomeonetotrainthem.Iwantthemto be able to run all day.Missael knows they willneed to when the actiongetswarm.Thesemenwillneed stout hearts. It is noeasythingtorunabouton
abattlefieldlightlyarmed.Fortheywillnotbeabletocarry swords andstretchers.“Sowhodoyousuggest
topickandtrainthem?”Hogun turned toElicas,
whoshrugged.“You must be able to
suggest someone,” saidDruss.“I don’t know the men
ofDrosDelnochthatwell,sir,” said Hogun, “and noonefromthelegionwouldbeappropriate.”“Whynot?”“They are warriors.We
shall need them on thewall.”“Who is your best
ranker?”“Bar Britan. But he’s a
formidablewarrior,sir.”“That is why he is the
man. Listen well: Thestretcher-bearers will be
armed with daggers only,and they will risk theirlives as much as the menbattling on the walls. Butitisnotaglorioustask,sothe importance of it mustbe highlighted. When youname your best ranker asthe man to train the
bearers and work withthem during the battle,this will come home tothem.BarBritanmustalsobe given fifty men of hischoice as a moving troopto protect the bearers asbesthecan.”“I bow to your logic,
Druss,”saidHogun.“Bow to nothing, son. I
make mistakes as well asanyman. If you thinkmewrong, be so good as todamnwellsayso.”“Put your mind at rest
on that score, Axman!”snappedHogun.
“Good! Now, as totraining. I want the mentrained in groups of fifty.Each group is to have aname; choose them fromlegends, names of heroes,battlefields, whatever, aslong as thenames stir theblood.
“There will be oneofficer to each group andfive rankers, eachcommanding ten men.Theseunderleaderswillbechosenafterthefirstthreedays training. By then weshould have taken theirmark.Understood?”
“Why names?” askedHogun. “Would it not besimpler if each group hada number? Gods, man,that’s180namestofind!”“There is more to
warfare, Hogun, thantacticsandtraining.Iwantproudmenonthosewalls.
Men who know theircomrades and can identifywith them. Group Karnakwill be representingKarnak the One-Eyed,whereGroupSixwouldbemerelyidentified.“Throughout the next
fewweekswewill setone
group against another inwork, play, and mockcombat. We will weldthem into units—proudunits. We will mock andcajolethem,sneeratthemeven. Then, slowly, whenthey hate us more thantheydotheNadir,wewill
praise them. In as short atime as possible we mustmake them think ofthemselves as an eliteforce. That’s half thebattle. These aredesperate, bloody days,daysofdeath. Iwantmenon those walls, strong
men,fitmen—butmostofall,proudmen.“Tomorrow you will
choose the officers andallocatethegroups.Iwantthe groups running untilthey drop and thenrunning again. I wantsword practice and wall
scaling. I want demolitionwork done by day andnight. After ten days wewillmoveontounitwork.I want the stretcher-bearersrunningwithloadsof rock until their armsburn and their musclestear.
“I want every buildingfromWallFourtoWallSixrazed to the ground andthetunnelsblocked.“I want one thousand
menata timeworkingonthe demolition in three-hour shifts. That shouldstraighten backs and
strengthenswordarms.“Anyquestions?”Hogun spoke: “No.
Everything you wish forwillbedone.ButIwanttoknow this:DoyoubelievetheDroscanholduntiltheautumn?”“OfcourseIdo,laddie,”
lied Druss easily. “Whyelse would I bother? Thepoint is, do you believeit?”“Oh, yes,” lied Hogun
smoothly. “Without adoubt.”Thetwomengrinned.“Join me in a glass of
Lentrian red,” said Druss.“Thirsty work, thisplanningbusiness!”
I11
n a wooden loft, itswindow in the shadow
of the great keep, a manwaited, drumming hisfingersonthebroadtable.Behind him, pigeonsruffled their feathers
withinawickerworkcoop.Themanwasnervous.Onedge.Footsteps on the stairs
made him reach for aslender dagger. He cursedand wiped his sweatingpalm on his woolentrousers.
A second man entered,pushed thedoor shut,andsatoppositethefirst.The newcomer spoke:
“Well? What orders arethere?”“Wewait.But thatmay
changewhenwordreachesthemthatDrussishere.”
“Onemancanmakenodifference,” said thenewcomer.“Perhaps not. We shall
see.Thetribeswillbehereinfiveweeks.”“Five?Ithought…”“I know,” said the first
man. “ButUlric’s firstborn
is dead. A horse fell onhim.The funeral riteswilltake five days, and it’s abadomenforUlric.”“Badomenscan’tstopa
Nadir horde from takingthisdecrepitfortress.”“What is Druss
planning?”
“He means to seal thetunnels. That’s all I knowsofar.”“Come back in three
days,” said the first man.He took a small piece ofpaper and began to writein tiny letters upon it. Heshook sand on the ink,
blew it, then reread whathehadwritten:Deathwalker here.
Tunnels sealed. Moralehigher.“Perhapswe shouldkill
Druss,”saidthenewcomer,rising.“Ifwearetoldto,”said
the first man. “Notbefore.”“Iwill see you in three
days,then.”At thedoorheadjusted
his helm, sweeping hiscloak back over hisshoulderbadge.HewasaDrenaidun.
Cul Gilad lay slumped ontheshortgrassbythewallof the cookhouse atEldibar, breath heavingfrom his lungs inconvulsivegasps.Hisdarkhairhunginlankrats’tailsthat dripped sweat to hisshoulders. He turned on
hisside,groaningwiththeeffort.Everymuscle inhisbody seemed to bescreaming at him. ThreetimesheandBregan,withforty-eightothersofGroupKarnak, had raced againstfive other groups fromWall One to Wall Two,
scaled the knotted ropes,moved to Wall Three,scaled the knotted ropes,movedtoWallFour…Anendless,mindlessagonyofeffort.Only his fury kept him
going, especially after thefirst wall. The white-
bearded old bastard hadwatched him beat sixhundredmentoWallTwo,his burning legs and tiredarmspumpingandpullingin full armor. First man!And what did he say? “Astaggering old manfollowedbystaggeringold
women.Well,don’tjustliethere, boy. On to WallThree!”Thenhehadlaughed.It
was the laugh that haddoneit.Gilad could have killed
himthen—slowly.Forfivemiserableendlessdaysthe
soldiers of Dros Delnochhad run, climbed, fought,torndownbuildingsintheteeth of hysterical cursesfrom the dispossessedowners, and trundled cartupon cart of rubble intothe tunnels at Walls OneandTwo.Working by day
andnight, theywereboneweary. And still that fatoldmanurgedthemon.Archery tourneys,
javelin contests,swordplay, dagger work,and wrestling in betweentheheavyworkmadesurethat few of the culs
bothered to frequent thetavernsnearthekeep.Damned legion did,
though. They glidedthrough the training withgrim smiles and hurledscornful jests at thefarmers who sought tokeep up with them. Let
themtryworkingeighteenhoursinthefields,thoughtGilad.Bastards!Grunting with pain, he
sat up, pushing his backagainst the wall, andwatched others training.He had ten minutes yetbefore the next shift was
required to fill the rubblecarts. Stretcher-bearerstoiled across the openground, bearing rockstwice the weight of aninjured man. Many hadbandaged hands.Alongside them the black-bearded Bar Britan
shoutedthemon.Bregan tottered toward
him and slumped to thegrass. His facewas cherryred. Silently he handedGilad an orange half; itwassweetandfresh.“Thanks, Breg.” Gilad’s
eyesmovedovertheother
eight men in his group.Most were lying silently,though Midras had begunto retch. The idiot had agirl in the town and hadvisited her the nightbefore, creeping back intobarracks for an hour’ssleepbeforedaybreak.
He was paying for itnow. Bregan was bearingup well: a little faster, alittle fitter. And he nevercomplained, which was awonder.“Almost time, Gil,” he
said.Giladglancedtowardthetunnel,wherethework
was slowing down. Othermembers of Group Kamakwere moving toward thepartlydemolishedhomes.“Come on, lads,” said
Gilad. “Let’s be sittingup.Let’s start taking somedeep breaths.” Groansfollowed the order, and
there was scarcely amovement from the men.“Come on, now. GroupKestrianisalreadymoving.Bastards!” Gilad pushedhimself tohis feet,pullingBreganupwithhim.Thenhe moved to each of themen.Slowlytheyroseand
begantomove toward thetunnel.“IthinkI’mdying,”said
Midras.“You will if you let us
down today,” mutteredGilad. “If that old swinelaughs at us one moretime…”
“A pox on him,” saidMidras.“Youdon’tseehimworking up a sweat, doyou?”At dusk thewearymen
trooped away from thetunnels toward the peaceand relative sanctuary ofthe barracks. They hurled
themselves onto narrowcots and began tounbuckle breastplates andgreaves.“Idon’tmindthework,”
saidBaile,astockyfarmerfromavillageneighboringGilad’s, “but I don’t seewhy we have to do it in
fullarmor.”Nooneansweredhim.Giladwasalmostasleep
when a voice bellowed:“Group Karnak to theparadeground!”Druss stood in the
parade ground square,hands on hips, his blue
eyes scanning theexhausted men whostumbled from thebarracks, their eyessquinting against thetorchlight. Flanked byHogun and Orrin, hesmiled grimly as the menshambledintoranks.
The fiftymen of GroupKarnak were joined byGroupKestrianandGroupSword.Silently theywaited for
whatever foul idea Drusshadnowdreamedup.“Youthreegroups,”said
Druss, “are to run the
length of the wall andback.Thelastman’sgroupwillrunagain.Go!”As the men set off for
the grueling half mile,someone yelled from thecrowd: “What about you,fatman?Coming?”“Not this time,” Druss
yelled back. “Don’t belast.”“They’re exhausted,”
said Orrin. “Is this wise,Druss?”“Trust me. When the
attacks come,menwill bedragged from sleep fastenough. I want them to
knowtheirlimits.”Threemoredayspassed.
Tunnel One was almostfilled,andworkhadbegunon Tunnel Two. No onecheered now as Drusswalked by, not evenamong the townsfolk.Many had lost their
homes; others were losingbusiness.Adeputationhadvisited Orrin, begging fordemolition to cease.Othersfoundthatthesightof the clear groundbetween walls onlyemphasized that DrussexpectedtheNadirtotake
the Dros. Resentmentgrew, but the old warriorswallowed his anger andpushedonwithhisplan.On the ninth day
something happened thatgavethemenafreshtopicofconversation.As Group Karnak
assembled for its run,GanOrrin approached DunMendar, the officercommanding.“Ishallberunningwith
your group today,” hesaid.“You are taking over,
sir?”saidMendar.
“No,no.Justrunning.Agan must be fit, too,Mendar.”A sullen silencegreeted
Orrin as he joined theranks,hisbronzeandgoldarmor setting him apartfromthewaitingsoldiers.Throughout the
morninghetoiledwiththemen, scaling ropes,sprinting between walls.Alwayshewas last.Asheran, some of the menlaughedandothers jeered.Mendar was furious. Theman’s making an evengreater fool of himself, he
thought. And he’s makingus a laughingstock, too.Gilad ignored the gan,exceptatonepointtopullhim over the battlementswhen it looked as if hemightfall.“Lethimdrop,”yelleda
man farther along the
wall.Orrin gritted his teeth
and carried on, stayingwith the troop throughouttheday and evenworkingon the demolition. By theafternoon hewasworkingat half the speed of theothersoldiers.Noonehad
yet spoken tohim.He ateapart from theothermen,but not by choice: Wherehesat,theydidnot.At dusk he made his
way to his quarters, bodytrembling,musclesonfire,andsleptinhisarmor.At daybreak he
stripped, bathed, put onhis armor again, andrejoined Group Karnak.Onlyatswordpracticedidheexcel,buteventhenhehalfthoughtthemenwereletting himwin. Andwhocouldblamethem?An hour before dusk
DrussarrivedwithHogun,ordering four groups toassemble by the gate ofWall Two:Karnak, Sword,Egel,andFire.From atop the
battlements Druss calleddown to the two hundredmen: “A little race to
stretchyourmuscles, lads.It’s a mile from this gateand around the perimeterand back. You will run ittwice. Last man’s grouprunsagain.Go!”As they hurtled off,
bunching and pushing,Hogunleanedforward.
“Damn!”hesaid.“What’s wrong?” asked
Druss.“Orrin. He’s running
with them. I thought hewould have had enoughyesterday. What’s thematterwiththeman?Ishemad?”
“You run with themen,” said Druss. “Whynothim?”“Come on, Druss, what
sort of a question is that?I’m a soldier, and I trainevery day of my life. Buthim! Look at him—he’slastalready.Youwillhave
to pick the lastman apartfromOrrin.”“I can’t do that, lad. It
would shame him. Hemade his choice, and Iexpecthehashisreasons.”At the first mile Orrin
was thirty yards behindthe last man and
struggling hard. Hefastened his gaze to theback of the man’sbreastplate and ran on,ignoring the pain in hisside.Sweatstunghiseyes,and his white horsehair-crested helm fell from hishead.Itwasarelief.
Atamileandahalfhewasfortyyardsadrift.Giladglancedbackfrom
the center of the leadingpack, eased out, andturned,joggingbacktothebreathless gan. Oncealongside, he joined himstrideforstride.
“Listen,” he said,breathing easily.“Unclench your fists; itwill help with thebreathing. Think ofnothing else exceptsticking to me. No, don’ttry to answer me. Countyour breaths. Take a deep
breathandblowoutasfastas possible. That’s it. Adeep breath every twostrides.Andkeepcounting.Think of nothing exceptthe number of breaths.Nowstaywithme.”He moved in front of
thegeneral,keepingtothe
same slow pace, thenincreaseditgently.Druss sat back on the
battlements as the racedrew near its end. Orrinwasbeingdrawnalongbythe slim under-leader.Most of the men hadfinishedtheraceandwere
spread out watching thelastfewrunners.OrrinwasstilllastbutonlytenyardsadriftofthetiringculfromGroup Fire. Men startedyelling for the cul tosprint.EverygroupexceptKarnak was willing himon.
Thirtyyardstogo.Giladdropped back alongsideOrrin. “Give iteverything,”hesaid.“Run,youfatsonofabitch!”Giladincreasedhispace
andspedbythecul.Orringritted his teeth and tookafterhim.Angergavehim
strength. Fresh adrenalineflowedtotiredmuscles.Ten yards to go and
now he was at the man’sshoulder. He could hearthe encouragementscreamed from the crowd.Themanbesidehimpulledahead with a last effort,
hisfacetwistedinagony.Orrin drew level in the
shadow of the gate andlurched ahead. He hurledhimself forward, crashingto the earth and rollinginto the crowd. He couldnot get up, but handsgrabbed him, hauling him
to his feet and poundinghis back. He fought forbreath.Avoicesaid:“Keepwalking.Itwillhelp.Comeon, move your legs.”Supported on both sides,he began to walk. Druss’svoicecamedownfromthebattlements.
“Thatman’s group, onemorecircuit.”Group Fire set off, this
timeataslowjog.Gilad and Bregan
helped Orrin to a juttingfoundation block and sathimuponit.Hislegswereshaking, but his breathing
waslessragged.“I am sorry I insulted
you,”saidGilad.“Iwantedto make you angry. Myfather always said angerhelpsthestrength.”“You don’t have to
makeexcuses,” saidOrrin.“Ishalltakenoaction.”
“It’s not an excuse. Icoulddothatruntentimesover; socouldmostofmymen. I just thought itwouldhelp.”“It did. Thank you for
droppingback.”“I think you did
wonderfully well,” said
Bregan. “I know how youfelt.Butwe’vebeendoingthis for nearly twoweeks.Today isonlyyoursecondday.”“Will you join us again
tomorrow?”askedGilad.“No. I should like to,
but I do have other work
to do.” He smiledsuddenly. “On the otherhand,” he said, “Pinar isvery good at paperwork,and I am damned tired ofhaving complainingdeputations knocking atmy door every fiveminutes.Yes,I’llbehere.”
“May I make asuggestion?”saidGilad.“Ofcourse.”“Get yourself some
ordinary armor. You willstandoutless.”“I’m supposed to stand
out,”saidOrrin,smiling.“Iamthegan.”
High above themDrussandHogunsharedabottleofLentrianred.“Ittooknerveforhimto
come out today after thejeering yesterday,” saidDruss.“Yes,Isupposeso,”said
Hogun. “No, dammit, I’ll
agreewithyouandpraisethe man. But it goesagainstthegrain.Yougavehimthebackbone.”“You can’t give a man
something that isn’tthere,”saidDruss.“Hejustnever lookedfor it.”Drussgrinned and took a long
swig from the bottle,passing it to Hogun half-drained.“I like the little man,”
saidDruss.“He’sgame!”
Orrin lay back on hisnarrow bunk, his backcushioned by soft pillows,
his hand curled around aclay cup. He tried to tellhimselftherewasnogloryin coming second fromlast.Happilyhe failed.Hehad never been athletic,even as a child. But hecame from a family ofwarriors and Drenai
leaders,andhisfatherhadinsisted that he take partinallsoldierlypursuits.Hehad always handled asword well, which, in hisfather’s eyes,made up forthe other, mightier,shortcomings. Like notbeing able to stand
physicalpain.Ornotbeingable to understand, evenafter patient explanation,thegreatmistakemadebyNazredas at the Battle ofPlettii.Hewondered ifhisfather would have beenpleased at his hurlinghimself to the floor in
order to beat a Cul in afootrace. He smiled: hewouldthinkhimmad.The sound of knuckles
rapping at his doorbrought him back to thepresent.“Come!”Itwas Druss,minus his
black and silver jerkin.Strangehowhelookedlikeanoldman,thoughtOrrin,without his legendarygarb. The warrior’s beardwas combed, andheworeaflowingwhiteshirt-tunicwith billowing sleevesgathered in at the wrists.
About his middle was athick black belt with asilver buckle. He wascarrying a large bottle ofLentrianred.“I thought, if you were
awake,Imightjoinyoufora drink,” said Druss,pulling up a chair and
reversing it, as Orrin hadseen Hogun do on manyoccasions.“Why do you do that?”
askedOrrin.“What?”saidDruss.“Turn the chair
around.”“Old habits die hard,
even among friends. It’s awarrior’s habit.With yourlegsastride the chair, it iseasiertorise.Alsoitputsathick layer of woodbetween your belly andthemanyouaretalkingtoorsittingwith.”“I see,” said Orrin. “I
had always meant to askHogun, but I never gotaround to it. What makesmen adopt habits likethat?”“The sight of a friend
with a knife in his belly!”saidDruss.“Icanseethatitwould.
Will you teach me yourtricks, Druss, before theNadirarrive?”“No. You will have to
learn them the hard way.LittlethingsIwillhelpyouwith at the right time—they may make adifference.”
“Little things? Youintrigueme,Druss.Tellmesomething now.” OrrinacceptedacupofLentrianand settled back. Drussdrankfromthebottle.“All right,” said the
axman, half the bottledrained, “answer me this:
Why are the men issuedwith oranges everymorning?”“It keeps them fit and
helps prevent dysentery.It’s refreshing and cheap.Is that it?” asked Orrin,puzzled.“Someofit,”saidDruss.
“The Earl of Bronzeintroduced oranges to thearmypartlyforthereasonsyou mention but mainlybecause if you rub thejuiceintothepalmofyourhand, your swordwill notslip as the hand sweats.Also,ifyourubitonyour
brow, sweatwill not dropintoyoureyes.”“I never knew that. I
expect I should haveknown, but I didn’t. Howsimple!Givemeanother.”“No,” said Druss.
“Another time. Tell me,why have you joined in
the training with theculs?”Orrin sat up, his dark
eyes fixedonDruss’s face.“You don’t think it’s agoodidea?”“Itdependsonwhatyou
are trying to achieve. Areyouseekingrespect?”
“Great gods, no!” saidOrrin. “I have left it toolate for that,Druss.No, itwas something you saidthe other night when themen were turfed out ofbed for that night run. Iasked you if it was wise,and you said, ‘They need
to know their limitations.’Well, so do I. I’ve neverbeeninabattle. Iwanttoknow what it’s like to bewoken from sleep after afull day’s training and beexpectedtofightagain.“I’ve let down a lot of
people here. I may let
them down again whenthe Nadir are scaling thewall, though I hope not.ButIneedtobefitterandfaster.AndIshallbe.“Is that such a bad
idea?”Druss tilted the bottle,
lickedhislips,andsmiled.
“No. It’s a good idea.But when you are a littlefitter, spread yourselfaroundthegroupsmore.Itwillpayoff.”“Payoff?”“You’llsee.”“Have you seen the
earl?” asked Orrin
suddenly. “Syn says he’sbad.Verybadindeed.”“I don’t think I have
seen worse. He’sconstantly delirious now.How he hangs on I don’tknow.”The twomen talked on
for over an hour, Orrin
questioning the old manabout his life and themanybattleshehadtakenpart in, returning alwaysto the immortal story ofSkeln and the fall of KingGorben.When the keep alarm
bell sounded, both men
reacted instantly. Drusscursed, threw the bottleaside, and raced for thedoor.Orrinheavedhimselffrom his bunk andfollowed. Across theparade ground square andup the short hill to thekeep Druss ran, pounding
under the portcullis gateand up the long windingstone stairs to the earl’sbedchamber. Calvar Synwas at his bedside, withDun Mendar, Pinar, andHogun. An old servantstood weeping by thewindow.
“Is he dead?” askedDruss.“No. Soon,” answered
CalvarSyn.Druss moved to the
bedside, sitting beside thefrailfigure.Theearl’seyesopenedandblinkedtwice.“Druss?” he called, his
voice weak. “Are youthere?”“Iamhere.”“He’scoming.Iseehim.
Heishoodedandblack.”“Spitinhiseyeforme,”
said Druss, his huge handstroking the earl’s feveredbrow.
“I thought … afterSkeln … I would liveforever.”“Beatpeace,myfriend.
One thing I have learnedabout death is that hisbark’sworsethanhisbite.”“I can see them, Druss.
The Immortals. They’re
sendingintheImmortals!”The dying man grabbedDruss’s arm and tried tohaul himself upright.“Here they come! Gods,will you look at them,Druss!”“They’re just men. We
willseethemoff.”
“Sit by the fire, child,and I’ll tell you of it. Butdon’t tell your mother Itold you—you know howshe hates the bloodthirstytales. Ah, Virae, my littlelove! You will neverunderstand what it hasmeant to me just being
your father …” Drussbowedhisheadas theoldearl rambledon,his voicethin andwavering.Hogungrittedhisteethandclosedhis eyes, Calvar Syn satslumped in an armchair,and Orrin stood by thedoor, remembering his
own father’s death somanyyearsbefore.“Wewereatthepassfor
many days, holding outagainst everything theycould throw at us.Tribesmen, chariots,infantry, cavalry. Butalways the threat of the
Immortals hung over us.Never beaten! Old Drussstood at the center of ourfirst line, and as theImmortalsmarchedtowardus, we froze. You couldfeel panic in the air. Iwantedtorun,andIcouldsee the same feeling
reflected on the facesaroundme.ThenoldDrussliftedhisaxintheairandbellowedat theadvancingline. It was wonderful.Magical almost. The spellbroke.Thefearpassed.Heraised his ax for them tosee,thenheshouted.Ican
hear him now: ‘Come on,you fat-belliedwhoresons!I am Druss, and this isdeath!’“Virae? Virae? I waited
for you … just one moretime. See you. Somuch … So muchwanted…”The frailbody
trembled, then lay still.Druss closed the deadman’s eyes and wiped ahandacrosshisown.“He should never have
sent her away,” saidCalvarSyn.“Helovedthatgirl; she was all he livedfor.”
“Maybe that’s why hesenther,”saidHogun.Druss pulled the silk
sheet up and over theearl’s face and walked tothe window. Now he wasalone, the last survivor ofSkeln. He leaned on thewindowsill and sucked in
thenightair.Outside the moon
bathedtheDrosineldritchlight, gray and ghostly,and the old man gazedtoward the north.Overhead a flutteringpigeon flew in and circleda loftbeneath thekeep. It
hadcomeoutofthenorth.He turned from the
window.“Bury him quietly
tomorrow,” he said. “Wewill not interrupt trainingforafullfuneral.”“But Druss, this is Earl
Delnar!” said Hogun, eyes
blazing.“That,” said Druss,
pointing at the bed, “is acancer-ridden corpse. Itisn’t anyone. Just do as Isay.”“You coldhearted
bastard,” said DunMendar.
Druss turned his icygazeontheofficer.“Andjustyouremember
that,laddie,thedayyou—or any of you—go againstme.”
R12
ek leaned on thestarboard rail with
one arm about Virae’sshouldersandstaredatthesea. Strange, he thought,how night changed themoodof theocean.Avast
semisolidmirror reflectingthestars,whilethemoon’stwin floated, fragmentedand ethereal, amile or soaway.Alwaysamileorsoaway. A gentle breezebillowedthetriangularsailas theWastrel cut awhitepath through the waves,
gently dipping and risingwith the swell. Aft stoodthe mate at the spokedwheel,hissilvereyepatchglinting in the moonlight.Forward a young seamancast his lead into thewaves, calling out thechanges in depth as they
passed over the hiddenreef.All was tranquility,
peace, and harmony. Thesteady lapping of thewavesaddedtothefeelingofisolationthatenvelopedRek as he stared out tosea. With stars above and
below them they couldbefloatingonthetidesofthegalaxy,farfromthealltoohuman struggle thatawaitedthem.This is contentment,
thoughtRek.“What are you
thinking?” asked Virae,
slippinganarmaroundhiswaist.“I loveyou,”he said.A
dolphin surfaced belowthem,callingoutamusicalwelcome before againseeking the depths. Rekwatched his lithe formswimming among the
stars.“I know you love me,”
said Virae, “but I wasaskingyouwhatyouwerethinking.”“That’s what I was
thinking. I am content. Atpeace.”“Of course you are.
We’reonaship,andit’salovelynight.”“Woman, you have no
soul,” he said, kissing herbrow.She looked up at him
and smiled. “If you thinkthat, you are a fool! I’mjustnotaspracticedasyou
attellingprettylies.”“Hard words, my lady.
Would I lie to you? Youwouldcutmythroat.”“I would, too. How
many women have heardyousayyoulovethem?”“Hundreds,” said Rek,
watching her eyes and
seeingthesmilefadefromthem.“So why should I
believeyou?”“Becauseyoudo.”“That’snoanswer.”“Of course it is. You’re
not some dim-wittedmilkmaid fooled by an
easy smile. You know thetruth when you hear it.Why do you suddenlydoubtit?”“I don’t doubt you, you
oaf!Ijustwantedtoknowhow many women you’veloved.”“Sleptwith,youmean?”
“If you want to becoarse.”“Idon’tknow,”he lied.
“It’s notmy habit to keepcount. And if your nextquestion is, ‘How do Icompare?’ you will findyourself alone, because Ishallgobelow.”
Itwas.Buthedidnot.The mate by the tiller
watched them, listened totheir easy laughter, andsmiled with them,althoughhecouldnothearthe cause of their goodhumor.Athomehehad awife and seven children,
anditmadehimfeelgoodto watch the young manandhiswoman.Hewavedas they went below deck,buttheydidnotseehim.“Nice to be young and
in love,” said the captain,moving silently from theshadowsbyhiscabindoor
tostandbesidethemate.“Nice to be old and in
love,” answered themate,grinning.“A calm night, but the
breeze is picking up. Idon’t like the look of thecloudstothewest.”“They will pass us by,”
said the mate. “But we’llhavebadweatherforsure.It will be behind us,pushing us on. We maypick up a couple of days.Did you know they areheadedforDelnoch?”“Yes,” said the captain,
scratching his red beard
and checking their coursebythestars.“Sad,” said the mate
with real feeling. “Theysay Ulric has promised toraze it to theground.Youheard what he did atGulgothir? Killed everysecond defender and a
third of the women andchildren. Just lined themup and had his warriorscutthemdown.”“I heard. It’s not my
business. We’ve tradedwith the Nadir for years;they’reall rightaspeople,much the same as anyone
else.”“I agree. I had a Nadir
woman once. A realhellion—ran off with atinker. Later I heard shecuthisthroatandstolehiswagon.”“Most likely she only
wanted the horse,” said
the captain. “She couldbuy herself a real Nadirman for a good horse.”Both men chuckled, thenstoodinsilenceforawhileenjoyingthenightair.“Whyare theygoing to
Delnoch?”askedthemate.“She’s the earl’s
daughter. I don’t knowabout him. If she wasmydaughter, I would havemadesureshedidn’tcomeback. I’d have sent her tothefarthestsouthernpointoftheempire.”“The Nadir will reach
there—and beyond—
before long. It’s only amatteroftime.”“Well,a lotcanhappen
in that time. The Drenaiare sure to surrender longbefore then. Look! Thatdamned albino and hisfriend. They make myfleshcreep.”
ThemateglancedalongthedecktowhereSerbitarand Vintar stood at theportrail.“Iknowwhatyoumean
—theyneversayanything.I’llbegladtoseethebackof them,” said the mate,making the sign of the
clawabovehisheart.“That won’t ward off
theirkindofdemons,”saidthecaptain.Serbitar smiled as
Vintarpulsed:“Wearelessthanpopular,myboy.”“Yes. Always it is thus.
It is hard to hold back
contempt.”“Butyoumust.”“I said hard, not
impossible.”“Wordplay. Even to
notice that it ishard isanadmission of defeat,” saidVintar.“Always the scholar,
FatherAbbot.”“As long as the world
haspupils,MasterPriest.”Serbitar grinned, a rare
sight. A gull wheeled andcircledabovetheship;thealbino casually mind-touched it as it arcedabovethemast.
Within its mind wasnothingofjoyorsorroworhope. Only hunger andneed. And frustration thatthe ship offered nosustenance.A feeling of fierce
exultation suddenly sweptover theyoungpriest ina
mind pulse of incrediblepower, a sense of ecstasyand fulfillment floodinghis body. He gripped therailhardandreachedbackalongthepath,shuttingoffhis probe as it neared thedoorofRek’scabin.“Their emotions are
very strong,” pulsedVintar.“It isunseemlytodwell
on it,” replied Serbitarprimly, a blush apparenteveninthemoonlight.“Not so, Serbitar, my
friend.Thisworldhas fewredeeming features, and
one is the capacity of thepeopleuponittoloveoneanother with great andenduringpassion. I rejoiceintheirlovemaking.Itisabeautifulthingforthem.”“You are a voyeur,
Father Abbot,” saidSerbitar, smiling now.
Vintarlaughedaloud.“It is true. They have
suchenergy,theyoung.”Suddenly Arbedark’s
slim,seriousfaceappearedin both men’s minds, hisfeaturessethard.“Iamsorry,”hepulsed.
“Thereisgravenewsfrom
DrosDelnoch.”“Speak,”saidSerbitar.“The earl is dead. And
there are traitors withintheDros.UlrichasorderedDrusskilled.”
“Formacirclearoundme,”shouted Druss as the
exhausted men staggeredfrom the wall. “Now sitdown before you falldown.”His blue eyes scanned
thecircle, thenhe snortedwith contempt. “Youdregs! Call yourselvessoldiers? Finished after a
fewruns.Howthehelldoyou think you’re going tofeel after three daysfighting, day and night,against a Nadir force thatoutnumbers you fifty toone?Eh?”No one answered him.
The question was all too
obviously rhetorical.Indeed, most of the menwere delighted to beberated thus; it meant afurther respite from theinterminabletraining.Druss pointed at Gilad.
“You! Which four groupsarerepresentedhere?”
Gilad swung aroundchecking the faces.“Karnak, Bild, andGorbadac… er… I don’tknowtheotherone.”“Well!” bellowed the
oldman. “Will not one ofyou beggars own up?Whichistheotherdamned
group?”“Falcon,” piped a voice
fromtheback.“Good! Group officers
step forward,” said Druss.“The rest of you take abreather.” He walked alittle distance from themen, beckoning the
officerstofollow.“Right,beforeI tellyou
what I want, will theofficer from Group Falconmakehimselfknown?”“I am the officer, sir.
DunHedes,” said a youngman who was short butwellbuilt.
“Then why did you notannounce your groupwhen I asked.Whywas itsomespottyfarmboy?”“Iampartiallydeaf,sir,
and when I am tired andthe blood is pounding, Icanhardlyhear.”“Then, Dun Hedes,
consider yourself relievedofGroupFalcon.”“You can’t do that to
me! I have always servedwell. You cannot disgraceme!” said the youngman,hisvoicerising.“Listen to me, you
young fool. There is no
disgraceinbeingdeaf.Andyou can feel free to walkwith me on thebattlements, if you will,whentheNadirarrive.Buthowwellcanyouservemeas a leader if you can’thear my damnedinstructions?”
“I will manage,” saidDunHedes.“And how well will
your men manage whentheytrytoaskforadvice?Whathappensifwesoundthe retreat and you don’thearit?No!Thedecision’smade.Standdown.”
“I request the right toseeGanOrrin!”“Asyouwill.Butatthe
endof today Iwillhaveanew dun for Falcon. Nowtobusiness.Iwanteachofyou—you included, Hedes—to pick your twostrongest men. The best
you have at hand-to-handwrestling, bare-knuckle,whatever. They will havetheir chance to knock mefrommy feet.That shouldlighten the mood. Get toit!”Dun Mendar called
Gilad to him as he
returnedtohisgroup,thensquatted down among themen to outline Druss’sidea. Chuckles came fromvarious soldiers as menvolunteered swiftly. Thenoise grew as menclamored for the right todowntheoldwarrior,and
Druss laughedaloudashesat apart from the men,peeling an orange. At lastthe pairs were selected,and he heaved himself tohisfeet.“There is an object to
this little exercise, but Ishallexplainthat lateron.
For now, look upon it aslight entertainment,” saidDruss, hands on hips.“However, I find theaudience is always morealert if there is somethingtobewon,soIwillofferafree afternoon to anygroup whose champions
downme.”Acheergreetedthis, and he went on.“Mind you, those thatdon’tdownmewillrunanadditional two miles.”Drussgrinnedagainasthegroanserupted.“Don’t be such faint
hearts.What do you have
before you? Here is oneold,fatman.WewillstartwiththeBildpair.”The men could have
been twins; both werehuge, black-bearded, withmassively muscled armsand shoulders. Stripped oftheirarmor,theyappeared
as formidable a pair ofwarriors as could be seenamongthegroups.“Right, my lads,” said
Druss,“youcanwrestle,orpunch, or kick, or gouge.Beginwhenyou’reready.”The old man doffed hisjerkinashespoke,andthe
Bild pair circled slowly,relaxed and smiling. Onceon either side of the oldman, they lunged. Drussdropped to one knee,ducking under aroundhouse right, thenslammedhis hand up intothe man’s groin, grabbing
his shirtfront with theother hand and hurlinghimintohiscomrade.Bothmen collapsed to theground,armsentwined.Curses exploded from
the Bild men seatedaround the circle, to bedrownedbyjeersfromthe
othergroups.“Next, Gorbadac!”
announcedDruss.Thetwoadvanced more warilythan their predecessors,then the tallest one divedtoward Druss’s middlewith arms outstretched.Theaxman’skneecameup
to meet him, and hesagged to the grass. Thesecond attacked almostimmediately, only to bebackhandedcontemptuously across thecheek.Hetrippedoverhisfallen comrade and fellheavily.Thefirstmanwas
unconsciousandhadtobecarried to the back of thecircle.“Now Falcon!” said
Druss. This time hewatched them advance,thenbellowedatthetopofhisvoiceandcharged.Thefirstman’smouthfellopen
in surprise; the secondtook a backward step andtripped.Druss hit the firstmanwithastraightleft;hewentdownandlaystill.“Karnak?” said Druss.
Gilad and Bregan enteredthe circle. Druss had seenthe dark one before and
liked the look of him. Abornwarrior, theoldmanhad thought. He enjoyedseeing the look of hatredtheboythrewathimeverytime he laughed at himand liked theway he haddropped back to helpOrrin. Druss flicked his
gaze to the second man.Surely here was an error.The chubby one was nofighter,norwouldheeverbe—good-natured andtoughbutneverawarrior.Gilad launched himself
forward and checkedhimselfasDrussraisedhis
fists.Drusstwistedtokeephim in vision; then,hearing a sound frombehind, he whirled to seethe fat one attack, trip,and fall sprawling at hisfeet. Chuckling, he swungbacktoGilad,turningintoa flying kick that
hammered into his chest.He took a backward stepto brace himself, but thefat one had rolled behindhim, and Druss hit thegroundwithagrunt.A massive roar rose
fromtwohundred throats.Drusssmiledandrolled to
his feet smoothly, holdingupahandforsilence.“I want you to think
about what you’ve seentoday, my lads,” saidDruss, “for it wasn’t onlyfun. You have seen whatoneman can do, and youhave also seen what a
simple bit of teamworkcanachieve.“Now, when the Nadir
are swarming over thewalls,youwillallbehardpressed to defendyourselves, but you’ve gotto do more than that.You’vegot toprotectyour
comrades where you can,for no warrior has adefenseagainstaswordinthe back. I want each ofyou to find a swordbrother.Youdon’thavetobefriends—thatwillcome.But you needunderstanding, and you
need to work at it. Youwill protect each other’sbacks when the assaultcomes, so make yourchoiceswell.Thoseofyouwho lose a sword brotherwhen the fighting starts,find another. Failing that,do what you can for the
menaroundyou.“I have been a warrior
for more than forty years—twiceas longasmostofyou have lived. Bear thatin mind. What I say is ofvalue,forIhavesurvived.“There is only oneway
tosurviveinwar,andthat
is by beingwilling to die.You will find soon thatfine swordsmen can bedowned by untutoredsavages who would slicetheir fingers if asked tocarve meat. And how?Because the savage iswilling.Worse,hemaybe
baresark.“The man who takes a
backward step against aNadir warrior is steppinginto eternity. Meet themhead to head, savage tosavage.“Youhaveheard it said
that this is a lost cause,
andyouwillhearitagain.Ihavehearditathousandtimesinahundredlands.“Mostly you hear it
from faint hearts and canignore it. Often, however,you will hear it fromseasoned veterans.Ultimatelysuchprophecies
areworthless.“There are half a
millionNadirwarriors.Anawesome figure! One tonumb the mind. But thewallsareonlysolongandso wide. They cannot allcomeoveratonce.Wewillkill them as they do, and
wewillkillhundredsmoreas theyclimb.Anddaybyday we will wear themdown.“You are going to lose
friends, comrades,brothers.Youaregoing tolose sleep. You are goingto lose blood. Nothing
aboutthenextfewmonthswillbeeasy.“I am not going to talk
about patriotism, duty,liberty,and thedefenseoffreedom because that’s alldungtoasoldier.“I want you to think
about survival. And the
best way you can do thatis to look down on theNadir when they arriveand think to yourselves:There are fifty men downtherejustforme.Andonebyone,byallthegods,I’llcutthemdown.“As forme…well, I’m
aseasonedcampaigner.I’lltake a hundred.” Drusstook a deep breath,allowing time for hiswordstosinkin.“Now,” he said at last,
“youcangetback toyourduties, with the exceptionof Group Karnak.”
Turning, he saw Hogun,and as the men hauledthemselvestotheirfeet,hewalked back toward themesshallofWallOnewiththeyounggeneral.“A nice speech,” said
Hogun. “It sounded verysimilartotheoneyougave
this morning at WallThree.”“You haven’t been very
attentive, laddie,” saidDruss. “I have given thatspeech six times sinceyesterday. And I’ve beenknockeddownthreetimes.I’m as dry as a sand
lizard’sbelly.”“I will stand you a
bottle of Vagrian in themess hall,” said Hogun.“Theydon’tserveLentrianat this end of the Dros—it’stoopricey.”“It will do. I see you
have regained your good
humor.”“Aye. You were right
about the earl’s burial.Just too damned quickabout being right, that’sall,”saidHogun.“Whatdoesthatmean?”“Just what it says. You
have a way, Druss, of
turning your emotions onand off. Most men lackthat. It makes you seemwhatMendarcalledyou—coldhearted.”“Idon’t like thephrase,
but it fits,” said Druss,pushing open the door tothemess hall. “Imourned
Delnarashelaydying.Butoncedead,he’sgone.AndI’mstillhere.Andthere’sadamned long way to goyet.”The two men sat at a
window table andordereddrinks froma steward.Hereturned with a large
bottle and two goblets;bothmensatsilentlyforawhile, watching thetraining.Druss was deep in
thought.HehadlostmanyfriendsinhislifebutnonemoredearthanSiebenandRowena—the one his
sword brother, the otherhiswife.Thoughtsofthemboth were as tender asopenwounds.When Idie,he thought, everyone willmourn for Druss theLegend.Butwhowillmourn for
me?
“T
13ell us what yousaw,” said Rek as he
joined the four leaders ofthe Thirty in Serbitar’scabin.Hehadbeenwokenfrom a deep sleep byMenahem,whohadswiftly
explained the problemsfacingtheDros.Nowalert,he listened as the blondwarrior-priest outlined thethreat.“The Captain of the Ax
istrainingthemen.Hehasdemolished all buildingsfrom Wall Three and
created a killing ground.He has also blocked thegate tunnels back to WallFour—hehasdonewell.”“You mentioned
traitors,”saidRek.Serbitar lifted a hand.
“Patience!” he said. “Goon,Arbedark.”
“There is an innkeepercalled Musar, originallyfrom the NadirWolfsheadtribe.HehasbeenatDrosDelnoch for eleven years.HeandaDrenaiofficerareplanning to kill Druss. Ithinktheremaybeothers.Ulric has been told of the
tunnelblocking.”“How?” asked Rek.
“Surely there is no traveltothenorth?”“He keeps pigeons,”
saidArbedark.“Whatcanyoudo?”Rek
asked Serbitar, whoshrugged and looked to
Vintar for support. Theabbot spread his hands.“Wetried tomakecontactwith Druss, but he is notreceptive and the distanceisstillverygreat. Idonotseehowwecanhelp.”“What news of my
father?” asked Virae. The
men looked at oneanother, ill at ease.Serbitarspokeatlast.“Heisdead.Iamdeeply
sorry.”Virae said nothing, her
face showing no emotion.Rek put an arm on hershoulder,butshepushedit
away and stood. “I’mgoing on deck,” she saidsoftly. “I’ll see you later,Rek.”“Shall I come with
you?”“No. It’s not for
sharing.”As the door closed
behind her, Vintar spoke,his voice gentle andsorrowful. “He was a fineman after his fashion. Icontacted him before theend; he was at peace andinthepast.”“In thepast?” saidRek.
“Whatdoesthatmean?”
“Hismindhadvanishedintohappiermemories.Hedied well. I think theSource will have him—Ishall pray to that effect.ButwhatofDruss?”“I tried to reach the
general, Hogun,” saidArbedark, “but the danger
wasgreat.Ialmostlostmybearings.Thedistance…”“Yes,” said Serbitar.
“Did you manage toascertain how theassassination is to beattempted?”“No. I could not enter
theman’smind,butbefore
him was a bottle ofLentrian red that he wasresealing. It could bepoison or an opiate ofsomekind.”“There must be
something you can do,”said Rek, “with all yourpower.”
“All power—but one—has limits,” said Vintar.“We can only pray. Drusshas been a warrior formany years, a survivor. Itmeans he is not onlyskillful but lucky.Menahem, you mustjourney to the Dros and
watch for us. Perhaps theattempt will be delayeduntilwearecloser.”“You mentioned a
Drenaiofficer,”saidRektoArbedark.“Who?Why?”“I know not. As I
completed the journey, hewas leaving the house of
Musar. He acted furtively,and this aroused mysuspicions. Musar was inthe loft, and upon thetablebesidehimlayanotewritten in the Nadirtongue. It said, ‘KillDeathwalker.’ That is thename by which Druss is
knowntothetribes.”“Youwere lucky to see
theofficer,”saidRek.“Inafortresscityofthatsizethechances of seeing a singleact of treachery must beamazing.”“Yes,” said Arbedark.
Rek saw the look that
passed between the blondpriestandthealbino.“Istheremoretoitthan
luck?”heasked.“Perhaps,”saidSerbitar.
“We will talk of it soon.For now we are helpless.Menahem will watch thesituation and keep us
informed.Iftheydelaytheattemptfortwomoredays,wemaybeinapositiontohelp.”Rek looked at
Menahem, sitting uprightat the table, eyes closedandbreathingshallowly.“Has he gone?” he
asked.Serbitarnodded.
Druss managed to lookinterested as the speechesworeon.Threetimessincethebanquethadendedtheoldwarriorhadheardhowgrateful were the
townsfolk, burghers,merchants, and lawyersthat he had come amongthem. How it showed upthefaintheartseverreadyto write off the might ofthe Drenai empire. How,when the battle was won—speedily—Dros Delnoch
would attract sightseersfrom all over thecontinent.Hownewverseswould be added toSieben’s saga of theLegend.Thewordsdronedon, the praise growingmore fulsome as thewineflowed.
Some two hundred ofDelnoch’srichestandmostinfluential families werepresent at the great hall,seatedaround themassiveround table normallyreserved for stateoccasions. The banquetwas the brainchild of
Bricklyn, the masterburgher, a short self-obsessedbusinessmanwhohad bent Druss’s earthroughout the meal andwasnowtakingthelibertyof bending it again in thelongestspeechsofar.Druss kept his smile
firmly fixed, nodding hereand therewhere he felt itappropriate. He hadattended many suchfunctions in his life,though they normallyfollowed rather thanprecededabattle.As had been expected,
Druss had opened thespeecheswith a short talkon his life, concluding itwith a stirring promisethattheDroswouldholdifonly the soldiers wouldshow the same courage asthose families sittingaround the table. As had
also been expected, hereceived a tumultuousovation.As was his wont on
these occasions, Drussdrank sparingly, merelysipping the fine Lentrianred placed before him bythestoutinnkeeperMusar,
the banquet’s master ofceremonies.With a start, Druss
realized that Bricklyn hadfinishedhisspeech,andheapplauded vigorously. Theshort gray-haired man satdown at his left, beamingand bowing as the
applausecontinued.“A fine speech,” said
Druss.“Veryfine.”“Thank you. Yours, I
think, was better,” saidBricklyn,pouringhimselfaglass of Vagrian whitefromastonejug.“Nonsense. You are a
bornspeaker.”“It’s strange you should
saythat.IrememberwhenIgavea speech inDrenanfor the wedding of CountMaritin—you know thecount,ofcourse?Anyway,hesaid…”Andsoitwenton,withDrusssmilingand
nodding and Bricklynfinding more and morestories to outline hisqualities.Toward midnight, as
prearranged, Delnar’selderly servant, Arshin,approached Druss andannounced—loudly
enough for Bricklyn tooverhear—that Druss wasneeded on Wall Three tosupervise a newdetachmentofarchersandtheirplacement.Itwasnotbefore time. Throughoutthe evening Druss haddrunk no more than a
single goblet, yethis headswam and his legs shookas he pushed himselfupright. He made hisapologies to the stoutburgher, bowed to theassembly, and marchedfrom the room. In thecorridor outside he
stoppedandleanedagainstapillar.“Areyouall right, sir?”
askedArshin.“The wine was bad,”
muttered Druss. “It’s hitmy stomach worse than aVentrianbreakfast.”“You’d better get to
bed, sir. I will take amessagetoDunMendartoattendyouinyourroom.”“Mendar?Why the hell
shouldheattendme?”“I’msorry,sir.Icouldn’t
mention it in the hall asyou had told me what tosay when I approached
you, but Dun Mendarasked if you could sparehim a moment. He has aseriousproblem,hesaid.”Druss rubbed his eyes
and took several deepbreaths. His belly feltweak, disconnected, andfragile. He toyedwith the
idea of sending Arshin toexplain to the youngKarnak officer but thenrealized word would getaround that Druss wassick. Or worse, that hecouldnotholdhiswine.“Maybe the air will do
megood.Whereishe?”
“Hesaidhewouldmeetyouat the innbyUnicornAlley. Turn right outsidethe keep until you reachthe first market square,then turn left by themiller’s. Walk on throughBaker’s Row until youreach the armory repair
shop, then turn right.That’s Unicorn Alley, andtheinnisatthefarend.”Druss asked theman to
repeat thedirections, thenpushed himself from thewall and staggered outinto the night. The starswere bright, the sky
cloudless.Hesuckedinthecrisp air and felt hisstomachturn.“Damn this,” he said
angrily, and found asecludedspotbythekeep,away from the sentries,where he made himselfvomit.Coldsweatcovered
his brow and his headached as he pushedhimself upright, but atleast his stomach seemedmore settled. He headedtoward the first square,located the miller’s store,and turned left. Alreadythe smell of baking bread
was coming from theovensinBaker’sRow.The smell made him
retch again.Angrynowathis condition, hehammered on the firstdoor he came to. A short,fatbakerinawhitecottonapronopenedthedoorand
peerednervouslyathim.“Yes?”hesaid.“I am Druss. Do you
havealoafready?”“It’s only just past
midnight. I have somebread from yesterday, butif you wait for a while Iwillhavefresh.What’sthe
matter?Youlookgreen.”“Just get me a loaf—
andhurry!”Drussclampedahand to thedoor frame,pulling himself upright.What the hell was wrongwith thatwine?Ormaybeit was the food. He hatedrich food.Toomanyyears
on dried beef and rawvegetables.Hisbodycouldnot take it, but it hadnever reacted like thisbefore.The man trotted back
down the short hallwaybearing a hefty chunk ofblack bread and a small
phial.“Drink this,”he said. “I
have an ulcer, and CalvarSyn says it settles thestomach faster thananything else.” GratefullyDrussdownedthecontentsof the phial. It tasted likecharcoal. Then he tore a
great bite from the bread,sliding gratefully to thefloorwithhisbackagainstthe door. His stomachrebeled, but he gritted histeethandfinishedtheloaf;within a few minutes hewas feeling better. Hishead ached like the devil
and his visionwas a littleblurred, but his legs feltfine and he had strengthenough to bluff his waythrough a short chat withMendar.“My thanks, baker.
WhatdoIoweyou?”Thebakerwasabout to
ask for two copper coinsbut realized in time thatthe old man had nopockets visible and nomoneysack.Hesighedandsaidwhatwasexpected.“No money necessary
from you, Druss.Naturally.”
“Decent of you,” saidDruss.“Youshouldgetbackto
your quarters,” said thebaker. “And get a goodnight’s sleep.” He wasabout to add that Drusswas no youngster anymorebutthoughtbetterof
it.“Notyet.Gottoseeone
ofmyofficers.”“Ah, Mendar,” said the
baker,smiling.“Howdidyouknow?”“I saw him not twenty
minutes since with threeor four others heading
down toward theUnicorn.Wedon’tseemanyofficershere at this time of night.The Unicorn’s a soldier’sdrinkinghouse.”“Yes. Well, thanks
again.I’llbeonmyway.”Druss stood in the
doorway for a few
moments after the bakerhad returned to his oven.If Mendar was with threeor four others, theymightexpect him to join themforadrink,andherackedhis brains to think of areasonforrefusing.Unableto come up with a
convincing excuse, hecursed and started downBaker’sRow.All was darkness now
and silence. The silencejarred him, but his headachedtoohardtoconsiderit.Ahead he could see the
anvil sign of the armoryrepairer gleaming in themoonlight. He stoppedagain,blinkingas thesignshimmered and distorted,andshookhishead.Silence … What was it
aboutthedamnedsilence?He walked on, ill at
ease, loosening Snaga inhersheathmoreasareflexhabit than as a consciousawareness of danger. Heturnedright…Something swished
through the air. Lightexplodedinhiseyesastheclub hit him; he went
down hard and rolled inthe dirt as a dark figuresprang forward. Snagasang through the air,slicing through the man’sthigh, crunching on bonethat splintered and broke,tearing a scream from theassassin. Druss lurched to
his feet as more shapescame from the shadows.His vision blurred, hecould still make out thegleam of steel in themoonlight. Bellowing awar cry, he lungedforward. A sword arcedtowardhim,buthebatted
it aside and drove his axthrough the skull of theswordsman,simultaneouslykickingoutat a secondman.A swordbladecutthroughhisshirt,nicking his chest. Hehurled Snaga and turnedtomeetthethirdman.
ItwasMendar!Druss moved sideways
with arms outstretchedlikeawrestler.Theyoungofficer, sword in hand,advanced confidently.Druss glanced at thesecondman; hewas lyinggroaning on the ground,
his weakening fingersdesperately trying to pullthe ax from his belly.Druss was angry withhimself. He should neverhave hurled the ax—heblameditontheheadacheandsickness.NowMendarleaptandswunghissword,
and Druss jumpedbackward as the silversteel swished by him, aninchfromhisneck.“You can’t back away
much longer, old man!”saidMendar,grinning.“Why are you doing
this?”askedDruss.
“Playing for time?Sorry? You wouldn’tunderstand.”Oncemoreheleaptand
slashed, and once moreDruss jumped clear. Butnowhisbackwasagainstabuilding, and there wasnowheretorun.
Mendar laughed. “Ididn’t realize it would besoeasytokillyou,Druss,”hesaid,andlunged.Drusstwisted,slammedhishandagainst the flat of thesword, then leapt forwardas the weapon sliced theskin over his ribs and
hammered a fist intoMendar’s face. The tallofficerstaggeredbackwithblood pouring from hismouth. A second blowcrashed under his heart,snapping a rib. He wentdown, losing his grip onhissword,buthugefingers
gripped his throat andhauled him upright. Heblinked. The grip relaxedjust enough for him tosqueeze air through hiswindpipe.“Easy, boy? Nothing in
lifeiseasy.”A whisper of sound
camefrombehindhim.Druss grabbed Mendar
and swung him around.Adouble-headed ax cleavedthe officer’s shoulder,lodging against thebreastbone. Druss hurdledthe body and shoulder-charged the assassin ashe
struggled to free hisweapon. The man washurledbackward.AsDrussclambered to his feet, thekiller turned and sprintedoutintoBaker’sRow.Druss cursed and
returned to the dyingofficer.Bloodpouredfrom
the ghastly wound,soaking into the hard-packedearth.“Help me,” said
Mendar.“Please!”“Think yourself lucky,
you whoreson. I wouldhave killed you muchmore slowly. Who was
he?”But Mendar was dead.
DrussretrievedSnagafromthe other dead assassin,thensearched for themanwhose leg he hadwounded.Followingatrailof blood into a narrowalley, he found the man
lyingbackagainstawall,adaggerrammedto thehiltinhisheart,hisfingersstillcurledaboutthehandle.Druss rubbed his eyes,
and his hand came awaysticky. He ran his fingersover his temple. A lumpthe size of an egg, tender
and broken, made himcurseoncemore.Was nothing simple in
theworldanymore?Inhisdayabattlewasa
battle,armyagainstarmy.Pull yourself together,
he told himself. Therehave always been traitors
andassassins.It was just that he had
neverbeenatargetbefore.Suddenlyhe laughedas
he remembered thesilence. The inn wasempty. As he turned intoUnicorn Alley, he shouldhave realized the danger.
Why would five men bewaiting for him aftermidnight in a desertedalley?You old fool, he told
himself. You must begettingsenile.
Musarsataloneinhisloft,
listening to thepigeons asthey ruffled their featherstogreetthenewdawn.Hewas calm now, tranquilalmost, and his largehandsno longer trembled.Hewalkedtothewindow,leaningfaroutoverthesilltogazenorth.Hisoneall-
consuming ambition hadbeen to seeUlric ride intoDros Delnoch and on totherichsouthlands, toseetherise,atlonglast,oftheNadirempire.Now his Drenai wife
and his eight-year-old sonlay below, their sleep
deepeningtowarddeathashesavoredhislastdawn.It had been hard
watching them sip theirpoisoned drinks, listeningto his wife’s amiablechatteraboutherplansfortomorrow. When his sonhadaskedhim ifhecould
go riding with Brentar’sboy, he had said that hecould.He should have
followed his first instinctsand poisoned the oldwarrior, but Dun Mendarhad convinced himotherwise. Suspicion
would then have falleninstantly on themaster ofceremonies. This way wassurer, Mendar hadpromised: drug him andkill him in a darkalleyway.Sosimple!How could one so old
movesoswiftly?
Musarhadfelthecouldbluffitout.HeknewDrusswouldneverrecognizehimasthefifthassassin,forhisfacehadbeenhalf-coveredby a dark scarf. But therisks were too great,maintainedhisNadir lord,Surip. The last message
had congratulated him onhis work over these lasttwelve years and hadconcluded “Peace on you,brother,andyourfamily.”Musar filled a deep
bucket with warm waterfromalargecopperkettle.Then he took a dagger
fromashelfat the rearofthe loft and sharpened itonasmallwhetstone.Therisks were too great?Indeed they were. Musarknew the Nadir hadanother man at Delnoch,more highly placed thanhe. On no account would
hebecompromised.Heplungedhis leftarm
into the bucket, then,holding the dagger firmlywith his right, he severedthe arteries of the wrist.Thewaterchangedcolor.He had been a fool to
marry, he thought, tears
shininginhiseyes.But she had been so
lovely…
HogunandElicaswatchedas men from the legionclearedawaythebodiesofthe assassins. Spectatorslooked on from nearby
windows, calling downquestions, but the legionignoredthem.Elicas tugged at his
smallgoldearringasLebusthe tracker outlined theskirmish. Elicas had neverlost his fascination for thetracker’s skill. On a trail
Lebus could tell one thesex of the horses, the ageof the riders, and damnednear the conversationsaround the camp fires. Itwas a science beyond hisunderstanding.“The old man entered
the alley over there. The
first man was hidden inthe shadows. He struckhim, and Druss fell. Herose fast. See the bloodthere?Anaxcutacrossthethigh.Thenhechargedtheother three, but he musthave thrown his axbecausehebackedawayto
thewallthere.”“Howdidhemanageto
kill Mendar?” askedHogun,whoalreadyknewfrom Druss. But he, too,appreciatedLebus’skill.“That had me puzzled,
sir,” said the tracker. “ButIthinkIhaveit.Therewas
afifthattackerwhostayedback during the struggle.There is some indicationthatDrussandMendarhadceased to fight and werestanding close. The fifthman must have moved inthen. See the heel markthere? That belongs to
Druss. See thedeep roundimprint? I would say heswung Mendar around toblockthefifthman.”“Good work, Lebus,”
saidHogun.“Themensayyou could track a bird inflight,andIbelievethem.”Lebus bowed and
movedaway.“IbegintobelieveDruss
is everything they say heis,” said Elicas.“Astonishing!”“True,” said Hogun,
“butworrying.Tohaveanarmy the size of Ulric’sopposing us is one thing;
traitorsattheDrosisquiteanother. And as forMendar … it is almostbeyondbelief.”“From a good family, I
understand. I have put itaround thatMendar aidedDruss against Nadirinfiltrators. It may work.
Not everyone has Lebus’talent, and anyway, theground will be welltrodden over by fulldaylight.”“The Mendar story is a
good one,” said Hogun.“Butwordwillgetout.”“How is the old man?”
askedElicas.“Tenstitchesinhisside
and four in his head. Hewas asleep when I left.Calvar Syn says it’s amiracle the skull didn’tcrack.”“Will he still judge the
open swords?” asked the
younger man. Hogunmerely raisedaneyebrow.“Yes, I thought he would.That’sashame.”“Why?”askedHogun.“Well, if he hadn’t
judged it,youwouldhavedoneso.AndthenIwouldhave missed the pleasure
ofbeatingyou.”“You conceited pup!”
said Hogun, laughing.“Thedayhasnotyetcomewhenyoucouldbreachmyguard,evenwithawoodensword.”“There’s a first time for
everything.Andyou’renot
getting any younger,Hogun.Why,youmustbeoverthirty.Onefootinthegrave!”“We shall see. A side
bet,perhaps?”“A flagon of red?” said
Elicas.“Done,mylad!Nothing
tastes sweeter than wineanothermanhaspaidfor.”“AsIshallnodoubtfind
out this evening,” retortedElicas.
T14
he marriage was asimpleone,performed
by the Abbot of Swords,Vintar, and witnessed bythe captain and mate ofthe Wastrel. The sea wascalm, the night sky
cloudless. Overhead gullswheeledanddived,a suresignofapproachingland.Antaheim, one of the
Thirty,tallandslender,hisdark features showing hisVagrian descent, suppliedthe ring: an unadornedbandofgold.
Now, as the dawnneared and the othersslept, Rek stood alone attheprow,starlightglintingon his silver headband,wind streaming his hairlikeadarkbanner.The die was cast now.
He was chained by his
own hand to the Delnochcause. Sea spray stung hiseyes,andhesteppedback,sittingdownwithhisbacktotherailandhugginghiscloak tightly about him.All his life he had soughtdirection and an escapefrom fear, an end to
trembling hands and anunsteady heart. Now hisfears had vanished likecandlewaxbeforeaflame.Earl Regnak of Dros
Delnoch, Warden of theNorth.At first Virae had
refused his offer, but
ultimately, he knew, shewouldbeforcedtoaccept.If she had not marriedhim, Abalayn would havesent a husband posthaste.It was inconceivable thatDelnoch should lack aleader and equallyinconceivableforawoman
totakeontheduties.The captain had
sprinkled their headswithseawater in the ritualblessing, but Vintar, aloveroftruth,hadomittedtheblessingoffertilityandreplaced it with the moresimple “Be happy, my
children, now and untiltheendofyourlives.”Druss had escaped the
attempt on his life, GanOrrin had found hisstrength, and the Thirtywere only two days fromDros Purdol and the laststageoftheirjourney.The
winds had been kind, andWastrel was two, maybethree days ahead ofschedule.Rek studied the stars
and remembered thesightless seer and hispropheticverse.“The earl and the
legendwill be together atthe wall, and men shalldream, andmen shall die,butshallthefortressfall?”In his mind’s eye Rek
pictured Virae as she hadbeenwhenhehadleftheralmost an hour ago, herlighthairtangleduponthe
pillow, her eyes closed,and her face peaceful inrest. He had wanted totouchher,topullhercloseand feel her arms abouthim. Instead he hadcovered her gently with ablanket, dressed, andquietly climbed to the
deck. Away to starboardhecouldhearthedolphins’ghostlymusic.Now he pulled himself
uprightandreturnedtohiscabin. Once more Viraehad kicked away theblanket. Rek undressedslowly and eased himself
downbesideher.And this time he
touchedher.Amidships, the leaders
oftheThirtyfinishedtheirprayers and broke breadtogether, which Vintarblessed. They ate insilence,breaking thebond
ofunitytoenjoytheirownthoughts. At last Serbitarleaned back and signaledthe opening. Their mindsblendedtogether.“The old man is a
fearsome warrior,” saidMenahem.“Butheisnostrategist,”
saidSerbitar. “HismethodofholdingtheDroswillbeto man the walls and dobattleuntilaconclusionisreached.”“There is little choice,”
said Menahem. “We willoffernootheroption.”“Thatistrue.WhatIam
saying is that Druss willmerelypackthewallswithmen, which is not aserviceable idea. He hasten thousandmen, and todefend efficiently he willbe able to use only seventhousand at any giventime.Theotherwallsmust
be manned, essentialservices run, messengersassigned. There must alsobeafloatingforcereadytooffer instant aid to anyweakspot.“Our strength must be
to achieve maximumefficiency with total
economy of effort.Withdrawals must bemeticulously timed. Everyofficer must be not onlyaware but totally sure ofhisrole.”“And we must,” said
Arbedark, “develop anaggressive attitude to
defense. We have seenourselves that Ulric isstripping whole forests inordertobuildhisballistaeandsiegetowers.Wemusthave inflammables, alsocontainersforthem.”Foroveranhour,asthe
dawnbreasted the eastern
horizon, the leaders setabout their plans:eliminating some ideas,refining and expandingothers.Finally Serbitar called
on them to join hands.Arbedark, Menahem, andVintar relaxed their
control,driftingdownintothe darkness, as Serbitardrewtheirpowertohim.“Druss! Druss!” he
pulsed, his mind soaringacrosstheocean,pastDrosPurdol, the port fortress,on along the Delnochrange past the Sathuli
settlements, over the vastSentran Plain—faster andfasterheflew.Druss awoke with a
start, blue eyes scanningtheroom,nostrilsflaredtoscentdangerintheair.Heshook his head. Someonewas saying his name, but
there was no sound.Swiftly he made the signoftheclawoverhisheart.Stillsomeonecalledhim.Coldsweatappearedon
hisbrow.He reached across the
bed,snatchingSnagafromthechairbythewall.
“Listen to me, Druss,”pleadedthevoice.“Get out of my head,
you whoreson!” bellowedthe old man, rolling fromthebed.“Iamof theThirty.We
are traveling to DrosDelnochtoaidyou.Listen
tome!”“Getoutofmyhead!”Serbitar had no choice,
for the pain wasincredible.Hereleasedtheold warrior and returnedtotheship.Druss staggered to his
feet, fell, and rose again.
The door opened, andCalvar Syn moved swiftlytohim.“Itoldyounottogetup
beforenoon,”hesnapped.“Voices,” said Druss.
“Voices … inside myhead!”“Lie down. Now listen.
You are the captain, andyou expect men to obeyyou.That’swhatdisciplineisabout.Iamthesurgeon,and I expect to be obeyedby my patients. Now tellmeaboutthevoices.”Druss laid his head on
the pillow and closed his
eyes. His head achedabominably, and hisstomach was still queasy.“Therewasonlyonevoice.It said my name. Then itsaiditwasfromtheThirtyandthattheywerecomingtoaidus.”“Isthatall?”
“Yes.Whatishappeningto me, Calvar? I’ve neverhad this before from ablowonthehead.”“It could be the blow;
concussioncancausesomevery strange effects,including seeing visionsand hearing voices. But
they rarely last. Take myadvice, Druss. The worstthing you can do at themomentisgetoverexcited.You couldblackout…orworse. Blows to the headcan be fatal, even after aperiod of several days. Iwantyoutorestandrelax,
and if the voice comesagain, listen to it, evenreply to it. But do notbecome alarmed.Understand?”“Of course I
understand,”saidDruss.“Idon’t normally panic,Doctor, but some things I
donotlike.”“Iknow that,Druss.Do
you need something tohelpyousleepnow?”“No.Wakemeat noon.
Ihavetojudgeacontestofswordsmanship.And don’tfret,” he said, seeing thegleamofannoyanceinthe
surgeon’sonegoodeye.“Ishallnotgetexcited,andIwill come straight back tobedafterward.”Outside the room
Hogun and Orrin waited.Calvar Syn joined them,signaled for silence, andbeckonedthemtoanearby
office.“I’mnothappy,”hetold
them. “He’s hearingvoices, and believe me,thatisnotagoodsign.Buthe’sstrongasabull.”“Is he in any danger?”
askedHogun.“It’s hard to say. This
morning I didn’t think so.But he has been under alot of strain recently, andthat may not help hiscondition.Andalthough itis easy to forget, he is nolongerayoungman.”“What about the
voices?”saidOrrin.“Could
hegomad?”“I think I would bet
against that,” repliedCalvar. “He said it was amessage from the Thirty.EarlDelnartoldmehehadsent Virae to themwith amessage, and it could bethat they have a speaker
among them. Or it couldbe someone of Ulric’s; healso has speakers amonghis shamans. I have toldDrusstorelaxandlistentoany future voices andreportthemtome.”“That one old man is
vital to us,” said Orrin
softly. “Doeverythingyoucan,Calvar. Itwouldbeahammerblowtomorale ifanything happened tohim.”“Do you think I don’t
know that?” snapped thesurgeon.
The banquet to celebratethe open swords was araucousaffair.Allwhohadreached the last hundredwere invited; officers andenlisted men were seatedside by side, swappingjests, tales, and tall, tallstories.
Gilad was seatedbetween Bar Britan, whohad beaten him soundly,andDunPinar,whohadinturn vanquished Britan.Theblack-beardedBarwascursing Pinar good-humoredly andcomplaining that the
latter’s wooden swordlacked the balance of hisowncavalrysaber.“I’m surprised you
didn’tasktobeallowedtofight on horseback,” saidPinar.“But I did,” protested
Britan, “and they offered
me the target pony.” Thethree men burst intolaughter, which othersjoined as the joke spreadaround the table. Thetarget pony was a saddletied to a moving rail andpulled by ropes. It wasused for archery practice
andjousting.As the wine flowed,
Gilad relaxed. He hadseriously consideredmissing the banquet,fearing that hisbackground would leavehim ill at ease with theofficer class. He had
agreedtocomeonlywhenthemen of his group hadlobbied him, pointing outthat he was the onlymember of Karnak whohad reached the lasthundred.Nowhewasgladhe had been persuaded.BarBritanwasadry,witty
companion, while Pinar,despite his breeding—orperhaps because of it—made Gilad feel amongfriends.At the far end of the
tablesatDruss,flankedbyHogun and Orrin, whilebesidethemsatthearcher
leader from Skultik. Giladknew nothing about theman, save that he hadbrought six hundredbowmentotheDros.Hogun, in full legion
dress armor of silverbreastplate edged withebonyandblackandsilver
mail shirt, stared at thesilver sword lying on thetablebeforeDruss.The final had been
watchedbymorethanfivethousand soldiers asHogun and Orrin hadtaken their places. Thefirst strike had been
Hogun’s, a neat parry andriposteaftera four-minuteduel.ThesecondhadbeenOrrin’s,followingafeinttothe head. Hogun hadblocked swiftly, but asubtle twist of the wristhad sent his opponent’swooden blade down to
touch Hogun’s side. Aftersome twenty minutesHogun led by two strikesto one, one strike fromvictory.During the first break
Druss strolled to whereHogunandhissecondssatdrinking watered wine in
theshadeofWallOne.“Nicework,”saidDruss.
“He’sgood,though.”“Yes,” said Hogun,
wiping the sweat fromhisbrow with a white towel.“Butheisnotasstrongontheright.”“True.Butyouareslow
againstthelegcut.”“Alancer’smainfault.It
comes from too muchwork in the saddle,” saidHogun.“HeisshorterthanI, which gives him anadvantageinthatrespect.”“True.IthasdoneOrrin
goodtoreachthefinal.His
cheers outnumber yours, Ithink.”“Yes, but that will not
disturbme,”saidHogun.“I hope it does not,”
said Druss. “Still, nothingcouldbebetter formoralethan seeing the fortressgan perform so well.”
Hogunglancedup,holdingDruss’s gaze, then the oldwarrior smiledandmovedbacktohisjudge’sseat.“Whatwasthatabout?”
asked Elicas, walkingbehind Hogun andkneading the muscles ofhis neck and shoulder.
“Encouragingwords?”“Yes,” said Hogun. “Do
someworkontheforearm,will you. The muscles areknottedthere.”The young general
grunted as Elicas probedthefleshwithhispowerfulthumbs.Was Druss asking
him to lose? Surely not.Andyet…Itwoulddonoharmfor
Orrin to win the silverswordandwouldcertainlyincrease his growingstandingwiththetroops.“What are you
thinking?”askedElicas.
“I’m thinking that he’sweakontheright.”“You will take him,
Hogun,” said the youngofficer. “Try that viciousparry-riposte you used onme.”At two strikes even
Hogun’s wooden blade
snapped. Orrin steppedback, allowing areplacement, and offeredhis opponent a swiftpractice with the newweapon. Hogun wasunhappy with the balanceand changed the swordagain. He needed time to
think.HadDrusssuggestedthathelose?“You’re not
concentrating,” said Elicassternly.“What’sthematterwithyou?Thelegionhasalotofwagestiedupinthistourney.”“Iknow.”
His mind cleared. Nomatterwhatthereason,hecouldnotfighttolose.He threweverythinghe
could into the last attack,blocked a backhandsweep, and lunged. Justbefore his blade thuddedagainst Orrin’s belly,
however, the gan’s swordtappedhisneck.Orrinhadread the move and luredhim in. In real combatboth men would havedied,butthiswasnotrealcombat and Orrin hadwon. The two men shookhands as the cheering
soldiersswarmedforward.“That’s my money
gone,” said Elicas. “Still,thereisabrightside.”“What’s that?” said
Hogun, rubbing at hisburningforearm.“Icannotaffordtosettle
ourownbet.Youwillhave
to stand for the wine. It’sthe least you can do,Hogun, after letting downthelegion!”The banquet lifted
Hogun’s spirits, and thespeeches from Bar Britanon behalf of the soldiersand Dun Pinar for the
officers were witty andshort; the food was good,thewineandaleplentiful,and the camaraderiereassuring. It ishardly thesame Dros, thoughtHogun.Outsideattheportcullis
gates Bregan stood sentry
dutywitha tallyoungculfrom Group Fire. Bregandidnotknowhisnameandcould not ask, sincesentrieswere forbidden totalk on duty. A strangerule, thought Bregan, buttheretobeobeyed.The night was chilly,
but he barely noticed it.His thoughtswereback inthe village with Lotis andthe children. Sybad hadreceived a letter that day,and all was well. Legan,Bregan’s five-year-old son,wasmentioned. It seemedthatwhenhehadclimbed
a tall elm and could notget down, he had criedand called for his father.BreganhadaskedSybadtowritea fewwords forhiminhisnextletterhome.Hehad wanted him to sayhow much he loved andmissed them all, but he
couldnot bringhimself toask Sybad to pen suchendearments. Instead, heaskedhim to tellLegan tobe a good boy and obeyhis mother. Sybad tooknotesfromallthevillagersand spent the earlyevening composing the
letter,whichwassealedinwax and delivered to themail room. A rider wouldcarry it south with otherletters and armydispatchesforDrenan.Lotis would have
banked the fire by nowand doused the lamps,
Breganthought.Shewouldbelyingintheirrush-filledbed, probably asleep.Legan would be asleepbeside her, he knew, forLotis always found itdifficult to sleep alonewhenBreganwasaway.“You will stop the
savages, Daddy, won’tyou?”“Yes,” Bregan had told
him. “But they probablywon’t come. Thepoliticianswill sort it out,just like they have alwaysdonebefore.”“Will you be home
soon?”“I’llbeback forharvest
supper.”“Promise?”“Ipromise.”
The banquet over, Drussinvited Orrin, Hogun,Elicas,andBowmantothe
earl’s study above thegreat hall. The servantArshinbroughtthemwine,and Druss introduced theoutlaw to the fortressleaders.Orrinshookhandscoolly, his eyes showinghis distaste. For twoyearshe had sent patrols into
Skultik with orders tocatchandhangtheoutlawleader. Hogun was lessconcerned with Bowman’spedigree and moreinterested in the skills theoutlawscouldbring.Elicashad no preconceivedopinion but instinctively
likedtheblondarcher.Once seated, Bowman
clearedhisthroatandtoldthemthesizeof theNadirhorde gathered atGulgothir.“How do you come by
this intelligence?” askedOrrin.
“Three days agowe … met … sometravelers in Skultik. TheywerejourneyingfromDrosPurdol to Segril and hadcome across the northerndesert.Theywerewaylaidnear Gulgothir and takeninto the city, where they
stayed for four days.BecausetheywereVagrianmerchants, they weretreated civilly butquestioned by a NadirofficercalledSurip.Oneofthem is a former Vagrianofficer, and he made theestimateoftheirstrength.”
“But half a million?”said Orrin. “I thought thefigurewasexaggerated.”“Underplayed if
anything,” said Bowman.“Outlying tribes were stillcominginwhenheleft.I’dsay you will have quite abattleonyourhands.”
“I don’t wish to bepedantic,” said Hogun,“but do you not meanwehave a battle on ourhands?”Bowman glanced at
Druss. “Have you not toldthem, old horse? No? Ah,what a deliciously
embarrassing moment, tobesure.”“Told us what?” asked
Orrin.“That they are
mercenaries,” said Drussuneasily. “They stay onlyuntilthefallofWallThree.Ithasbeenagreed.”
“And for this … thispitiful aid they expectpardons!” shouted Orrin,rising to his feet. “I willseethemswingfirst.”“After Wall Three we
will have less need ofarchers,” said Hoguncalmly.“Thereisnokilling
ground.”“We need archers,
Orrin,” said Druss. “Weneedthembadly.Andthismanhassixhundredofthefinest.Weknowwallswillfall, and we will needevery shaft. The posterngates will be sealed by
then. I don’t like thissituation,either,butneedsmust … Better to havecover for the first threewallsthantohavenoneatall.Doyouagree?”“And if I don’t?” said
thegan,stillangry.“ThenIshallsendthem
away,” said Druss. Hogunbegan an angry outburstbutwassilencedbyawaveof Druss’s hand. “You arethe gan, Orrin. It is yourdecision.”Orrin sat down,
breathing deeply. He hadmade many mistakes
before Druss arrived; heknew that now. Thissituation angered himdeeply, but he had nochoice but to back theaxman,andDrussknewit,too. The two menexchanged glances andsmiled.
“They shall stay,” saidOrrin.“A wise decision,” said
Bowman. “How soon willthe Nadir arrive, do youthink?”“Too damned soon,”
muttered Druss.“Sometimewithinthenext
three weeks, according toourscouts.Ulriclostason,which has given us a fewmoredays.Butit’sstillnotenough.”For some time themen
discussed the manyproblems facing thedefenders.FinallyBowman
spoke,thistimehesitantly.“Lookhere,Druss,there
issomethingIfeelIshouldmention, but I don’t wantto be thought … strange.I’ve been toying with theidea of not mentioning it,but…”“Speak on, laddie.
You’re amongfriends…mostly.”“I had a strange dream
last night, and youappeared in it. I wouldhave dismissed it, butseeingyoutodaymademethink again. I dreamed Iwas woken from a deep
sleepbyawarriorinsilverarmor. I could see rightthroughhim,asifhewereaghost.Hetoldmethathehadbeentryingtocontactyou, but without success.Whenhespoke,itwaslikea voice in my mind. Hesaid that his name was
Serbitar and that he wastraveling with his friendsandawomancalledVirae.“He said it was
important for me to tellyou to collectinflammables andcontainers, sinceUlric hasbuilt great siege towers.
He also suggested firegullies across the spacesbetweenwalls.Inmymindhe showedme a vision ofyou being attacked. Hetoldmeaname:Musar.“Does any of it make
anysense?”For a moment no one
spoke, although Drussseemedhugelyrelieved.“Indeed it does, laddie.
Indeeditdoes!”Hogun poured a fresh
glass of Lentrian andpassedittoBowman.“What did this warrior
looklike?”heasked.
“Tall, slender. I thinkhishairwaswhite,thoughhewasyoung.”“It is Serbitar,” said
Hogun. “The vision is atrueone.”“Youknowhim?”asked
Druss.“Ofhimonly.He is the
son of Earl Drada of DrosSegril. It is said that theboy was fey and had ademon; he could readmen’s thoughts. He is analbino, and as you know,the Vagrians consider thisanillomen.Hewassenttothe temple of the Thirty,
south of Drenan,when hewas about thirteen. It isalso said that his fathertriedtosmotherhimwhenhewasababebutthatthechild sensed him comingand hid outside hisbedroom window. These,ofcourse,arebutstories.”
“Well, his talents havegrown, it seems,” saidDruss. “But I don’t give adamn.He’llbeusefulhere,especially if he can readUlric’smind.”
F15
or ten days workprogressed.Firegullies
ten yards wide were dugfour feet deep across theopen ground betweenWalls One and Two andagainbetweenWallsThree
and Four. These werefilledwithbrushwoodandsmall timber, while vatswere placed along eachgully, ready to pour oilontothedrywood.Bowman’s archers
hammeredwhite stakes intheopengroundatvarious
points between walls andalso out on the plainbefore the fortress. Eachline of stakes representedsixty paces, and his menpracticedforseveralhourseach day, black clouds ofshaftsslicingtheairaboveeachrowasthecommands
wereshouted.Target dummies were
setupontheplain,onlytobe splintered by scores ofarrows,evenat120paces.The skills of the Skultikarcherswereformidable.Hogun rehearsed
withdrawals, timing the
menbydrumbeatsastheydashed from thebattlements, across theplank bridges of the firegulliestoscaletheropestothe next wall. Each daytheybecamemoreswift.Minor points began to
occupy more time as the
overall fitness andreadiness of the troopsincreased.“When do we add the
oil?”HogunaskedDrussasthementookanafternoonbreak.“Between Walls One
andTwo,itwillhavetobe
filled on the day of thefirst attack. Until the firstday we will have no realidea of howwell themenwill stand up to theassault.”“There remains the
problem,”addedOrrin,“ofwho lights the gullies and
when. For example, if thewallisbreached,wecouldhave Nadir tribesmenracing side by side withour own men. No easydecision to throw in alightedtorch.”“Andifwegivementhe
duty,” said Hogun, “what
happens if they are killedonthewall?”“Wewillhavetohavea
torch duty,” said Druss.“And the decision will berelayed by a bugler fromWall Two. An officer ofcool nervewill be neededto judge the issue. When
thebuglesounds,thegullygoes up nomatter who isleftbehind.”Matters such as these
occupied Druss more andmore,untilhisheadswamwith plans, ideas,stratagems, and ploys.Several times during such
discussions the old man’stemperflaredandhishugefists hammered the table,or else he strode aroundthe room like a cagedbear.“I’m a soldier, not a
damned planner,” hewould announce, and the
meeting would beadjournedforanhour.Combustibles were
carted in from outlyingvillages, a seeminglyendless number ofdispatches arrived fromDrenan and Abalayn’spanicked government, and
a multitude of smallproblems—concerningdelayedmail,newrecruits,personal worries, andsquabbles between groups—threatened tooverwhelmthethreemen.One officer complained
that the latrine area of
WallOnewasindangerofcausing a health hazard,since it was not ofregulation depth andlackedanadequatecesspit.Druss set a working
partytoenlargethearea.Abalayn himself
demanded a complete
strategic appraisal of allDros Delnoch’s defenses,which Druss refused sincethe information could beleaked to Nadirsympathizers. This in turnbrought a swift rebukefrom Drenan and a firmrequest for an apology.
Orrin penned this,claimingitwouldkeepthepoliticiansofftheirbacks.Then Woundweaver
sent a requisition for thelegion’s mounts, claimingthatsincetheorderwastohold to the last man, thehorses would be of little
use at Delnoch. Heallowed that twentyshould be retained fordispatch purposes. This soenraged Hogun that hewas unapproachable fordays.Added to this, the
burghers had begun to
complainabout the rowdybehavior of the troops incivilian areas. All in allDruss was beginning tofeelattheendofhistetherand had begun to voiceopenly his desire that theNadirwouldarriveandthedevil with the
consequences!Three days later his
wishwaspartlyanswered.A Nadir troop, under a
flag of truce, galloped infrom the north. Wordspread like wildfire, andby the time it reachedDruss in the main hall of
the keep, an air of panicwasabroadinthetown.The Nadir dismounted
intheshadowofthegreatgatesandwaited.Theydidnotspeak.Fromtheirpacksaddles they took driedmeat andwater sacks andsat together, eating and
waiting.By the time Druss
arrived with Orrin andHogun, they hadcompleted their meal.Drussbelloweddownfromthebattlements.“What is your
message?”
“Openthegates!”calledback the Nadir officer, ashort barrel-chested man,bowleggedandpowerful.“Are you the
Deathwalker?” called theman.“Yes.”“Youareoldand fat. It
pleasesme.”“Good! Remember that
when next we meet, for Ihave marked you,loudmouth, and my axknows the name of yourspirit. Now, what is yourmessage?”“The Lord Ulric, Prince
of the North, bids me totell you that he will beridingtoDrenantodiscussan alliance with Abalayn,Lord of the Drenai. Hewishes it known that heexpects the gates of DrosDelnochtobeopentohim;that being so, he
guaranteestherewillbenoharmtoanyman,woman,or child, soldier orotherwise,within the city.It is the Lord Ulric’s wishthat the Drenai and theNadir become as onenation.Heoffersthegiftoffriendship.”
“Tell the Lord Ulric,”said Druss, “that he iswelcometoridetoDrenanat any time.Wewill evenallow an escort of ahundredwarriors,asbefitsaprinceofthenorth.”“The Lord Ulric allows
no conditions,” said the
officer.“These are my
conditions—they shall notchange,”saidDruss.“Then I have a second
message. Should thewallsbecontestedandthegatesclosed, the Lord Ulricwishesitknownthatevery
second defender takenalivewillbeslain, thatallthe women will be soldinto slavery, and that oneinthreeofallcitizenswilllosehisrighthand.”“Before that can
happen, laddie, the LordUlrichastotaketheDros.
Now you give him thismessage from Druss theDeathwalker: In the norththe mountains maytrembleashebreakswind,butthisisDrenailand,andasfarasIamconcernedheisapotbelliedsavagewhocouldn’tpickhisownnose
withoutaDrenaimap.“Do you think you can
remember that, laddie. OrshallIcarveitonyourassinlargeletters?”
“Inspiring as your wordswere,Druss,”saidOrrin,“Imust tell you that my
stomach turned over asyouspokethem.Ulricwillbefurious.”“Would that he were,”
said Druss bitterly as theNadir troop galloped backto thenorth. “If thatwerethecase,hewouldtrulybejust a potbellied savage.
No!Hewill laugh… loudandlong.”“Whyshouldhe?”asked
Hogun.“Because he has no
choice. He has beeninsulted and should loseface.When he laughs, themenwilllaughwithhim.”
“Itwasaprettyofferhemade,” said Orrin as thethree men made the longwalk back to the keep.“Word will spread. Talkswith Abalayn … Oneempire of Drenai andNadir…Clever!”“Clever and true,” said
Hogun.“Weknowfromhisrecordthathemeans it. Ifwe surrender, he willmarch through and harmno one. Threats of deathcan be taken and resisted;offersoflifearehorsesofadifferent color. I wonderhow long itwillbebefore
the burghers demandanotheraudience.”“Beforedusk,”predicted
Druss.Backon thewallsGilad
and Bregan watched thedust from the Nadirhorsemendwindleintothedistance.
“Whatdidhemean,Gil,aboutridingtoDrenanfordiscussionswithAbalayn?”“Hemeant hewants us
tolethisarmythrough.”“Oh. They didn’t look
terribly fierce, did they? Imean, they seem quiteordinary, really, save that
theywearfurs.”“Yes, they are
ordinary,” said Gilad,removing his helm andcombing his hair with hisfingers, allowing the coolbreeze to get to his head.“Very ordinary. Exceptthat they live for war.
Fighting comes asnaturally to them asfarming does to you. Orme,” he added as anafterthought,knowing thistobeuntrue.“I wonder why,” said
Bregan.“Ithasnevermademuchsensetome.Imean,
I understand why somemen become soldiers: toprotect the nation and allthat. But a whole race ofpeoplelivingtobesoldiersseems … unhealthy. Doesthatsoundright?”Gilad laughed. “Indeed
it sounds right. But the
northern steppes makepoor farmland. Mainlythey breed goats andponies. Any luxuries theydesire, they must steal.Now to theNadir, soDunPinar told me at thebanquet, the word for‘stranger’ is the same as
the word for ‘enemy.’Anyone not of the tribe issimply there to be killedandstrippedofgoods.Itisa way of life. Smallertribes are wiped out bylargertribes.Ulricchangedthe pattern; byamalgamating beaten
tribes into his own, hegrew more and morepowerful. He controls allthe northern kingdomsnowandmanytotheeast.Two years ago he tookManea,theseakingdom.”“I heard about that,”
saidBregan.“ButIthought
he had withdrawn aftermaking a treaty with theking.”“Dun Pinar says the
king agreed to be Ulric’svassal and Ulric holds theking’s son hostage. Thenationishis.”“He must be a pretty
clever man,” said Bregan.“But what would he do ifhe ever conquered thewhole world? I mean,what good is it? I wouldlike a bigger farm and ahouse with several floors.ThatIcanunderstand.Butwhatwould I dowith ten
farms?Orahundred?”“Youwouldberichand
powerful. Then you couldtell your tenant farmerswhat to do, and theywouldallbowasyourodepastinyourfinecarriage.”“That doesn’t appeal to
me, not at all,” said
Bregan.“Well, it does to me,”
said Gilad. “I’ve alwayshateditwhenIhadtotugthe forelock for somepassingnoblemanonatallhorse. The way they lookat you, despising youbecause you work a
smallholding;payingmoremoneyfortheirhandmadeboots than I canearn inayear of slaving. No, Iwouldn’t mind being rich,so pig-awful rich that nomancouldeverlookdownonmeagain.”Gilad turned his face
awaytostareoutovertheplains, his anger fierce,almosttangible.“Would you look down
on people, then, Gil?Would you despise mebecause I wanted toremainafarmer?”“Of course not. A man
should be free to dowhathewantstodoaslongasitdoesn’thurtothers.”“Maybethat’swhyUlric
wants to controleverything. Maybe he issick of everyone lookingdownontheNadir.”Gilad turned back to
Bregan,andhisangerdiedwithinhim.“Do you know, Breg,
that’s justwhatPinar saidwhen I asked him if hehatedUlric forwanting tosmashtheDrenai.Hesaid,‘Ulricisn’ttryingtosmashtheDrenaibuttoraisethe
Nadir.’ I think Pinaradmireshim.”“The man I admire is
Orrin,” said Bregan. “Itmust have taken greatcourage to come out andtrain with the men as hehasdone.Especiallybeingas unpopular as hewas. I
was so pleased when hewonbacktheswords.”“Onlybecauseyouwon
five silver pieces on him,”Giladpointedout.“That’s not fair, Gil! I
backed him because hewasKarnak;Ibackedyou,too.”
“You backed me for aquartercopperandhimfora half silver, according toDrebus, who took yourbet.”Bregan tappedhisnose,
smiling.“Ah,butthenyoudon’t pay the same pricefor a goat as for a horse.
Butthethoughtwasthere.After all, I knew youcouldn’twin.”“I damn near had that
BarBritan.Itwasajudge’sdecisionatthelast.”“True,” said Bregan.
“But you would neverhave beaten Pinar or that
fellow with the earringfromthelegion.Butwhat’seven more to the point,you never could havebeatenOrrin.I’veseenyoubothfence.”“Such judgment!” said
Gilad. “It’s small wondertomethatyoudidn’tenter
yourself, so great is yourknowledge.”“I don’t have to fly in
ordertoknowthattheskyis blue,” said Bregan.“Anyway, who did youback?”“GanHogun.”“Who else?Drebus said
youhadplaced twobets,”saidBreganinnocently.“You know very well.
Drebus would have toldyou.”“Ididn’tthinktoask.”“Liar!Well,Idon’tcare.
I backed myself to reachthelastfifty.”
“And you were soclose,” said Bregan. “Onlyonestrikeinit.”“One lucky blow and I
couldhavewonamonth’swages.”“Such is life,” said
Bregan. “Maybe next yearyou can come back and
haveanothertry.”“And maybe corn will
grow on the backs ofcamels!”saidGilad.Back at the keep Druss
was struggling to keephistemper as the city eldersargued back and forthabout the Nadir offer.
Word had spread to themwith bewildering speed,and Druss had barelymanagedtoeatachunkofbreadand cheesebefore amessenger from Orrininformed him that theelders had called ameeting.
It was a Drenai rule,long established, thatexceptintimeofbattletheelders had a democraticright to see the city lordand debate matters ofimportance. Neither OrrinnorDrusscouldrefuse.Noone could argue that
Ulric’s ultimatum wasunimportant.Sixmen constituted the
city elders, an electedbody thateffectively ruledall trade within the city.The master burgher andchief elder was Bricklyn,whohadentertainedDruss
so royally on the night ofthe assassination attempt.Malphar, Backda, Shinell,and Alphus were allmerchants, while Bericwasanobleman,adistantcousin of Earl Delnar andhighly placed in city life.Onlylackofarealfortune
kept him at Delnoch andaway from Drenan, whichheloved.Shinell, a fat, oily silk
merchant, was the maincause of Druss’s anger.“But surely we have aright to discuss Ulric’stermsandmustbeallowed
a say inwhether they areaccepted or rejected,” hesaid again. “It is of vitalinterest to the city, afterall,andbyrightoflawourvotemustcarry.”“Youknowfullwell,my
dear Shinell,” said Orrinsmoothly, “that the city
elders have full rights todiscuss all civil matters.This situation hardly fallswithin that category.Nevertheless,yourpointofviewisnoted.”Malphar, a red-faced
wine dealer of Lentrianstock, interrupted Shinell
as he began his protest.“We are getting nowherewith this talkof rules andprecedent. The factremains that we arevirtuallyatwar.Isitawarwe can win?” His greeneyes scanned the facesaround him, and Druss
tapped his fingers on thetabletop,theonlyoutwardsignofhistensions.“Isitawar we can carry longenough to force anhonorable peace? I don’tthink it is,” continuedMalphar. “It is allnonsense.Abalaynhasrun
the army down until it isonly a tenth of the size itwas a few years ago. Thenavyhasbeenhalved.ThisDros was last under siegetwocenturiesago,whenitalmostfell.Yetourrecordstell us that we had fortythousand warriors in the
field.”“Get on with it, man!
Make your point,” saidDruss.“I shall, but spare me
your harsh looks, Druss. Iamnocoward.What Iamsayingisthis:Ifwecannotholdandcannotwin,what
is the point of thisdefense?”Orrin glanced at Druss,
andtheoldwarriorleanedforward.“Thepointis,”hesaid,“thatyoudon’tknowwhether you’ve lost—untilyou’ve lost. Anything canhappen: Ulric could suffer
a stroke; plague could hittheNadir forces.We havetotrytohold.”“Whataboutthewomen
and children?” askedBackda, a skull-facedlawyer and propertyowner.“What about them?”
said Druss. “They canleaveatanytime.”“To go where, pray?
Andwithwhatmonies?”“Ye gods!” thundered
Druss, surging to his feet.“Whatwillyoubewantingmetodonext?Wheretheygo—if they do—how they
go—is their concern andyours. I am a soldier, andmyjobistofightandkill.And believeme, I do thatvery well. We have beenorderedtofighttothelast,andthatwewilldo.“Now, I may not know
very much about law and
allthelittlenicetiesofcitypolitics, but I do knowthis:Anymanwho speaksof surrender during thecomingsiegeisatraitor.“And I will see him
hang.”“Well said, Druss,”
offered Beric, a tail
middle-aged man withshoulder-length gray hair.“I couldn’t have put itbetter myself. Verystirring.” He smiled asDruss sank back to hisseat. “There is one point,though. You say you havebeen asked to fight to the
end.Thatordercanalwaysbe changed; politics beingwhat it is, the question ofexpediency comes into it.At the moment it isexpedient for Abalayn toaskus to prepare forwar.He may feel it gives himgreater bargaining power
with Ulric. Ultimately,though, he must considersurrender. Facts are facts:The tribeshaveconqueredevery nation they haveattacked, and Ulric is ageneralabovecomparison.“I suggest we write to
Abalayn and urge him to
reconsiderthiswar.”Orrin shot Druss a
warningglance.“Very well put, Beric,”
he said. “Obviously Drussand I, as loyal militarymen,must vote against it;however,feelfreetowriteand Iwill see the petition
is forwardedwith the firstavailablerider.”“Thankyou,Orrin.That
is very civilized of you,”said Beric. “Now can wemove on to the subject ofthedemolishedhomes?”
Ulric sat before the
brazier, a sheepskin cloakdraped over his nakedtorso.Beforehimsquattedthe skeletal figure of hisshaman,NostaKhan.“What do you mean?”
Ulricaskedhim.“As I said, I can no
longer travel over the
fortress.There is a barriertomypower.Lastnight,asI floated aboveDeathwalker, I felt a forcelike a storm wind. Itpushed me back beyondtheouterwall.”“Andyousawnothing?”“No. But I
sensed…felt…”“Speak!”“It is difficult. In my
mind I could feel the seaandaslendership.Itwasafragment only. Also therewas a mystic with whitehair. I have puzzled longover this. I believe
Deathwalker has calleduponawhitetemple.”“And their power is
greater than yours?” saidUlric.“Merely different,”
hedgedtheshaman.“If they are coming by
sea, then they will make
for Dros Purdol,” saidUlric, staring into theglimmering coals. “Seekthemout.”The shaman closed his
eyes, freed the chains ofhis spirit, and soared freeof his body. Formless, heraced high above the
plain,overhillsandrivers,mountains and streams,skirtingtheDelnochrangeuntil at last the sea laybelow him, shimmeringbeneath the stars. Far heroved before sightingWastrel, picking out thetiny glint of her aft
lantern.Swiftlyhedroppedfrom
the sky to hover by themast.Bytheportrailstooda man and a woman.Gently he probed theirminds, then drifted downthrough thewooden deck,beyondthehold,andonto
thecabins.Thesehecouldnot enter, however. Aslightlyas thewhisperofaseabreeze,hetouchedtheedge of the invisiblebarrier. Ithardenedbeforehim, and he recoiled. Hefloatedtothedeck,closingon the mariner at the
stern, smiled, then racedback toward the waitingNadirwarlord.Nosta Khan’s body
trembled, and his eyesopened.“Well?”askedUlric.“Ifoundthem.”“Can you destroy
them?”“I believe so. I must
gathermyacolytes.”On Wastrel Vintar rose
from his bed, his eyestroubled,hisminduneasy.Hestretched.“Youfeltit,too,”pulsed
Serbitar,swinginghislong
legs clear of the secondbed.“Yes. We must be
wary.”“He did not try to
breach the shield,” saidSerbitar. “Was that a signof weakness orconfidence?”
“I don’t know,”answeredtheabbot.Abovethematthestern
the second mate rubbedhis tired eyes, slipped alooped rope over thewheel, and transferred hisgaze to the stars. He hadalways been fascinated by
these flickering, far-offcandles.Tonighttheywerebrighter than usual, likegems strewn on a velvetcloak. A priest had oncetold him they were holesin the universe throughwhich the bright eyes ofthe gods gazed down on
thepeoplesoftheearth.Itwas pretty nonsense, buthehadenjoyedlistening.Suddenly he shivered.
Turning,heliftedhiscloakfromtheaftrailandslungit about his shoulders. Herubbedhishands.Floating behind him,
the spirit of Nosta Khanlifted its hands, focusingpower upon the longfingers. Talons grew,glintinglikesteel,serratedand sharp. Satisfied, heclosed in on the mariner,plunging his hands intotheman’shead.
Searing agonyblanketedthebrainwithinas the man staggered andfell, blood pouring fromhis mouth and ears andseeping from his eyes.Without a sound he died.Nosta Khan loosened hisgrip. Drawing on the
power of his acolytes, hewilled the body to rise,whispering words ofobscenity in a languagelong erased from theminds of ordinary men.Darkness swelled aroundthe corpse, shifting likeblack smoke to be drawn
in through the bloodymouth. The bodyshuddered.Androse.Unable to sleep, Virae
dressedsilently,climbedtothedeck,andwanderedtothe port rail. The nightwas cool, the soft breeze
soothing. She gazed outover the waves to thedistant line of landsilhouetted against thebright,moonlitsky.Theviewalwayscalmed
her, the blending of landand sea. As a child atschool in Dros Purdol she
had delighted in sailing,especially at night, whenthe landmassappeared tofloat like a sleepingmonster of the deep, darkand mysterious andwonderfullycompelling.Suddenly she narrowed
her eyes. Was the land
moving? To her left themountains seemed to bereceding, while on theright theshorelineseemedcloser. No, not seemed.Was. She glanced at thestars.The shiphadveerednorthwest, yet they weredaysfromPurdol.
Puzzled, shewalked afttowardthesecondmateashestoodwithhandsonthewheel.“Where are we
heading?” she asked him,mountingthefourstepstothe stern and leaning ontherail.
Hishead turned towardher. Blank, blood-red eyeslocked on hers as hishands left the wheel andreachedforher.Fear entered her soul
like a lance, only to bequelled by rising anger.She was not some Drenai
milkmaid to be terrifiedthus; she was Virae, andshe carried the blood ofwarriorsinherveins.Dropping her shoulder,
she threw a right handpunchtohisjaw.Hisheadsnapped back, but still hecame on. Stepping inside
the groping arms, shegrabbed his hair andsmashed a head butt intohisface.Hetookitwithoutasound,hishandscurlingaround her throat.Twisting desperatelybefore the grip tightened,she threw him with a
rollinghiplock,andhehitthedeckhardonhisback.Virae staggered. He roseslowly and came for heragain.Running forward, she
leapt into the air andtwisted, hammering bothfeet into his face. He fell
oncemore.Androse.Panicked now, Virae
searchedforaweapon,butthere was nothing.Smoothly she vaulted thewheel rail to land on thedeck.Hefollowedher.“Moveawayfromhim!”
screamed Serbitar, racingforward with sworddrawn.Viraerantohim.“Give me that!” she
said, tearing the swordfromhishand.Confidencesurged in her as her handgripped the ebony hilt.“Now, you son of a slut!”
she shouted, stridingtowardthemariner.He made no effort to
avoid her, and the swordflashed in the moonlight,slicing into his exposedneck. Twice more shestruck, and the grinninghead toppled from the
body. But the corpse didnotfall.Oily smoke oozed from
the severedneck to createa second head, formlessand vague. Coal-red eyesglitteredwithinthesmoke.“Get back!” shouted
Serbitar. “Get away from
him!”This time she obeyed,
backingtowardthealbino.“Givemethesword.”Vintar and Rek had
joinedthem.“What on earth is it?”
whisperedRek.“Nothing on earth,”
repliedVintar.The thing stood its
ground,armsfoldedacrossitschest.“Theshipisheadingfor
therocks,”saidVirae,andSerbitarnodded.“It is keeping us from
the wheel. What do you
think,FatherAbbot?”“The spell was planted
inthehead,whichmustbethrown overboard. Thebeast will follow it,”repliedVintar.“Attackit.”Serbitarmovedforward,
supported by Rek. Thecorpsebent itsbody, right
handclosingonthehairofthe severed head. Holdingthe head to its chest, itwaitedfortheattack.Rek leapt forward,
slashing a cut at the arm.The corpse staggered.Serbitar ran in, slicing thetendons behind the knee.
As it fell, Rek hammeredthe blade two-handedacrossitsarm.Thearmfellclear, the fingers releasingthe head, which rolledacross the deck. Droppinghissword,Rekdivedat it.Swallowing his revulsion,helifteditbythehairand
hurled itover the side.Asithitthewaves,thecorpseonthedeckshuddered.Asiftornbyagreatwind,thesmoke flowed from thenecktovanishbeneaththerail and into the darknessofthedeep.The captain came
forward from the shadowsbythemast.“What was it?” he
asked.Vintar joined him,
placing a hand gently ontheman’sshoulder.“We have many
enemies,” he said. “They
have great powers. Butfear not. We are notpowerless, and no harmwillbefalltheshipagain.Ipromiseyou.”“Andwhatofhissoul?”
asked the captain,wandering to the rail.“Havetheytakenit?”
“It is free,” saidVintar.“Believeme.”“We will all be free,”
said Rek, “if someonedoesn’tturntheshipawayfromthoserocks.”
In the darkened tent ofNosta Khan the acolytes
silently backed out,leaving him sitting in thecenterofthecirclechalkedon the dirt floor. Lost inthought, Nosta Khanignored them. He wasdrainedandangry.For they had bested
him, and he was a man
unused todefeat. It tastedbitterinhismouth.Hesmiled.Therewouldbeanother
time…
B16
lessedbya followingwind, Wastrel sped
north until at last thesilver gray towers of DrosPurdol broke the line ofthe horizon. The shipentered the harbor a little
before noon, piloting pastthe Drenai war triremesand the merchant vesselsanchoredinthebay.On the milling docks
street traders sold charms,ornaments, weapons, andblanketstomariners,whileburly dockers carried
provisions up swayinggangplanks,stackingcargoand checking loads. Allwas noise and apparentconfusion.Theharborsidewasrich
in color and the hecticpace of city life, and Rekfelt apangof regret tobe
leaving the ship. AsSerbitar led the Thirtyashore,RekandViraesaidtheir good-byes to thecaptain.“With one exception, it
has been a more thanpleasant voyage,” Viraetoldhim. “I thankyou for
yourcourtesy.”“I was glad to be of
service, my lady. I willforward the marriagepapers to Drenan on myreturn. It was a first forme. I have never takenpart in thewedding of anearl’s daughter, much less
conductedone. Iwishyouwell.”Bendingforward,hekissedherhand.Hewantedtoadd“Long
lifeandhappiness,”butheknewtheirdestination.Virae strode down the
gangplank as Rek grippedthecaptain’shand.Hewas
surprised when the manembracedhim.“May your sword arm
be strong, your spiritlucky,andyourhorseswiftwhen the time comes,”hesaid.Rek grinned. “The first
two Iwill need.As to the
horse, do you believe thatladywillconsiderflight?”“No, she’s a wonderful
lass.Belucky.”“I will try hard,” said
Rek.Atthequaysideayoung
red-capedofficereasedhisway through the crowd to
confrontSerbitar.“Your business in Dros
Purdol?”heasked.“We are traveling to
Delnochassoonaswecanobtain horses,” answeredthealbino.“The fortress will soon
be under siege, sir. Are
you aware of the comingwar?”“Weare.Wetravelwith
the Lady Virae, daughterof Earl Delnar, and herhusband,Regnak.”SeeingVirae,theofficer
bowed. “A pleasure, mylady. We met at your
eighteenth birthdaycelebration last year. Youprobably won’t rememberme.”“On the contrary, Dun
Degas! We danced, and Itrod on your foot. Youwere most kind and tooktheblame.”
Degas smiled andbowedagain.Howshehaschanged! he thought.Wherewastheclumsygirlwho had contrived to tripon the hem of her skirt?Whohadblushedasredasthe wine when, during aheated conversation, she
had crushed a crystalgoblet, drenching thewoman toher right.Whathadchanged?Shewasthesame woman-girl heremembered—her hairmousy blond, her mouthtoo wide, her browsthunder-darkoverdeep-set
eyes.He saw her smile asRek stepped forward, andhisquestionwasanswered.Shehadbecomedesirable.“Whatareyouthinking,
Degas?” she asked. “Youlookfaraway.”“Myapologies,mylady.
IwasthinkingEarlPindak
willbedelightedtoreceiveyou.”“You will have to
convey my regrets,” saidVirae, “for we must leaveassoonaspossible.Wherecanwepurchasemounts?”“I am surewe can find
you good horses,” said
Degas. “It is a shame youdidnotarrivesooner,sincefour days ago we sentthree hundred men toDelnochtoaidthedefense.You could have traveledwith them; it would havebeen safer. The Sathulihavegrownboldsincethe
Nadirthreat.”“We shall get there,”
said the tall man withVirae. Degas’s eyesmeasured him. A soldier,hethought,orhasbeenatsometime.Carrieshimselfwell. Degas directed theparty to a large inn,
promising to supply thehorseswithintwohours.True to his word, he
returned with a troop ofDrenai cavalrymen ridingthirty-two horses. Theywerenotofthepedigreeofthe mounts left behind inLentria, being mustangs
bred for mountain work,but they were sturdyanimals. When the horseshadbeenallocatedandtheprovisions packed, DegasapproachedRek.“There is no charge for
thesemounts,but Iwouldbe obliged if you could
deliver thesedispatches totheearl.TheycamebyseafromDrenanyesterdayandmissed our force. The onewith the red seal is fromAbalayn.”“The earl will receive
them,” said Rek. “Thankyouforyourhelp.”
“It is nothing. Goodluck!” The officer movedontomakehisfarewellstoVirae. Pushing the lettersinto the saddlebag of hisroan mare, Rek mountedand led the party westfromPurdolalongthelineof theDelnochmountains.
Serbitarcanteredalongsidehim as they entered thefirst of the deep woodsbeyondthetown.“You look troubled,”
saidRek.“Yes. There will be
outlaws, renegades,perhaps deserters, and
certainlySathulitribesmenalongourroute.”“But that is not what
troublesyou.”“You are perceptive,”
saidSerbitar.“How true. But then, I
sawthecorpsewalk.”“Indeed you did,” said
Serbitar.“Youhavehedgedabout
that night for longenough,” said Rek. “Nowgivemethetruthofit.Doyouknowwhatitwas?”“Vintarbelievesittobe
a demon summoned byNostaKhan.Heisthehead
shaman to Ulric’sWolfshead tribe andtherefore lord of allNadirshamans.He isold, and itis said he first servedUlric’s great-grandfather.He is a man steeped inevil.”“And his powers are
greaterthanyours?”“Individually, yes.
Collectively? I don’t thinkso. We are currentlystopping him fromentering Delnoch, but heinturnhascastaveiloverthefortressandwecannotenter.”
“Will he attack usagain?”askedRek.“Assuredly. The
question is what methodhewillchoose.”“IthinkIwillleaveyou
toworry about that,” saidRek.“Icantakeinonlysomuchgloominoneday.”
Serbitar did not answerhim.RekreinedhismountandwaitedforVirae.Thatnighttheycamped
by amountain streambutlit no fires. In the earlyevening Vintar recitedpoetry, his voice soft andmelodious, his words
evocative.“They are his own
work,” Serbitar whisperedto Virae, “though he willnot own to them. I knownot why. He is a finepoet.”“But they are so sad,”
shesaid.
“All beauty is sad,”replied the albino. “For itfades.”He left her and
retreated to a nearbywillow, sitting with hisback to the tree, a silverghostinthemoonlight.Arbedark joined Rek
and Virae, handing themhoney cakes he hadpurchasedattheport.Rekglancedover at the lonelyfigureofthealbino.“He travels,” said
Arbedark.“Alone.”
As the dawn bird song
began, Rek groaned andeased his aching bodyaway from the probingtree roots that weredenting his side. His eyesopened.MostoftheThirtywere still asleep, thoughtallAntaheimstoodsentryby the stream. At the
willow Serbitar remainedwherehehadbeenduringtherecital.Rek sat up and
stretched, his mouth dry.Pushing back his blanket,he walked to the horses,removed his pack, rinsedhismouthwithwaterfrom
his canteen, and went tothe stream. Taking out abar of soap, he strippedthe shirt from his chestand knelt by the swiftlyrushingwater.“Please don’t do that,”
saidAntaheim.“What?”
The tallwarriorwalkedacrosstohim,squattingbyhisside.“Thesoapbubbleswill carry downstream. Itis not wise thus toannounce ourmovements.”Rekcursedhimselffora
fool and apologized
swiftly.“Thatisnotnecessary.I
amsorrytohaveintruded.Do you see that plantthere,bythelichenrock?”Rek twisted, then nodded.“It is a lemonmint.Washin the water, then crushsome of the leaves and
clean your body. It willrefreshyouandcreate…amorepleasantaroma.”“Thank you. Is Serbitar
stilltraveling?”“Heshouldnotbe.Iwill
seek him.” Antaheimclosed his eyes for severalseconds. When they
opened again, Rekrecognized panic, and thewarrior ran from thestream.Inthatmomentallthemembersof theThirtysurged fromtheirblanketsand raced to Serbitar bythewillow.Rek dropped his shirt
and soapon thebankandmovedtojointhem.Vintarwas bending over thealbino’s still form; heclosedhiseyesandplacedhis hands on the youngleader’s slender face. Forlongmomentsheremainedthus. Sweat broke out
uponhis forehead,andhebegan to sway. When helifted a hand, Menahemjoined him instantly,raisingSerbitar’shead.Theswarthy warrior lifted thealbino’s right eyelid: theiriswasredasblood.Virae dropped to her
knees beside Rek. “Hiseyes are green normally,”she said. “What ishappening?”“I don’t know,” said
Rek.Antaheimrose fromthe
groupandsprintedfortheundergrowth, returning
minutes later with whatappeared to be an armfulof vine leaves, which hetipped to the ground.Gathering dried twigs, hefashioned a small fire;then,settingupatripodofbranches, he hung a potabove the flames, filled it
with water, and crushedthe leaves between hispalms,droppingthemintothe pot. Soon the waterbegan to bubble, and asweetaromafilled theair.Antaheim lifted the panfrom the flames, addingcold water from his
canteen, then transferredthe green liquid to aleather-covered potterymug, which he passed toMenahem. Slowly theyopened Serbitar’s mouth,andwhile Vintar held thealbino’s nostrils, theypoured in the liquid.
Serbitar gagged andswallowed, and Vintarreleased his nose.Menahem laid his headback on the grass, andAntaheimswiftlykilledthefire. There had been littlesmoke.“What’s going on?”
asked Rek as Vintarapproachedhim.“We will talk later,”
said Vintar. “Now I mustrest.” He stumbled to hisblankets and lay down,slipping instantly into adeep,dreamlesssleep.“I feel likeaone-legged
man in a footrace,” saidRek.Menahem joined them,
his dark face gray withexhaustion as he sippedwater from a leathercanteen. He stretched hislong legs out on the grassand lay on his side,
supporting himself on hiselbow. He turned towardRek.“I didn’t mean to
eavesdrop,”hesaid,“butIdid overhear you. Youmust forgive Vintar. He isolder than the rest of us,and the strain of the hunt
provedtoomuchforhim.”“Thehunt?Whathunt?”
askedVirae.“WesoughtSerbitar.He
hadjourneyedfar,andthepath was sundered. Hecould not return, and wehad to find him. Vintarguessedrightlythathehad
retreated into the mistsand takenhis chances.Hehadtoseekhim.”“I’m sorry, Menahem.
You look worn out,” saidRek,“buttrytorememberthatwedonotknowwhatyouaretalkingabout.Intothe mists? What the devil
doesthatmean?”Menahem sighed. “How
canoneexplaincolorstoablindman?”“One says,” snapped
Rek, “that red is like silk,blueislikecoolwater,andyellow is like sunshine ontheface.”
“Forgiveme, Rek. I amtired,Ididnotmeantoberude,” said Menahem. “Icannotexplainthemiststoyouas I understand them.But I will try to give yousomeidea.“Therearemanyfutures
but only one past. When
we travel beyondourselves, we walk astraight path, journeyingmuch as we are doingnow. We direct ourselvesover vast distances. Butthe path back remainssolid,foritislockedinourmemories. Do you
understand?”“So far,” said Rek.
“Virae?”“I’mnotanidiot,Rek.”“Sorry. Go on,
Menahem.”“Now try to imagine
that thereareotherpaths.Not just from,say,Drenan
toDelnochbutfromtodayinto tomorrow. Tomorrowhasnotyethappened,andthe possibilities for it areendless. Each one of usmakes adecision thatwillaffecttomorrow.Butletussay we do travel intotomorrow. Then we are
faced with a multitude ofpaths, gossamer-thin andshifting. In one tomorrowDros Delnoch has alreadyfallen; in another it hasbeen saved or is about tofall or about to be saved.Already we have fourpaths.Which is true?And
when we tread the path,how do we return totoday, which from wherewe are standing is amultitude of yesterdays?To which do we return?Serbitar journeyed farbeyond tomorrow. AndVintar found him as we
heldthepathinsight.”“You used the wrong
analogy,” said Rek. “It isnothing like explainingcolors to a blind man.Rather, it is more liketeachingarcherytoarock.Ihaven’ttheremotestideawhat you are talking
about.Will Serbitar be allright?”“We don’t know yet. If
he lives, he will haveinformation of greatvalue.”“What happened to his
eyes? How did theychange color?” asked
Virae.“Serbitarisanalbino—a
true albino. He needscertain herbs in order tomaintainhisstrength.Lastnighthe journeyedtoo farand lost his way. It wasfoolhardy. But hisheartbeatisstrong,andhe
isnowresting.”“Then he won’t die?”
saidRek.“Thatwecannotsay.He
traveled a path whichstretched his mind. Itcouldbehewillsufferthepull; this happenssometimes to travelers.
They move so far fromthemselves that they justdrift, like smoke. If hisspiritisbroken,itwillpassfromhimandreturntothemist.”“Can’t you do
anything?”“We have done all we
can. We cannot hold himforever.”“When will we know?”
askedRek.“Whenheawakes. Ifhe
awakes.”
The long morning woreon, and Serbitar still lay
unmoving. The Thirtyvolunteered noconversation, and Viraehad walked upstream tobathe. Bored and tired,Rek took the dispatchesfromhispouch.Thebulkyscroll sealed in red waxwas addressed to Earl
Delnar.Rekbrokethesealandspreadtheletterwide.In flowing script themessageread:
Mydearfriend,Even as you read this,
ourintelligenceisthattheNadir will be upon you.
We have tried repeatedlyto secure peace, havingoffered all that we havesave the right to governourselvesasa freepeople.Ulricwillhavenoneofthis—he wishes to secure forhimself a kingdomstretching between the
northern and southernseas.I know theDros cannot
hold, and I thereforerescindmyorder that youfight to the last. Itwillbeabattlewithoutprofitandwithouthope.Woundweaver is—
needless to say—againstthispolicyandhasmadeitclear that hewill take hisarmy into the hills as araiding force should theNadir be allowed to passtotheSentranPlain.You are an old soldier,
and the decision must be
yours.Pin the blame for
surrender upon me. It isminebyright,sinceIhavebrought theDrenaipeopletothisparlousstate.Do not think of me
unkindly. I have alwaystriedtodothatwhichwas
bestformypeople.But perhaps the years
have told more heavilyupon me than I realized,for my wisdom has beenlacking in my dealingswithUlric.
It was signed simply
“Abalayn,” and below thesignaturewas the red sealoftheDrenaidragon.Rek refolded the scroll
and returned it to hissaddlebag.Surrender … A helping
hand at the brink of theabyss.
Viraereturned fromthestream, her hair drippingandherfeaturesflushed.“Ye gods, that was
good!” she said, sittingbesidehim.“Whythelongface? Serbitar not awakeyet?”“No. Tell me, what
would your father havedone if Abalayn had toldhim to surrender theDros?”“He would never have
given that order to myfather.”“Butifhehad?”insisted
Rek.
“The point does notarise.Why do you alwaysaskquestionsthathavenorelevance?”He put a hand on her
shoulder. “Listen to me.What would he havedone?”“He would have
refused. Abalayn wouldknowthatmyfatheristhelord of Dros Delnoch, theHighWardenoftheNorth.He can be relieved ofcommand but not orderedtogiveupthefortress.”“Suppose Abalayn had
then left the choice to
Delnar.Whatthen?”“He would have fought
tothelast;itwashisway.Nowwillyoutellmewhatallthisisabout?”“The dispatch Degas
gavemeforyourfather.Itis a letter from Abalaynwithdrawing his ‘fight to
thelast’order.”“How dare you open
that?” stormed Virae. “Itwas addressed to myfather and should havebeen given to me. Howdare you!” Her face redwith fury, she suddenlystruckoutathim.Whenhe
parried the blow, shelaunched another, andwithoutthinkinghestruckher flat-handed, sendinghersprawlingtothegrass.She lay there, eyes
blazing.“I’ll tell you how I
dare,”hesaid,suppressing
hisangerwithgreateffort.“Because I am the earl.AndifDelnarisdead,thenit was addressed to me.Which means that thedecision to fight is mine.As is the decision to openthegatestotheNadir.”“That’s what you want,
isn’t it? A way out?” Sherose toher feet, snatchingupherleatherjerkin.“Think what you like,”
he said. “It doesn’tmatterto me. Anyway, I shouldhaveknownbetterthantotalk to you about theletter. I’d forgotten how
much this war means toyou.Youcan’twait to seethe crows feast, can you?Can’twaitforthebodiestostart swelling and rotting!Youhearme?”heshoutedather back as shewalkedaway.“Trouble, my friend?”
asked Vintar as he satdown opposite the angryRek.“Nothingwhatsoever to
dowithyou,”snappedthenewearl.“Of that I don’t doubt,”
said Vintar calmly. “But Imight be able to help.
Afterall,I’veknownViraeformanyyears.”“I’m sorry, Vintar. That
wasunforgivableofme.”“Ihavefoundinmylife,
Rek, that there are a fewactions which areunforgivable. Andcertainly there are no
wordssaidthatcarrysuchapenalty.Itisaman’slot,I fear, to strike out whenhehassufferedhurt.Now,canIhelp?”Rek told him about the
dispatch and Virae’sreaction.“A thorny problem, my
boy.Whatwillyoudo?”“Ihavenotyetmadeup
mymind.”“Thatisaswell.Noone
should make a hastydecision over such aweightymatter.Donotbetoo hard on Virae; she isnow sitting by the stream
andfeelingverymiserable.Sheisdesperatelysorryforwhat she said and ismerely waiting for you toapologize so that she cantellyouitwasallherownfault.”“I’llbedamned if Iwill
apologize,”saidRek.
“Itwill be a frosty rideif you do not,” said theabbot.A softmoan came from
the sleeping Serbitar.Instantly Vintar,Menahem, Arbedark, andRek moved over to him.Thealbino’s eyes fluttered
andopened…Oncemorethey were the green ofrose leaves. He smiled atVintar.“Thank you, Lord
Abbot,” he whispered.Vintar patted his facegently.“Are you all right?”
askedRek.Serbitar smiled. “I am
well.Weakbutwell.”“What happened?”
askedRek.“Nosta Khan. I tried to
force entry at the fortressand was flung into theouter mists. I was
lost … broken. I sawfutures that were terribleand chaos beyond allimagining. I fled.” Heloweredhiseyes.“Ifledinpanic,Iknownotwhereorwhen.”“Speak no more,
Serbitar,” said Vintar.
“Restnow.”“Icannotrest,”saidthe
albino, struggling to rise.“Helpme,Rek.”“Maybeyoushouldrest,
as Vintar says,” Rek toldhim.“No.Listentome.Idid
enter Delnoch, and I saw
death there. Terribledeath!”“The Nadir are there
already?”askedRek.“No. Be silent. I could
not see the man clearly,but I saw the Musif wellbeing poisoned behindWall Two. Anyone who
drinks from that well willdie.”“But we should arrive
before the fall of WallOne,” said Rek. “Andsurely they will not needtheMusifwelluntilthen.”“That is not the point.
Eldibar, or Wall One as
youcall it, is indefensible.Itistoowide;anycapablecommanderwillgiveitup.Don’t you understand?That’s why the traitorpoisoned the other well.Drussisboundtofighthisfirst battle there, and themenwillbefedthatdayat
dawn. By midday thedeaths will begin, and bydusk you will have anarmyofghosts.”“We must ride,” said
Rek. “Now! Get him on ahorse.”RekrantofindViraeas
the Thirty saddled their
mounts. Vintar andArbedark helped Serbitartohisfeet.“There was more, was
therenot?”saidVintar.“Aye, but some
tragedies are best leftunspoken.”
ForthreedaystheyrodeintheshadowoftheDelnochrange into deep glens andover wooded hills. Theyrode swiftly but withcaution, MenahemscoutingaheadandpulsingmessagestoSerbitar.Viraehad said little since the
argumentandavoidedRekstudiously.Heinturngaveno ground and made noattempt to breach thesilence,thoughithurthimdeeply.On the morning of the
fourth day, as theybreastedasmallhillabove
thickwoods, Serbitar heldup a hand to halt thecolumn.“What’s wrong?” asked
Rek,drawingalongside.“Ihavelostcontactwith
Menahem.”“Trouble?”“Idon’tknow.Hecould
havebeenthrownfromhishorse.”“Letusgoandfindout,”
said Rek, spurring themare.“No!” called Serbitar,
but the horsewas alreadyonthemovedownhillandgathering speed. Rek
tuggedatthereinstobringtheanimal’sheadup,thenleaned back in the saddleas the beast slithered tothe foot of the hill. Oncemoreon firmground,Rekglancedabouthim.Amongthe trees he could seeMenahem’s gray standing
with head down, andbeyondthewarriorhimselflying facedown on thegrass. Rek cantered themare toward him, but ashe passed under the firsttree, a whisper ofmovementalertedhimandhe flung himself from his
saddleasamanleaptfromthe branches. Rek landedon his side, rolled, andregainedhisfeet,dragginghis sword free of itsscabbard.Hisattackerwasjoined by two others; allwore the flowing whiterobesoftheSathuli.
Rek backed toward thefallen Menahem andglanced down. Thewarrior’s head wasbleeding at the temple.Slingshot, Rek realized,but had no chance tocheckifthepriestwasstillalive. Other Sathuli now
crept from theundergrowth, their broadtulwarsandlongknivesinhand.Slowly they advanced,
grins splitting their dark,bearded features. Rekgrinnedback.“This is a good day to
die,” he said. “Why don’tyoujoinme?”He slid his right hand
farther up the hilt of hissword, making room forhis left. This was no timefor fancy swordplay; itwould be hack and stand,two-handed. Once again
hefeltthestrangesenseofdeparture that heraldedthe baresark rage. Thistimehewelcomedit.With an ear-piercing
scream he attacked themall, slashing through thethroat of the first man ashis mouth opened in
astonishment.Thenhewasamong them, his blade awhistling arc of brightlight and crimson death.Momentarily stunned byhis assault, they fell back,then leapt forward again,screaming their own warcries. More tribesmen
burst from theundergrowth behind himas the thunder of hooveswasheard.Rek was not aware of
the arrival of the Thirty.He parried a blow andbackhanded his bladeacross the face of his
assailant,steppingoverthecorpse to engage yetanothertribesman.Serbitar fought in vain
to establish a defensivering that could includeRek. His slender bladeswept out, kissing andkilling with surgical
precision.EvenVintar,theoldest and least capableswordsman, found littledifficulty in slaying theSathuliwarriors.Savageasthey were, they wereuntutoredinfencingskills,relying on ferocity,fearlessness,andweightof
numbers to wear down afoe. And this tacticwouldwork again, Vintar knew,for they wereoutnumberedperhaps fourto one with no avenue ofretreatopentothem.The clash of steel on
steel and the cries of the
wounded echoed in thesmall clearing. Virae, cutacross the upper arm,disemboweled one manand ducked beneath aslashing tulwar as a newattacker stormed in. TallAntaheim stepped forwardto block a second slash.
Arbedark moved throughthe battle like a dancer; ashort sword in each hand,he choreographed deathand destruction like asilver ghost of Elderlegends.Rek’s anger grew. Was
it all for this? Meeting
Virae, coming to termswith his fears, taking themantleofearl?All so thathe could die on atribesman’s tulwar in anunnamed wood? Hehammered his bladethrough the clumsy guardof the Sathuli before him,
then kicked the fallingcorpse into the path of anewattacker.“Enough!” he yelled
suddenly,hisvoiceringingthrough the trees. “Putupyour swords, all of you!”The Thirty obeyedinstantly, stepping back
andformingaringofsteelaboutthefallenMenahem,leaving Rek standingalone. The Sathuli slowlylowered their swords,glancing nervously one toanother.All battles, as they
knew, followed the same
pattern: fight and win,fightanddie,or fight andrun. There was no otherway. But the tall one’swords were spoken withpower, and his voice heldthemmomentarily.“Let your leader step
forth,” ordered Rek,
plunging his sword bladeinto thegroundathis feetand folding his arms,though the Sathuli bladesstillringedhim.The men before him
stepped aside as a tall,broad-shouldered man inrobes of blue and white
movedforward.Hewasastall as Rek, though hawk-nosed and swarthy. Atrident beard gave him asardonic look, and thesaber scar from brow tochin completed theimpression.“I am Regnak, Earl of
DrosDelnoch,”saidRek.“I am Sathuli—Joachim
Sathuli—and I shall killyou,” replied the mangrimly.“Matterslikethisshould
be settled bymen such asyou and I,” said Rek.“Look about you—
everywhere are Sathulicorpses.Howmany ofmymenareamongthem?”“They will join them
soon,”saidJoachim.“Why do we not settle
this like princes?” saidRek.“YouandIalone.”The man’s scarred
eyebrow lifted. “Thatwouldonlyequaltheoddsagainst you. You have nobargaining power;wherefore should I grantyouthis?”“Because it will save
Sathuli lives. Oh, I knowtheygivetheirlivesgladly,
butforwhat?Wecarrynoprovisions, no gold. Wehave only horses, and theDelnoch ranges are full ofthem.Thisisnowamatterof pride, not of booty.Such matters are for youandItodecide.”“Like all Drenai, you
talkagoodfight,”saidtheSathuli,turningaway.“Has fear turned your
bowels to water?” askedReksoftly.The man turned back,
smiling. “Ah, now youseek to anger me. Verywell!Wewill fight.When
youdie,yourmenwilllaydowntheirswords?”“Yes.”“And if I die, we allow
youtopass?”“Yes.”“Sobeit.Iswearthison
the soul of Mehmet,blessedbehisname.”
Joachimdrewaslenderscimitar, and the SathulisaroundRekmovedbacktoformacircleaboutthetwomen. Rek drew his bladefrom the earth, and thebattlebegan.The Sathuli was an
accomplished swordsman,
and Rek was forced backas soon as the fightstarted. Serbitar, Virae,and the others watchedcalmly as blademetbladetime and again. Parry,riposte, thrust and parry,slash and check. Rekdefended frantically at
first, then slowlybegan tocounter. The battle woreon, with both mensweating freely. It wasobvious to all that theywere evenly matched inskillandvirtuallyidenticalin strength and reach.Rek’sbladesliced theskin
above Joachim’s shoulder.The scimitar licked out toopenawoundonthebackof Rek’s hand. Both mencircled warily, breathingdeeply.Joachim attacked; Rek
parried, launching ariposte. Joachim jumped
back, and they circledagain.Arbedark,thefinestswordsman of the Thirty,waslostinwonderattheirtechnique.Not that he could not
match it, for he could,rather that his skill washoned by mental powers
that the two combatantswould never comprehendon a conscious level. Yetboth were using the sameskills subconsciously. Itwas as much a battle ofminds as of blades, yeteven here the men werewellmatched.
Serbitar pulsed aquestiontoArbedark.“Itistoo close forme to judge.Whowillwin?”“I know not,” replied
Arbedark. “It isfascinating.”Both men were tiring
fast.Rekhadestablisheda
two-handed grip on hislongsword, his right armno longerable tobear thefull weight of the blade.HelaunchedanattackthatJoachim parrieddesperately; then hissword caught the scimitaraninchabovethehilt,and
the curved blade snapped.Rek stepped forward,touching the point of hissword to Joachim’sjugular. The swarthySathuli did not move butmerely gazed backdefiantly, his brown eyesmeetingRek’sgaze.
“And what is your lifeworth,JoachimSathuli?”“A broken sword,”
answered Joachim. Rekheld out his hand andreceivedtheuselesshilt.“Whatisthemeaningof
this?” asked the surprisedSathulileader.
“It is simple,”answeredRek.“Allofushereareasdead men. We ride forDros Delnoch to face anarmythelikeofwhichhasnot been seen before inthis world. We shall notsurvive the summer. Youare a warrior, Joachim,
and a worthy one. Yourlife is worth more than abroken blade. We provednothing by this contest,save that we are men.Before me I have nothingbutenemiesandwar.“Sincewewillmeet no
more in this life, I would
like to believe that I haveleft at least a few friendsbehind me. Will you takemy hand?” Rek sheathedhisswordandheldouthishand.The tall Sathuli smiled.
“There is a strangeness inthismeeting,”hesaid,“for
as my blade broke, Iwondered,inthatmomentwhen death faced me,what I would have donehad your sword snapped.Tell me, why do you ridetoyourdeath?”“Because I must,” said
Reksimply.
“Sobeit, then.Youaskme for friendship, and Igive it, though I havesworn mighty oaths thatno Drenai would feel safeonSathuliland.Igiveyouthisfriendshipbecauseyouare awarrior and becauseyouaretodie.”
“Tell me, Joachim, asone friend to another,whatwouldyouhavedoneifmybladehadbroken?”“I would have killed
you,”saidtheSathuli.
T17
hefirstofthespringstorms burst over the
Delnoch mountains asGilad relieved the watchsentry on Wall One.Thunder rumbled angrilyoverhead while crooked
spears of jagged lightningtore the night sky,momentarily lighting thefortress. Fierce windswhistled along the walls,shriekingsibilantly.Gilad hunched himself
under theoverhangof thegate tower, tugging the
small brazier of hot coalsintotheleeofthewall.Hiscapewaswetthrough,andwater dripped steadilyfrom his drenched haironto his shoulders totrickle inside hisbreastplate, soaking theleather of his mail shirt.
But the wall reflected theheat fromthebrazier,andGilad had spent worsenights on the SentranPlain, digging out buriedsheep in the winterblizzards. He regularlyraisedhimselftopeeroverthe wall to the north,
waiting for a flash oflightning to illuminate theplain. Nothing movedthere.Farther down the wall
anironbrazierexplodedaslightning struck it, andshowers of hot coals fellclosetohim.Whataplace
to be wearing armor, hethought.Heshudderedandhunchedclosertothewall.Slowly the storm movedon,sweptovertheSentranPlain by the fierce windfrom the north. For awhile the rain remained,sheeting against the gray
stone battlements andrunning down the towerwalls, hissing and spittingasrandomdropsvaporizedonthecoals.Gilad opened his small
pack and removed a stripof driedmeat.He tore offa chunk and began to
chew. Three more hours,then a warm bunk forthreemore.From the darkness
behind the battlementscame the sound ofmovement. Gilad spunaround, scrabbling for hissword,phantomchildhood
fears flooding hismind.Alarge figure loomed intothelightfromthebrazier.“Stay calm, laddie! It’s
only me,” said Druss,seating himself on theother side of the brazier.He held out his hugehandstotheflames.
His white beard waswet through, his blackleather jerkin gleaming asif polished by the storm.The rain had petered to afine drizzle, and thewindhad ceased its eeriehowling. Druss hummedan old battle hymn for a
few moments as the heatwarmed him. Gilad, tenseand expectant, waited forthe sarcastic comments tofollow. “Cold, are we?Need a little fire to keepaway the phantoms, dowe?”Whypickmywatch,you old bastard? he
thought.Afterawhile,thesilence seemed oppressiveandGiladcouldbearitnolonger.“A cold night to be out
walking, sir,” he said,cursing himself for therespectfultone.“Ihaveseenworse.And
I like the cold. It’s likepain—it tells you you’realive.”The firelight cast deep
shadows on the oldwarrior’s weather-beatenface,andforthefirst timeGilad saw the fatigueetched there. The man is
bone-tired, he thought.Beyond the legendaryarmor and the eyes of icyfire, he was just anotheroldman.Toughandstrongas a bull,maybe, but old.Worn out by time, theenemythatnevertired.“You may not believe
it,”saidDruss,“butthis istheworsttimeforasoldier—the waiting before thebattle. I’ve seen it allbefore.Youeverbeeninabattle,lad?”“No,never.”“It’sneverasbadasyou
fear it will be once you
realize that dying isnothingspecial.”“Why do you say that?
It’sspecialtome.Ihaveawifeanda farmwhich I’dliketoseeagain.I’vealotof living to do yet,” saidGilad.“Of course you have.
Butyoucould survive thisbattle and come downwith the plague, or bekilledbyalion,ordevelopa cancer. You could berobbed and killed or fallfrom a horse. Ultimatelyyou will die anyway.Everyone dies. I’m not
sayingyou shouldgiveupandjustopenyourarmstowelcomeit.Youmustfightit all the way. An oldsoldier—a good friend ofmine—toldmeearlyinmylife that he who fears tolose will never win. Andit’strue.Youknowwhata
baresarkis,boy?”“Astrongwarrior,”said
Gilad.“Yes, he is. But he’s
more than that: he’s akilling machine whocannotbestopped.Doyouknowwhy?”“Becausehe’sinsane?”
“Yes, there is that tohim.Butmore.Hedoesn’tdefend,becausewhenhe’sfighting he doesn’t care.He just attacks, and lessermen—whodocare—die.”“What do youmean by
lessermen?Amandoesn’thave to be a killer to be
great.”“That’s not what I
meant… but I suppose itcouldhavebeen. If I triedto farm—asyourneighbor—men would say that Iwas not as good as you.Theywould lookdownonme as a bad farmer. On
thesebattlementsmenwillbe judged by how longthey stay alive. Lessermen, or lesser soldiers ifyou will, either charge orfall.”“Why did you come
here,Druss?” askedGilad,meaning to ask why the
axman had chosen tointerrupt his watch. Butthewarriormisunderstood.“Icametodie,”hesaid
softly, warming his handsand staring into the coals.“To find somespoton thebattlements to make astand and then to die. I
didn’t expect to have totake over the damneddefense.Apoxonit!I’masoldier,notageneral.”As Druss talked on,
Gilad realized the axmanwas not talking to him—not to Cul Gilad, theformer farmer. He was
chatting to just anothersoldier at just another fireat just another fortress. Inmicrocosm this scene wasDruss’slife,thewaitbeforethewar.“I always promised her
thatIwouldstopandtendthe farm, but always
someone, somewhere, hadabattle to fight. I thoughtfor years that I wasrepresenting something—liberty, freedom, I don’tknow. The truth wasalwaysmuchmoresimple.I love to fight. She knewbut had the good grace
never to point it out. Canyou imaginewhat it’s liketo be a legend—thedamned legend? Can you,boy?”“No, but it must make
you feel proud,” saidGilad,uncertain.“It makes you tired. It
sapsyourstrengthwhenitshould raise it. Becauseyou can’t afford to betired. You’re Druss theLegend, and you’reinvulnerable, invincible.Youlaughatpain.Youcanmarch forever. With oneblow you can topple
mountains.DoIlookasifIcantopplemountains?”“Yes,”saidGilad.“Well, I damned well
can’t.I’manoldmanwitha weak knee and anarthriticback.Myeyesarenot so good as theywere,either.
“WhenIwasyoungandstrong, the bruises alwayshealed quickly. I wastireless then. I could fightalldamnedday.AsIgrewolder, I learned to fake itand snatch rest where Icould. To use myexperienceinbattlewhere
before I had just poweredmy way through. In myfifties I was careful, andanyway by that time thelegendmadementremble.Three times since I havefought men who couldhave beaten me, but theybeat themselves because
they knewwho Iwas andwereafraid.“Do you think I’m a
goodleader?”“I don’t know. I’m a
farmer,notasoldier,”saidGilad.“Don’t hedge with me,
boy. I asked for an
opinion.”“No, you’re probably
not. But you are a greatwarrior.Isupposeinyearsgone by you would havebeen a war chief. I can’ttell. You’ve done wonderswiththetraining;there’sanewspiritattheDros.”
“There were alwaysleaders in my day,” saidDruss. “Strong men withquick minds. I have triedto remember all theirlessons.But it’shard,boy.Doyou see? It’shard. I’venever been afraid ofenemiesIcanfacewithan
axormyhands,ifneedbe.But the enemies at thisfortress are not the same.Morale, preparation, firegullies, supplies, liaison,organization. It saps thesoul.”“We’ll not fail you,
Druss,” said Gilad, his
heart reaching out to theolderman. “Wewill standfirmbesideyou.Youhavegiven us that, though Ihated you formost of thetraining.”“Hate breeds strength,
laddie. Of course youwillhold.You’remen.Didyou
hearaboutDunMendar?”“Yes, it was tragic. A
goodjobthathewastheretoaidyou,”saidGilad.“He was there to kill
me, boy. And he almostdid.”“What?” said Gilad,
shocked.
“You heard me. And Idon’t expectyou to repeatit.HewasinthepayoftheNadir, and he led theassassins.”“But… thatmeansyou
stood alone against themall,” said Gilad. “Five ofthemandyousurvived?”
“Aye, but they were amotley crew and illtrained.DoyouknowwhyI told you that … aboutMendar?”“Becauseyouwantedto
talk?”“No. I’ve never been
much of a talker, and I
havelittleneedforsharingmyfears.No,Iwantedyoutoknowthat I trustyou. Iwant you to take overMendar’s role. I’mpromotingyoutodun.”“I don’t want it,” said
Giladfiercely.“Do you think I want
thisresponsibility?Whydoyou think I’ve spent thistime here? I am trying tomake you understand thatoften—more often thannot—we are forced intodoing what we fear. Youwill take over as oftomorrow.”
“Why?Whyme?”“Because I have
watched you, and I thinkyou have a talent forleadership. You’veimpressed me in leadingyour ten. And you helpedOrrin in that race. Thatwaspride.Also,Ineedyou
andotherslikeyou.”“I’ve no experience,”
said Gilad, knowing itsoundedlame.“That will come. Think
onthis:YourfriendBreganis no soldier, and some ofyour men will die at thefirstattack.Havingagood
officer will save some ofthem.”“All right. But I can’t
afford to dine in theofficers’messorrunupanarmorer’s bill. You willhave to supply me withtheuniform.”“Mendar’s gear should
fityou,andyouwillputittomorenobleuse.”“Thank you. You said
earlier on that you camehere to die. Does thatmeanyouthinkwecannotwin?”“No, it doesn’t. Forget
whatIsaid.”
“Damnyou,Druss,don’tpatronize me! You justtalked about trust. Well,I’m an officer now, and Iasked you a straightquestion. I won’t repeattheanswer.Sotrustme.”Druss smiled, and his
eyesmetthefiercegazeof
theyoungsentry.“Verywell.Wehaveno
chance in the long term.Everydaybringsus closertoaNadirvictory.Butwewill make them paydearly. And you canbelieve that, laddie, forthat’s Druss the Legend
talking.”“Never mind the
legend,” said Gilad,returningtheother’ssmile.“That’s themanwho tookon five assassins in adarkenedalley.”“Don’t buildme up too
high because of that,
Gilad. All men havetalents. Some build, somepaint, some write, somefight.Formeitisdifferent.I have always had a waywithdeath.”
The girl moved along thebattlements, ignoring the
comments of the soldiers,herauburnhairglintinginthemorning sun,her longlegs, slender and bronzed,theobjectofmanyfriendlythoughintimatecommentsfrom the troops. Shesmiled once when one ofthe men she passed
murmured to acompanion,“IthinkI’minlove.”Sheblewhimakissandwinked.Bowman smiled, gently
shakinghishead.HeknewCaessawasmakingamealofherentrance,butwithabodylikehers,whowould
blameher?Shewasastallasmostmen,willowyandgraceful, and her everymovement combined topromise pleasure to anyman watching. Physically,Bowman thought, she isthe perfect woman. Theultimatefemale.
He watched her stringherlongbow.Joraklookedat him questioningly, butheshookhishead.Therestof the archers stood back.ThiswasCaessa’smoment,and after an entrance likethat she deserved a littleapplause.
Straw dummies hadbeen set up one hundredpaces from the wall. Theheads were paintedyellow, the torsos red. Itwas a standard distancefor a fine archer, butshooting down from abattlement added several
degreestothedifficulty.Caessareachedoverher
shoulder to the doeskinquiver and drew a blackfeathered shaft. Shechecked it for line, thennotchedittothestring.“Head,”shesaid.With one flowing
movement she drew backthe string, and as ittouched her cheek, sheloosedtheshaft. It flashedthrough the morning airand hammered into theneck of the nearestdummy. The watchingmen burst into rapturous
applause, and Caessaglanced at Bowman. Heraisedaneyebrow.Five more arrows
lanced into the strawtarget before Bowmanraisedahandtosignaltheother archers forward.Then he called Caessa to
him and walked from thebattlements.“You took your time
getting here, lady,” hesaid,smiling.She linked her arm in
hisandblewhimakiss.Asalways he felt arousalstirring. As always he
suppressedit.“Didyoumissme?”Her
voice was deep andthroaty, a sound as full ofsexualpromiseasherbodywasavision.“Ialwaysmissyou,”he
said. “You raise myspirits.”
“Onlyyourspirits?”“Onlymyspirits.”“You lie. I can see it in
youreyes,”shesaid.“You see nothing that I
donotwantyoutosee—oranyone else. You are safewith me, Caessa. Have Inottoldyou?Butallowme
to say that for a womanwho does not seek thecompany of men, youmake a very spectacularentrance. Where are yourtrousers?”“Itwashot.Thetunicis
decorous enough,” shesaid, absently tugging at
thehem.“I wonder if you really
knowwhat youwant,” hesaid.“I want to be left
alone.”“Thenwhydoyouseek
myfriendship?”“You know what I
mean.”“Yes,Ido,”hetoldher,
“but I’mnotsure thatyoudo.”“You are very serious
today, O Lord of theForest. I can’t think why.Weareall beingpaid.Wehaveourpardons,andthe
quarters are a sight betterthanSkultik.”“Where have they
placedyou?”heasked.“The young officer—
Pinar?—insisted that Ihave a room in the mainbarracks.Hewouldn’thearofmesharingwiththerest
of the men. It was quitetouching, really. He evenkissedmyhand!”“He’s all right,” said
Bowman. “Let’s have adrink.”HeledherintotheEldibar mess hall and onthrough the officers’section at the rear,
ordering a bottle of whitewine. Seated by thewindow, he drank insilence for a while,watchingthementrain.“Why did you agree to
this?” she asked himsuddenly. “And don’t giveme any of that rubbish
about pardons. You don’tgiveadamnabout thatoraboutthemoney.”“Stilltryingtoreadme?
It can’t be done,” he said,sipping his wine. Then heturned and called out forbread and cheese. Shewaited until the serving
soldierhadleft.“Comeon,tellme!”“Sometimes, my dear,
as you will no doubt findwhenyouarealittleolder,there are no simplereasons for a man’sactions. Impulse. An actspurred by the moment.
Who knows why I agreedto come here? I certainlydonot!”“You’relyingagain.You
justwon’tsay.Isitthatoldman,Druss?”“Why are you so
interested? In fact, whyareyouhere?”
“Whynot? It should beexciting and not terriblydangerous.Weareleaving,aren’t we, when the thirdwallgoes?”“Of course. That was
theagreement,”hesaid.“Youdon’t trustme,do
you?”shesaid,smiling.
“I don’t trust anybody.You know, sometimes youdoactjustlikeeveryotherwomanIhaveknown.”“Isthatacompliment,O
Master of the GreenWood?”“Ithinknot.”“Then what does it
mean? After all, I am awoman. How do youexpectmetoact?”“There you go again.
Let’s get back to trust.Whatmadeyouask?”“Youwon’tsaywhyyou
came, and then you lieabout leaving. Do you
thinkI’macompletefool?You have no intention ofquitting this doomed pileof rock. You will stay totheend.”“And where do you
come by this remarkableintelligence?”heasked.“It’s written all over
yourface.Butdon’tworry;I won’t let on to Jorak orany of the others. Butdon’tcountonmetostay.I have no intention ofdyinghere.”“Caessa,my little dove,
you only prove how littleyouknowme.Anyway,for
whatit’sworth—”Bowman ceased his
explanation as the tallfigure of Hogun enteredthe doorway and the ganthreaded his way throughthe tables toward them. Itwas Caessa’s first sight ofthelegiongeneral,andshe
was impressed. He movedwith grace, one handresting on his sword hilt.His eyes were clear, hisjaw strong, and hisfeatures fair—handsomealmost. She disliked himinstantly. Her view wasstrengthened when he
pulledupachair,reversedit,andsatfacingBowman,ignoringhertotally.“Bowman, we must
talk,”hesaid.“Goahead.First,letme
introduce Caessa. Caessa,my dear, this is GanHogun of the legion.” He
turnedandnoddedonceinherdirection.“Doyoumindifwetalk
alone?”heaskedBowman.Caessa’s greeneyesblazedwith anger, but she keptsilentandstood,desperatefor a parting remark thatwouldstingtheman.
“I will see you later,”said Bowman as sheopened her mouth. “Getyourself some food now.”As she turned on her heeland left the room,Bowman watched her,delighting in the felinegraceofherwalk.
“You’ve upset her,” hesaid.“Me? I didn’t even
speaktoher,”saidHogun,removing his black andsilver helm and placing iton the table. “Anyway,that’s immaterial. I wantyoutospeaktoyourmen.”
“Whatabout?”“They spend a lot of
their time loafing aroundand jeering at the soldiersastheytrain.It’snotgoodformorale.”“Why shouldn’t they?
They are civilianvolunteers. It will all stop
whenthefightingstarts.”“The point is, Bowman,
thatthefightingmaystartbefore the Nadir arrive. Ihave just stopped one ofmymen fromgutting thatblack-beardedgiant,Jorak.Muchmoreofthisandwewill have murder on our
hands.”“I’ll talk to them,” said
Bowman. “Calm yourselfand have a drink. Whatdid you think of my ladyarcher?”“I reallydidn’t look too
closely. She seemedpretty.”
“I think itmust be truewhat they say about thecavalry,” said Bowman.“You are all in love withyour horses! Great gods,man, she’s more thanmerelypretty!”“Talktoyourmennow.
Iwillfeelalotbetterthen.
Tensions are rising prettybadly, and the Nadir areonlytwodaysaway.”“I said I would. Now,
have a drink and relax.You’re getting as edgy asyour men, and that can’tbegoodformorale.”Hogun grinned
suddenly. “You’re right.It’s always like this beforeafight.Drussislikeabearwithasorehead.”“I hear you lost the
open swords to the fatone,” said Bowman,grinning. “Tut, tut, oldhorse!Thisisnotimetobe
currying favor with thehierarchy.”“I didn’t let him win;
he’s a fine swordsman.Don’t judge him tooharshly,myfriend;hemayyet surprise you. Hecertainly surprised me.What did youmeanwhen
yousaidIupsetthegirl?”Bowman smiled, then
laughed loudly. He shookhis head and pouredanotherglassofwine.“My dear Hogun, when
a woman is beautiful, shecomes to expect a certain—how shall I say?—a
certain reverence frommen.Youshouldhavehadthe good grace to bethunderstruck by herbeauty. Stunned intosilenceor,betterstill, intoa babbling fool. Then shewould have merelyignoredyouandanswered
your devotion witharrogantdisdain.Nowyouhave slightedher,and shewill hate you.Worse thanthis, shewilldoall inherpowertowinyourheart.”“I don’t think that
makes a great deal ofsense.Why should she try
to win my heart if shehatesme?”“Sothatshecanbeina
position to treat you withdisdain. Do you knownothingaboutwomen?”“I know enough,” said
Hogun.“IalsoknowthatIdon’t have time for this
foolishness. Should Iapologize to her, do youthink?”“And let her know you
know how slighted shewas? My dear boy, youreducation has been sadlylacking!”
D18
russwelcomedthearrival of the Dros
Purdolriders,notsomuchfor their numbers, morefor the fact that theirarrival proved that theDros had not been
forgotten by the outsideworld.Yet still, Druss knew,
the defenders would bebadly stretched. The firstbattle on Eldibar, WallOne,wouldeitherraisethemen or destroy them. TheDelnoch fightingedgewas
sharp enough, but spiritwas adifferent thing.Onecould fashion the fineststeelintoaswordbladeofpassing excellence, butoccasionally the movefrom fire to water wouldcause it to crack whereblades of lesser metal
survived.Anarmywaslikethat, Druss knew. He hadseen highly trained menpanicandrun,andfarmersstand their ground, armedwithpicksandhoes.Bowmanandhisarchers
practiced daily now onKania, Wall Three, which
had the longest stretch ofground between themountains. They weresuperb. The six hundredarchers could send threethousand arrows archingthrough the air every tenheartbeats. The firstcharge would bring the
Nadirintorangefornearlytwo minutes before thesiege ladders could reachthe walls. The attackingwarriors would sufferterrible losses over theopen ground. It would bebloodycarnage.Butwoulditbeenough?
Theywere about to seethe greatest army everassembled, a horde thatwithin twenty years hadbuilt an empire stretchingacross a dozen lands andfive score cities.Ulricwason the verge of creatingthe largest empire in
known history, a mightyachievementforamannotyetoutofhisforties.Druss walked the
Eldibar battlements,chatting to individualsoldiers,jokingwiththem,laughingwith them. Theirhatred of him had
vanished like dawn mistduring these last days.They saw him now forwhat he was: an iron oldman, a warrior from thepast, a living echo ofancientglories.They remembered then
that he had chosen to
standwiththem.Andtheyknew why. This was theonlyplaceinalltheworldfor the last of the oldheroes: Druss the Legend,standing with the lasthopesoftheDrenaionthebattlementsofthegreatestfortresseverbuilt,waiting
forthelargestarmyintheworld. Where else wouldhebe?Slowly the crowds
gathered about him asmoremenmadetheirwayto Eldibar. Before longDruss was threading hiswaythroughmassedranks
on the battlements, whileeven more soldiersgathered on the openground behind them. Heclimbed to the crenellatedbattlementwallandturnedto face them. His voiceboomed out, silencing thechatter.
“Look about you!” hecalled, the sun glintingfrom the silver shoulderguardsonhisblackleatherjerkin, his white beardglistening. “Look aboutyounow.Themenyouseeare your comrades—yourbrothers. They will live
with you and die for you.Theywill protect you andbleed for you. Never inyour lives will you knowsuch comradeship again.Andifyoulivetobeasoldas I am, you will alwaysrememberthisdayandthedays to follow. You will
remember them with aclearnessyouwouldneverhave believed. Each daywillbelikecrystal,shininginyourminds.“Yes, there will be
blood and havoc, tortureand pain, and you willremember that, too. But
aboveallwillbethesweettaste of life. And there isnothinglikeit,mylads.“You can believe this
old man when he says it.Youmaythinklifeissweetnow, but when death is aheartbeat away, then lifebecomes unbearably
desirable. And when yousurvive,everythingyoudowillbeenhancedandfilledwith greater joy: thesunlight, the breeze, agoodwine,awoman’slips,achild’slaughter.“Life is nothing unless
death has been faced
down.“In times to come,men
willsay,‘IwishIhadbeenthere with them.’ By thenthecausewon’tmatter.“You are standing at a
frozenmoment in history.Theworldwillbechangedwhen this battle is over.
Either theDrenaiwill riseagainoranewempirewilldawn.“You are now men of
history.” Druss wassweating now andstrangely tired, but heknewhehadtogoon.Hewas desperate to
rememberSieben’ssagaofthe Elder days and thestirring words of an Eldergeneral. But he could not.He breathed in deeply,tastingthesweetmountainair.“Some of you are
probablythinkingthatyou
may panic and run. Youwon’t! Others are worriedabout dying. Some of youwill. But all men die. Noone ever gets out of thislifealive.“I fought at Skeln Pass
when everyone said wewere finished. They said
the odds were too great,but I said be damned tothem!ForIamDruss,andI have never been beaten,not by Nadir, Sathuli,Ventrian, Vagrian, orDrenai.“By all the gods and
demons of this world, I
willtellyounow—Idonotintend to be beaten here,either!” Druss wasbellowingatthetopofhisvoiceashedraggedSnagainto the air. The ax bladecaught the sun and thechantbegan.“Druss the Legend!Druss
the Legend!” The men onother battlements couldnot hear Druss’s words,but they heard the chantand took it up. DrosDelnoch echoed to thesound,avastcacophonyofnoise that crashed andreverberated through the
peaks, scattering flocks ofbirds, which took to theskiesinflutteringpanic.Atlast Druss raised his armsfor silence and graduallythechantsubsided,thoughmore men were runningfromWallTwotohearhiswords.Bythenalmostfive
thousand men weregatheredabouthim.“We are the knights of
Dros Delnoch, the siegecity. We will build a newlegendheretodwarfSkelnPass. And we will bringdeathtotheNadirintheirthousands. Aye, in their
hundreds of thousands.Whoarewe?”“Knights of Dros
Delnoch!” thundered themen.“And what do we
bring?”“DeathtotheNadir!”Druss was about to
continue when he sawmen’s heads turn to facedown into the valley.Columns of dust in thedistance created cloudsthat rose to challenge theskylikeagatheringstorm.Like the father of allstorms.And then, through
thedustcouldbeseentheglinting spears of theNadir, filling the valleyfrom all sides, sweepingforward, a vast darkblanket of fighting menwithmorefollowing.Waveafter wave of them cameinto sight. Vast siege
towerspulledbyhundredsof horses, giant catapults,leather-covered batteringrams, thousands of cartsandhundredsofthousandsof horses, vast herds ofcattle,andmorementhanthemindcouldtotal.Not one heart among
thewatchersfailedtomissabeatatthesight.Despairwas tangible, and Drusscursed softly. He hadnothing more to say. Andhe felt he had lost them.He turned to face theNadir horsemen bearingthe horsehair banners of
their tribes. By now theirfaces could be seen, grimand terrible. Druss raisedSnaga into the air andstood, legs spread, apicture of defiance. Angrynow, he stared at theNadiroutriders.As they saw him, they
pulledup theirhorsesandstared back. Suddenly theriders parted to allow aherald through. Gallopinghis steppe pony forward,he rode toward the gates,swerving as he camebeneath the wall whereDruss stood. He dragged
onthereins,andthehorseskidded to a stop, rearingandsnorting.“I bring this command
from the Lord Ulric,” heshouted. “Let the gates beopened and he will spareall within save the white-bearded one who insulted
him.”“Oh, it’s you again,
lardbelly,”saidDruss.“Didyou give himmymessageasIsaidit?”“Igave it,Deathwalker.
Asyousaidit.”“Andhelaughed,didhe
not?”
“Helaughed.Andsworetohaveyourhead.AndmyLord Ulric is a man whoalwaysfulfillshisdesires.”“Then we are two of a
kind. And it is my desirethathe shoulddancea jigontheendofachain,likea performing bear. And I
will have it so, even if Ihave to walk into yourcamp and chain himmyself.”“Yourwordsarelikeice
on the fire, old man—noisyandwithoutworth,”saidtheherald.“Weknowyour strength. You have
maybe eleven thousandmen. Mostly farmers. Weknowall thereistoknow.Look at the Nadir army!How can you hold? Whatis the point? Surrenderyourself. Throw yourselfonthemercyofmylord.”“Laddie,Ihaveseenthe
size of your army, and itdoes not impress me. Ihave a mind to send halfmy men back to theirfarms. What are you? Abunch of potbellied,bowlegged northerners. Ihear what you say. Butdon’ttellmewhatyoucan
do. Show me! And that’senough of talk. Fromnowon this will talk for me.”He shook Snaga beforehim,sunlightflashingfromtheblade.Along the line of
defenders Gilad nudgedBregan. “Druss the
Legend!” he chanted, andBregan joined him with adozen others. Once morethe sound began to swellas the herald wheeled hismount and raced away.The noise thundered afterhim:“Druss theLegend!Druss
theLegend!”
Druss watched silently asthe massive siege enginesinched toward the wall,vast wooden towers sixtyfeet high and twenty feetwide, ballistae by thehundred, ungainly
catapults on hugewoodenwheels.Countlessnumbersof men heaved andstrained at thousands ofropes, dragging into placethe machines that hadconqueredGulgothir.Theoldwarrior studied
the scene below, seeking
out the legendarywarmaster Khitan. It didnot take long to findhim.He was the still center ofthe whirlpool of activitybelow, the calm amid thestorm. Where he moved,work ceased as hisinstructions were given,
then began again withrenewedintensity.Khitanglancedupatthe
towering battlements. HecouldnotseeDeathwalkerbut felt his presence andgrinned.“You cannot stop my
work with one ax,” he
whispered.Idly he scratched the
scarred stump at the endof his arm. Strange howafter all these years hecould still feel his fingers.The gods had been kindthat day when theGulgothir tax gatherers
had sackedhis village.Hehad been barely twelveyears old, and they hadslain his family. In aneffort to protect hismother, he had runforward with his father’sdagger. A slashing swordhad sent his hand flying
through the air to landbeside the body of hisbrother. The same swordhadlancedintohischest.Tothisdayhecouldnot
explain why he had notdied along with the othervillagers, or indeed whyUlric had spent so long
trying to save him.Ulric’sraiders had surprised thekillers and routed them,takingtwoprisoners.Thena warrior checking thebodies had found Khitan,barely alive. They hadtakenhimintothesteppes,laying him in Ulric’s tent.
There they had sealed theweeping stump withboilingtaranddressedthewoundinhissidewithtreemoss. For almost amonthhe had remainedsemiconscious, deliriouswith fever. He had onememory of that terrible
time, amemory hewouldcarrytothedayhedied.His eyes had opened to
see above him a face,strong and compelling.The eyes were violet, andhefelttheirpower.“Youwill not die, little
one.Hearme?” The voice
wasgentle,butashesankonce more into thenightmares and delirium,he knew that the wordswere not a promise. Theywereacommand.And Ulric’s commands
weretobeobeyed.Since that day Khitan
had spent every consciousmoment serving theNadirlord.Uselessincombat,hehad learned to use hismind, creating the meansby which his lord couldbuildanempire.Twentyyearsofwarfare
andplunder.Twentyyears
ofsavagejoy.With his small
entourage of assistantsKhitan threaded his waythrough the millingwarriors and entered thefirst of the twenty siegetowers. They were hisspecial pride. In concept
they had been startlinglysimple. Create a woodenbox, three-sided andtwelve feet high. Placewooden steps insideagainst the walls leadingto the roof. Now take asecond box and place itatop the first. Secure it
withironpins.Addathirdand you have a tower. Itwas relatively easy toassemble and dismantle,and the component partscould be stacked onwagons and carriedwherever the generalneededthem.
But if the concept wassimple, the practicalitieshad been plagued bycomplexities. Ceilingscollapsedundertheweightof armedmen, walls gaveway, wheels splintered,and worst of all, once itwas over thirty feet high
the structurewas unstableandpronetotip.Khitan recalledhow for
more than a year he hadworked harder than hisslaves, sleeping less thanthree hours a night. Hehad strengthened theceilings, but this had
merely made the entirestructure more heavy andless stable. In despair hehad reported toUlric.TheNadir warlord had senthimtoVentria to studyattheUniversityofTertullus.He felt that he had beendisgraced, humiliated.
Nevertheless he hadobeyed; he would sufferanythingtopleaseUlric.Buthehadbeenwrong,
and theyearhehadspentstudyingunderRebow,theVentrian lecturer, hadproved to be the mostglorioustimeofhislife.
He learned of masscenters, parallel vectors,and the need forequilibrium betweenexternal and internalforces. His appetite forknowledge was voracious,and Rebow found himselfwarmingtotheuglyNadir
tribesman.Before long theslender Ventrian invitedKhitan to share his home,where studies could becarried on long into thenight. The Nadir wastireless. Often Rebowwould fall asleep in hischair,onlytowakeseveral
hours later and find thesmall, one-armed Khitanstill studying the exerciseshe had set him. Rebowwas delighted. Rarely hada student showed suchaptitude,andneverhadhefound a man with such acapacityforwork.
Every force, learnedKhitan, had an equal andopposite reaction, so that,forexample,a jibexertinga push at its top end alsohad to exert an equal andopposite push at the footofitssupportingpost.Thiswashisintroductiontothe
world of creating stabilitythroughunderstandingthenatureofstress.For him the University
of Tertulluswas a kind ofparadise.On the day he had left
for home, the littletribesman hadwept as he
embraced the strickenVentrian. Rebow hadbegged him to reconsider,to take a post at theuniversity, but Khitan hadnotthehearttotellhimhewas not in the leasttempted. He owed his lifeto one man and dreamed
of nothing but servinghim.Athomeoncemore, he
set to work. Underconstruction the towerswould be tiered, creatinganartificialbasefivetimesthe size of the structure.While a tower was being
moved into position, onlythe first two levels wouldbe manned, creating amass weight low to theground. Once it waspositionedbyawall,ropeswould be hurled from thecenter of the tower andiron pins hammered into
the ground, creatingstability. The wheelswould be iron-spoked andrimmed, and there wouldbe eight to a tower todistributetheweight.Using his new
knowledge, he designedcatapults and ballistae.
Ulric was well pleased,andKhitanwasecstatic.Now,bringinghismind
backtothepresent,Khitanclimbed to the top of thetower,orderingthementolower the hinged platformat the front. He gazed atthe walls three hundred
paces distant and saw theblack-garbed Deathwalkerleaning on thebattlements.The walls were higher
than at Gulgothir, andKhitanhadaddedasectionto each tower. Orderingthe platform to be raised
once more, he tested thetension in the supportropes and climbed downthrough the five levels,stoppinghereandtheretocheckstrutsorties.Tonight his four
hundred slaves would gotoworkbeneaththewalls,
chippingawayattherockyfloor of the pass andplacing the giant pulleysevery forty paces. Thepulleys, six feet high andcast around greasedbearings, had takenmonths to design andyears to construct to his
satisfaction, finally beingcompleted at theironworks of Lentria’scapitalathousandmilestothesouth.Theyhadcostafortune, and even Ulrichad blanched when thefinal figurewasestimated.But they had proved their
worthovertheyears.Thousands of men
would pull a tower towithinsixtyfeetofawall.Thereafter the line wouldshrink as the gap closed;the three-inch-diameterropes could be curledaroundthepulleys,passed
under the towers, andhauledfrombehind.Theslaveswhodugand
toiled to create the pulleybeds were protected fromarchers by movablescreens of stretchedoxhide, but many wereslainbyrockshurledfrom
the walls above. This wasof no concern to Khitan.Whatdidconcernhimwaspossible damage to thepulleys, which were notprotectedbyironcasing.With one last lingering
lookatthewalls,hemadehis way back to his
quarters in order to briefthe engineers. Drusswatched him until heentered the city of tentsthat now filled the valleyforovertwomiles.Somanytents.Somany
warriors. Druss orderedthe defenders to stand
downandrelaxwhiletheycould,seeingintheirfacesthe pinched edge of fear,the wide eyes of barelycontrolledpanic.Thesheerscaleoftheenemyhadcutinto morale. He cursedsoftly, stripped off hisblack leather jerkin,
stepped back from thebattlements, and loweredhis huge frame to thewelcoming grass beyond.Within moments he wasasleep. Men nudged oneanotherandpointed;thoseclosest tohimchuckledasthe snoring began. They
werenottoknowthatwashisfirstsleepfortwodaysor that he lay there forfear that his legs wouldnot carry him back to hisquarters. They knew onlythat he was Druss: TheCaptainoftheAx.And that he held the
Nadirincontempt.Bowman,Hogun,Orrin,
and Caessa also left thewalls for the shade of themess hall, the green-cladarcher pointing at thesleepinggiant.“Was there ever such a
one?”hesaid.
“He just looks old andtired to me,” said Caessa.“I can’t see why youregard him with suchreverence.”“Oh,yes,youcan,”said
Bowman. “You are justbeingprovocativeasusual,my dear. But then, that’s
thenatureofyourgender.”“Not so,” said Caessa,
smiling. “What ishe,afterall? He is a warrior.Nothing more, nothingless. What has he everdone to make him such ahero?Wavedhisax?Killedmen?Ihavekilledmen.It
is no great thing. No onehas written a saga aboutme.”“They will, my lovely,
they will,” said Bowman.“Justgivethemtime.”“Drussismorethanjust
a warrior,” said Hogunsoftly. “I think he always
hasbeen.Heisastandard,anexampleifyoulike…”“Ofhowtokillpeople?”
offeredCaessa.“No, that’s not what I
meant.Drussiseverymanwhohasrefusedtoquit,tosurrenderwhenlifeofferedno hope, to stand aside
when the alternative wasto die. He is a man whohasshownothermenthereis no such thing asguaranteeddefeat.He liftsthe spiritmerely by beingDrussandbeingseentobeDruss.”“Just words!” said
Caessa. “You men are allthe same. Always loftywords.Wouldyousingthepraises of a farmer whofought for years againstfailedcropsandfloods?”“No,” admitted Hogun.
“Butthen,itisthelifeofaman like Druss which
inspires the farmers tobattleon.”“Garbage!” Caessa
sneered. “Arrogantgarbage! The farmer caresnothing for warriors orwar.”“You will never win,
Hogun,” said Bowman,
holdingopenthemesshalldoor.“Giveupnow,whileyoucan.”“Thereisafundamental
error in your thinking,Caessa,” said Orrinsuddenly as the membersof the group seatedthemselves around a
trestle table. “You areignoring the simple factthat the vast majority ofour troops here arefarmers. They have signedonfor thedurationof thiswar.” He smiled gentlyand waved his hand forthemessservant.
“Then the more foolthem,”saidCaessa.“We are all fools,”
agreed Orrin. “War is aridiculous folly, and youare right: men love toprove themselves incombat.Idon’tknowwhy,for Ihaveneverdesired it
myself. But I have seen ittoo often in others. Buteven for me Druss is, asHogun describes him, anexample.”“Why?”sheasked.“I cannot put it into
words,I’mafraid.”“Ofcourseyoucan.”
Orrin smiled and shookhis head. He filled theirgoblets with white wine,then broke the bread andpassed it around. For awhile they ate in silence,thenOrrinspokeagain.“There is a green leaf
called Neptis. When
chewed, it will relievetoothache or head pain.Nooneknowswhy; it justdoes. I suppose Druss islike that. When he isaround,fearseemstofade.That’sthebestIcandotoexplain.”“He doesn’t have that
effectonme,”saidCaessa.
On the tower battlementsBreganandGiladwatchedthe Nadir preparations.Along the wall Dun Pinarsupervised the setting ofnotched poles to repelsiege ladders, while Bar
Britan oversaw theplugging of scores ofpotteryjugscontainingoil.Once filled and plugged,the jugs were placed inwicker baskets at variouspointsalongthewalls.Themood was grim. Fewwords were exchanged as
men checked theirweapons, sharpenedalready-sharp swords,oiled armor, or checkedeachshaftintheirquivers.
Hogun and Bowman leftthe mess hall together,leaving Orrin and Caessa
deepinconversation.Theysat on the grass sometwenty paces from theaxman, Bowman lying onhissideandrestingonhiselbow.“I once read some
fragments from the BookofElders,”saidthearcher.
“One line in particularstrikesmenow. ‘Comethemoment, come the man.’Never did a moment callfor a man moredesperately than this. AndDruss has arrived.Providence,doyouthink?”“Great gods, Bowman!
You’re not turningsuperstitious, are you?”askedHogun,grinning.“I should say not. I
merely wonder whetherthere is such a thing asfate that such a manshouldbesuppliedatsuchatime.”
Hogun plucked a stemof couch grass and placedit between his teeth. “Allright, let us examine theargument.Canweholdforthree months untilWoundweavergathersandtrainshisarmy?”“No. Not with these
few.”“Then it matters not
whether Druss’s arrivalwas a coincidence orotherwise. We may holdfor a few more daysbecauseofhistraining,butthatisnotenough.”“Morale is high, old
horse, so best not repeatthosesentiments.”“Do you think me a
fool? I will stand and diewithDrusswhen the timecomes, as will the othermen. I share my thoughtswithyoubecauseyouwillunderstand them. You are
a realist, and moreover,you remain only until thethirdwallfalls.WithyouIcanbefrank,surely.”“Druss held Skeln Pass
when all others said itwouldfall,”saidBowman.“For eleven days—not
threemonths.Andhewas
fifteenyearsyoungerthen.I don’t belittle what hedid; he is worthy of hislegends. Knights of DrosDelnoch! Have you everseen such knights?Farmers,peasants,andrawrecruits. Only the legionhas seen real action, and
they are trained for hit-and-run charges fromhorseback. We could foldonthefirstattack.”“But we won’t, will
we!” said Bowman,laughing. “We are Druss’sknightsandtheingredientsof a new legend.” His
laughtersangout,richandfull of good humor.“Knights of Dros Delnoch!Youandme,Hogun.Theywill sing about us in daysto come. Good oldBowman, he came to theaidofanailingfortressforlove of liberty, freedom,
andchivalry—”“And gold. Don’t forget
thegold,”saidHogun.“A minor point, old
horse. Let us not ruin thespiritofthething.”“Of course not. I do
apologize.However,surelyyouhave todieheroically
before you can beimmortalized in song andsaga.”“A moot point,”
admitted Bowman. “ButI’m sure Iwill find awayaroundit.”Above them on Musif,
Wall Two, several young
culs were ordered to helpfetchbucketsforthetowerwell. Grumbling, they leftthebattlementstojointheline of soldierswaiting bythestores.Each armed with four
wooden buckets, the menfiled from the building
toward the shallow cavebeyond where the Musifwell nestled in the coldshadows. Attaching thebuckets to a complicatedsystem of pulleys, theylowered them slowlytoward the dark waterbelow.
“How long is it sincethishasbeenused?”askedone soldier as the firstbucket reappeared,coveredincobwebs.“Probably about ten
years,” answered theofficer, Dun Garta. “Thepeople who had homes
here used the centerwell.A childdied inhereonce,and thewellwas pollutedfor over three months.That and the rats keptmostpeopleaway.”“Did they ever get the
bodyout?”askedthecul.“Not as I heard. But
don’t worry, lad. It’s onlybones by now and won’taffectthetaste.Goon,trysome.”“Funnilyenough,Idon’t
feelverythirsty.”Garta laughed and
dipped his hands into thebucket,liftingthewaterto
hismouth.“Spiced with rat
droppings and garnishedwith dead spiders!” hesaid. “Are you sure youwon’thavesome?”The men grinned, but
nonesteppedforward.“All right, the fun’s
over,” said Garta. “Thepulleys are working, thebuckets are ready, and Ishould say the job’s done.So let’s lock the gate andgetbacktowork.”Garta awoke in the
night, pain ripping at himlike an angry rat trapped
in his belly. As he rolledfromthebedandstruggledto rise, his groaningwokethe other three mensharing the room. One ofthemrushedtohisside.“What is it, Garta?” he
said, turning the writhingman onto his back. Garta
drewuphisknees,hisfacepurple. His hand snakedout, grabbing the other’sshirt.“The… water! Water!”
Hestartedtochoke.“He wants water!”
yelled theman supportinghim.
Garta shook his head.Suddenly his back archedaspainsearedhim.“Greatgods!He’sdead,”
said his companion asGartaslumpedinhisarms.
R19
ek, Serbitar, Virae,andVintar sat around
a small campfire an hourbefore dawn. The camphad been made late thenight before in a secludedhollowonthesouthsideof
awoodedhill.“Time is short,” said
Vintar. “The horses areexhausted,anditisatleasta five-hour ride to thefortress. We might getthere before the water isissued and we might not.Indeed, it may already be
too late. But we do haveoneotherchoice.”“Well, what is it?” said
Rek.“It must be your
decision, Rek. None othercanmakeit.”“Just tell me, Abbot. I
amtootiredtothink.”
Vintar exchangedglanceswiththealbino.“We can—the Thirty
can—join forces and seekto pierce the barrieraroundthefortress.”“Then try it,” said Rek.
“Whereistheproblem?”“It will take all our
powers and may notsucceed. If itdoesnot,wewill not have the strengthto rideon. Indeed,even ifwe do succeed, we willneedtorestformostoftheday.”“Do you think you can
pierce the barrier?” said
Virae.“Idonotknow.Wecan
onlytry.”“Think what happened
when Serbitar tried,” saidRek.“Youcouldallbehurled
intothe…whatever.Whatthen?”
“We die,” answeredSerbitarsoftly.“And you say it is my
choice?”“Yes,” answered Vintar,
“for the rule of the Thirtyis a simple one. We havepledgedour service to themasterofDelnoch;youare
thatmaster.”Rek was silent for
severalminutes,hiswearybrain numbed by theweightof thedecision.Hefound himself thinking ofso many other worries inhislifethatatthetimehadseemedmomentous.There
had never been a choicelikethis.Hismindcloudedwithfatigue,andhecouldnotconcentrate.“Do it!”he said. “Break
the barrier.” Pushinghimself to his feet, hewalkedawayfromthefire,ashamed that such an
order should be forcedfrom him at a time whenhecouldnotthinkclearly.Virae joined him, her
armcirclinghiswaist.“I’msorry,”shesaid.“Forwhat?”“For what I said when
you told me about the
letter.”“It doesn’tmatter.Why
should you think well ofme?”“Becauseyouareaman
andyouact likeone,” shesaid.“Nowit’syourturn.”“Myturn?”“Toapologize,youdolt!
Youstruckme.”He pulled her to him,
lifting her from her feet,andkissedher.“That wasn’t an
apology,” she said. “Andyou scratched my facewithyourstubble.”“If Iapologize,willyou
letmedoitagain?”“Strikeme,youmean?”“No,kissyou!”Back at the hollow the
Thirty formed a circlearound the fire, removingtheir swords and plungingthem into the ground attheirfeet.
The communion began,their minds flowing,streaming into Vintar. Hewelcomedeachbynameinthe halls of hissubconscious.And merged. The
combined power rockedhim, and he struggled to
retain the memory ofhimself. He soared like aghostlygiant,anewbeingof incredible power. Thetiny thing thatwas Vintarclung on inside the newcolossus, forcingdownthecombined essence oftwenty-ninepersonalities.
Now there was onlyone.It called itself Temple
and was born under theDelnochstars.Temple reared high
under the clouds,stretching ethereal armsacrosstheDelnochcrags.
He soared exultantly,new eyes drinking in thesights of the universe.Laughter welled withinhim. Vintar reeled at thecenter, driving himselfdeeperintothecore.At last Temple became
aware of the abbot, more
as a tiny thought nigglingat the edge of his newreality.“DrosDelnoch.West.”Temple flewwest, high
over the crags. Beneathhim the fortress lay silent,gray, and ghostly in themoonlight.Hesanktoward
itandsensedthebarrier.Barrier?Tohim?He struck at it—and
was hurled into the night,angry and hurt. His eyesblazed, and he knew fury:The barrier had touchedhimwithpain.
AgainandagainTemplelaunched himself towardtheDros,strikingblowsoffearful power. The barriertrembledandchanged.Temple drew back,
confused,watching.The barrier drew in on
itself like swirling mist,
reforming. Then itdarkened into a thickplume, blacker than thenight. Arms emerged, legsformed,andahornedheadgrew with seven slantedredeyes.Temple had learned
much during his few
minutesoflife.Joy, freedom, and
knowledge of life hadcome first. Then pain andfury.Now he knew fear and
gained the knowledge ofevil.His enemy flew at him,
curving black talonsslashing the sky. Templemet him head on, curlinghis arms around its back.Sharp teeth tore at hisface, talons ripping hisshoulders. His own hugefistslockedtogetheratthecreature’sspine,drawingit
inuponitself.Below on Musif, Wall
Two, three thousand mentook up their positions.Despite all arguments,Druss had refused tosurrender Wall Onewithoutafightandwaitedthere with six thousand
men. Orrin had raged athim that such action wasstupidity; thewidthof thewall made for animpossibletask.Drusswasobstinate even whenHogunbackedOrrin.“Trustme,”Drussurged
them. But he lacked the
words to convince them.Hetriedtoexplainthatthemen needed a smallvictory on the first day inorder to hone that finaledgetotheirmorale.“But the risk, Druss!”
saidOrrin. “We could loseonthe firstday.Can’tyou
seethat?”“You are the gan,”
snarled Druss then. “Youcan overrule me if youwish.”“But Iwillnot,Druss. I
will stand beside you onEldibar.”“AndI,”saidHogun.
“Youwill see that I amright,” said Druss. “Ipromiseyou.”Both men nodded,
smiling to mask theirdespair.Nowthedutyculswere
queuing by the wells,gathering the water
buckets and making theirwayalongthebattlements,steppingover the legsandbodies of men stillsleeping.On Wall One Druss
dipped a copper dish intoabucketanddrankdeeply.He was not sure that the
Nadir would attack thatday.His instincts toldhimUlricwould allow anotherfull day of murderoustension, the sight of hisarmy preparing for battledraining the defenders ofcourageand sapping themofhope.EvensoDrusshad
little choice. The movewas Ulric’s: The Drenaiwouldhavetowait.Above them Temple
suffered the fury of thebeast, his shoulders andback shredded, hisstrength fading. Thehorned creature was also
weakening. Death facedthemboth.Templedidnotwant to
die, not after such a shortbittersweettasteoflife.Hewanted to see at closehand all those things hehad glimpsed from afar,the colored lights of
expanding stars, thesilence at the center ofdistantsuns.His grip tightened.
There would be no joy inthe lights, no thrill amidthe silence if this thingwas left alive behind him.Suddenly the creature
screamed, a high terriblesound, eerie and chilling.Its back snapped, and itfadedlikemist.Semiconscious within
Temple’ssoul,Vintarcriedout.Temple looked down,
watching the men, tiny
frail creatures, preparingto break their fast withdark bread and water.Vintarcriedoutagain,andTemple’sbrowfurrowed.Hepointedhisfingerat
thewall.Men began to scream,
hurling water cups and
buckets from the Musifbattlements.Ineachvesselblackwormswriggledandswam. Now more mensurged to their feet,millingandshouting.“What the devil’s
happeningup there?” saidDruss as the noise flowed
down to him. He glanceddownattheNadirandsawthat men were streamingback from the siegeengines toward the tentcity. “I don’t knowwhat’sgoingon,”saidDruss.“ButeventheNadirareleaving.I’mgoingbacktoMusif.”
In the city of tents Ulricwas no less angry as heshouldered his waythroughtothewidetentofNostaKhan.Hismindwasicy calm as he confrontedthesentryoutside.Thenewswasspreading
through the army like a
steppegorse fire:Asdawnhad broken, the tents ofNostaKhan’ssixtyacolyteshad been filled with soul-searing screams. Guardshadrushed in to findmenwrithingbroken-backedonthedirtfloors,theirbodiesbentlikeoverstrungbows.
Ulric knew that NostaKhan had marshaled hisfollowers,drawingontheircombinedpowertothwartthewhitetemplars,buthehadnevertrulyunderstoodtheappallingdangers.“Well?” he asked the
sentry.
“Nosta Khan is alive,”themantoldhim.Ulric lifted the flapand
stepped into the stench ofNosta Khan’s home. Theold man lay on a narrowpallet bed, his face graywith exhaustion, his skinbathed in sweat. Ulric
pulled up a stool and satbesidehim.“My acolytes?”
whisperedNostaKhan.“Alldead.”“They were too strong,
Ulric,”saidtheoldman.“Ihavefailedyou.”“Men have failed me
before,” said Ulric. “Itmattersnot.”“It matters to me!”
shouted the shaman,wincing as the effortstretchedhisback.“Pride,”saidUlric.“You
have lost nothing; youhave merely been beaten
by a stronger enemy. Itwill avail them little, formyarmywillstilltaketheDros. They cannot hold.Restyourself—andtakenorisks,shaman.Iorderit!”“Iwillobey.”“I know that. I do not
wishyou todie.Will they
comeforyou?”“No.Thewhitetemplars
are filled with notions ofhonor. If I rest, they willleavemebe.”“Then rest. And when
you are strong, we willmake them pay for yourhurt.”
Nosta Khan grinned.“Aye.”FartothesouthTemple
soared toward the stars.Vintar could not stop himandfoughttostaycalmasTemple’s panic washedover him, seeking todislodge him. With the
deathoftheenemy,Vintarhad tried to summon theThirty from within thenewmind of the colossus.In that moment Templelooked inside himself anddiscoveredVintar.Vintar had tried to
explain his presence and
the need for Temple torelinquish hisindividuality. Templeabsorbed the truth andfled from it like a comet,seekingtheheavens.Theabbotagaintriedto
summon Serbitar, seekingtheniche inwhichhehad
placed him in the halls ofhis subconscious. Thespark of life that was thealbino blossomed underthe abbot’s probing, andTemple shuddered, feelingas if part of himself hadbeencutfree.Heslowedinhisflight.
“Whyareyoudoingthistome?”heaskedVintar.“BecauseImust.”“Iwilldie!”“No.Youwillliveinall
ofus.”“Why must you kill
me?”“I am truly sorry,” said
Vintar gently. WithSerbitar’s aid he soughtArbedark and Menahem.Templeshrank,andVintarclosedhisheartwith griefto the overwhelmingdespair. The fourwarriorssummoned the othermembersoftheThirtyand
withheavyheartsreturnedtothehollows.Rek hurried across to
Vintarastheabbotopenedhiseyesandmoved.“Wereyou in time?”he
asked.“Yes,” muttered Vintar
wearily. “Let me rest
now.”
It was an hour short ofduskwhenRek,Virae,andthe Thirty rode under thegreat portcullis gate setbeneaththeDelnochkeep.Their horses were weary,lather-covered, and wet-
flanked. Men rushed togreet Virae, soldiersdoffing helms and citizensasking for news fromDrenan. Rek stayed in thebackground until theywere inside the keep. Ayoung officer escorted theThirty to the barracks
whileRekandViraemadetheir way to the topmostrooms.Rekwasexhausted.Strippingoffhisclothes,
he bathed himself withcold water and thenshaved,removingthefour-daystubbleandcursingasthekeenrazor—agiftfrom
Horeb—nicked his skin.Heshookmostofthedustfrom his garments anddressed once more. Viraehad gone to her ownrooms,andhehadnoideawhere they were.Strapping on his swordbelt,hemadehiswayback
to themain hall, stoppingtwice to ask servants theway. Once there, he satalone,gazingatthemarblestatues of ancient heroes.He felt lost: insignificantandoverpowered.As soon as they had
arrived, they had heard
the news that the Nadirhorde was before thewalls.Therewasatangibleair of panic among thetownsfolk, and they hadseen refugees leaving bythe score with carts piledhigh, a long, sorrowfulconvoyheadingsouth.
Rekwasunsurewhethertiredness or hunger waspredominantinhimatthatmoment. He heavedhimselftohisfeet,swayedslightly, then cursedloudly.Near the doorwasa full-length oval mirror.As he stood before it, the
man who stared back athim appeared tall, broad-shouldered, and powerful.His gray-blue eyes werepurposeful,hischinstrong,his body lean. The bluecape, though travel-worn,still hung well, and thethigh-length doeskin boots
gave him the look of acavalryofficer.AsRekgazedattheEarl
of Dros Delnoch, he sawhimself as others wouldseehim.Theywerenot toknow of his inner doubtsand would see only theimagehehadcreated.
Sobeit.He left the hall and
stoppedthefirstsoldierhemet to ask him whereDruss was to be found.WallOne,thesoldiersaid,anddescribed the locationof the postern gates. Thetall young earl set out for
Eldibar as the sun sank;going through the town,he stopped to buy a smallloaf of honey cake, whichheateashewalked.Itwasgrowing darker as hereachedtheposterngateofWall Two, but a sentryshowed him the way
through and at last heentered the killing groundbehind Wall One. Cloudsobscuredthemoon,andhealmostfellintothefirepitthat stretched across thepass. A young soldierhailed him and showedhim the first wooden
bridgeacrossit.“One of Bowman’s
archers, are you?” askedthe soldier, notrecognizing the tallstranger.“No.WhereisDruss?”“I have no idea. He
could be on the
battlements, or you mighttry the mess hall.Messenger,areyou?”“No.Which is themess
hall?”“See the lights over
there? That’s the hospital.Past there is thestoreroom; keep walking
until you hit the smell ofthe latrines, then turnright.Youcan’tmissit.”“Thankyou.”“It’snotrouble.Recruit,
areyou?”“Yes,” said Rek.
“Somethinglikethat.”“Well, I’d better come
withyou.”“Thereisnoneed.”“Yes, there is,” said the
man, and Rek feltsomething sharp in thesmall of his back. “This isa Ventrian dagger, and Isuggest you just walkalongwithme for a short
way.”“What’s thepoint of all
this?”“First, someone tried to
kill Druss the other day,and second, I don’t knowyou,” said the man. “Sowalk on and we will findhimtogether.”
Thetwomenmovedontowardthemesshall.Nowthattheywerecloser,theycould hear the soundsfrom the buildings ahead.Asentryhailedthemfromthe battlements; thesoldier answered, thenaskedforDruss.
“He’s on the wall nearthe gate tower,” came theanswer.“This way,” said the
soldier, and Rek climbedthe short steps to thebattlement walls. Then hestoppeddead.Ontheplainthousands of torches and
small fires illuminated theNadir army. Siege towersstraddled the pass likewooden giants frommountain wall tomountainwall. Thewholevalleywaslitasfarastheeyecouldsee;itwaslikeaviewofthesecondlevelof
hellitself.“Not a pretty sight, is
it?”saidthesoldier.“I don’t think it will
look any better bydaylight,”saidRek.“You are not wrong,”
agreed the other. “Let’smove.”
Ahead of them Drusswas seated on thebattlements, talking to asmallgroupofsoldiers.Hewas telling a wonderfullyembroideredtallstorythatRekhadheardbefore.Thepunch line evoked thedesired effect, and the
night silence was brokenbythesoundoflaughter.Druss laughed heartily
withthemen,thennoticedthenewcomers.He turnedandstudiedthetallmaninthebluecape.“Well?” he asked the
soldier.
“He was looking foryou,Captain, so Ibroughthimalong.”“To be more precise,”
said Rek, “he thought Imight be an assassin.Hence the dagger behindme.”Druss raised an
eyebrow.“Well,areyouanassassin?”“Not recently. Can we
talk?”“Weappeartobedoing
justthat.”“Privately.”“You start talkingand I
will decide how private it
istobe,”saidDruss.“My name is Regnak. I
have just arrived withwarriors from the templeof the Thirty and Virae,thedaughterofDelnar.”“Wewilltalkprivately,”
decided Druss. The menwandered away out of
earshot.“So speak,” said Druss,
hiscoldgrayeyesfixedonRek’sface.Rek seated himself on
the battlement wall andstared out over theglowingvalley.“A little on the large
side,isn’tit?”“Scareyou,doesit?”“To the soles of my
boots. However, you’reobviously in no mood tomakethisaneasymeeting,so I will simply spell outmy position. For better orworse, I am the earl. I’m
not a fool, nor yet ageneral, though often thetwo are synonymous. Asyet I will make nochanges. But bear this inmind … I will take abackseat to no man whendecisionsareneeded.”“Youthinkthatbedding
an earl’s daughter givesyou that right?” askedDruss.“You know it does! But
that’snotthepoint.Ihavefought before, and myunderstanding of strategyis as sound as that of anymanhere.Addedtothat,I
have the Thirty, and theirknowledge is second tonone. But even moreimportant, if Ihave todieat this forsaken place, itwillnotbeasabystander.I shall control my ownfate.”“You seek to take a lot
onyourself,laddie.”“No more than I can
handle.”“Do you really believe
that?”“No,”saidRekfrankly.“Ididn’tthinkyoudid,”
said Druss with a grin.“What the hell made you
comehere?”“Ithinkfatehasasense
ofhumor.”“She always had in my
day. But you look like asensibleyoungfellow.Youshouldhave taken thegirltoLentriaandsetuphomethere.”
“Druss, nobody takesVirae anywhere she doesnot want to go. She hasbeen reared on war andtalkofwar;shecanciteallyour legendsandthe factsbehind every campaignyou ever fought. She’s anAmazon,andthisiswhere
shewantstobe.”“Howdidyoumeet?”Rek told him about the
ride fromDrenan, throughSkultik, the death ofReinard, the templeof theThirty, the shipboardwedding, and the battlewith the Sathuli. The old
man listened to thestraightforward storywithoutcomment.“And here we are,”
concludedRek.“So you’re baresark,”
saidDruss.“I didn’t say that!”
retortedRek.
“But you did, laddie—bynotsayingit. Itdoesn’tmatter. I have foughtbeside many such. I amonly surprised the Sathulilet you go; they’re notknown for being anhonorablerace.”“I think their leader—
Joachim—is an exception.Listen, Druss, I would beobliged if you could keepquiet about the baresarkside.”Druss laughed. “Don’t
be a fool, boy! How longdoyouthink itwill stayasecret once the Nadir are
onthewalls?YoustickbymeandIwillseethatyoudon’t swat anyone fromourside.”“That’sgoodofyou,but
I think you could be alittle more hospitable. I’mas dry as a vulture’sarmpit.”
“There is no doubt,”said Druss, “that talkingworks upmore of a thirstthanfighting.Comeon,wewillfindHogunandOrrin.Thisisthelastnightbeforethebattle, so it calls for aparty.”
A20
s the dawn skylightened on the
morning of the third day,the first realities ofapocalypse hammeredhomeonthewallsofDrosDelnoch. Hundreds of
ballistae armswere pulledback by thousands ofsweatingwarriors.Musclesbunchingandknotting,theNadirdrewback thegiantarms until the wickerbasketsattheirheadswerealmost horizontal. Eachbasket was loaded with a
blockofjaggedgranite.The defenders watched
infrozenhorrorasaNadircaptainraisedhisarm.Thearm swept down, and theair became filled with adeadly rain that crashedand thundered amid andaround the defenders. The
battlements shook as theboulders fell. By the gatetower, three men weresmashed to oblivion as asection of crenellatedbattlementexplodedunderthe impact of one hugerock. Along the wall mencowered, hurling
themselvesflat,handsovertheirheads.Thenoisewasfrightening; the silencethat followed wasterrifying. For as the firstthunderous assault ceasedand soldiers raised theirheads to gaze below, itwas only to see the same
process being casuallyrepeated.Backandfartherback went the massivewoodenarms.Upwentthecaptain’s hand. Down itwent.And the rain of death
boredown.Rek,Druss,andSerbitar
stood above the gatetower, enduring the firsthorror of war along withthe men. Rek had refusedtoallowtheoldwarriortostand alone, though Orrinhad warned that for bothleaders to stand togetherwas lunacy. Druss had
laughed. “You and thelady Virae shall watchfrom the second wall, myfriend. And you will seethat no Nadir pebble canlaymelow.”Virae, furious, had
insisted that she beallowedtowaitonthefirst
wall with the others, butRek had summarilyrefused. An argumentwasswiftly ended by Druss:“Obey your husband,woman!” he thundered.Rek had winced at that,closinghiseyesagainsttheexpected outburst.
Strangely, Virae hadmerelynoddedandretiredto Musif, Wall Two, tostand beside Hogun andOrrin.Now Rek crouched by
Druss and gazed left andright along the wall.Swords and spears in
hand, the men of DrosDelnochwaitedgrimly forthedeadlystormtocease.During the second
reloading Druss orderedhalfthemenbacktostandbeneath the second wall,out of range of thecatapults. There they
joinedBowman’sarchers.For three hours the
assault continued,pulverizing sections of thewall, butcheringmen, andobliterating oneoverhanging tower, whichcollapsedunderthetitanicimpact and crumbled
slowly into the valleybelow. Most of the menleapt to safety, and onlyfour were carriedscreamingovertheedgetobe broken on the rocksbelow.Stretcher-bearersbraved
the barrage to carry
woundedmenback to theEldibar field hospital.Several rocks had hit thebuilding,butitwassolidlybuilt and so far none hadbroken through. BarBritan, black-bearded andpowerful, raced alongsidethe bearers with sword in
hand,urgingthemon.“Gods, that’s bravery!”
said Rek, nudging Drussand pointing. Drussnodded, noting Rek’sobviousprideattheman’scourage. Rek’s heart wentout to Britan as the manignoredthelethalstorm.
At least fifty men hadbeen stretchered away.Fewer than Druss hadfeared. He raised himselfto stare over thebattlements.“Soon,” he said. “They
are massing behind thesiegetowers.”
A boulder crashedthroughthewalltenpacesaway fromhim, scatteringmenlikesandinthewind.Miraculously, only onefailed to rise, the restrejoining their comrades.Druss raised his arm tosignal Orrin. A trumpet
sounded,andBowmanandtherestofthemensurgedforward. Each archercarried five quivers oftwenty arrows as theyraced across the openground,over the fire-gullybridges,andontowardthebattlements.
With a roar of hatealmost tangible to thedefenders,theNadirswepttoward the wall in a vastblackmass,adarktidesetto sweep the Dros beforeit. Thousands of thebarbarians began to haulthe huge siege towers
forward, while others ranwith ladders and ropes.Theplainbefore thewallsseemed alive as the Nadirpouredforward,screamingtheirbattlecries.Breathless and panting,
Bowman arrived to standbeside Druss, Rek, and
Serbitar. The outlawsspreadoutalongthewall.“Shoot when you’re
ready,” said Druss. Thegreen-clad outlaw swept aslender hand through hisblondhairandgrinned.“We can hardly miss,”
hesaid.“Butitwillbelike
spittingintoastorm.”“Every little bit helps,”
saidtheaxman.Bowmanstrunghisyew
bow and notched anarrow. To the left andrightofhimthemovewasrepeatedathousandtimes.Bowman sighted on a
leading warrior andreleased the string, theshaft slashing the air toslice and hammer throughthe man’s leather jerkin.Ashe stumbledand fell,aragged cheer went upalongthewall.Athousandarrows followed, then
another thousand andanother. Many Nadirwarriors carried shields,but many did not.Hundreds fell as thearrowsstruck,trippingthemen behind. But still theblack mass kept coming,trampling the wounded
anddeadbeneaththem.ArmedwithhisVagrian
bow,Rekloosedshaftaftershaft into the horde, hislack of skill an irrelevantfactor since, as Bowmanhadsaid,onecouldhardlymiss. The arrows were abarbed mockery of the
clumsy ballistae attack sorecently used againstthem.Buttheyweretakingaheaviertoll.The Nadir were close
enoughnowforindividualfaces to be clearly seen.Rough-looking men,thought Rek, but tough
and hardy, raised to warand blood. Many of themlacked armor, othersworemail shirts,butmostwereclad in black breastplatesof lacquered leather andwood. Their screamingbattle cries were almostbestial.Nowordscouldbe
heard; only their hatecould be felt. Like theangryscreamofsomevast,inchoate monster, thoughtRek as the familiarsensation of fear grippedhisbelly.Serbitar raisedhishelm
visor and leaned over the
battlements, ignoring thefewarrowsthatflashedupandbyhim.“The ladder men have
reachedthewalls,”hesaidsoftly.Druss turned to Rek.
“The last time I stoodbeside an Earl of Dros
Delnoch in battle, wecarvedalegend,”hesaid.“The odd thing about
sagas,” offered Rek, “isthat they very rarelymention dry mouths andfullbladders.”A grappling hook
whistledoverthewall.
“Any last words ofadvice?” asked Rek,dragging his sword freefromitsscabbard.Druss grinned, drawing
Snaga.“Live!”hesaid.More grappling irons
rattled over the walls,jerking taut instantly and
biting into the stone ashundredsofhandsappliedpressurebelow.Franticallythedefenderslashedrazor-edged blades at the vineropesuntilDrussbellowedatthementostop.“Wait until they’re
climbing!” he shouted.
“Don’t kill ropes—killmen!”Serbitar, a student of
warsincehewas thirteen,watched the progress ofthe siege towers withdetached fascination. Theobviousideawastogetasmanymenonthewallsas
possible by using ropesand ladders and then topull in the towers. Thecarnage below among themen pulling the towerropes was horrific asBowman and his archerspepperedthemwithshafts.Butmorealwaysrushedin
to fill the places of thedeadanddying.On the walls, despite
the frenzied slashing ofropes, the sheer numbersofhooksandthrowershadenabled the first Nadirwarriors to gain thebattlements.
Hogun, with fivethousand men on Musif,Wall Two, was sorelytempted to forget hisorders and race to the aidofWallOne.Buthewasaprofessionalsoldier,rearedon obedience, and hestoodhisground.
Tsubodai waited at thebottom of the rope as thetribesmen slowly climbedabovehim.Abodyhurtledby him to splinter on thejagged rocks, and bloodsplashed his lacqueredleather breastplate. Hegrinned, recognizing the
twisted features ofNestzan,theracerunner.“He had it coming to
him,” he said to the manbeside him. “Now, if he’dbeenabletorunasfastashe fell, I wouldn’t havelostsomuchmoney!”Above them the
climbingmenhadstoppednow as the Drenaidefenders forced theattackers back toward theramparts.Tsubodai lookedup at the man ahead ofhim.“How long are you
going to hang there,
Nakrash?” he called. Theman twisted his body andlookeddown.“It’s theseGreenSteppe
dung eaters,” he shouted.“They couldn’t gain afootholdonacowpat.”Tsubodai laughed
happily, stepping away
from the rope to see howthe other climbers weremoving.Allalongthewallit was the same: theclimbing had stopped, thesounds of battle echoingdown from above. Asbodiescrashedtotherocksaroundhim,hedivedback
intotheleeofthewall.“We’llbedownhereall
day,” he said. “The Khanshould have sent theWolfshead in first. TheseGreens were useless atGulgothir, and they’reevenworsehere.”His companion grinned
and shrugged. “Line’smovingagain,”hesaid.Tsubodai grasped the
knotted rope and pulledhimself up beneathNakrash. He had a goodfeeling about today.Maybe he could win thehorses Ulric had promised
to thewarriorwhowouldcut down the oldgraybeard everyone wastalkingabout.“Deathwalker.” A
potbelliedoldmanwithoutashield.“Tsubodai,” called
Nakrash. “You don’t die
today,hey?Notwhileyoustill owe me on thatfootrace.”“Did you see Nestzan
fall?” Tsubodai shoutedback. “Like an arrow.Youshould have seen himswinginghisarms.Asifhewantedtopushtheground
awayfromhim.”“I’ll be watching you.
Don’t die, do you hearme?”“Youwatchyourself.I’ll
pay you withDeathwalker’shorses.”As the men climbed
higher, more tribesmen
filled the rope beneathhim. Tsubodai glanceddown.“Hey, you!” he called.
“Not a lice-ridden Green,areyou?”“From the smell you
must be Wolfshead,”replied the climber,
grinning.Nakrash scaled the
battlements, dragging hissword clear and thenturning to pull Tsubodaialongside him. Theattackers had forced awedge through theDrenailine, and still neither
Tsubodai nor Nakrashcouldjointheaction.“Move away! Make
room!” called the manbehindthem.“You wait there goat
breath,” said Tsubodai.“I’lljustasktheroundeyesto help you over. Hey,
Nakrash,stretchthoselonglegs of yours and tell mewhereDeathwalkeris.”Nakrash pointed to the
right. “I think you willsoongetachanceatthosehorses. He looks closerthan before.” Tsubodaileapt lightly to the
ramparts, straining to seetheoldmaninaction.“Those Greens are just
steppingupandaskingforhis ax, the fools.” But noone heard him above theclamor.Thethickwedgeofmen
ahead of them was
thinning fast,andNakrashleapt into a gap andslashedopen the throat ofa Drenai soldier who wastrying desperately to freehis sword from a Nadirbelly. Tsubodai was soonbeside him, hacking andcutting at the tall round-
eyedsoutherners.Battle lust swept over
him, as it had during tenyears of warfare underUlric’s banner. He hadbeenayoungsterwhenthefirst battle had begun,tending his father’s goatson the granite steppes far
to the north. Ulric hadbeenawarleaderforonlya few years at that time.He had subdued the LongMonkey tribe and offereditsmenthechancetoridewithhisforcesundertheirown banner. They hadrefusedanddiedtoaman.
Tsubodairememberedthatday: Ulric had personallytied their chieftain to twohorses and ordered himtorn apart. Eight hundredmen had been beheaded,and their armor handedover to youngsters likeTsubodai.
Onthenextraidhehadtaken part in the firstcharge. Ulric’s brother,Gat-sun, had praised himhighly and given him ashield of stretchedcowhideedgedwithbrass.He had lost it in aknucklebone game the
same night, but he stillremembered the gift withaffection. Poor Gat-sun!Ulric had had himexecuted the followingyear for trying to lead arebellion. Tsubodai hadridden against him andhad been among the
loudest to cheer as hisheadfell.Now,withsevenwives and forty horsesTsubodai was, by anyreckoning,arichman.Andstilltoseethirty.Surely the gods loved
him.A spear grazed his
shoulder. His swordsnaked out, half severingthearm.Oh,howthegodsloved him! He blocked aslashing cut with hisshield.Nakrash came to his
rescue, disemboweling theattacker, who fell
screamingtothegroundtovanish beneath the feet ofthewarriors pushing frombehind.To his right the Nadir
linegaveway,andhewaspushed back as Nakrashtook a spear in the side.Tsubodai’s blade slashed
the air, taking the lancerhigh in the neck; bloodspurted, and the man fellback. Tsubodai glanced atNakrash, lying at his feetwrithing, his handsgraspingtheslipperylanceshaft.Leaning down, he
pulled his friend clear ofthe action. There wasnothingmorehecoulddo,for Nakrash was dying. Itwasashameandputapallon the day for the littletribesman. Nakrash hadbeen a good companionfor the last two years.
Looking up, he saw ablack-garbed figurewithawhite beard cleaving hisway forward,a terribleaxofsilversteelinhisblood-splashedhands.Tsubodai forgot about
Nakrash in an instant. Allhe could see were Ulric’s
horses.Hepushedforwardto meet the ax-man,watching his movements,his technique. He movedwell for one so old,thought Tsubodai as theold man blocked amurderous cut andbackhanded his ax across
the face of a tribesman,whowashurledscreamingoverthebattlements.Tsubodai leapt forward,
aimingastraightthrustforthe old man’s belly. Fromthen on it seemed to himthat the scene was takingplace under water. The
white-bearded warriorturned his blue eyes onTsubodai, and a chill ofterror seeped into hisblood. The ax seemed tofloat against his swordblade, sweeping the thrustaside, then the bladereversed and with an
agonizing lack of speedcleavedTsubodai’schest.Hisbodyslammedback
into the ramparts and sliddown to rest besideNakrash. Looking down,he saw bright bloodreplaced by dark arterialgore. He pushed his hand
intothegash,wincingasabroken rib twisted underhisfist.“Tsubodai?” said
Nakrash softly. Somehowthesoundcarriedtohim.He hunched his body
overhis friend, restinghisheadonhischest.
“Ihearyou,Nakrash.”“You almost had the
horses.Veryclose.”“Damn good, that old
man,hey?”saidTsubodai.The noise of the battle
receded.Tsubodairealizedit had been replaced by aroaringinhisears,likethe
seagatheringshingle.Herememberedthegift
Gat-sunhadgivenhimandthe way he had spit inUlric’s eye on the day ofhisexecution.Tsubodai grinned. He
hadlikedGat-sun.He wished he had not
cheeredsoloudly.Hewished…Druss hacked at a rope
andturnedtofaceaNadirwarrior who wasscrambling over the wall.Batting aside a swordthrust, he split the man’sskull, then stepped over
the body and tackled asecond warrior, guttinghim with a backhandslash. Age vanished fromhimnow.Hewaswherehewasalwaysmeant tobe—at the heart of a savagebattle. Behind him Rekand Serbitar fought as a
pair, the slim albino’sslender rapier and Rek’sheavy longsword cuttingandslashing.Druss was joined now
byseveralDrenaiwarriors,and they cleared theirsection of the wall. Alongthe wall on both sides
similar moves were beingrepeated as the fivethousand warriors held.The Nadir could feel it,too, as slowly the Drenaiinched them back. Thetribesmen fought withrenewed determination,cutting and killing with
savageskill.Theyhadonlyto hold on until the siegetower ledges touched thewalls, then thousandsmore of their comradescould swarm in toreinforce them. And theywere but a few yardsaway.
Druss glanced behind.Bowman and his archerswere fifty paces back,sheltering behind smallfires thathadbeenhastilylit. Druss raised his armandwavedatHogun,whoordered a trumpetsounded.
Along the wall severalhundred men pulled backfromthefightingtogatherup wax-sealed clay potsand hurl them at theadvancing towers. Potterysmashed against woodenframes, splashing darkliquidtostainthewood.
Gilad, with sword inone hand and clay pot intheother, parried a thrustfrom a swarthy axman,crashedhisswordintotheother’sface,andthrewhisglobe.He justhad time tosee it shatter in the opendoorway at the top of the
tower, where Nadirwarriors massed, beforetwomoreinvaderspressedforwardtotacklehim.Thefirst he gutted with astabbing thrust, only tofind his sword trapped inthe depths of the dyingman’s belly. The second
attacker screamed andslashed at Gilad, whoreleased his grip on hissword hilt and leaptbackward. Instantlyanother Drenai warriorintercepted the Nadir,blockedhisattack,andallbut beheaded him with a
reverse stroke. Gilad torehisswordfreeoftheNadircorpse and smiled histhankstoBregan.“Notbad fora farmer!”
yelled Gilad, forcing hisway back into the battleand slicing through theguardofabeardedwarrior
carrying an iron-pittedclub.“Now, Bowman!”
shoutedDruss.The outlaws notched
arrows whose tips werepartially covered by oil-soaked cloth and heldthem over the flames of
the fires. Once the arrowswere burning, they firedthemover thebattlementsto thud into the siegetowerwalls.Flamessprangup instantly, and blacksmoke, dense andsuffocating, was whippedupward by the morning
breeze.Oneflamingarrowflashed through the opendoorway of the towerwhere Gilad’s globe of oilhad struck to pierce theleg of a Nadir warriorwhose clothes were oil-drenched. Within secondsthe man was a writhing,
screaming human torch,blundering into hiscomradesandsettingthemablaze.More clay pots sailed
throughtheairtofeedtheflames on the twentytowers, and the terriblestench of burning flesh
was swept over the wallsbythebreeze.Withthesmokeburning
his eyes, Serbitar movedamong the Nadir, hisswordweavinganeldritchspell. Effortlessly he slew,a killing machine ofdeadly,awesomepower.A
tribesman reared upbehind him, knife raised,but Serbitar twisted andopenedtheman’sthroatinonesmoothmotion.“Thank you, Brother,”
he pulsed to Arbedark onWallTwo.Rek, while lacking
Serbitar’s grace and lethalspeed, used his sword tono less effect, gripping ittwo-handed to bludgeonhis way to victory besideDruss. A hurled knifeglanced from hisbreastplate,slicingtheskinover his bicep. He cursed
andignoredthepainasheignored other minorinjuries received that day:the gashed thigh and theribs bruised by a Nadirjavelin that had beenturned aside by hisbreastplateandmailshirt.Five Nadir burst
through the defenses andraced on toward thedefenseless stretcher-bearers.Bowmanskeweredthe first from forty paces,and Caessa the second,then Bar Britan raced tointerceptthemwithtwoofhis men. The battle was
brief and fierce, thebloodfrom Nadir corpsesstainingtheearth.Slowly, almost
imperceptibly, a changewas coming over thebattle. Fewer tribesmenweregainingthewalls,fortheir comrades had been
forced back to thebattlements and therewaslittle room to gainpurchase. The Nadir nowfought not to conquer buttosurvive.Thetideofwar—fickle at best—hadturned, and they hadbecomethedefenders.
ButtheNadirweregrimmen and brave. For theyneither cried out norsought to surrender butstood their ground anddiedfighting.One by one they fell,
until the last of thewarriors was swept from
the battlements to liebrokenontherocksbelow.Silently now the Nadir
army retired from thefield, stopping out ofbowshotrangetoslumptothegroundand starebackat the Dros with dull,unremitting hatred. Black
plumesofsmokerosefromthesmolderingtowers,andthe stink of death filledtheirnostrils.Rek leaned on the
battlementsandrubbedhisfacewithabloodiedhand.Druss walked forward,wipingSnagacleanwitha
piece of torn cloth. Bloodfleckedtheirongrayoftheold man’s beard, and hesmiledatthenewearl.“You took my advice
then,laddie?”“Only just,” said Rek.
“Still, we didn’t do toobadlytoday.”
“This was just a sortie.The real test will cometomorrow.”
Druss was wrong. Threetimes more the Nadirattacked that day beforedusk sent them back totheir campfires, dejected
and temporarily defeated.On the battlements wearymen slumped to thebloody ground, tossingaside helmets and shields.Stretcher-bearers carriedwounded men from thescene, while the corpseswerelefttolieforthetime
being, their needs nolongerbeingurgent.Threeteams were detailed tocheck the bodies of Nadirwarriors. The dead werehurled from thebattlements,andthelivingwere dispatched withspeed,theirbodiespitched
totheplainbelow.Druss rubbed his tired
eyes. His shoulder burnedwith fatigue,hiskneewasswollen,andhis limbs feltleaden. But he had comethrough the day betterthan he had hoped. Heglancedaround.Somemen
laysprawledasleeponthestone. Others merely satwith their backs to thewalls, eyes glazed andminds wandering. Therewas little conversation.Farther along thewall theyoung earl was talking tothe albino. They had both
foughtwell,andthealbinoseemed fresh; only theblood that spattered hiswhite cloak andbreastplate gave evidenceofhisday’swork.Regnak,though, seemed tiredenough for both.His face,gray with exhaustion,
looked older, the linesmore deeply carved. Dust,blood, and sweat mergedtogether on his features,and a rough bandage onhis forearmwasbeginningtodripbloodtothestones.“You’lldo, laddie,” said
Drusssoftly.
“Druss, old horse, howareyou feeling?”Bowmanasked.“I have had better
days,” snarled the oldman, lurchingupright andgritting his teeth againstthe pain from his knee.The young archer almost
made the mistake ofoffering Druss an arm tolean on but checkedhimself in time. “ComeandseeCaessa,”hesaid.“About the last thing I
neednow is awoman. I’llget some sleep,” answeredDruss. “Just here will be
fine.”Withhisbacktothewall, he slid gently to theground, keeping hisinjured knee straight.Bowman turned andwalked back to the messhall, where he foundCaessa and explained theproblem. After a short
argument she gatheredsome linenwhileBowmansoughtajugofwater,andin the gathering twilightthey walked back to thebattlements. Druss wasasleep, but he awoke astheyapproachedhim.The girl was a beauty,
no doubt about that. Herhairwas auburnbut gold-tinted in the moonlight,matching the tawny flecksinhereyes.Shestirredhisblood as few women hadthe power to do now. Butthere was something elseabout her, something
unattainable.Shecroucheddown by him, her slenderfingers probing gently atthe swollen knee. Drussgrunted as she dug moredeeply. Then she removedhisbootandrolledup thetrouser leg. The knee wasdiscolored and puffy, the
veins in the calf belowswollenandtender.“Lie back,” she told
him. Moving alongsidehim, left hand curledaroundhisthigh,sheliftedthe legandheldhis anklein her right hand. Slowlysheflexedthejoint.
“There is water on theknee,” she said as she setdownhislegandbegantomassage the joint. Drussclosed his eyes. Thesharpness of the painrecededtoadullache.Theminutes passed, and hedozed.Shewokehimwith
alightslaponthecalf,andhe found his knee wastightlybandaged.“What other problems
do you have?” she askedcoolly.“None,”hesaid.“Don’t lie to me, old
man.Yourlifedependson
it.”“Myshoulderburns,”he
admitted.“You can walk now.
Come with me to thehospital, and I will easethe pain.” She gestured toBowman, who leanedforward and helped the
axman to his feet. Thekneefeltgood,betterthanithadinweeks.“You have real skill,
woman,” he said. “Realskill.”“I know.Walk slowly—
itwill feel a little sore bythetimewegetthere.”
In a side room at thehospital she told him toremove his clothes.Bowman smiled andleaned back against thedoor with arms foldedacrosshischest.“All of them?” asked
Druss.
“Yes.Areyoushy?”“Notifyou’renot,”said
Druss, slipping from hisjerkin and shirt, thensitting on the bed toremove his trousers andboots.“Nowwhat?”heasked.Caessa stood before
him, examining himcritically, running herhands over his broadshoulders and probing hismuscles.“Stand up,” she told
him, “and turn around.”He did so, and shescrutinized his back.
“Move your right armaboveyourhead—slowly.”As the examinationcontinued, Bowmanwatched the old warrior,marveling at the numberof scars he carried.Everywhere: front andback; some long and
straight, others jagged;some stitched, othersblotchy and overlapped.His legs, too, showedevidence of many lightwounds. But by far thegreatestnumberwasinthefront.Bowmansmiled.Youhave always faced your
enemies, Druss, hethought.Caessa told the warrior
tolieonthebedfacedownand began to manipulatethe muscles of his back,easing out knots andpummeling crystals undertheshoulderblades.
“Get me some oil,” sheasked Bowman withoutlookingaround.Hefetchedliniment from the stores,then left the girl to herwork.Foroveranhourshemassaged the old man,until at last her armsburnedwithfatigue.Druss
had fallen asleep longsince,andshecoveredhimwithablanketandsilentlyleft the room. In thecorridor outside she stoodfor amoment, listening tothe cries of the woundedinthemakeshiftwardsandwatching the orderlies
assistingthesurgeons.Thesmell of death was stronghere, and she made herwayoutintothenight.The stars were bright,
likefrozensnowflakesonavelvetblanket,themoonabright silver coin at thecenter. She shivered.
Aheadofheratallmaninblack and silver armorstrode toward the messhall.ItwasHogun.Hesawher and waved, changeddirection, and cametoward her. She cursedunder her breath; shewastired and in no mood for
malecompany.“How is he?” asked
Hogun.“Tough!”shesaid.“I know that, Caessa.
Thewholeworldknowsit.Buthowishe?”“He’sold,andhe’stired
—exhausted. And that’s
after only one day. Don’tpin too many hopes onhim.Hehasakneewhichcould collapse under himat any time, a bad backwhich will grow worse,and too many crystals intoomanyjoints.”“Youpaintapessimistic
picture,”saidthegeneral.“I tell it as it is. It is a
miracle that he’s alivetonight.Icannotseehowaman of his age, with thephysical injuries he’scarrying, could fight alldayandsurvive.”“Andhewentwherethe
fightingwasthickest,”saidHogun. “As he will dotomorrow.”“If you want him to
survive,makesurehereststhedayafter.”“Hewillneverstandfor
it,”saidHogun.“Yes, he will. He may
get through tomorrow—and that I doubt. But bytomorrow night he willhardlybeabletomovehisarm. I will help him, buthe will need to rest oneday in three.Andanhourbefore dawn tomorrow Iwant a hot tub set up in
his room here. I willmassage him again beforethebattlebegins.”“You’re spending a lot
of timeoveramanwhomyou described as old andtiredandwhosedeedsyoumocked only a short timesince.”
“Don’tbeafool,Hogun.I am spending this timewithhimbecauseheisoldandtired,andthoughIdonot hold him in the samereverenceasyou,Icanseethat the men need him.Hundreds of little boysplaying at soldiers to
impress an old man whothrivesonwar.”“Iwill see that he rests
after tomorrow,” saidHogun.“If he survives,” Caessa
addedgrimly.
B21
ymidnightthe finaltoll for the first day’s
battle was known. Fourhundred seven men weredead. One hundred sixty-eight were wounded, andhalf of those would not
fightagain.The surgeons were still
working, and the headcount was being double-checked. Many Drenaiwarriors had fallen fromthebattlementsduringthefighting, and only acomplete roll call would
supplytheirnumbers.Rek was horrified,
though he tried not toshowitduringthemeetingwith Hogun and Orrin inthe study above the greathall. There were sevenpresent at the meeting:Hogun and Orrin
representing the warriors,Bricklynforthetownsfolk,and Serbitar, Vintar, andVirae.Rekhadmanagedtosnatch four hours sleepand felt fresher for it; thealbinohad slept not at allandseemednodifferent.“These are grievous
losses for one day’sfighting,” said Bricklyn.“Atthatratewecouldnotholdoutformorethantwoweeks.” His graying hairwas styled after thefashion of the Drenaicourt, sweptbackoverhisears and tightly curled at
the nape of the neck. Hisface, though fleshy, washandsome, and he had ahighly practiced charm.The man was a politicianand therefore not to bereliedupon,thoughtRek.Serbitar answered
Bricklyn. “Statistics mean
nothing on the first day,”he said. “The wheat isbeing separated from thechaff.”“What does that mean,
Prince of Dros Segril?”asked the burgher, thequestionmoresharpintheabsenceofhisusualsmile.
“No disrespect wasintended to the dead,”replied Serbitar. “It ismerely a reality in warthatthemenwiththeleastskill are those first to fall.Losses are always greaterat the outset. The menfought well, but many of
thedeadlackedskill—thatiswhy theyaredead.Thelosses will diminish, buttheywillstillbehigh.”“Shouldwenotconcern
ourselves with what istolerable?” asked theburgher, turning to Rek.“After all, if we should
believethattheNadirwillbreach the wallseventually, what is thepoint of continuedresistance?Arelivesworthnothing?”“Are you suggesting
surrender?”askedVirae.“No, my lady,” replied
Bricklynsmoothly.“Thatisfor thewarriors todecide,and I will back anydecision they make. But Ibelieve we must examinealternatives. Four hundredmen died today, and theyshould be honored fortheirsacrifice.Butwhatof
tomorrow? And the dayafter. We must be carefulthat we do not put pridebeforereality.”“What is he talking
about?” Virae asked Rek.“I cannot understand anyofit.”“What are these
alternativesyouspeakof?”saidRek.“AsIseeit,thereareonlytwo.Wefightandwin,orwefightandlose.”“These are the plans
uppermost at this time,”said Bricklyn. “But wemust think of the future.Dowebelievewecanhold
out here? If so, we mustfightonbyallmeans.Butif not, then we mustpursue an honorablepeace, as other nationshavedone.”“What is an honorable
peace?” asked Hogunsoftly.
“It is where enemiesbecome friends andquarrelsareforgotten.ItiswherewereceivetheLordUlric into the city as anallytoDrenan,havingfirstobtained from him thepromise thatnoharmwillcome to the inhabitants.
Ultimately all wars are soconcluded, as evidencedby the presence here ofSerbitar, a Vagrian price.Thirty years ago we wereat war with Vagria. Nowwe are friends. In thirtyyears time we may havemeetings like this with
Nadir princes. We mustestablish perspectiveshere.”“Itakeyourpoint,”said
Rek, “and it is a goodone.”“You may think so.
Othersmay not!” snappedVirae.
“It is a good one,”continued Rek smoothly.“These meetings are noplace for saber-rattlingspeeches.Wemust,asyousay,examinerealities.Thefirst reality is this:Wearewelltrained,wellsupplied,andwehold themightiest
fortress ever built. Thesecond reality is thatMagnus Woundweaverneeds time to train andbuildanarmytoresisttheNadirevenifDelnochfalls.There is no point indiscussingsurrenderatthistime,butwewillbearitin
mindforfuturemeetings.“Now,isthereanyother
town business to discuss,forthehourislateandwehavekeptyouoverlylong,mydearBricklyn?”“No,mylord.Ithinkwe
have concluded ourbusiness,” answered the
burgher.“Thenmay I thank you
for your help—and yoursagecounsel—andbidyougoodnight.”The burgher stood,
bowed to Rek and Virae,and left the room. Forseveral seconds they
listened to his departingfootsteps. Virae, flushedand angry, was about tospeakwhenSerbitarbrokethesilence.“Thatwaswellsaid,my
lord Earl. He will be athorninourside.”“He is a political
animal,” said Rek. “Hecaresnothingformorality,honor,orpride.Buthehashis place and his uses.What of tomorrow,Serbitar?”“The Nadir will begin
withatleastthreehoursofballistae bombardment.
Sincetheycannotadvancetheir army while such anassault is in progress, Iwouldsuggestweretireallbut fifty men to Musif anhour before dawn. Whenthebarrageceases,wewillmoveforward.”“Andwhat,” saidOrrin,
“if they launch theirsecond assault at dawn?Theywillbeoverthewallsbeforeourforcecanreachthebattlements.”“Theydonotplan such
a move,” said the albinosimply.Orrin was unconvinced
but felt uncomfortable inthe presence of Serbitar.Reknotedhisconcern.“Believeme,my friend,
the Thirty have powersbeyond the ken of normalmen.Ifhesaysit,thenitisso.”“Weshallsee,mylord,”
saidOrrindoubtfully.“How is Druss?” asked
Virae. “He looked quiteexhaustedwhenIsawhimatdusk.”“The woman Caessa
tended to him,” saidHogun, “and she says hewill bewell. He is resting
atthehospital.”Rek wandered to the
window, opened it, andbreathedinthecrispnightair. From there he couldsee far down into thevalley, where the Nadircampfiresblazed.Hiseyesrested on the Eldibar
hospital,where lamps stillburned.“Who would be a
surgeon?”hesaid.At Eldibar Calvar Syn,
waistwrappedinabloodyleather apron, moved likea sleepwalker. Fatigue bitdeep into his bones as he
moved from bed to bed,administeringpotions.The day had been a
nightmare—more than anightmare—for the bald,one-eyedsurgeon.Inthirtyyears he had seen deathmany times. He hadwatched men die who
shouldhavelivedandseenmen survive wounds thatshould have slain themoutright. And often hisownveryspecialskillshadthwarted death whereothers could not evenstaunch the wound. Buttoday had been the worst
day of his life. Fourhundred strong youngmen, this morning fit andin their prime, were nowrotting meat. Scores ofothers had lost limbs orfingers. Those with majorwounds had beentransferred to Musif. The
deadhadbeencartedbackbehindWall Six for burialbeyondthegates.Around the weary
surgeon orderlies flungbuckets of saltedwater tothe bloody floor, brushingawaythedebrisofpain.Calvar Syn walked
silently into Druss’s roomand gazed down on thesleeping figure. By thebedside hung Snaga, thesilver slayer. “How manymore, you butcher?” saidCalvar. The old manstirredbutdidnotwake.The surgeon stumbled
intothecorridorandmadehisway to his own room.Therehehurled theapronacrossachairandslumpedto his bed, lacking eventhe energy to pull ablanket across his body.Sleep would not come.Nightmare images of
agony and horror flittedacross his mind, and hebegan to sob. A faceentered his mind, elderlyandgentle.Thefacegrew,absorbing his anguish andradiating harmony. Largerandlargeritbecame,untillike a warm blanket it
covered his pain. And heslept deeply anddreamlessly.“He rests now,” said
VintarasRekturnedawayfrom the window in thekeep.“Good,” said Rek. “He
won’trestmuchtomorrow.
Serbitar,haveyouhadanymore thoughts about ourtraitor?”The albino shook his
head. “I don’t know whatwe can do. We arewatchingthefoodandthewells. There is no otherway he can affect us. You
are guarded, as is DrussandVirae.”“We must find him,”
said Rek. “Can you notenter the mind of everymaninthefortress?”“Of course! We would
surely have an answer foryouwithinthreemonths.”
“I take the point,” Reksaid,smilingruefully.
Khitan stood silently,watchingthesmokebillowup from his towers. Hisface was expressionless,his eyes dark andshrouded. Ulric
approachedhim,placingahandonhisshoulder.“They were just wood,
myfriend.”“Yes, my lord. I was
thinking that in futureweneedafalse-frontedscreenofsoakinghides. It shouldnotbetoodifficult,though
theincreasedweightcouldprove a problem in termsofstability.”Ulric laughed. “I
thoughttofindyoubrokenwithgrief.Andyetalreadyyouplan.”“I feel stupid, yes,”
answeredKhitan.“Ishould
have foreseen the use oftheoil.Iknewthetimberswould never burn merelyfrom fire arrows and gaveno thought to othercombustibles. No one willbeatuslikethatagain.”“Most assuredly, my
learned architect,” said
Ulric,bowing.Khitan chuckled. “The
years are making mepompous, my lord.Deathwalker did welltoday. He is a worthyopponent.”“Indeed he is, but I
don’t think today’s plan
was his. They have whitetemplars among them,who destroyed NostaKhan’sacolytes.”“I thought there was
some devilry in that,”muttered Khitan. “Whatwill you do with thedefenders when we take
thefortress?”“I have said that I will
slaythem.”“I know. I wondered if
you had changed yourmind.Theyarevaliant.”“And I respect them.
But theDrenaimust learnwhat happens to those
whoopposeme.”“So,my lord,whatwill
youdo?”“Ishallburnthemallon
onegreatfuneralpyre—allsaveone,whoshalllivetocarrythetale.”
An hour before dawn
CaessaslippedsilentlyintoDruss’s room andapproached the bedside.The warrior was sleepingdeeply, lying on his bellywith his massive forearmscradling his head. As shewatched him, Drussstirred. He opened his
eyes, focusing on herslender legs clad in thigh-lengthdoeskinboots.Thenhis gaze traveled upward.She wore a body-hugginggreen tunic with a thicksilver-studded leather beltthataccentuatedhersmallwaist. By her side hung a
shortswordwithanebonyhandle.Herolledoverandmet her gaze; there wasangerinhertawnyeyes.“Finished your
inspection?”shesnapped.“Whatailsyou,girl?”All emotion left her
face, withdrawing like a
catintoshadows.“Nothing. Turn over. I
wanttocheckyourback.”Skillfully she began to
kneadatthemusclesofhisshoulderblade,herfingerslikesteelpins,causinghimto grunt occasionallythroughgrittedteeth.
“Turnoveragain.”With Druss once more
on his back, she lifted hisrightarm, lockedherownarmsaroundit,andgaveasharp pull and twist. Aviolent cracking soundfollowed, and for afraction of a secondDruss
thoughtshehadbrokenhisshoulder. Releasing hisarm, she rested it on hisleft shoulder, then crossedhis left arm to sit on theright shoulder. Leaningforward to pull him ontohis side, she placed herclenched fist under his
spine between theshoulder blades, thenrolled himback. Suddenlyshe threw her weightacrosshischest,forcinghisspine into her fist. Twicemore he grunted asalarming sounds filled theair,whichhe identifiedas
a kind of crunching snap.Sweat beaded hisforehead.“You’re stronger than
youlook,girl.”“Be quiet and sit up,
facingthewall.”This time she seemed
almost to break his neck,
placing her hands underhis chin and over his ear,wrenching first to the leftand then to the right.Thesound was like a drybranchsnapping.“Tomorrow you rest,”
she said as she turned toleave.
Hestretchedandmovedhis injured shoulder. Hefelt good, better than hehadinweeks.“What were those
cracking sounds?” heasked, halting her at thedoor.“Youhavearthritis.The
first three dorsals werelocked solid; therefore,blood could not flowproperly. Also, themuscleunder the shoulder bladehad knotted, causingspasmswhich reduced thestrengthofyourrightarm.But heed me, old man,
tomorrow you must rest.Thatordie.”“Wealldie,”hesaid.“True. But you are
needed.”“Do you dislikeme—or
allmen?” he asked as herhand touched the doorhandle.
She turned to look athim, smiled, pushed thedoor shut, and came backinto the room, stoppingwithin inches of his burlynakedframe.“Would you like to
sleepwithme,Druss?”sheasked sweetly, laying her
left arm across hisshoulder.“No,” he said softly,
gazing into her eyes. Thepupils were small,unnaturallyso.“Most men do,” she
whispered,movingcloser.“Iamnotmostmen.”
“Are you dried up,then?”sheasked.“Perhaps.”“Or is it boys you lust
after? We have some likethatinourband.”“No, I can’t say I have
ever lusted after a man.But I had a real woman
once,andsincethenIhaveneverneededanother.”She stepped away from
him.“Ihaveorderedahotbath for you, and I wantyou to stay in it until thewater cools. It will helpthe blood flow throughthose tiredmuscles.”With
that she turned and wasgone. For a few momentsDruss stared at the door,then he sat down on thebed and scratched hisbeard.The girl disturbed him.
There was something inher eyes. Druss had never
been good with women,not intuitive as somemenwere. Women wereanother race to him, alienand forbidding. But thischild was something elseagain; in her eyes wasmadness, madness andfear.He shrugged and did
what he always had donewhen a problem eludedhim:forgotaboutit.After the bath he
dressed swiftly, combedhis hair and beard, thensnatchedahastybreakfastin the Eldibar mess halland joined the fifty
volunteers on thebattlements as the dawnsunlight pierced the earlymorning mist. It was acrisp morning, fresh withthepromiseofrain.Belowhim the Nadir weregathering, cartspiledwithbouldersmakingtheirslow
way to the catapults.Around him there waslittleconversation;ondayssuch as this a man’sthoughts turned inward.Will I die today? What ismywife doing now?WhyamIhere?Farther along the
battlements Orrin andHogun walked among themen. Orrin said little,leaving the legion generalto make jokes and askquestions. He resentedHogun’s easy style withthe enlisted men, but nottoodeeply;itwasprobably
more regret thanresentment.A young cul—Bregan,
was it?—made him feelbetter as they passed thesmall group of men nearthegatetower.“Will you be fighting
with Karnak today, sir?”
heasked.“Yes.”“Thank you, sir. It is a
greathonor—forallofus.”“It isniceofyoutosay
so,”saidOrrin.“No, I mean it,” said
Bregan. “We were talkingaboutitlastnight.”
Embarrassed andpleased, Orrin smiled andwalkedon.“Now that,” offered
Hogun, “is a greaterresponsibility thancheckingsupplylines.”“Inwhatway?”“They respect you. And
that man hero-worshipsyou.Itisnotaneasythingto live up to. They willstandbeside youwhenallhavefled.Ortheywillfleewith you when all elsestand.”“I won’t run away,
Hogun,”saidOrrin.
“I know you won’t;that’snotwhatImeant.Asa man, there are timeswhen you want to liedown, or give in, or walkaway. It’s usually left tothe individual, but in thiscaseyouarenolongeroneman.Youarefifty.Youare
Karnak. It is a greatresponsibility.”“And what of you?”
askedOrrin.“I am the legion,” he
answeredsimply.“Yes,Isupposeyouare.
Areyoufrightenedtoday?”“Ofcourse.”
“I’m glad of that,” saidOrrin,smiling.“Iwouldn’tliketobetheonlyone.”
As Druss had promised,the day brought freshhorror: stone missilesobliterating sections ofbattlements, then the
terriblebattlecriesandthesurgingattackwithladderstothewall,andasnarlinghordebreastingthegranitedefense tomeet the silversteel of the Drenai. Todayit was the turn of threethousandmen fromMusif,Wall Two, to relieve
warriors who had foughtlong and hard the daybefore. Swords rang, menscreamed and fell, andchaos descended for longhours. Druss strode thewalls like a fell giant,blood-spattered and grim,his ax cleaving the Nadir
ranks,hisoathsandcoarseinsults causing the Nadirto center on him. RekfoughtwithSerbitarbesidehim, as on the previousday, but with them nowwere Menahem andAntaheim, Virae andArbedark.
By afternoon thetwenty-foot-widebattlements were slipperywith blood and clutteredby bodies, yet still thebattle raged.Orrin,by thegate towers, fought like aman possessed, side byside with the warriors
from Group Karnak.Bregan, his sword broken,had gathered a Nadir ax,two-headed and long-handled,whichhewieldedwithastonishingskill.“A real farmer’s
weapon!” yelled Giladduringabrieflull.
’Tell that to Druss!”shouted Orrin, slappingBreganontheback.At dusk the Nadir fell
back once more, sent ontheir way by jeers andcatcalls. But the toll hadbeen heavy.Druss, bathedin crimson, stepped across
the bodies and limped towhere Rek and Serbitarstood cleaning theirweapons.“Thewall’s toodamned
wide tohold for long,”hemuttered, leaning forwardto clean Snaga on thejerkinofadeadNadir.
“Too true,” said Rek,wiping the sweat fromhisface with the edge of hiscloak. “But you are right;we cannot just give it tothemyet.”“At present,” said
Serbitar, “we are killingthem at a rate of three to
one.Itisnotenough.Theywillwearusdown.”“We need more men,”
saidDruss, sittingbackonthe battlements andscratchinghisbeard.“I sentamessenger last
night tomyfatheratDrosSegril,” said Serbitar. “We
should havereinforcements in abouttendays.”“Drada hates the
Drenai,” said Druss. “Whyshouldhesendmen?”“He must send my
personal bodyguard. It isthe law of Vagria, and
though my father and Ihavenotspokenfortwelveyears, I am still hisfirstborn son. It is myright. Three hundredswordswilljoinmehere—no more than that, but itwillhelp.”“What was the
quarrel?”askedRek.“Quarrel?” queried the
albino.“Between you and your
father.”“There was no quarrel.
Hesawmytalentsas‘giftsof darkness’ and tried tokillme. Iwouldnotallow
it. Vintar rescued me.”Serbitarremovedhishelm,untiedtheknotthatboundhis white hair, and shookhis head. The eveningbreezeruffledhishair.Rekexchanged glances withDruss and changed thesubject.
“Ulric must realize bynow that he has a battleonhishands.”“Heknewthatanyway,”
answered Druss. “It won’tworryhimyet.”“I don’t seewhy not; it
worries me,” said Rek,risingasViraejoinedthem
with Menahem andAntaheim. The threemembersoftheThirtyleftwithoutaword,andViraesatbesideRek,hugginghiswaistandrestingherheadonhisshoulder.“Not an easyday,” said
Rek, gently stroking her
hair.“Theylookedafterme,”
she whispered. “Just likeyou told them to, Isuppose.”“Areyouangry?”“No.”“Good. We have only
justmet, and Idon’twant
toloseyouyet.”“Youtwooughttoeat,”
said Druss. “I know youdon’t feel like it, but takethe advice of an oldwarrior.” The old manstood, glanced back onceat the Nadir camp, andwalked slowly toward the
mess hall. He was tired.Almightytired.Ignoring his own
advice,heskirtedthemesshallandmadeforhisroomat the hospital. Inside thelongbuildinghepausedtolisten to the moans fromthe wards. The stench of
death was everywhere.Stretcher-bearers pushedpast himbearing bloodiedcorpses, orderlies hurledbuckets of water to thefloor,otherswithmopsorbuckets of sand preparedthe ground for the nextday. He spoke to none of
them.Pushing open the door
of his room, he stopped.Caessa sat within. “I havefood for you,” she said,avoiding his eyes. Silentlyhetooktheplatterofbeef,redbeans,andthickblackbreadandbegantoeat.
“Thereisabathforyouinthenextroom,”shesaidas he finished.He noddedand stripped off hisclothing.He sat in the hip bath
and cleaned the bloodfrom his hair and beard.Whencoldair touchedhis
wetback,heknewshehadentered. She knelt by thebath and poured anaromatic liquid into herhands,thenbeganwashinghis hair. He closed hiseyes, enjoying thesensationofherfingersonhis scalp.After rinsing his
hair with warm freshwater, she rubbed it drywithacleantowel.Backinhisroom,Druss
foundthatshehadlaidouta clean undervest andblackwoolen trousers andhad sponged his leatherjerkin and boots. She
poured him a goblet ofLentrian wine beforeleaving.Drussfinishedthewine and lay back on thebed, resting his head onhis hand. Not sinceRowena had a womantended to him in thisfashion, and his thoughts
weremellow.Rowena,hischildbride,
takenbyslaverssoonafterthe wedding at the greatoak. Druss had followedthem,notevenstoppingtobury his parents. Formonths he had traveledthe land until at last, in
thecompanyofSiebenthepoet, he had discoveredthe slavers’ camp. Havingfound out from them thatRowenahadbeensoldtoamerchant who washeading east, he slew theleader in his tent and setout once more. For five
years he wandered acrossthe continent, amercenary, building areputation as the mostfearsome warrior of histime, becomingat last thechampionofVentria’sgod-king,Gorben.Finallyhehadfoundhis
wife in an eastern palaceandhadwept.Forwithouther he had always beenonlyhalfaman.Shealonemade him human, stillingforawhilethedarksideofhis nature, making himwhole, showing him thebeauty in a field of
flowers, where he lookedforperfectioninabladeofsteel.She used to wash his
hairandstrokethetensionfrom his neck and theangerfromhisheart.Nowshewasgone,and
the world was empty, a
shifting blur ofshimmering gray whereoncetherehadbeencolorsofdazzlingbrightness.Outside a gentle rain
began to fall. For a whileDruss listened to itpatteringontheroof.Thenheslept.
Caessa sat in the openair, hugging her knees.Had anyone approachedher, he could not haveseenwheretherainendedandthetearsbegan.
F22
orthe first time allthe members of the
Thirty manned Eldibar asthe Nadir massed for thecharge. Serbitar hadwarnedRekandDrussthattoday would be different:
noballistaebombardment,merelyanendlessseriesofcharges towear down thedefenders. Druss hadrefused all advice to restfor the day and stood atthe center of the wall.Around him were theThirty in their silver steel
armor and white cloaks.With them was Hogun,whileRekandViraestoodwith the men of GroupFirefortypacestotheleft.Orrin remained withKarnak on the right. Fivethousand men waited,swords in hands, shields
buckled,helmslowered.The sky was dark and
angry, huge cloudsbunching to the north.Abovethewallsapatchofbluewaited for the storm.Reksmiledsuddenlyasthepoetry of the momentstruckhim.
The Nadir began tomove forward in aseething furious mass,their pounding feetsoundinglikethunder.Druss leapt to stand on
thecrenellatedbattlementsabovethem.“Come on, you
whoresons!” he bellowed.“Deathwalker waits!” Hisvoiceboomedoutoverthevalley, echoed by thetowering granite walls. Atthat moment lightningsplit the sky, a jaggedspear above the Dros.Thunderfollowed.
And the bloodlettingbegan.As Serbitar had
predicted,thecenteroftheline suffered the mostferocious attacks, waveupon wave of tribesmenbreasting the walls to dieunder the steel defense of
the Thirty. Their skillwasconsummate. A woodenclub knocked Druss fromhisfeet,andaburlyNadirwarrior aimed an ax blowforhisskull.Serbitarleaptforwardtoblocktheblow,while Menahemdispatchedthemanwitha
throat slash. Druss,exhausted, stumbled overa fallen body and pitchedto the feet of threeattackers. Arbedark andHogun came to the rescueashescrabbledforhisax.TheNadirburstthrough
the line on the right,
forcing Orrin and GroupKarnak away from thebattlementsandbackontothe grass of the killingground. As Nadirreinforcements swept overthewallunopposed,Drusssaw the danger first andbellowed a warning. He
cuttwomenfromhispathand racedalone to fill thebreach.Hogundesperatelytriedtofollowhim,buthiswaywasblocked.Three young culs from
Karnakjoinedtheoldmanas he hammered and cuthis way to the walls, but
they were soonsurrounded. Orrin—hishelm lost, his shieldsplintered—stood hisground with the remnantsofhisgroup.Heblockedawide, slashing cut from abearded tribesman andlanced a return thrust
through the man’s belly.Then he saw Druss andknew that save for amiraclehewasdoomed.“With me, Karnak!” he
yelled,hurlinghimselfintothe advancing mass.BehindhimBregan,Gilad,and twenty others surged
forward, joined by BarBritan and a squad ofstretcher guards. Serbitar,with fifteen of the Thirty,cleaved a path along thewalls.The last of Druss’s
young companions fellwith a broken skull, and
theoldwarriorstoodaloneas the Nadir circle closedabout him. He duckedbeneathaswingingsword,grabbed the man’s jerkin,and smashed a head butttohisnose.Aswordbladecut his upper arm, andanother sliced his leather
jerkinabovethehip.Usingthe stunned Nadir as ashield,Drussbackedtothebattlements, but an axblade thudded into thetrappedtribesmanandtorehim from Druss’s grasp.Withnowheretogo,Drussbracedhisfootagainstthe
battlements and divedforward into themass; hisgreat weight carried themback, and several tumbledto the earthwith him.HelostholdofSnaga,grabbedat theneckof thewarriorabovehimandcrushedhiswindpipe, then, hugging
the body to him, waitedfor the inevitable killingthrust. As the body waskickedaway,Druss lashedout at the leg beside him,sweepingthemanfromhisfeet.“Whoa,Druss!It’sme—
Hogun.”
Theoldmanrolledoverand saw Snaga lyingseveral yards away. Hestoodandsnatchedup theax.“That was close,” said
thelegiongan.“Yes,” said Druss.
“Thank you! That was
goodwork!”“Iwouldliketotakethe
credit, but it was OrrinandthemenfromKarnak.They fought their way toyou, though I don’t knowhow.”It had begun to rain,
and Druss welcomed it,
turninghis face to theskywith mouth open, eyesclosed.“They’recomingagain!”
someoneyelled.DrussandHogun walked to thebattlements and watchedthe Nadir charge. It washard to see them through
therain.To the leftSerbitarwas
leadingtheThirtyfromthewall, marching silentlybacktowardMusif.“Where in hell’s name
are they going?” mutteredHogun.“There’s no time to
worryabout that,” snarledDruss, cursing silently ashis shoulder flamed withfreshagonies.The Nadir horde swept
forward. Then thunderrumbled, and a hugeexplosion erupted at thecenter of the Nadir ranks.
Everything was confusionasthechargefaltered.“What happened?”
askedDruss.“Lightning struck
them,” said Hogun,removing his helm andunbucklinghisbreastplate.“Itcouldhappenherenext
—it’s all this damnedmetal.”A distant trumpet
sounded, and the Nadirmarched back to theirtents. At the center of theplain was a vast cratersurrounded by blackenedbodies. Smoke rose from
thehole.Druss turned and
watched the Thirty entertheposterngateatMusif.“They knew,” he said
softly. “What manner ofmenarethey?”“I don’t know,”
answered Hogun. “But
they fight like devils, andat themoment that’s all Icareabout.”“Theyknew,”Drusssaid
again,shakinghishead.“So?”“How much more do
theyknow?”
“Doyoutellfortunes?”theman asked Antaheim asthey crouched togetherbeneath the makeshiftcanvas roof with fiveothers from Group Fire.Rain pattered on thecanvas and drippedsteadily to the stones
below. The roof, hastilyconstructed,waspinnedtothe battlements behindthem and supported byspears at the two frontcorners. Within, the menhuddled together. Theyhad seen Antaheimwalking alone in the rain,
and one of the men, CulRabil,hadcalledhimoverdespitethewarningsofhiscomrades. Now anuncomfortable atmosphereexisted within the canvasshelter.“Well, do you?” asked
Rabil.
“No,” said Antaheim,removing his helm anduntying the battle knot inhislonghair.Hesmiled.“Iamnotamagician.Merelyamanasyou—allofyou—are. My training isdifferent,thatisall.”“But you can speak
without talking,” saidanother man. “That’s notnatural.”“Itistome.”“Can you see into the
future?” asked a thinwarrior, making the signof the protective hornbeneathhiscloak.
“There are manyfutures. I can see some ofthem, but I do not knowwhichwillcometopass.”“How can there be
many futures?” askedRabil.“It is not an easy
concept to explain, but I
will try. Tomorrow anarcherwillshootanarrow.If the wind drops, it willhit one man; if the windrises, it will hit another.Each man’s futuretherefore depends on thewind. I cannot predictwhich way the wind will
blow, for that, too,dependsonmanythings. Ican look into tomorrowand see both men die,whereas only one mayactuallyfall.”“Thenwhatisthepoint
of it all? Your talent, Imean,”askedRabil.
“Now, that is anexcellentquestionandonewhichIhaveponderedformanyyears.”“Will we die
tomorrow?”askedanother.“How can I tell?”
answered Antaheim. “Butall men must die
eventually.Thegift of lifeisnotpermanent.”“You say ‘gift,’ “ said
Rabil. “This implies agiver?”“Indeeditdoes.”“Which, then, of the
godsdoyoufollow?”“We follow the Source
of all things. How do youfeelaftertoday’sbattle?”“In what way?” asked
Rabil, pulling his cloakcloserabouthim.“Whatemotionsdidyou
feel as the Nadir fellback?”“It’s hard to describe.
Strong.” He shrugged.“Filled with power. Gladto be alive.” The othermennoddedatthis.“Exultant?” offered
Antaheim.“I suppose so. Why do
youask?”Antaheim smiled. “This
is Eldibar, Wall One. Doyou know the meaning oftheword‘Eldibar’?”“Isitnotjustaword?”“No,itisfarmore.Egel,
whobuiltthisfortress,hadnames carved on everywall. ‘Eldibar’ means‘exultation.’Itistherethat
theenemyisfirstmet.Itisthere he is seen to be aman. Power flows in theveinsofthedefenders.Theenemy falls back againstthe weight of our swordsand the strength of ourarms. We feel, as heroesshould, the thrill of battle
and the call of ourheritage.We are exultant!Egel knew the hearts ofmen. I wonder, Did heknowthefuture?”“What do the other
namesmean?”Antaheim shrugged.
“Thatisforanotherday.It
isnotgood luck to talkofMusif while we shelterunder the protection ofEldibar.” Antaheim leanedback into the wall andclosedhiseyes,listeningtothe rain and the howlingwind.Musif. The wall of
despair! Where strengthhasnotbeengreatenoughto hold Eldibar, how canMusifbeheld?Ifwecouldnot hold Eldibar, wecannot hold Musif. Fearwill gnaw at our vitals.Many of our friends willhave died at Eldibar, and
once more we will see inour minds the laughingfaces.Wewillnotwanttojoin them. Musif is thetest.And we will not hold.
WewillfallbacktoKania,thewall of renewedhope.We did not die on Musif,
and Kania is a narrowerfighting place. Andanyway, are there notthree more walls? TheNadir can no longer usetheirballistaehere,sothatis something, is it not? Inany case, did we notalways know we would
loseafewwalls?Sumitos, the wall of
desperation, will follow.We are tired, mortallyweary. We fight now byinstinct, mechanically andwell. Only the very bestwill be left to stem thesavagetide.
Valteri,WallFive,isthewall of serenity. Now wehave come to terms withmortality. We accept theinevitability of our deathsand find in ourselvesdepths of courage wewould not have believedpossible. The humor will
beginagain,andeachwillbeabrothertoeachotherman. We will have stoodtogether against thecommon enemy, shield toshield, and we will havemadehimsuffer.Timewillpass on this wall moreslowly. We will savor our
senses as if we havediscovered them anew.The stars will becomejewels of beautyweneversawbefore,andfriendshipwill have a sweetnessneverpreviouslytasted.AndfinallyGeddon,the
wallofdeath…
I shall not see Geddon,thoughtAntaheim.Andheslept.
“Tests! All we keephearing about is that thereal test will cometomorrow. How manydamn tests are there?”
stormedElicas. Rek raiseda hand as the youngwarrior interruptedSerbitar.“Calm down!” he said.
“Let him finish. We haveonlyafewmomentsbeforethecityeldersarrive.”ElicasglaredatRekbut
was silent after looking atHogun for support andseeing his almostimperceptible shakeof thehead. Druss rubbed hiseyesandacceptedagobletofwinefromOrrin.“I am sorry,” said
Serbitar gently. “I know
how irksome such talk is.For eight days now wehave held theNadir back,anditistrueIcontinuetospeak of fresh tests. Butyou see, Ulric is a masterstrategist.Lookathisarmy—it is twenty thousandtribesmen. This first week
hasseenthembloodiedonourwalls.Theyarenothisfinest troops. Even as wehave trained our recruits,so does he. He is in nohurry; he has spent thesedayscullingtheweakfromhis ranks, for he knowsthere are more battles to
come when, and if, hetakes the Dros. We havedone well, exceedinglywell. But we have paiddearly. Fourteen hundredmen have died, and fourhundred more will notfightagain.“I tell you this:
Tomorrow his veteranswillcome.”“Andwheredoyougain
thisintelligence?”snappedElicas.“Enough, boy!” roared
Druss. “It is sufficient thathehasbeenrighttillnow.When he is wrong, you
mayhaveyoursay.”“What do you suggest,
Serbitar?”askedRek.“Give them the wall,”
answeredthealbino.“What?” said Virae.
“After all the fighting anddying?Thatismadness.”“Not so,my lady,” said
Bowman, speaking for thefirst time. All eyes turnedto the young archer, whohad forsaken his usualuniformofgreentunicandhose. Now he wore asplendidbuckskin topcoat,heavywithfringedthongs,sporting an eagle crafted
from small beads acrossthe back. His long blondhairwasheldinplacebyabuckskin headband, andby his side hung a silverdaggerwithanebonyhaftshapedlikeafalconwhosespreadwingsmadeup theknuckleguard.
He stood. “It is soundgood sense.Weknew thatwallswouldfall.Eldibaristhe longest and thereforethe most difficult to hold.Wearestretchedthere.OnMusif we would needfewer men and thereforewould lose fewer.Andwe
have the killing groundbetween the walls. Myarchers could create anunholy massacre amongUlric’s veterans beforeevenablowisstruck.”“There is another
point,” saidRek,“andoneequally important. Sooner
orlaterwewillbepushedback from the wall, anddespitethefiregullies,ourlosseswillbeenormous.Ifweretireduringthenight,wewillsavelives.”“And let us not forget
morale,” Hogun pointedout. “The loss of the wall
will hit the Dros badly. Ifwegiveitupasastrategicwithdrawal, however, wewill turn the situation toouradvantage.”“What of you, Orrin?
How do you feel aboutthis?”askedRek.“We have about five
hours.Let’sget itstarted,”answeredthegan.Rek turned to Druss.
“Andyou?”The old man shrugged.
“Soundsgood,”hesaid.“It’s settled, then,” said
Rek.“I leaveyou tobeginthe withdrawal. Now I
mustmeetthecouncil.”Throughout the long
night the silent retreatcontinued. Wounded menwerecarriedonstretchers,medicalsuppliesloadedontohandcarts,andpersonalbelongings packed hastilyinto kit bags. The more
seriously injured had longsincebeenremovedto theMusif field hospital, andEldibar barracks had beenlittle used since the siegehadbegun.By dawn’s first ghostly
light the last of the menentered the postern gates
at Musif and climbed thelong winding stairways tothe battlements. Thenbegan the work of rollingboulders and rubble ontothe stairs to block theentrances.Menheavedandtoiled as the light grewstronger. Finally, sacks of
mortar powder werepoured onto the rubbleandthenpackedsolidintothe gaps. Other men withbuckets of water dousedthemixtures.“Given a day,” said
Maric the builder, “thatmass will be almost
immovable.”“Nothing is
immovable,” said hiscompanion. “But it willtake them weeks to makeit passable, and even thenthe stairways weredesignedtobedefensible.”“Onewayortheother,I
shall not see it,” saidMaric.“Ileavetoday.”“You are early, surely,”
said his friend. “Marrissaand I also plan to leave.But not until the fourthwallfalls.”“Firstwall, fourthwall,
what is thedifference?All
the more time to putdistance between myselfand this war. Ventria hasneedofbuilders.Andtheirarmy is strong enough toholdtheNadirforyears.”“Perhaps. But I will
wait.”“Don’t wait too long,
myfriend,”saidMaric.Back at the keep Rek
lay staring at the ornateceiling. The bed wascomfortable, and Virae’snaked form nestled intohim, her head resting onhis shoulder. The meetinghad finished two hours
since, and he could notsleep. His mind was alivewith plans, counterplans,and all the myriadproblems of a city undersiege.Thedebatehadbeenacrimonious, and pinningdown any of thosepoliticians was like
threading a needle underwater. The consensusopinion was that Delnochshouldsurrender.Only the red-faced
Lentrian, Malphar, hadbacked Rek. That oilyserpent, Shinell, hadoffered to lead a
delegation to Ulricpersonally. And what ofBeric, who felt himselftricked by fate in that hisbloodline had includedrulers of Delnoch forcenturies, yet he had lostoutbybeingasecondson?Bitternesswasdeepwithin
him. The lawyer, Backda,had said little, but hiswords were acid whentheycame.“You seek to stop the
seawithaleakingbucket.”Rek had struggled to
hold his temper. He hadnot seen any of them
standing on thebattlementswith sword inhand. Nor would they.Horeb had a saying thatmatchedthesemen:“Inanybroth,thescum
alwaysrisestothetop.”He had thanked them
for their counsel and
agreedtomeetinfivedaystime to answer theirproposals.Virae stirred beside
him. Her arm moved thecoverlet, exposing aroundedbreast.Reksmiledand for the first time indays thought about
somethingotherthanwar.
Bowman and a thousandarchers stood on theramparts of Eldibar,watching the Nadir massfor the charge. Arrowswere loosely notched tothe string, and hats were
tilted at a jaunty angle tokeep the right eye inshadow against the risingsun.The horde screamed its
hatred and surgedforward.Bowman waited. He
lickedhisdrylips.
“Now!” he yelled,smoothlydrawingbackthestring to touch his rightcheek. The arrow leaptfree with a thousandothers, to be lost withinthe surging mass below.Againandagaintheyfireduntil their quivers were
empty.FinallyCaessaleaptto the battlements andfired her last arrowstraight down at a manpushing a ladder againstthewall.Theshaftenteredat the top of the shoulderand sheared through hisleather jerkin, lancing
through his lung andlodging in his belly. Hedroppedwithoutasound.Grappling irons
clatteredtotheramparts.“Back!”yelledBowman,
and began to run acrossthe open ground, acrossthe fire-gully bridges and
the trench of oil-soakedbrush. Ropes werelowered, and the archersswiftly scaled them. Backat Eldibar the first of theNadirhadgainedthewall.For long moments theymilled in confusion beforethey spotted the archers
clambering to safety.Within minutes thetribesmen had gatheredseveral thousand strong.They hauled their laddersoverEldibarandadvancedon Musif. Then arrows offire arced over the openground to vanish within
the oil-soaked brush.Instantly thick smokewelled from the gully,closelyfollowedbyroaringflames twice theheight ofaman.TheNadirfellback.The
Drenaicheered.The brush blazed for
overanhour,andthefourthousand warriorsmanning Musif stooddown. Some lay in groupson the grass; otherswandered to the threemess halls for a secondbreakfast.Many sat in theshade of the rampart
towers.Druss strolled among
the men, swapping jestshereandthere,acceptingachunkofblackbreadfromone man, an orange fromanother. He saw Rek andViraesittingaloneneartheeasterncliffandwandered
acrosstojointhem.“So far, so good!” he
said,easinghishugeframeto the grass. “They’re notsurewhattodonow.Theirorders were to take thewall, and they’veaccomplishedthat.”“What next, do you
think?”askedRek.“The old boy himself,”
answered Druss. “He willcome. And he’ll want totalk.”“Should I go down?”
askedRek.“Better if I do. The
Nadir know me.
Deathwalker. I’m part oftheir legends. They thinkI’m an ancient god ofdeathstalkingtheworld.”“Are they wrong? I
wonder,” said Rek,smiling.“Maybe not. I never
wantedit,youknow.All I
wantedwastogetmywifeback. Had slavers nottaken her, I would havebeen a farmer. Of that Iam sure, though Rowenadoubtedit.Therearetimeswhen I do not much likewhatIam.”“I’msorry,Druss.Itwas
ajest,”saidRek.“Idonotsee you as a death god.You are a man and awarrior. Butmost of all aman.”“It’s not you, boy; your
words only echo what Ialready feel. I shall diesoon…Here at thisDros.
And what will I haveachievedinmylife?Ihaveno sons or daughters. Noliving kin … few friends.They will say, ‘Here liesDruss.Hekilledmanyandbirthednone.’”“They will say more
than that,” said Virae,
suddenly. “They’ll say,‘Here lies Druss theLegend, who was nevermean, petty, or needlesslycruel.Herewasamanwhonever gave in, nevercompromised his ideals,never betrayed a friend,never despoiled awoman,
and never used hisstrengthagainsttheweak.’They’ll say, ‘He had nosons, but many a womanasleepwithherbabessleptmore soundly forknowingDruss stood with theDrenai.’ They’ll saymany,things, whitebeard.
Throughmanygenerationsthey will say them, andmenwith no strengthwillfind strength when theyhearthem.”“That would be
pleasant,” said the oldman,smiling.Themorningdriftedby,
and theDros shone in thewarmsunlight.Oneof thesoldiers produced a fluteandbegantoplayaliltingspringtime melody thatechoeddown thevalley,asong of joy in a time ofdeath.At midday Rek and
Druss were summoned tothe ramparts. The NadirhadfallenbacktoEldibar,but at the center of thekilling ground was a manseated on a huge purplerug.Hewaseatingamealof dates and cheese andsipping wine from a
golden goblet. Thrust intothe ground behind himwas a standard sporting awolf’shead.“He’s certainly got
style,” said Rek, admiringthemaninstantly.“I ought to go down
before he finishes the
food,”saidDruss.“Welosefaceaswewait.”“Becareful!”urgedRek.“There are only a
couple of thousand ofthem,” answered Drusswithabroadwink.Hand over hand, he
lowered himself to the
Eldibar ground below andstrolledtowardthediner.“Iamastrangerinyour
camp,”hesaid.Themanlookedup.His
facewas broad and clean-cut,thejawfirm.Theeyeswere violet and slantedbeneath dark brows; they
wereeyesofpower.“Welcome, stranger,
and eat,” said the man.Druss sat cross-leggedopposite him. Slowly theman unbuckled hislacquered blackbreastplate and removedit,layingitcarefullyathis
side.Thenheremovedhisblackgreavesand forearmstraps. Druss noted thepowerful muscles of theman’s arms and thesmooth, catlikemovements. A warriorborn,thoughttheoldman.“I am Ulric of the
Wolfshead.”“IamDrussoftheAx.”“Wellmet!Eat.”Druss tookahandfulof
dates from the silverplatterbeforehimandateslowly. He followed thiswith goat’s milk cheeseandwasheditdownwitha
mouthful of redwine.Hiseyebrowsrose.“Lentrian red,” said
Ulric.“Withoutpoison.”Druss grinned. “I’m a
hard man to kill. It’s atalent.”“Youdidwell.Iamglad
foryou.”
“I was grieved to hearof your son. I have nosons,butIknowhowhardit is for a man to lose alovedone.”“It was a cruel blow,”
saidUlric.“Hewasagoodboy. But then, all life iscruel, is it not? A man
mustriseabovegrief.”Druss was silent,
helping himself to moredates.“You are a great man,
Druss. I am sorry you aretodiehere.”“Yes.Itwouldbeniceto
live forever. On the other
hand, I am beginning toslow down. Some of yourmen have been gettingdamnclosetomarkingme—it’sanembarrassment.”“Thereisaprizeforthe
man who kills you. Onehundred horses, pickedfrommyownstable.”
“How does the manprove to you that he slewme?”“He brings me your
headandtwowitnessestotheblow.”“Don’t allow that
information to reach mymen. They will do it for
fiftyhorses.”“I think not! You have
donewell.Howisthenewearlsettlingin?”“He would have
preferred a less noisywelcome,but I thinkhe isenjoyinghimself.Hefightswell.”
“As do you all. It willnotbeenough,however.”“We shall see,” said
Druss. “These dates areverygood.”“Doyoubelieveyoucan
stop me? Tell me truly,Deathwalker.”“I would like to have
served under you,” saidDruss.“Ihaveadmiredyoufor years. I have servedmany kings. Some wereweak,otherswillful.Manywere fine men, butyou…youhavethemarkof greatness. I think youwill get what you want
eventually.ButnotwhileIlive.”“Youwill not live long,
Druss,” said Ulric gently.“We have a shaman whoknows these things. Hetold me that he saw youstanding at the gates ofWall Four—Sumitos, I
believe it is called—andthegrinningskullofdeathfloated above yourshoulders.”Druss laughed aloud.
“Death always floatswhere I stand,Ulric! I amhewhowalkswith death.Does your shaman not
knowyourownlegends?Imay choose to die atSumitos. I may choose todieatMusif.ButwhereverIchoosetodie,knowthis:AsIwalkintotheValleyofShadows, I will take withmemorethanafewNadirforcompanyontheroad.”
“They will be proud towalk with you. Go inpeace.”
B23
loody dayfollowed bloody
day, an endless successionof hacking, slaying, anddying, skirmishes carryinggroups of Nadir warriorsoutontothekillingground
before Musif andthreatening to trap theDrenai army on thewalls.But always they werebeaten back and the lineheld. Slowly, as Serbitarhad predicted, the strongwere separated from theweak. It was easy to tell
thedifference.Bythesixthweek only the strongsurvived. Three thousandDrenai warriors eitherwere dead or had beenremoved from the battlewithhorrifyinginjuries.Drussstrodelikeagiant
along the ramparts day
after day, defying alladvice to rest, daring hiswearybodytobetrayhim,drawing on hiddenreserves of strength fromhiswarrior’ssoul.Rekalsowas building a name,though he cared not.Twicehisbaresarkattacks
had dismayed the Nadirand shattered their line.Orrin still foughtwith theremnants of Karnak, nowonlyeighteenstrong.Giladfought beside him on theright, and on his left wasBregan, still using thecaptured ax. Hogun had
gatheredfiftyofthelegionabouthimand stoodbackfrom the rampart line,ready to fill in any gapthatdeveloped.The days were full of
agony and the screams ofthe dying. And the list inthe hall of the dead grew
longer at every sunrise.Dun Pinar fell, his throattorn apart by a jaggeddagger. Bar Britan wasfound under a mound ofNadir bodies, a brokenlance jutting from hischest.TallAntaheimoftheThirty was struck by a
javelin in the back. Elicasof the legion was trappedby the rampart towers ashe hurled himself at theNadir, screamingdefiance,andfellbeneathascoreofblades. Jorak, the hugeoutlaw, had his brainsdashedoutbya cluband,
dying, grabbed two Nadirwarriorsandthrewhimselffrom the battlements,dragging them screamingto their deaths on therocksbelow.Amid the chaos of
slashing swords manydeeds of individual
heroism passed unseen.Oneyoungsoldierbattlingback to back with Drusssaw an enemy lancerbearing down on the oldman.Unthinking,hethrewhimself in the way of theflashing steel point, todiewrithing among the other
broken bodies on theramparts. Another soldier,an officer named Portitac,leapt into the breach nearthegatetowerandsteppedonto the ramparts, wherehe seized the top of aladder and flung himselfforward,pullingtheladder
out fromthewall.TwentyNadir near the top diedwithhimontherocks,andfive others broke limbs.Many were such tales ofbravery.And still the battles
raged. Rek now sported aslantingscarfromeyebrow
tochin,gleamingredashebattled on. Orrin had lostthree fingers from his lefthand but after only twodays behind the lines hadjoined hismen oncemoreonthewall.From the capital at
Drenanthemessagescame
endlessly:
Holdon.Give Woundweavertime.Justonemoremonth.
And the defendersknew they could nothold.
But still they foughton.
TwicetheNadirtriednightattacks, but on bothoccasions Serbitar warnedthe defenders and theassailants paid dearly fortheir efforts. At night,handholdsweredifficultto
findandthelongclimbtothe battlements wasfraught with peril.Hundreds of tribesmendied without need for thetouch of Drenai steel or ablack-shaftedarrow.Now the nights were
silentandinsomewaysas
bad as the days. For thepeace and tranquillity ofthe moon darkness actedasaweirdcounterpointtothecrimsonagoniesofthesunlight.Men had time tothink: to dream of wives,children, farms, and evenmore potently of a future
thatmighthavebeen.Hogun and Bowman
had taken to walkingtogether on thebattlements at night, thegrim legion general andthe bright witty outlaw.Hogun found that inBowman’s company he
could forget the loss ofElicas;hecouldevenlaughagain. For his part,Bowman felt a kinshipwith the gan, for he, too,had a serious side,although he kept it wellhidden.But on this particular
night Bowman was in amore melancholy mood,andhiseyesweredistant.“What ails you, man?”
askedHogun.“Memories,” answered
the archer, leaning overtherampartstostareattheNadircampfiresbelow.
“They must be eithervery bad or very good totouchyouso.”“Theseareverybad,my
friend. Do you believe ingods?”“Sometimes. Usually
whenmybackisagainstawall and the enemy
surrounds me,” saidHogun.“I believe in the twin
powers of growth andmalevolence.Ibelievethaton rare occasions each ofthese powers chooses amanand indifferentwaysdestroyshim.”
“Andthesepowershavetouched you, Bowman?”askedHogungently.“Perhaps.Thinkbackon
recent history—you willfindexamples.”“I do not need to. I
know where this tale isleading,”saidHogun.
“What do you know?”asked the archer, turningto face the dark-cloakedofficer. Hogun smiledgently, though he notedthat Bowman’s fingerswere curled around thehiltofhisdagger.“I know that you are a
man whose life has beenmarred by some secrettragedy: a wife dead, afather slain … something.There may even be somedark deed which youperpetrated and cannotforget. But even if thatwere the case, the very
fact that you remember itwithsuchpainmeansthatyouactedoutofcharacter.Put it behind you, man!Whoamonguscanchangethepast?”“IwishIcouldtellyou,”
said Bowman. “But Icannot. I am sorry, I am
not fit company thisevening.Yougoon. Iwillstayhereawhile.”Hogun wanted to clap
his hand on the other’sshoulder and saysomething witty to breakthemood,asBowmanhadsooftendoneforhim.But
he could not. There weretimes when a grim-facedwarrior was needed, evenloved,butthiswasnotoneof them, and he cursedhimselfandleftsilently.For over an hour
Bowman stood on theramparts, staring out over
thevalley, listening to thefaint songs of the Nadirwomen drifting out fromthefarcampbelow.“You are troubled?”
saidavoice.Bowman swung around
to face Rek. The youngearl was dressed in the
clothes in which he hadarrived: thigh-lengthdoeskin boots, a high-collaredtunicwithagold-embroidered collar, and areversed sheepskin jerkin.By his side was hislongsword.“I am merely tired,”
saidBowman.“I, too. Is my scar
fading?”Bowman peered closely
atthejaggedredlinefrombrow to chin. “You werelucky not to lose an eye,”hecommented.“Useless Nadir steel,”
saidRek.“Imadeaperfectblock, and his blastedsword snappedand lashedacrossmyface.Goodgods,man, have you any ideahow long I’ve protectedmyface?”“It’s too late to worry
about that now,” said
Bowman,grinning.“Some people are born
ugly,” said Rek. “It’s nottheir fault, and I for onehave never held it againstamanthathe isugly.Butothers—andIcountmyselfamong them—are bornwith handsome features.
Thatisagiftwhichshouldnotbelightlytakenaway.”“I take it youmade the
perpetrator pay for hisdeed.”“Naturally! And you
know, I think he wassmilingevenasIslewhim.But then, he was an ugly
man. I mean really ugly.It’snotright.”“Life can be so unfair,”
agreed Bowman. “But youmust look on the brightside, my lord Earl. Yousee, unlike me, you werenever stupendouslyhandsome. Merely well
featured. The brows weretoo thick, the mouth ashade toowide. And yourhairisnowgrowingalittlethinner. Now, had youbeen blessed with thenearly miraculous goodlookspossessedbysuchasI, you would have truly
had something to grieveover.”“There is something in
what you say,” said Rek.“You have indeed beengreatly blessed. It wasprobably nature’s way ofmaking it up to you forbeingshort.”
“Short? I am almost astallasyou.”“Ah, but what a large
word ‘almost’ is. Can aman be almost alive?Almost right? In thequestion of height, myfriend, we do not deal insubtleshadesofgray.Iam
taller;youareshorter.ButIwouldconcurthereisnota more handsome shortmanatthefortress.”“Women have always
found me the perfectheight,”saidBowman.“Atleast when I dance withthem, I can whisper love
words in their ears. Withyour long shanks, theirheads would nestle nearyourarmpit.”“Get a lot of time for
dancing in the forest, doyou?”askedRekamiably.“I didn’t always live in
the forest. My family …”
Bowman stuttered tosilence.“I know your family
background,” said Rek.“But it’s about time youtalked about it. You’vecarriedittoolong.”“Howcouldyouknow?”“Serbitar told me. As
you know, he has beeninside yourmind…whenyou carried his messagestoDruss.”“I suppose the entire
damned fortress knows,”saidBowman.“Iwillleaveatdawn.”“Only Serbitar and I
know the story—and thetruthofit.Butleaveifyouwill.”“ThetruthofitisthatI
killed my father andbrother.” Bowman waswhite-facedandtense.“Twin accidents—you
know it well!” said Rek.
“Why must you tortureyourself?”“Why? Because I
wonderataccidentsinlife.I wonder how many arecaused by our own secretdesires. There was afootraceronce,thefinestIever saw. He was
preparing for the greatgames, to run for the firsttime against the fastestmen from many nations.Onthedaybeforetheracehe fell and twisted hisankle. Was it really anaccident, or was hefrightenedtofacethegreat
test?”“Only he will ever
know,” said Rek. “Buttherein lies the secret. Heknows,andsoshouldyou.Serbitar tells me that youwere hunting with yourfather and brother. Yourfatherwastotheleft,your
brother to the right,whenyou followed a deer intothe thicket. A bush beforeyou rustled, and youaimed and let the arrowfly.Butitwasyourfather,who had comeunannounced. How couldyou know he would do
suchathing?”“The point is that he
taught us never to shootuntilwesawthetarget.”“So you made a
mistake.What else is newonthefaceoftheworld?”“Andmybrother?”“He saw what you had
done, misunderstood, andran at you in a rage. Youpushed him away, and hefell, strikinghisheadonarock. No one could wishsuch a burden on himself.But you have nursed it,anditisnowtimeforyoutoreleaseit.”
“Ineverlovedmyfatheror my brother,” saidBowman.“Myfatherkilledmy mother. He left heralone formonths and hadmanymistresses.Whenmymother tookone lover, hehad him blinded and herslain…horribly.”
“Iknow.Don’tdwellonit.”“And my brother was
madeinhisimage.”“ThisalsoIknow.”“Anddoyouknowwhat
Ifeltwhentheywerebothlyingdeadatmyfeet?”“Yes. You were
exultant.”“And is that not
terrible?”“I don’t know if you
have considered this,Bowman, but think on it.You blame the gods forbringingacurseuponyou,butthecursereallyfellon
thetwomenwhodeservedit.“I don’t know yet
whether I fully believe infate, but certain things dohappen in a man’s lifewhich he cannot explain.My being here, forinstance. Druss’s
convictionthathewilldiehere, for he has made apact with death. Andyou … But I do believethat you were merely theinstrument of … whoknows?…alawofnaturaljustice,perhaps.“Whatever you believe
about yourself, know this:Serbitar searched yourheart, and he found nomalice there. And heknows.”“Perhaps,” said
Bowman.Thenhegrinnedsuddenly. “Have younoticedthatwhenSerbitar
removes that horse-hairhelm, he is shorter than Iam?”
The room was Spartanlyfurnished: a rug, a pillow,and a chair, all bunchedbeneath the smallwindowbywhich the albino stood
naked and alone.Moonlight bathed his paleskin, and the night breezeruffled his hair. Hisshoulderswerebowed,hiseyesclosed.Wearinesswasupon him like no otherwearinesshehadfeltinallhis young life. For it was
born of the spirit and thetruth.The philosophers often
talkedof lies sittingunderthe tongue like saltedhoney. This, Serbitarknew, was true enough.Butmoreoftenthehiddentruth was worse. Far
worse.Foritsettledinthebelly and grew to engulfthespirit.Below him were the
Vagrian quarters thathoused Suboden and thethree hundred men whohad come from DrosSegril.Forseveraldayshe
had fought alongside hispersonal bodyguard andbecomeagainthePrinceofDros Segril, son of EarlDrada. But the experiencehad been painful, for hisown men had made thesignoftheprotectivehornas he approached. They
rarely spoke to him, andthen only to answer adirect question speedily.Suboden, blunt-speakingas always, had asked thealbino to return to hiscomrades.“We are here, Prince
Serbitar, because it is our
duty. This we willaccomplish best withoutyoubesideus.”More painful than this,
however, was the longdiscussionhehadhadwiththe Abbot of Swords, themanherevered,lovedasafather,mentor,andfriend.
Serbitar closed his eyesand opened his mind,soaring free of the bodyprisonand sweepingasidethecurtainsoftime.Back he traveled, back
and farther back. Thirteenlong,wearisome, joy-filledyearsflowedpasthim,and
he saw again the caravanthat had brought him tothe Abbot of Swords.Riding at the head of tenwarriorswasthegiantred-bearded Drada, the youngEarl of Segril—battle-hardened, volatile, apitiless enemy but a true
friend. Behind him ten ofhis most trusted warriors,men who would die forhim without a moment’shesitation, for they lovedhimabovelife.Attherearisacartuponwhich,onastraw pallet covered withsilken sheets, lies the
young prince, a canvasscreen shieldinghis ghost-whitefacefromthesun.Drada wheels the black
horse round and gallopsback to the cart. He leanson his saddle horn andglances down at the boy.The boy looks up; framed
against the bright sky, hecan see only the flaringwingsofhisfather’sbattlehelmet.The cart is moving
again, into the shade ofthe ornate black gates.They swing open, and amanappears.
“I bid you welcome,Drada,” he says, the voiceatvariancewith the silverarmorhewears, for it isagentle sound, the voice ofapoet.“I bring you my son,”
answerstheearl,hisvoicegruff,soldierly.
Vintarmovestothecartand looks down on theboy. He places a hand onthe pale forehead, smiles,andpatstheboy’shead.“Come walk with me,
boy,”hesays.“He cannot walk,” says
Drada.
“But he can,” saysVintar.The boy turns his red
eyes toward Vintarquestioningly and for thefirst time inhis lonely lifefeels a touching ofminds.There are no words.Vintar’s gentle poet’s face
enters with a promise ofstrength and friendship.The fragile muscles onSerbitar’s skeletal bodybegin to shake as aninfusion of powerregenerateswastedcells.“What is the matter
with the boy?” Drada’s
voicefillswithalarm.“Nothing. Say farewell
toyourson.”Thered-beardedwarrior
turns his horse’s head tothe north and gazes downat the white-haired child.“Do as you are told. Begood.” He hesitates,
pretends his horse isskittish. He is trying tofind words for a finalfarewell, but he cannot.Always he has founddifficulty with this red-eyed child. “Be good,” hesays again, then raises anarm and leads his men
northward on the longjourneyhome.As the wagon pulls
away, bright sunlightstreamsontothepalletandtheboyreactsasiflanced.His face mirrors pain; hiseyes squeeze shut. Vintargently seeks hismind and
pulses: “Stand now andfollow the pictures I willplaceonyoureyelids.”At once the pain eases,
and the boy can seemoreclearly than ever before.Andhismuscleslifthimatlast, a sensation hethought he had forgotten
sinceayearago,whenhecollapsed in the snow ofthe Delnoch mountains.From thatmoment to thishe has lain paralyzed,unspeaking.Now he stands, and
with eyes tightly shut heseesmoreclearly.Without
guilt he realizes he hasforgotten his father and ishappyforit.The spirit of the older
Serbitar tastes again thetotal joy that flooded theyouth that day as, arm inarm with Vintar the soul,he walked across the
courtyarduntilatlast,inabrightly lit corner, theycametoatinyrosecuttingnestling by a high stonewall.“This is your rose,
Serbitar.Loveit.Cherishitandgrowwithit.Onedaya flowerwill formon that
tiny plant. And itsfragrance will be for youalone.”“Isitawhiterose?”“It iswhateveryouwill
ittobe.”
Andthroughtheyearsthatfollowed Serbitar found
peace and joy incomradeship, but nevermore than in theexperience of truecontentment with Vintarthesoulonthatfirstday.Vintar had taught him
to recognize the herbLorassium and eat of its
leaves. At first they hadmade him drowsy andfilledhismindwithcolors.But as the days hadpassed,hispowerfulyoungmind had mastered thevisions and the greenjuiceshadstrengthenedhisweakblood.Evenhiseyes
had changed color toreflect the power of theplant.And he had learned to
runagain,savoringthejoyof thewind inhis face, toclimb and wrestle, tolaughandlive.And he had learned to
speak without speaking,movewithoutmoving,andseewithoutseeing.Through all these
blissful years Serbitar’srose had blossomed andgrown.Awhiterose…
Andnowithadallcometothis!One glimpse into thefuture had destroyedthirteen years of trainingand belief. One speedingshaft, viewed through themistsoftime,hadchangedhisdestiny.Serbitar had stared
horror-struck at the scenebelow him on the battle-scarred walls of the Dros.His mind had recoiledfrom the violence he sawthere, and he had fled,comet-swift,toafarcornerof a distant universe,losing himself and his
sanity among explodingstars and new suns’birthing.And still Vintar had
foundhim.“Youmustreturn.”“Icannot.Ihaveseen.”“AshaveI.”“Then you know that I
would rather die than seeitagain.”“But youmust, for it is
yourdestiny.”“Then I refuse my
destiny.”“And your friends? Do
yourefusethemalso?”“Icannotwatchyoudie
again,Vintar.”“Why not? I myself
have seen the scene ahundredtimes.Ihaveevenwrittenapoemaboutit.”“As we are now—shall
we be again, after death?Freesouls?”“I do not know, but I
would have it so. Nowreturntoyourduty.Ihavepulsed the Thirty. Theywill keep your body aliveforaslongastheycan.”“They always have.
WhyshouldIbethelasttodie?”“Because we would
have it so. We love you,Serbitar.Andalwayshave.Ashychildyouwere,whohad never tastedfriendship. Suspicious youwereoftheslightesttouchor embrace—a soul cryingalone in a cosmicwilderness. Even now you
arealone.”“ButIloveyouall.”“Because you need our
love.”“Notso,Vintar!”“Do you love Rek and
Virae?”“They are not of the
Thirty.”
“Neitherwereyouuntilwemadeitso.”
And Serbitar had returnedto the fortress and feltashamed. But the shamehe had felt earlier was asnothingcomparedwiththefeeling he now
experienced.Wasitbutanhoursince
that he had walked theramparts with Vintar, andcomplained of manythings, and confessed tomanysins?“You are wrong,
Serbitar. So wrong. I also
feel blood lust in battle.Who does not? AskArbedark or Menahem.Whilewearestillmen,wewillfeelasothermendo.”“Then is it for nothing
thatwearepriests?”criedSerbitar. “We have spentyearsofourlivesstudying
the insanity of war, ofman’s lust for power, hisneed for bloodshed. Weraise ourselves above thecommonmanwithpowersthat are almost godlike.Yetinthefinalanalysiswecome to this, lusting afterbattle and death. It is for
nothing!”“Your conceit is
colossal, Serbitar,” saidVintar, an edge to hisvoiceandthesuggestionofangershowinginhiseyes.“You speak of ‘godlike.’Youspeakofthe‘commonman.’Whereinyourwords
is the humility we strivefor?“Whenyoufirstcameto
thetemple,youwereweakand lonely and severalyears the youngest. Butyou learned the moreswiftly. And you werechosen as the voice. Did
you only acquire thedisciplines and forgo thephilosophy?”“It would appear so,”
answeredSerbitar.“You are wrong again.
For in wisdom there issuffering. You are painednotbecauseyoudisbelieve
but because you believe.Let us return to basics.Why do we travel to adistantwar?”“Todie.”“Whydowechoosethis
method? Why not simplyallowourselvestostarve?”“Becauseinwaraman’s
willtoliveisstrongest.Hewill fight hard to stayalive. He will learn againtolovelife.”“And what will that
forceustoface?”“Our doubts,”
whisperedSerbitar.“But you never thought
that such doubt wouldcometoyou,sosurewereyou of your godlikepowers?”“Yes, Iwas sure.Now I
amnot.Isthissuchagreatsin?”“You know it is not.
Why am I alive, my boy?
Why did I not die withMagnar’s Thirty twodecadesago?”“You were the one
chosen to found the newtemple.”“WhywasIchosen?”“You were the most
perfect.Ithastobeso.”
“Then why was I nottheleader?”“I do not understand
you.”“How is the leader
chosen?”“I know not. You have
neversaid.”“Thenguess,Serbitar.”
“Because he is the bestchoice.Themost…”“Perfect?”“I would have said so,
but I see where you areleading. If you were themost perfect, why didMagnar lead? Well, whydidhe?”
“You have seen thefuture; you should haveseen and heard thisconversation.Youtellme.”“You know that I did
not,” said Serbitar. “Therewas no time for study oftheminutiae.”“Oh, Serbitar, still you
willnotunderstand!Whatyou saw and chose toexaminewas theminutiae,the meaningless and thetrivial.Whatdoes itmeantothehistoryofthisplanetthat this Dros falls? Howmany other castles havefallen throughout the
ages? Of what cosmicimportance was theirfailure?Howvital are ourdeaths?”“Tell me then, my lord
abbot, how is the leaderchosen?”“Have you not guessed
it,myson?”
“Ibelieveso,”“Thenspeak.”“He is the least perfect
of the acolytes,” saidSerbitar softly, his greeneyes searching Vintar’sfaceandbeggingdenial.“Heistheleastperfect,”
echoedVintarsadly.
“But why?” askedSerbitar.“Sothathistaskwillbe
the more difficult, themore demanding. To givehimthechancetoriseandmatch the position heholds.”“AndIhavefailed?”
“Not yet, Serbitar. Notyet.”
D24
ay by day morepeople left the siege
city, piling theirpossessions onto carts,wagons, or the backs ofmules and formingconvoys that snaked their
way inland toward therelative security of theSkoda mountains and thecapitalbeyond.With each departure
fresh problems faced thedefenders. Fighting menhad to be seconded toother duties, such as
latrine clearance, storessupply, and foodpreparation. Now thedrain on resources cameontwofronts.Druss was furious and
insisted that the gates beclosed, the evacuationstopped. Rek pointed out
that even more soldierswould then be needed topolicethesouthroad.Thenthefirstdisasterof
the campaign struck thedefenders.On the high day of
summer—ten weeks afterthe battle began—Musif
fellandchaosreigned.TheNadirbreachedthewallatthe center, driving awedge into the killingground beyond. The men,threatened withencirclement,fellbackandraced for the fire gullies.Running skirmishes began
asdiscipline fled,and twogully bridges collapsed aswarriors milled uponthem.On Kania, Wall Three,
Rek waited as long as hedared before ordering thegullies lit with flamearrows. Druss, Orrin, and
Hogunscrambledtosafetyjust as theblaze took.Butbeyond the gully morethaneighthundredDrenaiwarriors battled onhopelessly in tight shieldrings that grew smallermomentbymoment.Manyon Kania turned away,
unabletobearthesightoftheirfriends’ futilebattles.Rek stood with fistsclenched and watched indespair. The fighting didnot last long. Hopelesslyoutnumbered, the Drenaiwere engulfed, and thebattle song of victorywas
sung by thousands oftribesmen.They gathered before
the flames chanting,waving blood-stainedswordsandaxesintheair.Few on the wallsunderstood thewords, butunderstanding was
unnecessary. The messagewas primal, the meaningclear. It struck the heartand soul with blisteringclarity.“What do they sing?”
RekaskedDrussastheoldman recovered his breathfollowing the long rope
climbtotheramparts.“It’stheirglorychant:
Nadirwe,Youth-born,bloodlettersaxwielders,victorsstill.”
Beyond the fire tribesmen
burst into the fieldhospital, slaying men intheir beds and draggingothers out into thesunlight,wheretheycouldbe seenby their comradeson the wall. Then theywere peppered witharrows or slowly
dismembered. One wasevennailedtothewindowshuttersofthebarracks,tohang screaming for twohours before beingdisemboweled andbeheaded.The Drenai dead,
stripped of their weapons
and armor, were hurledinto the fire gullies, andthestenchofburningfleshfilledtheairandstungtheeyes.The evacuation at the
southgatesbecameafloodas the city emptied.Soldiers joined in,
discarding their weaponsand mingling with thecrowds. No effort wasmade to stop them, onRek’sdirectorder.
In a little house near theStreet of Millers Maerietried to comfort the small
child sobbing inherarms.The noise in the streetoutside frightened her asfamilies loaded theirpossessions onto carts andwagonstetheredwithoxenor milk cows. It waspandemonium.Maerie cuddled the
child, crooning a lullabytune and kissing the tightcurlsonhishead.“I must go back to the
wall,” saidherhusband, atall young man with darkhairandwide,gentleblueeyes.Howtiredhelooked,hollow-eyedandgaunt.
“Don’t go, Carin,” shesaid as he strapped hisswordbeltabouthiswaist.“Don’tgo?Imust.”“Let us leave Delnoch.
WehavefriendsinPurdol,and you could find workthere.”Hewasnotan intuitive
man, and he missed thenote of desperation in hervoice, failed to sense therising panic behind hereyes.“Don’t let these fools
frighten you, Maerie.Druss is still with us, andwe will hold Kania. I
promiseyou.”The sobbing child
clutched his mother’sdress, soothed by thegentle strength of hisfather’s voice. Too youngto understand the wordsyet, he was comforted bythe pitch and tone. The
noiseoutsiderecededfromhim, and he slept on hismother’s shoulder. ButMaerie was older andwiser than the child, andtoherthewordswerejustwords.“Listen to me, Carin. I
wanttoleave.Today!”
“Ican’ttalknow.Imustgo back. I will see youlater. It will be all right.”Leaningforward,hekissedher, then stepped into thechaosofthestreet.She looked around her,
remembering:thechestbythe door, a gift from
Carin’sparents.Thechairsmadebyheruncle,Damus,fashionedwithcarelikeallhis work. They hadbrought the chairs andchestwiththemtwoyearsbefore.Goodyears?Carin was kind,
thoughtful, loving. Therewas so much goodness tohim. Easing the child intohis cot, she wandered tothe small bedroom,shutting the windowagainstthenoise.SoontheNadir would come. Thedoorwouldbesmashedin,
andfilthytribesmenwouldcome for her, tearing atherclothing…Sheshuthereyes.Drusswas still here, he
hadsaid.Stupid Carin! Kind,
loving, thoughtful, stupidCarin!Carinthemiller.
She had never beentruly happy with him,though without this warshe might never haverealized it. She had beenso close to contentment.Then he had joined thedefenders,cominghomesoproudly in that ludicrous
breastplate and oversizedhelm.Stupid Carin. Kind
Carin.The door opened, and
she turned to see herfriendDelis,herblondhaircovered in a travel shawlandaheavycloakoverher
shoulders.“Are you coming?” she
asked.“Yes.”“Is Carin coming with
you?”“No.”Swiftlyshegatheredher
belongings, pushing them
intoacanvasbagissuedtoCarin. Delis carried thebag to the wagon outsidewhileMaerieliftedhersonfrom his cot, wrappinghim in a second blanket.Stooping, she pulled openthe small chest, pushingasidethelinenandpulling
clear the small bag ofsilver that Carin hadhiddenthere.She did not bother to
closethedoor.
InthekeepDrussragedatRek, swearing to kill anydeserterherecognized.
“It’s too late for that,”saidRek.“Damn you, boy!”
mutteredDruss. “Wehavefewer than three thousandmen. How long do youthink we will hold if weallowdesertions?”“Howlongifwedon’t?”
snapped Rek. “We arefinished, anyway! SerbitarsaysKaniacanbeheldformaybe two days, Sumitosfor perhaps three, Valterithesame,andGeddonless.Ten days in all. Tenmiserable days!” Theyoung earl leaned on the
balcony rail above thegates and watched theconvoysstart south.“Lookat them, Druss! Farmers,bakers, tradesmen. Whatrighthavewetoask themtodie?Whatwillitmatterto them if we fail? TheNadir will not kill every
baker in Drenan; it willjust mean a change ofmasters.”“You give up too
easily,”snarledDruss.“I’marealist.Anddon’t
give me any Skeln Passlectures. I’m not goinganywhere.”
“You might as well,”saidDruss,slumpingintoaleather chair. “You havealreadylosthope.”Rek turned from the
window, eyes blazing.“What is it with youwarriors? It isunderstandable that you
talk in clichés butunforgivable if you thinkin them. Lost hope,indeed! I never had anyhope. This enterprise wasdoomedfromthestart,butwe do what we can andwhatwemust.Soayoungfarmer with a wife and
children decides to gohome. Good! He shows asense whichmen like youand I will neverunderstand.Theywillsingsongsaboutus,buthewillensure that there arepeople to sing them. Heplants.Wedestroy.
“Anyway,hehasplayedhis part and fought like aman.It iscriminalthatheshouldfeeltheneedtofleeinshame.”“Whynot give themall
the chance to go home?”asked Druss. “Then youand I could stand on the
walls and invite theNadirtocomeatusoneatatimelikesportsmen.”Suddenly Rek smiled,
tension and anger flowingfrom him. “I won’t arguewith you, Druss,” he saidsoftly. “You are a man Iadmire above all others.
But in this I thinkyouarewrong. Help yourself towine. I shall be backsoon.”Less than an hour later
the earl’s message wasbeingreadtoallsections.Bregan brought the
newstoGiladasheate in
the shade offered by thefield hospital under thetoweringcliff faceofWestKania.“Wecangohome,”said
Bregan, his face flushed.“We can be there byharvestsupper!”“I don’t understand,”
said Gilad. “Have wesurrendered?”“No. The earl says that
anywhowishtoleavecannowdoso.Hesaysthatwecan leavewith pride, thatwehavefoughtlikemen—and as men, we must begiven the right to go
home.”“Are we going to
surrender?” asked Gilad,puzzled.“I don’t think so,” said
Bregan.“ThenIshallnotgo.”“Buttheearlsaysit’sall
right!”
“I don’t care what hesays.”“Idon’tunderstandthis,
Gil. Lots of the others aregoing. And it is true thatwe’ve played our part.Haven’twe?Imean,we’vedoneourbest.”“I suppose so.” Gilad
rubbed his tired eyes andturnedtowatchthesmokefrom the fire gully driftlazily skyward. “They didtheir best, too,” hewhispered.“Whodid?”“Thosewhodied.Those
whoarestillgoingtodie.”
“Buttheearlsaysit’sallright.Hesays thatwecanleavewith our heads heldhigh.Proud.”“Isthatwhathesays?”“Yes.”“Well, my head
wouldn’tbehigh.”“Idon’tunderstandyou,
I really don’t. You havesaidallalongthatwecan’thold this fortress.Nowwehave a chance to leave.Why can’t you just acceptitandcomewithus?”“Because I’m a fool.
Give my love to everyonebackthere.”
“You know I won’t gounlessyoucome,too.”“Don’tyoustartbeinga
fool, Breg! You’ve goteverythingtolivefor.Justpicture little Legantoddling toward you andall the stories you will beabletotell.Goon.Go!”
“No. I don’t know whyyou’re staying, but I shallstay,too.”“Thatyoumustnotdo,”
said Gilad gently. “I wantyoutogoback,Ireallydo.After all, if you don’t,therewillbenoonetotellthem what a hero I am.
Seriously, Breg, I wouldfeel so much better if Iknew that youwere awayfrom all this. The earl’sright. Men like you haveplayed their part.Magnificently.“Andasforme…well,
I just want to stay here.
I’velearnedsomuchaboutmyself and about othermen. I’m not neededanywherebuthere.I’mnotnecessary.Iwillneverbeafarmer,and Ihaveneitherthe money to be abusinessman nor thebreeding to be a prince.
I’mamisfit.This iswhereIbelong,withalltheothermisfits. Please, Bregan.Pleasego!”There were tears in
Bregan’seyes,andthetwomen embraced. Then thecurly-haired young farmerrose. “I hope everything
worksout foryou,Gil. I’lltell them all—I promise Iwill.Goodluck!”“And to you, farmer.
Take your ax. They canhangitinthevillagehall.”Giladwatchedhimwalk
back toward the posterngatesandthekeepbeyond.
Bregan turned once andwaved.Thenhewasgone.Altogether 650 men
chosetoleave.Two thousand forty
remained. Added to thesewereBowman,Caessa,andfifty archers. The otheroutlaws, having fulfilled
their promise, returned toSkultik.“Toodamnedfewnow,”
muttered Druss as themeetingended.“I never liked crowds,
anyway,” said Bowmanlightly.Hogun, Orrin, Rek, and
Serbitar remained in theirseats as Druss andBowman wandered outintothenight.“Don’t despair, old
horse,” said Bowman,slapping Druss on theback. “Things could beworse,youknow.”
“Really?How?”“Well, we could be out
ofwine.”“Weareoutofwine.”“Weare?That’sterrible.
Iwouldneverhavestayedhad I known. Luckily,however, I do just happentohaveacoupleofflagons
of Lentrian red stored inmy new quarters. So atleastwecanenjoytonight.Wemight even be able tosavesomefortomorrow.”“That’s a good idea,”
said Druss. “Maybe wecould bottle it and lay itdown for a couple of
months to age a little.Lentrianred,myfoot!Thatstuffofyours isbrewedinSkultik from soap,potatoes,andrats’entrails.Youwould getmore tastefromaNadirslopbucket.”“You have the
advantageofmethere,old
horse, since I have nevertastedaNadirslopbucket.Butmy brew does hit thespotrather.”“IthinkI’drathersucka
Nadir’s armpit,” mutteredDruss.“Fine, I’ll drink it all
myself,”snappedBowman.
“Noneedtogettouchy,boy. I’mwith you. I havealways believed thatfriends should suffertogether.”
The artery writhed underVirae’sfingerslikeasnake,spewing blood into the
cavityofthestomach.“Tighter!” ordered
CalvarSyn,hisownhandsdeep in the wound,pushing aside blue slimyentrails as he soughtfrantically to stem thebleeding within. It wasuseless; he knew it was
useless, but he owed it tothe man beneath him touse every ounce of hisskill.Despiteallhiseffortshe could feel the lifeoozingbetweenhisfingers.Another stitch, anothersmallPyrrhicvictory.The man died as the
eleventh stitch sealed thestomachwall.“He’s dead?” asked
Virae. Calvar nodded,straightening his back.“But the blood is stillflowing,”shesaid.“Itwill do so for a few
moments.”
“I really thought hewould live,” shewhispered. Calvar wipedhis bloody hands on alinen cloth and walkedaroundbesideher.Heputhis hands on hershoulders, turning hertowardhim.
“His chances were oneinathousandevenifIhadstopped the bleeding. Thelance cut his spleen, andgangrene was almostcertain.”Her eyes were red, her
facegray.Sheblinkedandher body shook, but there
were no tears as shelooked down at the deadface.“I thought he had a
beard,”shesaid,confused.“That was the one
before.”“Oh,yes.Hedied,too.”“You should rest.”
Putting his arms aroundher, he led her from theroom and out into theward, past the stackedrows of triple-tiered bunkbeds. Orderlies movedquietly among the rows.Everywhere the smell ofdeath and the sweet,
nauseous odor ofputrefaction were mixedwith the antisepticbitterness of Lorassiumjuice and hot waterscentedwithlemonmint.Perhaps it was the
unwelcome perfume, butshe was surprised to find
that the well was not dryandtearscouldstillflow.He led her to a back
room, filled a basin withwarm water, and washedthe blood from her handsand face, dabbing hergently as if she were achild.
“He toldme that I lovewar,”shesaid.“Butit’snottrue.Maybe itwas then. Idon’tknowanymore.”“Onlyafoolloveswar,”
saidCalvar,“oramanwhohas never seen it. Thetrouble is that thesurvivors forget about the
horrors and rememberonly the battle lust. Theypass on thatmemory, andother men hunger for it.Putonyour cloakandgetsome air. Then you willfeelbetter.”“I don’t think I can
come back tomorrow,
Calvar.IwillstaywithRekatthewall.”“Iunderstand.”“I feel so helpless
watchingmendieinhere.”She smiled, “I don’t likefeeling helpless, I’m notusedtoit.”He watched her from
the doorway, her tallfigure draped in a whitecloak, the night breezebillowingherhair.“Ifeelhelpless,too,”he
saidsoftly.The last death had
touched him more deeplythan it should have, but
then, he had known theman,whereas otherswerebutnamelessstrangers.Carin,theformermiller.
Calvar remembered thatthe man had a wife andsonlivingatDelnoch.“Well, at least someone
willmournforyou,Carin,”
hewhisperedtothestars.
R25
ek sat and watchedthe stars shining high
above the keep tower andthe passage of anoccasional cloud, blackagainst the moonlit sky.Thecloudswere likecliffs
in the sky, jagged andthreatening, inexorableand sentient. Rek pulledhis gaze from thewindowand rubbed his eyes. Hehad known fatigue beforebut never this soul-numbing weariness, thisdepression of the spirit.
The room was dark now.He had forgotten to lightthe candles, so intent hadhe been on the darkeningsky.Heglancedabouthim.So open and welcomingduring the hours ofdaylight, the room wasnow shadow-haunted and
empty of life. He was aninterloper. He drew hiscloakabouthim.He missed Virae, but
she was working at thefield hospital with theexhausted Calvar Syn.Nevertheless the need inhimwasgreat,andherose
to go to her. Instead hejust stood there. Cursing,helitthecandles.Logslayready in the fireplace, sohe lit the fire—though itwas not cold—and sat inthe firm leather chairwatching the small flamesgrow through thekindling
and eat into the thickerlogs above. The breezefanned the flame, causingtheshadowstodance,andRekbegantorelax.“You fool,” he said to
himself as the flamesroared and he began tosweat. He removed his
cloakandbootsandpulledthe chair back from theblaze.A soft tap at the door
roused Rek from histhoughts. He called out,and Serbitar entered theroom. For a moment Rekdid not recognize him; he
was without his armor,dressedinatunicofgreen,his longwhitehair tiedatthenapeoftheneck.“Am I disturbing you,
Rek?”hesaid.“Not at all. Sit down
andjoinme.”“Thank you. Are you
cold?”“No.Ijustliketowatch
firesburn.”“I do, too. It helps me
think. A primal memory,perhaps, of a warm caveand safety from predatoryanimals,”saidSerbitar.“I wasn’t alive then—
despite my haggardappearance.”“But you were. The
atoms that make up yourbody are as old as theuniverse.”“I have not the faintest
idea what you’re talkingabout, though I don’t
doubt that it is all true,”saidRek.An uneasy silence
developed, then bothmenspoke at once, and Reklaughed. Serbitar smiledandshrugged.“I am unused to casual
conversation.Unskilled.”
“Most people are whenitcomesdowntoit.It’sanart,” said Rek. “The thingto do is relax and enjoythe silences. That’s whatfriends are all about; theyarepeoplewithwhomyoucanbesilent.”“Truly?”
“My word of honor asanearl.”“I am glad to see you
retainyourhumor.Iwouldhavethoughtit impossibleto do so under thecircumstances.”“Adaptability, my dear
Serbitar. You can only
spend so long thinkingabout death—then itbecomes boring. I havediscovered that my greatfear isnotofdyingbutofbeingabore.”“Youareseldomboring,
myfriend.”“Seldom? ‘Never’ is the
wordIwaslookingfor.”“I beg your pardon.
‘Never’ is theword Iwas,ofcourse,seeking.”“How will tomorrow
be?”“I cannot say,”
answered Serbitar swiftly.“WhereistheladyVirae?”
“With Calvar Syn. Halfthe civilian nurses havefledsouth.”“You cannot blame
them,” said Serbitar. Hestood and walked to thewindow. “The stars arebright tonight,” he said.“Though I suppose it
wouldbemoreaccuratetosay that the angle of theearth makes visibilitystronger.”“I think I prefer ‘the
stars are bright tonight,’ ”said Rek, who had joinedSerbitaratthewindow.Below them Virae was
walking slowly, a whitecloak wrapped about hershoulders and her longhair flowing in the nightbreeze.“I think I will join her,
if you’ll excuse me,” saidRek.Serbitar smiled. “Of
course.Iwillsitbythefireandthink,ifImay!”“Make yourself at
home,” said Rek, pullingonhisboots.Moments after Rek had
left, Vintar entered. He,too, had forsaken armorforasimpletunicofwhite
wool,hoodedandthick.“That was painful for
you, Serbitar. You shouldhaveallowedmetocome,”he said, patting theyoungerman’sshoulder.“Icouldnottellhimthe
truth.”“But you did not lie,”
whisperedVintar.“When does evasion of
thetruthbecomealie?”“Idonotknow.Butyou
brought them together,andthatwasyourpurpose.Theyhavethisnight.”“Should I have told
him?”
“No. He would havesought to alter thatwhichcannotbealtered.”“Cannot or must not?”
askedSerbitar.“Cannot.Hecouldorder
hernottofighttomorrow,and she would refuse. Hecannot lockher away; she
isanearl’sdaughter.”“Ifwetoldher?”“She would refuse to
acceptitorelsedefyfate.”“Thensheisdoomed.”“No. She is merely
goingtodie.”“Iwill do everything in
my power to protect her,
Vintar.Youknowthat.”“As will I. But we will
fail. Tomorrow night youmust show the earl Egel’ssecret.”“Hewillbeinnomood
toseeit.”
Rekputhisarmabouther
shoulders, leaned forward,andkissedhercheek.“I love you,” he
whispered.She smiled and leaned
intohim,sayingnothing.“I simply can’t say it,”
said Virae, her large eyesturnedfulluponhim.
“That’sallright.Doyoufeelit?”“You know that I do. I
just find it hard to say.Romantic wordssound…strange…clumsywhen Iuse them. It’s as ifmy throat wasn’tmade toform the sounds. I feel
foolish.Doyouunderstandwhat I’m saying?” Henodded and kissed heragain. “And anyway, Ihaven’thadyourpractice.”“True,”hesaid.“Whatdoesthatmean?”
shesnapped.“I was just agreeing
withyou.”“Well, don’t. I’m in no
mood for humor. It’s easyforyou—you’reatalker,astoryteller. Your conceitcarries you on. I want tosayallthethingsIfeel,butI cannot. And then, whenyou say them first, my
throat just seizes up and Iknow I should saysomething, but I stillcan’t.”“Listen, lovely lady, it
doesn’t matter! They arejustwords,asyousay.I’mgood with words; you’regoodwith actions. I know
that you love me; I don’texpect you to echo meeverytimeItellyouhowIfeel. I was just thinkingearlier about somethingHoreb told me years ago.Hesaidthatforeverymanthere is the one womanand that I would know
minewhenIsawher.AndIdo.”“When I saw you,” she
said,turningintohimandhugging his waist, “Ithought you were apopinjay.”Shelaughed.“You should have seen
your face as that outlaw
chargedtowardyou!”“I was concentrating.
I’ve told you before thatmarks-manship was nevermystrongpoint.”“Youwerepetrified.”“True.”“But you still rescued
me.”
“True. I’m a naturalhero.”“No, you’re not, and
that’s why I love you.You’re just a man whodoes his best and tries tobe honorable. That israre.”“Despite my conceit—
andyoumayfindthishardto believe—I get veryuncomfortablewhen facedwithcompliments.”“ButIwanttosaywhat
Ifeel;it’simportanttome.You are the first man Ieverreallyfeltcomfortablewith as a woman. You
brought me to life. I maydieduringthissiege,butIwant you to know that ithasbeenworthit.”“Don’ttalkaboutdying.
Lookat the stars. Feel thenight. It’s beautiful, isn’tit?”“Yes, it is. Why don’t
you take me back to thekeep and then I can showyou how actions speaklouderthanwords.”“Why don’t I just do
that!”Theymadelovewithout
passion but gently,lovingly, and fell asleep
watchingthestarsthroughthebedroomwindow.
The Nadir captain Ogasiurged his men on, bayingthe war chant of Ulric’sWolfshead tribe andsmashing his ax into thefaceofatalldefender.The
man’s hands scrabbled atthewoundashefellback.The hideous battle songcarried them forward,cleaving the ranks andgainingthemafootholdonthegrassbeyond.But as always
Deathwalkerandthewhite
templars rallied thedefenders.Ogasi’shatredgavehim
power as he cut left andright, trying to force hisway toward the old man.Aswordcuthisbrow,andhe staggeredmomentarily,recovering to disembowel
theswordsman.Ontheleftthe linewasbeingpushedback, but on the right itwas sweeping out like thehornofabull.The powerful Nadir
wanted to scream histriumphtotheskies.Atlasttheyhadthem!
But again the Drenairallied. Pushing himselfback into the throng inorder to wipe away thebloodfromhiseyes,Ogasiwatched the tall Drenaiand his sword maidenblockthehornasitswung.Leading maybe twenty
warriors, the tall man inthe silver breastplate andblue cape seemed to havegone mad. His laughtersang out over the Nadirchant, and men fell backbeforehim.His baresark rage
carried him deep among
thetribesmen,andheusedno defense. His red-drenched sword bladesliced,hammered, and cutinto their ranks. Besidehim the woman duckedandparried,protectinghisleft,herownslenderbladeeverybitasdeadly.
Slowly the horncollapsed in upon itself,and Ogasi found himselfbeing drawn back to thebattlements. He trippedover the body of aDrenaiarcher who was stillclutching his bow.Kneeling,Ogasidragged it
from the dead hand andpulled a black-shaftedarrow from the quiver.Leaping lightly to thebattlements, he strainedfor sight of Deathwalker,buttheoldmanwasatthecenter, obscured by Nadirbodies. Not so the tall
baresarker—men werescattering before him.Ogasinotchedthearrowtothe string, drew, aimed,and with a whisperedcurseletfly.The shaft skinnedRek’s
forearm—andflewon.Virae turned, seeking
Rek,andtheshaftpunchedthrough her mail shirt tobury itselfbelowherrightbreast. She grunted at theimpact,staggered,andhalffell.ANadirwarriorbrokethrough the line, racingtowardher.Gritting her teeth, she
drew herself upright,blocked his wild attack,and opened his jugularwithabackhandcut.“Rek!”shecalled,panic
welling within her as herlungs began to bubble,absorbing the arterialblood. But he could not
hear her. Pain erupted,and she fell, twisting herbodyawayfromthearrowso as not to drive itdeeper.Serbitarrantoherside,
liftingherhead.“Damn!” she said. “I’m
dying!”
He touched her hand,and immediately the painvanished.“Thank you, friend!
Where’sRek?”“Heisbaresark,Virae.I
couldnotreachhimnow.”“Oh,gods!Listen tome
—don’t let him be alone
for a while after … youknow. He is a greatromantic fool, and I thinkhe might do somethingsilly.Youunderstand?”“I understand. I will
staywithhim.”“No, not you. Send
Druss.Heisolder,andRek
worshipshim.”Sheturnedher eyes to the sky. Asolitary storm cloudfloated there, lost andangry. “He warned me towearabreastplate,butit’sso damned heavy.” Thecloud seemed larger now.She tried tomention it to
Serbitar, but the cloudloomed and the darknessengulfedher.
Rek stood at the balconywindow, gripping the rail,tears streaming from hiseyes and uncontrollablesobs bursting through
gritted teeth. Behind himlayVirae,still,cold,andatpeace.Herfacewaswhite,her breast red from thearrow wound that hadpierced a lung. The bloodhadstoppedflowingnow.Shuddering breaths
filled Rek’s lungs as he
foughttocontrolhisgrief.Blood dripped from aforgotten wound in hisforearm. He rubbed hiseyes and turned back tothebed;sittingbesideher,he lifted her arm and feltfor a pulse, but therewasnothing.
“Virae!” he said softly.“Come back. Come back.Listen. I love you! You’rethe one.” He leaned overher, watching her face. Atear appeared there, thenanother … But they werehisown.Heliftedherheadandcradledit inhisarms.
“Wait for me,” hewhispered. “I’m coming.”He fumbled at his belt,pullingtheLentriandaggerfromitssheath,andheldittohiswrist.“Putitdown,boy,”said
Druss from the doorway.“Itwouldbemeaningless.”
“Getout!” shoutedRek.“Leaveme.”“She’s gone, lad. Cover
her.”“Cover her? Cover my
Virae!No!No,Ican’t.Oh,godsinMissael,Ican’tjustcoverherface.”“Ihadtoonce,”saidthe
old man as Rek slumpedforward, tears stinging hiseyes and silent sobsracking his frame. “Mywoman died. You are notthe only one to facedeath.”For a long while Druss
stood silently in the
doorway,hisheartaching.Then he pushed the doorshut and walked into theroom.“Leave her for a while
and talk to me, boy,” hesaid, taking Rek by thearm.“Herebythewindow.Tell me again how you
met.”AndRektoldhimofthe
attack in the forest, thekillingofReinard,therideto the temple, and thejourneytoDelnoch.“Druss!”“Yes.”“Idon’t think Ican live
withthis.”“Ihaveknownmenwho
couldn’t. But there is noneed to cut your wrists.There’s a horde oftribesmen out there whowilldoitforyougladly.”“Idon’tcareaboutthem
anymore; they can have
thedamnedplace.IwishIhadnevercomehere.”“I know,” said Druss
gently. “I spoke to Viraeyesterday in the hospital.Shetoldmeshelovedyou.Shesaid—”“I don’t want to hear
it.”
“Yes, you do, becauseit’s a memory you canhold. And it keeps heralive in your mind. Shesaid that if she died, itwould be worth it just tohave met you. Sheworshiped you, Rek. Shetold me of the day you
stood by her againstReinardandallhismen—shewassoproudofyou.Iwas, too, when I heardabout it. You hadsomething, boy, that fewmeneverpossess.”“AndnowI’velostit.”“But you had it! That
can never be taken awayfrom you. Her only regretwas she was never reallyable to tell you how shefelt.”“Oh, she told me—it
didn’t need words. Whathappened to you whenyourwifedied?Howdidit
feel?”“I don’t think I need to
tell you. You know how Ifelt. And don’t think it’sany easier after thirtyyears. If anything, itbecomes harder. Now,Serbitar is waiting to seeyouinthehall.Hesaysit’s
important.”“Nothing is important
anymore. Druss, will youcover her face? I couldn’tbeartodoit.”“Yes.Thenyoumustsee
the albino. He hassomethingforyou.”
SerbitarwaswaitingatthebottomofthestairsasRekslowly descended to themainhall.Thealbinoworefull armor and a helmtopped with whitehorsehair. The visor wasdown, shielding his eyes.He looked, Rek thought,
like a silver statue. Onlyhis hands were bare, andthey were white aspolishedivory.“Youwantedme?” said
Rek.“Follow me,” said
Serbitar. Turning on hisheel, he strode from the
hall toward the spiralstone stairwell leading tothe dungeons below thekeep. Rek had been readyto refuse any request, butnow he was forced tofollow, and his angergrew. The albino stoppedatthetopofthestairsand
removed a flaming torchfrom a copper wallbracket.“Where are we going?”
askedRek.“Follow me,” repeated
Serbitar.Slowlyandcarefullythe
two men descended the
cracked, worn steps untilat last they reached thefirst level of dungeons.Long disused, the hallwayglittered with water-sodden cobwebs and wetmoss-covered arches.Serbitar moved on untilthey reachedanoakdoor,
arustyboltholdingitfast.Hestruggledwith theboltfor somemoments, finallyworking it free, then bothmen had to haul on thedoorbeforeitcreakedandgroaned and opened.Another stairwell beyondyawneddarkbeforethem.
Once again Serbitarstarted down. The stepsended in a long corridor,ankle-deep in water. Theywaded through to a finaldoor shaped like an oakleaf and bearing a goldplaque with inscribedlettering in the Elder
tongue.“What does it say?”
askedRek.“It says, To the worthy
—welcome. Herein liesEgel’s secret and the souloftheEarlofBronze.’”“Whatdoesitmean?”Serbitar tried the door
handle, but the door waslocked, seemingly fromwithin, since no bolt,chain,orkeyholecouldbeseen.“Dowebreakitdown?”
saidRek.“No.Youopenit.”“It is locked. Is this a
game?”“Tryit.”Rek turned the handle
gently, and the doorswung open without asound. Soft lights sprangup within the room,glowingglobesofglasssetintherecessesofthewalls.
Theroomwasdry,thoughnow the water from thecorridor outside flowed inand spread across therichlycarpetedfloor.At the center of the
room,on awooden stand,wasasuitofarmorunlikeanything Rek had ever
seen. It was wonderfullycrafted in bronze, theoverlappingscalesofmetalglittering in the light.Thebreastplate carried abronze eagle with wingsflaring out over the chestand up to the shoulders.Atop this was a helmet,
winged and crested withan eagle’s head. Gauntletsthere were, scaled andhinged,andgreaves.Uponthe tablebefore thearmorlay a bronze-ringed mailshirt lined with softestleather and mail leggingswith bronze-hinged
kneecaps. But above allRek was drawn to thesword encased in a blockof solid crystal. The bladewas golden and over twofeetinlength;thehiltwasdouble-handed, the guardapairofflaringwings.“ItisthearmorofEgel,
the first Earl of Bronze,”saidSerbitar.“Whywas it allowed to
liehere?”“Noonecouldopenthe
door,” answered thealbino.“Itwasnotlocked,”said
Rek.
“Nottoyou.”“Whatdoesthatmean?”“The meaning is clear:
You and no other weremeanttoopenthedoor.”“Ican’tbelievethat.”“Shall I fetch you the
sword?”askedSerbitar.“Ifyouwish.”
Serbitar walked to thecrystal cube, drew hissword, and hammered atthe block. Nothinghappened. His bladeclanged back into the air,leaving nomark upon thecrystal.“Youtry,”saidSerbitar.
“May I borrow yoursword?”“Justreachforthehilt.”Rekmovedforwardand
lowered his hand to thecrystal, waiting for thecold touchof glass,whichnevercame.Hishandsankinto the block, his fingers
curling around the hilt.Effortlessly he drew thebladeforth.“Isitatrick?”heasked.“Probably.Butitisnone
ofmine.Look!”Thealbinoputhishandsonthenow-empty crystal and heavedhimself up upon it. “Pass
yourhandsbelowme,”hesaid.Rekobeyed;forhimthe
crystaldidnotexist.“Whatdoesitmean?”“I do not know, my
friend.TrulyIdonot.”“Then how did you
knowitwashere?”
“That is even moredifficulttoexplain.Doyouremember that day in thegrovewhenIcouldnotbeawakened?”“Yes.”“Well, I traveled far
acrosstheplanetandevenbeyond,butinmytravelsI
breasted the currents oftimeandIvisitedDelnoch.It was night, and I sawmyself leading youthroughthehallanddownto this room. I saw youtake the sword, and Iheardyouaskthequestionyou have just asked. And
thenIheardmyanswer.”“So,atthismomentyou
are hovering above uslistening?”“Yes.”“I know you well
enoughtobelieveyou,butanswerme this: Thatmayexplain how you are here
nowwithme,buthowdidthefirstSerbitarknowthearmorwashere?”“I genuinely cannot
explain it, Rek. It is likelooking into the reflectionofamirrorandwatchingitgoonandonintoinfinity.But I have found in my
studies that often there ismore to this life than wereckonwith.”“Meaning?”“There is the power of
theSource.”“I am in no mood for
religion.”“Thenletusinsteadsay
thatallthosecenturiesagoEgellookedintothefutureand saw this invasion, sohe left his armor here,guarded by magic whichonly you—as the earl—couldbreak.”“Is your spirit image
stillobservingus?”
“Yes.”“Does it know of my
loss?”“Yes.”“Then you knew she
woulddie?”“Yes.”“Why did you not tell
me?”
“It would have been awasteofjoy.”“Whatdoesthatmean?”
said Rek, anger buildinginside him and pushingawaythegrief.“Itmeansthatwereyou
a farmer anticipating along life, I might have
warned you, to prepareyou. But you are not; youare fighting a savagehorde, and your life is atrisk every day. As wasVirae’s.Youknewthatshemight die. Had I told youthis was certain, not onlywould it have gained you
nothing, it also wouldhaverobbedyouofthejoyyouhad.”“I could have saved
her.”“No,youcouldnot.”“Idon’tbelievethat.”“Whywould I lie?Why
wouldIwishherdead?”
Rekdidnotanswer.Theword “dead” entered hisheartandcrushedhissoul.Tearswelledinhimagain,and he fought them back,concentrating on thearmor.“I will wear that
tomorrow,” he said
through gritted teeth. “Iwillwearitanddie.”“Perhaps,”answeredthe
albino.
T26
he dawn was clear,theairfreshandsweet
as two thousand Drenaiwarriors prepared for theassault on Kania. Belowthem the Nadir shamanswere moving through the
ranks of tribesmen,sprinkling the blood ofchickensandsheepon thebared blades that thewarriorsheldbeforethem.Then theNadirmassed,
andagreatswellingchantcame from thousands ofthroats as the horde
moved forward, bearingladders,knottedropes,andgrappling irons. Rekwatchedfromthecenterofthe line. He lifted thebronzehelmandplaced itoverhishead,bucklingthechin strap.Tohis leftwasSerbitar, to his right
Menahem. Others of theThirty were spread alongthewall.Andthecarnagebegan.Three assaults were
turned back before theNadirgainedafootholdonthe battlements. And thatwas short-lived. Some two
score tribesmen breachedthe defense, only to findthemselves faced with amadman in bronze andtwo silver ghosts whostrode among themdealing death. There wasno defense against thesemen, and the bronze
devil’s sword could cutthrough any shield orarmor; men died underthat terrible bladescreamingas if their soulswere ablaze. That nightthe Nadir captains carriedtheirreportstothetentofUlric, and the talkwasall
of thenew forceupon thebattlements. Even thelegendary Druss seemedmore human—laughing ashedidinthefaceofNadirswords—than this goldenmachineofdestruction.“Wefeltlikedogsbeing
beaten fromhis pathwith
a stick,” muttered oneman. “Or weaponlesschildrenbeingthrustasidebyanelder.”Ulricwas troubled, and
though he lifted theirspirits at last by pointingoutagainandagainthatitwas merely a man in
bronze armor, after thecaptains had left, hesummoned the ancientshaman,NostaKhan,tohistent. Squatting before ablazing brazier of coals,theoldmanlistenedtohiswarlord, nodding thewhile. At last he bowed
andclosedhiseyes.
Rekwasasleep,exhaustedby battle and sorrow. Thenightmare came slowly,enveloping him like blacksmoke. His dream eyesopened, and before himwas a cave mouth, black
and terrible. Fearemanated from it like atangibleforce.Behindhimwasapit,stretchingdownintothefierybowelsoftheearth, from which camestrange sounds, whimpers,and screams. In his handwas no sword, upon his
body no armor. Aslithering sound camefrom the pit, and Rekturned to see oozing upfrom it a gigantic worm,slime-covered andputrescent. The stenchmade him reel back. Themouth of the worm was
huge and could swallowaman with ease; around itweretriplerowsofpointedfangs,andlodgedbetweenone set was the arm of aman, bloody and broken.Rek backed toward thecavemouth, but a hissingmade him spin around.
From the blackness of thecave came a spider, itsgiant maw drippingpoison. Within its mouthwas a face, green andshimmering, and from themouth of the face flowedwords of power. As eachword sounded, Rek grew
weaker, until he couldhardlystand.“Are you just going to
standthereallday?”saidavoice.Rek turned to seeVirae
by his side, dressed in aflowing gown of white.Shesmiledathim.
“You’re back!” he said,reachingoutforher.“No time for that, you
fool! Here! Take yoursword.” Her arms reachedtoward him, and thebronze sword of Egelappeared in her hands. Ashadowfellacrossthemas
Rek snatched the sword,spinning around to facethe worm that wastowering above them. Theblade swept through threefeet of the creature’s neckas the mouth descended,and green gore spoutedfrom the wound. Rek
struck again and againuntil the creature, almostcut in two, floppedbackwardintothepit.“The spider!” yelled
Virae, and he spun oncemore.Thebeastwasuponhim, its hugemouthmerepacesaway.Rekhurledhis
sword into the gapingmaw, and it flew like anarrow to split the greenface within like a melon.The spider reared into theair and toppledbackward.Abreezeblewup,andthebeastbecameblacksmokethat drifted into the air
andthenwasgone.“I suppose you would
have gone on standingthere if I hadn’t comealong,”saidVirae.“I think so,” answered
Rek.“You fool,” she said,
smiling, and he moved
forward tentatively,holdingouthisarms.“Can I touch you?” he
asked.“An odd request for a
husbandtomake.”“Youwon’tdisappear?”Her smile faded. “Not
yet,mylove.”
Hisarmscrushedhertohim,tearsspillingfromhiseyes. “I thought youweregone forever. I thought Iwould never see youagain.”For a while they said
nothing but merely stoodtogetherembracing.
Finally she gentlypushed him away. “Youmustgoback,”shesaid.“Back?”“To Delnoch. You are
neededthere.”“IneedyoumorethanI
needDelnoch.Canwenotstayhere?Together?”
“No. There is no ‘here.’It doesn’t exist. Only youand I are real. Now youmustreturn.”“I will see you again,
won’tI?”“I love you, Rek. I will
alwaysloveyou.”He awoke with a start,
eyes focusing on the starsoutside his window. Herface could still be seen,fading against themidnightsky.“Virae!” he shouted.
“Virae!”Thedooropened,and Serbitar ran to thebedside.
“Rek, you’re dreaming.Wakeup!”“Iamawake.Isawher.
Shecametomeinadreamandrescuedme.”“All right, but she’s
gonenow.Lookatme.”Rek gazed into
Serbitar’s green eyes. He
sawconcernthere,butthissoon faded and the albinosmiled.“Youareallright,”said
Serbitar. “Tell me of thedream.”Afterward Serbitar
questioned him about theface. He wanted every
detail that could beremembered. Finally hesmiled.“I think you were the
victim of Nosta Khan,” hesaid.“Butyouheldhimoff—ararefeat,Rek.”“Virae came to me. It
wasnotadream?”
“Ithinknot.TheSourcereleasedherforatime.”“Iwould like tobelieve
that,Itrulywould.”“I think you should.
Have you looked for yoursword?”Rek swung out of the
bed and padded over to
the tablewhere his armorlay.Theswordwasgone.“How?”whispered Rek.
Serbitarshrugged.“It will return. Never
fear!”Serbitar lit the candles
and stoked the fire to lifein the hearth. As he
finished, a gentle tappingcameatthedoor.“Comein,”calledRek.Ayoungofficerentered,
bearingtheswordofEgel.“I am sorry to disturb
you, sir, but I saw thelight. One of the sentriesfoundyoursworduponthe
Kania battlements, so Ibrought it here. I wipedthebloodfromitfirst,sir.”“Blood?”“Yes,sir.Itwascovered
inblood.Strangehowwetitstillwas.”“Thankyouagain.”Rek
turnedtoSerbitar.“Idon’t
understand.”
In the tent of Ulric thecandles flickered. Thewarlord sat transfixed,staring at the headlessbody on the floor beforehim. The sight was onethat would haunt him for
the rest of his days. Onemoment the shaman hadbeen sitting in trancebeforethecoals,thenextared line had been drawnacross his neck and hishead had toppled into thefire.Finally Ulric called his
guards to remove thecorpse, having first wipedhis own sword bladeacrossthebloodyneck.“He angered me,” he
toldtheguards.TheNadir chieftain left
his tent and walked outunder the stars. First the
legendaryaxman,thenthewarriors in silver. Now abronze devil whosemagicwas greater than NostaKhan’s. Why did he feelthischill inhis soul?DrosDelnoch was just anotherfortress. Had he notconquered a hundred
such? Once he passed thegates of Delnoch, theDrenai empire was his.How could they holdagainst him? The answerwas simple: They couldnot! One man—or devil—in bronze could not stemtheNadirtribes.
But what new surprisesdoes this Dros hold? heaskedhimself.He glanced up at the
toweringwallsofKania.“You will fall!” he
shouted. His voice echoedthroughthevalley.“Ishallbringyoudown!”
In the ghostly light of thepredawn Gilad made hiswayfromthemesscanteenwith a bowl of hot brothand a chunk of crustyblack bread. Slowly hethreaded his way throughtheranksofmenliningthewalls until he came tohis
own position above theblocked postern tunnel.Togi was already there,sittinghunchedandround-shouldered with his backto thewall.He nodded asGiladsquattedbesidehim,thenspitonthewhetstonein his callused hand and
continued to sharpen hislongcavalrysaber.“Feels like rain,” said
Gilad.“Aye. It’ll slow their
climbing.”Togi never initiated a
conversation yet alwaysfoundapointotherswould
miss.Theirswasa strangefriendship:Togi,ataciturnblackrideroffifteenyears’standing, and Gilad, avolunteer farmer from theSentran Plain. Gilad couldnot remember quite howthey had come intocontact,forTogi’sfacewas
scarcely memorable. Hehad just grown aware oftheman.Menofthelegionhad now been spreadalong the wall, joiningother groups. No one hadsaid why, but it wasobvious to Gilad: Thesewerethewarriorelite,and
they added steel to thedefense wherever theywere placed. Togi was aviciouswarriorwhofoughtsilently.Noscreamsorwarcries, merely a ruthlesseconomyofmovementandrare skill that left Nadirwarriors dead or
dismembered.Togi did not know his
own age, only that as ayouth he had joined theriders as a stable boy andlater had won his blackcloak in the Sathuli wars.He had had a wife yearsback,butshehadlefthim,
taking their son with her.Hehadnoideawheretheyhad gone and professednot to caremuch.He hadnofriendsthathespokeofand cared little forauthority.Giladhadaskedhimoncewhathethoughtofthelegionofficers.
“They fight as well asthe rest of us,” he said.“Butitistheonlythingwewilleverdotogether.”“What do you mean?”
askedGilad.“Nobility.Youcan fight
or die for them, but youwillneverbeoneofthem.
To themwe don’t exist aspeople.”“Druss is accepted,”
Giladpointedout.“Aye. By me also,”
answered Togi, a fiercegleam in his dark eyes.“That’s a man, that one.But italtersnothing.Look
atthesilvermenwhofightunder thealbino—notoneof them is from a lowlyvillage.Anearl’ssonleadsthem;noblesallofthem.”“Thenwhydoyoufight
for them if youhate themsomuch?”“Hate them? I don’t
hatethem.It’sjustthewaylife is. I don’t hateanybody, and they don’thate me. We understandeach other, that’s all. Tome the officers are nodifferent from the Nadir;they’re both differentraces. And I fight because
that’s what I do—I’m asoldier.”“Did you always want
tobeasoldier?”“Whatelsewasthere?”Gilad spread his hands.
“Anythingyouchoose.”“I’d like tohavebeena
king.”
“Whatkindofking?”“A bloody tyrant!”
answeredTogi.Hewinkedbut did not smile. Herarelysmiled,andwhenhedid, it was the merestflicker of movementaroundtheeyes.The day before, as the
Earl of Bronze had madehis dramatic entrance onto the walls, Gilad hadnudgedTogiandpointed.“New armor—it suits
him,”saidtherider.“It looks old,” said
Gilad.Togi merely shrugged.
“So long as it does thejob…”That day Togi’s saber
had snapped six inchesabove the hilt. He hadhurled himself on theleadingNadirandrammedthe broken blade into hisneck, snatching the man’s
short sword and layingabouthimferociously.Hisspeed of thought andquicksilver movementsamazed Gilad. Later,during a lull betweenassaults,hehadretrievedasecond saber from a deadsoldier.
“You fight well,” Giladhadsaid.“I’m alive,” Togi had
answered.“Is that the same
thing?”“It is on these walls,
though good men havefallen.Butthatisamatter
of luck. The bad or theclumsy do not need badlucktokillthem,andevengood luck wouldn’t savethemforlong.”Now Togi stowed the
whetstone in his pouchand wiped the curvingbladewith an oiled cloth.
Thesteelshoneblue-whiteinthegatheringlight.Farther along the line
Druss was chatting to thewarriors, lifting theirspiritswithjests.Hemadehisway toward them,andGiladpushedhimselftohisfeet, but Togi remained
where he was. Druss,whitebeardruffledby thebreeze, stopped and spokequietlytoGilad.“I’m glad you stayed,”
hesaid.“I had nowhere to go,”
answeredGilad.“No. Not many men
appreciate that,” said theold warrior. He glanceddown at the crouchingrider. “I see you there,Togi, youyoungpup. Stillalive,then?”“So far,” he said,
lookingup.“Stay that way,” said
Druss, and walked onalongtheline.“That is a great man,”
said Togi. “A man to diefor.”“You knew him before
this?”“Yes.” Togi would say
no more, and Gilad was
about to press him, whentheblood-chillingsoundofthe Nadir war chantsignaled the dawn of onemoreredday.Belowthewalls,among
the Nadir, was a giantcalled Nogusha. Ulric’schampionfortenyears,he
had been sent forwardwith the first wave, andwithhimaspersonalbody-guards were twentyWolfshead tribesmen.Their duty was to protecthim until he could meetand kill Deathwalker.Strappedtohisbackwasa
three-footsword,thebladesixincheswide;byhissidewere two daggers in twinsheaths. An inch over sixfeet, Nogusha was thetallestwarriorintheNadirranksandthemostdeadly,aveteranofthreehundredhand-to-handcontests.
The horde reached thewalls. Ropes swirled overthe battlements, andladdersrattledonthegraystone. Nogusha barkedcommands to the menaround him, and threetribesmen climbed abovehim, the others swarming
alongside. The bodies ofthe first two above himplummeted down to therocks below, but the thirdcreated a space forNogusha before beinghacked to death. AsNogusha gripped thebattlementswithonehuge
hand, his sword flashedinto the air, while oneither side of him thebodyguards closed in. Themassive sword cleaved apassage as the groupformed a wedge drivingtowardDrusssometwentypacesdistant.Althoughthe
Drenai closed in behindNogusha’s band, blockingthe wall, none couldapproach the gianttribesman. Men diedbeneath his flashingbroadsword.Oneithersideof him his bodyguardswere faring less well: one
by one they fell until atlast only Nogusha stillstood.Bynowhewasonlypaces away from Druss,who turned and saw him,battlingaloneand soon tofall. Their eyes met, andunderstanding was thereinstantly. This was a man
Druss would be hard putnot to recognize: Nogushathe swordsman, Ulric’sexecutioner, a man whosedeeds were the fabric offresh Nadir legends, aliving, youngercounterpart to Drusshimself.
The old man leaptlightly from the rampartstothegrassbeyond,wherehe waited. He made nomovetohalttheattackonthe Nadir warrior.Nogusha saw Drusswaiting, slashed a path,and jumped clear. Several
Drenai warriors made tofollow him, but Drusswavedthemback.“Well met, Nogusha,”
saidtheoldman.“Well met,
Deathwalker.”“You will not live to
collect Ulric’s reward,”
said Druss. “There is nowayback.”“Allmenmustdie.And
this moment for me is asclosetoparadiseasIcouldwish for. All my life youhavebeentherebeforeme,making my deeds seemshadows.”
Druss nodded solemnly.“I, too, have thought ofyou.”Nogusha attacked with
stunning speed. Drusshammered the swordaside, stepped in, andstruck a blowof awesomepower with his left fist.
Nogusha staggered butrecoveredswiftly,blockingthe downward sweep ofDruss’s ax.Thebattle thatfollowed was brief andviciously fought. Nomatter howhigh the skill,a contest between anaxman and a swordsman
could never last long.Nogusha feinted to theleft, then swept his swordup under Druss’s guard.With no time for thought,Drusshurledhimselfunderthearcingblade,slamminghis shoulder intoNogusha’s midriff. As the
tribesman was hurledbackward, the sword’sblade sliced the back ofDruss’s jerkin, gashing theskinandfleshofhisupperback.Theoldmanignoredthesuddenpainandthrewhimselfacross thebodyofthe fallen swordsman. His
lefthandclampedovertheright wrist of hisopponent, and Nogushadidlikewise.The struggle was now
titanic as each manstrained to break theother’sgrip.Theirstrengthwas nearly identical, and
while Druss had theadvantage of being abovethefallenwarriorandthusin a position to use hisweight to bear down,Nogushawasyounger andDrusshadbeencutdeeply.Blood welled down hisback, pooling above the
thick leather belt aroundhisjerkin.“You … cannot
hold…againstme,”hissedNogushathroughclenchedteeth.Druss, face purple with
effort,didnotanswer.Theman was right; he could
feel his strength ebbing.Nogusha’srightarmbeganto lift, the sword bladeglinting in the morningsun. Druss’s left arm wasbeginning to shake withthe effort and would giveout at any moment.Suddenly the old man
lifted his head andrammed his foreheaddown onto Nogusha’shelpless face. The man’snosesplinteredastheedgeof his adversary’s silver-rimmed helm crasheduponit.ThricemoreDrussbutted the tribesman, and
Nogusha began to panic.Already his nose and onecheek-bonewere smashed.He twisted, releasedDruss’s arm, andexplodeda mighty punch to hischin,butDrussrodeitandhammered Snaga into theman’s neck. Blood burst
from the wound, andNogusha ceased tostruggle. His eyesmet theold man’s, but no wordwas said: Druss had nobreath, and Nogusha hadno vocal chords. Thetribesman transferred hisgaze to the sky and died.
Druss slowly pulledhimself upright; then,taking Nogusha by thefeet, he dragged him upthe short steps to thebattlements. MeanwhiletheNadirhad fallenback,ready for another charge.Druss called twomen and
ordered them to pass upNogusha’s body, then heclimbedontotheramparts.“Holdontomylegsbut
do not let yourselves beseen,” Druss whispered tothesoldiersbehindhim.Infull view of the Nadirmassed below, he pulled
the body of Nogushauprightinatightbearhug,took hold of his neck andgroin, and with a mightyeffortraisedthehugebodyabove his head. With aheave and a scream hehurled the body out overthewalls.But for themen
holding him, he wouldhave fallen. They helpedhim down, their facesanxious.“Getme to the hospital
before I bleed to death,”hewhispered.
C27
aessasatbeside thebed, silent but
watchful, her eyes neverleavingthesleepingDruss.Thirty stitches laced thewound on the axman’sbroad back, the line
curving alongside theshoulder blade and overthe shoulder itself, wherethe cut was deepest. Theold man was asleep,druggedwithpoppywine.The blood loss from thewound had beenprodigious, and he had
collapsed on the way tothe hospital. Caessa hadstoodbyCalvarSynasthestitcheswere inserted.Shehadsaidnothing.Nowshemerelysat.She could not
understandher fascinationfor the warrior. Certainly
she did not desire him—men had never raiseddesireinher.Love?Wasitlove? She had no way ofknowing, no terms ofreference to gauge herfeelings by. Her parentshad died horribly whenshewasseven.Her father,
a peaceful placid farmer,had tried to stop raidersfromrobbinghisbarn,andthey had cut him downwithout a moment’sthought. Caessa’s motherhadseizedherbythehandand raced for the woodsabove the cliff. But they
had been seen, and thechase was short. Thewomancouldnotcarrythechild, for she waspregnant. And she wouldnot abandon her. She hadfought like a wildcat buthad been overpowered,abused, and slain. All the
while the child had satbeneath an oak tree,frozen with terror, unableeventoscream.Abeardedman with foul breath hadfinally come to her, liftedher brutally by the hair,carried her to the cliffedge, and hurled her out
overthesea.She had missed the
rocks, though her headwasgashedinthefallandherrightlegwasbroken.Afisherman saw her plungeandpulledherclear.Fromthatdayonshechanged.The laughing child
laughed no more, ordanced,orsang.Sullenshewas, and vicious shebecame. Other childrenwould not play with her,andasshegrewolder,shefound herself more andmore alone. At the age offifteen she killed her first
man, a traveler who hadchattered to her by ariver’s edge, askingdirections. She crept intohis camp and cut histhroat while he slept,sittingbesidehimtowatchhimdie.He was the first of
many.Thedeathofmenmade
her cry. In her tears shebecame alive. For Caessa,to live was the mostimportant single objectiveof her life. And so mendied.In later years, after her
twentieth birthday, Caessadevised a new method ofselecting victims: thosewhowereattractedtoher.Theywouldbe allowed tosleep with her, but later,as they dreamed—perhapsof the pleasures they hadenjoyed—she would draw
a sharpened blade gentlyacross their throats. Shehad killed no one sincejoining Bowman some sixmonths before, for Skultikhad become her lastrefuge.Yet now she sat beside
thebedofan injuredman
andwishedforhimtolive.Why?She drew her dagger
and pictured its bladedrawing across the oldman’s throat. Usually thisdeath fantasy made herwarmwithdesire,butnowitcreatedasenseofpanic.
Inhermind’s eye she sawDruss sittingbesideher inadarkenedroom,alogfireburning in thehearth.Hisarm was over hershoulder, and she wasnestlingintohischest.Shehad pictured the scenemany times, but now she
saw it afresh, for Drusswassolarge,agiantinherfantasy. And she knewwhy.She was seeing him
through the eyes of aseven-year-old.Orrin slipped quietly
into the room. He was
thinner now, drawn andhaggard, yet stronger. Anindefinablequalitymarkedhis features. Lines offatigue had aged him, butthe change was moresubtle; it emanated fromthe eyes. He had been asoldier longing to be a
warrior; now he was awarrior longing to beanythingelse.Hehadseenwarandcruelty,deathanddismemberment. He hadwatchedthesharpbeaksofcrows at work on deadmen’seyesandthegrowthof worms in pus-filled
sockets.Andhehadfoundhimself and wondered nolonger.“How is he?” he asked
Caessa.“Hewillrecover.Buthe
willnotfightforweeks.”“Then he will not fight
again, for we have only
days. Prepare him to bemoved.”“He cannot bemoved,”
shesaid,turningtolookathimforthefirsttime.“He must be. We are
givingupthewall,andwedrawbacktonight.Welostover four hundred men
today.WallFour isonlyahundred yards long; wecanholdthatfordays.Gethimready.”She nodded and rose.
“You are tired, too,General,” she said. “Youshouldrest.”“I will soon,” he
answered,andsmiled.Thesmile sent a shiver downherback.“Wewillall restsoon,Ithink.”Bearers transferred
Drusstoastretcher,liftinghim gently and coveringhim with white blanketsagainst the night cold.
With other wounded menthey made a convoy toWall Four, where ropeswere lowered and thestretchers were silentlyraised.Notorcheswerelit,and only the light of thestars bathed the scene.Orrinclimbedthelastrope
and hauled himself overthebattlements.Ahelpinghand reached out andpulledhimupright; itwasGilad.“You always seem on
hand to help me, Gilad.NotthatI’mcomplaining.”Gilad smiled. “With the
weight you’ve lost,General, you would winthatracenow.”“Ah, the race! It seems
like a different age. Whathappened to your friend.Theonewiththeax?”“Hewenthome.”“A wise man. Why did
youstay?”Gilad shrugged.He had
grown tired of thequestion.“It’s a nice night, the
best yet,” said Orrin.“Strange, I used to lie inbedatnightandwatchthestars. They always made
mesleepy.Now Ihavenoneed of sleep. I feel I’mthrowing away life. Doyoufeelthat?”“No, sir. I sleep like a
baby.”“Good. Well, I’ll say
goodnight,then.”“Goodnight,sir.”
Orrin walked awayslowly, then turned. “Wedidn’t do too badly, didwe?”hesaid.“No, sir,” repliedGilad.
“I think the Nadir willremember us withoutaffection.”“Yes. Good night.” He
hadbegun thewalkdownthe short rampart stepswhen Gilad steppedforward.“Sir!”“Yes?”“I … I wanted to
say … Well, just that Ihave been proud to serve
underyou.That’sall,sir.”“Thankyou,Gilad.ButI
amtheonewhoshouldbeproud.Goodnight.”Togi said nothing as
Giladreturnedtothewall,buttheyoungofficercouldfeel the rider’s eyes uponhim.
“Well, say it,” saidGilad.“Getitoverwith.”“Saywhat?”Gilad looked at his
friend’s blank face andsearchedhiseyesforsignsof humor or contempt.Nothing showed. “Ithought you would
think…Idon’tknow,”hesaidlamely.“The man has shown
quality and courage, andyou told him so. There isno harm in that, althoughit wasn’t your place. Inpeacetime I’d think youwere crawling, currying
favorwithacommentlikethat. Not here. There isnothing to gain, and heknew that. So it was wellsaid.”“Thank you,” said
Gilad.“Forwhat?”“Forunderstanding.You
know, I believe he is agreat man, greater thanDruss,perhaps.Forhehasneither Druss’s couragenorHogun’sskill,yetheisstillhere.Stilltrying.”“He’llnotlastlong.”“None of us will,” said
Gilad.
“No, but he won’t seethelastday.He’stootired—up here he’s too tired.”Togitappedhistemple.“Ithinkyou’rewrong.”“No, you don’t. That’s
why you spoke to him asyou did. You sensed it,too.”
Druss floated on an oceanof pain, burning, searinghisbody.His jawclampedshut, teeth grindingagainsttheinsistentagonycreeping like slow acidthrough his back. Wordswere almost impossible,hissed through gritted
teeth, and the faces ofthose around his bedshivered and swam,blurring beyondrecognition.Hebecameunconscious,
but thepain followedhimdown into the depths ofdreams where gaunt,
shadow-hauntedlandscapes surroundedhimandjaggedmountainsreared black against agray, brooding sky. Drusslay on the mountain,unabletomoveagainstthepain,hiseyesfocusedonasmall grove of lightning-
blasted trees some twentypaces from where he lay.Standing before themwasamandressedinblack.Hewas lean, and his eyeswere dark. He movedforward and sat on aboulder, gazing down attheaxman.
“So, it comes to this,”he said. The voice had ahollow ring like windwhistling through acavern.“I shall recover,”hissed
Druss, blinking away thesweat dripping into hiseyes.
“Notfromthis,”saidtheman.“Youshouldbedeadnow.”“I have been cut
before.”“Ah, but the blade was
poisoned—green sap fromthenorthernmarshes.Nowyou are riddled with
gangrene.”“No! Iwilldiewithmy
axinmyhand.”“Think you so? I have
waited for you, Druss,through thesemanyyears.Ihavewatchedthelegionsof travelers cross the darkriveratyourhands.And I
have watched you. Yourpride is colossal, yourconceit immense. Youhave tasted glory andprizedyourstrengthaboveallelse.Nowyouwilldie.No ax.Noglory.Never tocross thedark river to theForever Halls. There is
satisfaction forme in this;can you understand that?Canyoucomprehendit?”“No. Why do you hate
me?”“Why? Because you
conquer fear.Andbecauseyour life mocks me. It isnot enough that you die.
Allmen die, peasants andkings—all are mine, comethe end. But you, Druss,you are special.Were youto die as you desire, youwould mock me still. SoforyouIhavedevisedthisexquisitetorture.“You shouldbynowbe
dead from your wound.ButIhavenotyetclaimedyou. And now the painwill grow more intense.You will writhe … Youwillscream…Finallyyourmind will snap and youwillbeg.Begforme.AndIshall come and take you
by thehand, andyouwillbe mine. Men’s lastmemoriesofyouwillbeofa mewling, weepingwreck. They will despiseyou, and your legendwillbetaintedatthelast.”Drussforcedhismassive
arms beneath him and
struggled to rise. But thepaindrovehimdownoncemore, forcing a groanthroughclenchedteeth.“That’s it, axman.
Struggle on. Try harder.Youshouldhavestayedonyour mountain andenjoyedyourdotage.Vain
man! You could not resistthe call of blood. Suffer—andbringmejoy.”In the makeshift
hospital Calvar Syn liftedthehottowelsfromDruss’sbare back, replacing themswiftlyas the stench filledtheroom.Serbitarstepped
forwardandalsoexaminedthewound.“It is hopeless,” said
Calvar Syn, rubbing hishand over the polisheddomeofhisskull.“Whyishestillalive?”“Idon’tknow,”saidthe
albino softly. “Caessa, has
hespoken?”The girl glanced up
fromherbedsidechair,hereyesdullwithfatigue.Sheshook her head. The dooropened, and Rek movedinside silently. He liftedhiseyebrowsinaquestionto the surgeon, butCalvar
Synshookhishead.“Why?”askedRek.“The
woundwasnoworse thanhehashadbefore.”“Gangrene. The wound
will not close, and thepoisonhas spread throughhis body. He cannot besaved.All theexperienceI
havegained in forty yearssays he should now bedead. His body isputrefying at an amazingrate.”“Heisatougholdman.
Howlongcanhelast?”“Hewill not live to see
tomorrow,” answered the
surgeon.“How goes it on the
wall?” asked Serbitar. Rekshrugged. His armor wasbloody,andhiseyestired.“Weareholdingforthe
moment, but they are inthetunnelbeneathus,andthegatewillnotstand.It’s
a damned shame we hadno time to fill the gatetunnel.Ithinktheywillbethroughbeforedusk.Theyhave already burst apostern gate, but Hogunand a few others areholdingthestairwell.“That’s why I came,
Doctor.I’mafraidyouwillhavetoprepareoncemorefor evacuation. From nowon the hospital will be atthe keep. How soon canyoumove?”“How can I say? Men
are being brought in allthetime.”
“Begin yourpreparations, anyway.Those who are too badlyhurt tobemovedmustbedispatched.”“What?” shouted the
surgeon. “Murdered, youmean?”“Exactlyso.Movethose
who can move. Theothers … how do youthink the Nadir will treatthem?”“I will move everyone,
regardless. If they dieduring the evacuation, itwill still be better thanknifing them in their
beds.”“Then begin now. We
are wasting time,” saidRek.On the wall Gilad and
Togi joined Hogun at thepostern stairwell. Thestairs were littered withcorpses, but more Nadir
warriorsroundedthebendinthespiralandscrambledover the bodies. Hogunstepped forward, blockinga thrust, anddisemboweled the leadingman. He fell, tripping thewarrior behind him. Togislashed a two-handed
stroke through the secondman’s neck as he fell inturn. Two more warriorsadvanced, holding roundoxhide shields beforethem. Behind, otherspushedforward.“It’s like holding back
the sea with a bucket,”
yelledTogi.Above them the Nadir
gained a foothold on theramparts, driving awedgeinto theDrenai formation.Orrin saw the danger andraced forward with fiftymen of the new GroupKarnak.Belowthemtothe
right the battering ramthundered against thegiant gates of oak andbronze. So far the gatesheld, but ominous crackshad appeared beneath thecrossed center beams, andthe wood groaned undertheimpact.
OrrinbattledhiswaytotheNadirwedge,usinghisswordtwo-handed,cuttingand slashing with noattempt at defense. Besidehim a Drenai warrior fell,his throat gashed. Orrinbackhanded a cut to theattacker’s face, then
blocked a blow from hisleft.It was three hours to
dusk.Bowman knelt on the
grass behind thebattlements, three quiversof arrows before him onthe ground. Coolly he
notched shaft to his bow,drew,andletfly.Amantothe left of Orrin fell, thearrowpiercinghis temple.ThenasecondNadirfelltoOrrin’s sword beforeanother arrow downed athird. The wedge wasfallingapartas theDrenai
hackedtheirwayforward.At the stairwell Togi
wasbandagingalonggashin his forearm while afresh squad of legionwarriorsheldtheentrance.Gilad leaned against aboulder, wiping sweatfromhisbrow.
“Alongday,”hesaid.“It will be longer yet,”
muttered Togi. “They cansense how close they aretotakingthewall.”“Yes.Howisthearm?”“All right,” answered
Togi.“Wherenow?”“Hogun said to fill in
wherewe’reneeded.”“That could be
anywhere.I’mforthegate.Coming?”“Why not?” answered
Gilad,smiling.RekandSerbitarcleared
a section of battlements,then raced to join Orrin
and his group. All alongthewall thedefensivelinewasbending.Butitheld.“Ifwecanholdoutuntil
they re-form for anothercharge, we may yet havetime to get everyone backbehind Valteri,” yelledOrrin as Rek fought his
wayalongside.For another hour the
battleraged,thenthehugebronze head of thebatteringrambreachedthetimbers of the gate. Thegreat beam at the centersagged as a crackappeared; then, with a
tearing groan, it slid fromits sockets. The ram waswithdrawn slowly to clearthe way for the fightingmenbeyond.Gilad sent a runner to
the battlements to informRek or either of the gans,then drew his sword and
waitedwith fiftyothers toholdtheentrance.As he rocked his head
from side to side to easethe aching muscles of hisshoulders, he glanced atTogi. The man wassmiling.“Whatissofunny?”
“My own stupidity,”answered Togi. “Isuggested the gates to geta bit of rest. Now I’mgoingtoencounterdeath.”Gilad said nothing.
Death! His friend wasright: There would be noescapetoWallFiveforthe
men at the gate. He feltthe urge to turn and runand suppressed it. Whatdid itmatter, anyway?Hehad seen enough of deathinthelastfewweeks.Andifhesurvived,whatwouldhedo,wherewouldhego?Back to the farm and a
dull wife? Grow oldsomewhere, toothless andsenile, telling endlesslyboringstoriesofhisyouthandcourage?“Great gods!” said Togi
suddenly. “Just look atthat!”Gilad turned. Coming
slowlytowardthemacrossthe grass was Druss,leaningonthegirloutlaw,Caessa. He staggered andalmost fell, but she heldhim. As they came closer,Gilad swallowed back thehorror he felt. The oldman’s face had a sunken
look; it was pallid andtinged with blue, like atwo-day-old corpse. Themen stepped aside asCaessasteeredDrusstothecenteroftheline,thenshedrew a short sword andstoodwithhim.The gates opened, and
theNadirpoured through.Druss, with great effort,drew Snaga. He couldhardly see through themists of pain, and eachstephadbeenanewagonyas the girl had broughthim forward. She haddressed him carefully,
crying all the while, thenhelpedhim tohis feet.Hehimself had begun toweep, for the pain wasunbearable.“Ican’tmakeit,”hehad
whimpered.“Youcan,”shehadtold
him.“Youmust.”
“Thepain…”“You have had pain
before.Fightthroughit.”“Icannot.I’mfinished.”“Listen to me, damn
you! You are Druss theLegend,andmenaredyingout there. One last time,Druss.Please. You mustn’t
give up like an ordinaryman. You are Druss. Youcan do it. Stop them. Youmust stop them. Mymother’soutthere!”His vision cleared
momentarily, and he sawhermadness.Hecouldnotunderstandit,forheknew
nothingofher life,buthesensed her need. With aneffort that tore anagonizing scream fromhim, he bunched his legsbeneathhimselfandstood,clampingahugehandtoashelf on the wall to holdhimself upright. The pain
grew, but he was angrynow and used the pain tospurhimselfon.Druss took a deep
breath. “Come on, littleCaessa, let’s find yourmother,”hesaid.“Butyouwillhavetohelpme;I’malittleunsteady.”
The Nadir sweptthroughthegatesandontothe waiting blades of theDrenai. Above them, Rekreceived word of thecalamity. For the momenttheattackonthewallhadceased as men massedbelowinthegatetunnel.
“Back!” he shouted.“Get to Wall Five.” Menbegan to run across thegrass,throughthedesertedstreets of outer Delnoch,streets that Druss hadclearedofpeople somanydays before. There wouldbe no killing ground now
between walls, for thebuildings still stood,hauntedandempty.Warriors raced for the
transient security of WallFive, givingno thought tothe rear guard at thebrokengate.Giladdidnotblamethemand,strangely,
had no wish to be withthem.Only Orrin, as he ran,
noticedtherearguard.Heturned to join them, butSerbitar was beside him,graspinghisarm.“No,”hesaid.“Itwouldbeuseless.”They ran on. Behind
them the Nadir breastedthe wall and raced inpursuit.In the gateway the
carnage continued. Druss,fighting from memory,hacked and slashed at theadvancing warriors. Togidied as a short lance
hammered into his chest;Giladdidnotseehimfall.For Caessa the scene wasdifferent: There were tenraiders, and Druss wasbattling against them all.Eachtimehekilledaman,she smiled.Eight…Nine…
Thelastoftheraiders,aman she could neverforget, for he had killedhermother,cameforward.Hehadagoldearringanda scar running fromeyebrow to chin. Liftingher sword, she hurledherself forward, ramming
the blade into his belly.The squat Nadir toppledbackward, pulling the girlwith him. A knife slicedbetween her shoulderblades.Butshedidnotfeelit. The raiders were alldead,andforthefirsttimesince childhood she was
safe. Her mother wouldcomeoutof the treesnowand take her home, andDruss would be given ahugemeal,andtheywouldlaugh.Andshewouldsingforhim.Shewould…Only seven men still
stood around Druss and
the Nadir surroundedthem. A lance thrust outsuddenly, crushing Druss’sribs and piercing a lung.Snaga lashed back amurderous reply, cuttingthe lancer’s arm from hisshoulder.As he fell, Giladsliced his throat. Then
Gilad himself fell, piercedthrough the back, andDruss stood alone. TheNadir fell back as one oftheir captains movedforward.“Remember me,
Deathwalker?”hesaid.Druss tore the lance
from his side, hurling itawayfromhim.“I remember you,
lardbelly.Theherald!”“You said you would
have my soul, yet I standhere and you die. Whatthinkyouofthat?”Suddenly Druss lifted
his arm to fling Snagaforward, and the bladesplit theherald’sheadlikeapumpkin.“I think you talk too
much,” said Druss. Hetoppled to his knees andlooked down to see thelifeblood flowing from
him.BesidehimGiladwasdying, but his eyes wereopen. “It was good to bealive,wasn’tit,boy?”Around them the Nadir
stood, but no move wasmade against them. Drusslookedupandpointedatawarrior.
“You, boy,” he said ingutturaldialect, “fetchmyax.” For a moment thewarriordidnotmove,thenhe shrugged and pulledSnagafromtheheadoftheherald. “Bring it here,”ordered Druss. As theyoung soldier advanced,
Druss could see that heintended to kill him withhis own weapon, but avoice barked out acommand and thewarriorstiffened.HehandedDrusstheaxandmovedback.Druss’s eyes were
mistingnow,andhecould
not make out the figureloomingbeforehim.“You did well,
Deathwalker,” said Ulric.“Nowyoucanrest.”“If I had just onemore
ounceofstrength,Iwouldcut you down,” mutteredDruss, struggling with his
ax.Buttheweightwastoogreat.“I know that. I did not
know Nogusha carriedpoison on his blade. Willyoubelievethat?”Druss’s head bowed,
andhetoppledforward.Druss the Legend was
dead.
S28
ix hundred Drenaiwarriors watched
silently as the NadirgatheredaboutthebodyofDruss and lifted it gently,bearing it back throughthegateshehadstrivento
hold. Ulric was the lastmantopasstheportals.Inthe shadow of the brokentimbers he turned, hisviolet eyes scanning themen at the wall, stoppingatlasttorestonafigureofbronze. Ulric lifted hishandasifingreeting,then
slowlypointedatRek.Themessagewasclearenough.First the legend, now
theearl.Rek made no reply but
merely watched as theNadir warlord strode intothe shadows of the gateandoutofsight.
“He died hard,” saidHogun as Rek turned andsat back on the ramparts,liftinghishelmvisor.“Whatdidyouexpect?”
asked Rek, rubbing tiredeyes with weary fingers.“Helivedhard.”“We will follow him
soon,” said Hogun.“There’s not a day’sfightingleftinthemenwehave. The city is desertednow:eventhecampbakerhasleft.”“What of the council?”
askedRek.“Gone, all of them.
Bricklynshouldbebackinthe next day or two withwords from Abalayn. Ithink he will be bringinghis message directly toUlric—he’llbebasedinthekeepbythen.”Rek did not answer;
therewas no need. Itwas
true: The battle was over.Only the massacreremained.Serbitar, Vintar, and
Menahem approachedsilently, theirwhitecloakstattered and bloody. Butthere was no mark ofwounds upon them.
Serbitarbowed.“The end is come,” he
said. “What are yourorders?”Rek shrugged. “What
wouldyouhavemesay?”“We could fall back to
thekeep,”offeredSerbitar,“but we have not enough
mentoholdeventhat.”“Thenwewilldiehere,”
saidRek. “Oneplace is asgoodasanother.”“Truly,” said Vintar
gently. “But I think wehaveafewhoursgrace.”“Why?” asked Hogun,
loosening the bronze
broochathisshoulderandremovinghiscloak.“I think the Nadir will
not attack again today.Today they have slain amightyman,alegendevenamong their ranks. Theywill feast and celebrate.Tomorrow, when we die,
theywillfeastagain.”Rek removed his helm,
welcomingthecoolbreezeon his sweat-drenchedhead. Overhead the skywasclearandblue,thesungolden.Hedrewinadeepbreath of clear mountainair, feeling its power
soaking into tired limbs.Hismindflewbacktodaysof joy with Horeb in theinn at Drenan, long-gonedays,nevertoberevisited.He swore aloud, thenlaughed.“Iftheydon’tattack,we
shouldhaveapartyofour
own,” he said. “Gods, amancandiebutonceinalifetime! Surely it’s worthcelebrating.” Hogungrinned and shook hishead, but Bowman, whohadapproachedunnoticed,clapped Rek on theshoulder.
“Now, that is my kindoflanguage,”hesaid.“Butwhynotdoitproperly,gothewholeway?”“The whole way?”
askedRek.“We could join the
Nadir party,” saidBowman. “Then they
would have to buy thedrinks.”“There’s some truth in
that, Earl of Bronze,” saidSerbitar. “Shall we jointhem?”“Have you gone mad?”
saidRek,lookingfromonetotheother.
“As you said, Rek, weonly die once,” suggestedBowman. “We havenothing to lose. Anyway,weshouldbeprotectedbythe Nadir laws ofhospitality.”“This is insanity!” said
Rek.“You’renotserious?”
“Yes, I am,” saidBowman. “I think IwouldliketopaymylastrespectstoDruss.Anditwillmakea grand exit for Nadirpoetstosingaboutinlateryears. Drenai poets arealmostboundtopickitup,too.Iliketheidea;ithasa
certainpoeticbeautytoit.Dining in the dragon’slair.”“Damnit,I’mwithyou,
then,”saidRek.“ThoughIthink my mind must beunhinged.Whenshouldweleave?”
Ulric’s ebony throne hadbeen set outside his tent,and theNadirwarlord satupon it dressed in easternrobes of gold thread uponsilk. Upon his head wasthegoatskin-fringedcrownoftheWolfsheadtribe,andhisblackhairwasbraided
after the fashion of theVentrian kings. Aroundhim, inavastcirclemanythousands strong, sat hiscaptains; beyond themweremanyothercirclesofmen.Atthecenterofeachcircle Nadir womendanced in a frenzy of
motion in tune to therippling rhythms of ahundred drums. In thecircle of captains thewomen danced around afuneral pyre ten feet highon which lay Druss theLegend, arms crossed andaxuponhischest.
Outside the circles,countless fires blazed andthe smell of burningmeatfilled the air. Everywherecamp women carriedyokes bearing buckets ofLyrrd, an alcohol brewedfrom goat’s milk. UlrichimselfdrankLentrianred
in honor of Druss. He didnot like the drink; it wastoo thin and watery for aman reared on the morepotent liquors brewed onthe northern steppes. Buthe drank it anyway. Itwould be bad manners todo less, for the spirit of
Druss had been invitedamong them: A sparegoblet was filled to thebrim beside Ulric’s own,and a second throne hadbeensettotherightoftheNadirwarlord.Ulric stared moodily
over therimofhisgoblet,
focusing his gaze on thebodyatopthepyre.“It was a good time to
die, old man,” he saidsoftly. “You will beremembered in our songs,and men will talk of youaround our camp fires forgenerationstocome.”
The moon shonebrightlyinacloudlesssky,and the starsgleamed likedistant candles. Ulric satback and gazed intoeternity. Why this blackmood? What was theweight his soul carried?Rarely before had he felt
this way, and certainlyneverontheeveofsuchavictory.Why?Hisgazereturnedtothe
bodyoftheaxman.“You have done this to
me,Deathwalker,”hesaid.“For your heroics have
made me the darkshadow.”In all legends, Ulric
knew, there were brightheroesanddark,darkevil.It was the very fabric ofeachtale.“Iamnotevil,”hesaid.
“Iamawarriorborn,with
a people to protect and anation to build.” Heswallowed anothermouthful of Lentrian andrefilledhisgoblet.“My lord, is something
wrong?” asked his carle-captain,Ogasi,thethicksetstepperiderwhohadslain
Virae.“He accuses me,” said
Ulric,pointingtothebody.“Shall we light the
pyre?”Ulric shook his head.
“Not until midnight. Thegates must be open whenhearrives.”
“You do him greathonor, lord. Why, then,doesheaccuseyou?”“With his death.
Nogusha carried apoisoned blade. I had thestory from his tentservant.”“That was not at your
command, lord. I wasthere.”“Does it matter? Am I
no longer responsible forthose who serve me? Ihave taintedmy legend inorder to end his. A dark,dark deed, UlricWolfshead.”
“He would have diedtomorrow anyway,” saidOgasi. “He lost only aday.”“Ask yourself, Ogasi,
whatthatdaymeant.Menlike Deathwalker comeperhaps once in twentylifetimes.Theyarerare.So
what is that dayworth toordinarymen?Ayear?Tenyears?Alifetime?Didyouseehimdie?”“Idid,lord.”“And will you forget
it?”“No,lord.”“Why not? You have
seen brave men diebefore.”“He was special,” said
Ogasi. “Evenwhen he fellat the last, I thought hewould rise. Even nowsome of the men castfearfulglancesathispyre,expectingtoseehimstand
again.”“How could he have
stood against us?” askedUlric. “His face was bluewith gangrene. His heartshould have stopped longsince.Andthepain…”Ogasi shrugged. “While
mencompeteinwar,there
will be warriors. Whilethere are warriors, therewill be princes amongwarriors. Among theprinces will be kings, andamong the kings anemperor. You said ityourself,my lord. Such ashe come once in twenty
lifetimes. You wouldexpect him to die in hisbed?”“No. I had thought to
let his name die. Soon Iwill control the mightiestempire known to men.HistorywillbeasIwriteit.“Icoulderasehimfrom
the memory of men or,worse still, sully his nameuntil his legend reeks.ButI shall not. I will have abookwrittenabouthislife,and men shall know howhethwartedme.”“Iwouldexpectnothing
less from Ulric,” said
Ogasi, his dark eyesgleaminginthefirelight.“Ah,butthenyouknow
me, my friend. There areothers among the Drenaiwhowill be expectingmeto dine on Druss’s mightyheart. Eater of babies, theplague that walks, the
barbarianofGulgothir.”“Names you yourself
invented, my lord, Ithink.”“True. But then, a
leader must know all theweaponsofwar.Andthereare many which owenothing to the lance and
sword, the bow and thesling. The word stealsmen’s souls, while thesword kills only theirbodies. Men see me andknow fear. It is a potentdevice.”“Someweaponsturnon
theirusers,mylord.Ihave
—” The man suddenlystutteredtosilence.“Speak,Ogasi!Whatails
you?”“The Drenai, my lord!
They are in the camp!”said Ogasi, his eyes widein disbelief. Ulric spun inhis chair. Everywhere the
circles were breaking asmen stood to watch theEarl of Bronze stridingtoward the Lord of theNadir.Behind him in ranks
camesixteenmeninsilverarmor,andbehind themalegion gan walking beside
a blondwarrior bearing alongbow.The drums petered to
silence,andalleyesswungfrom the Drenai group tothe seatedwarlord.Ulric’seyes narrowed as he sawthat themenwere armed.Panicwelled inhisbreast,
buthe forced itdown,hismind racing. Would theyjustwalkupandslayhim?He heard the hiss ofOgasi’s blade leaving itsscabbard and raised ahand.“No, my friend. Let
themapproach.”
“It is madness, lord,”whispered Ogasi as theDrenaidrewnearer.“Pour wine for our
guests. The time to killthem will come after thefeast.Beprepared.”
Ulricgazeddownfromhis
raised throne into thegray-blue eyes of the Earlof Bronze. The man hadforsaken his helm butotherwise was fullyarmored, the great swordofEgelhangingathisside.His companions stoodback, awaiting events.
There was little sign oftension, though the legiongeneral Ulric knew asHogun had his handresting lightly on hissword hilt and waswatchingOgasikeenly.“Why are you here?”
asked Ulric. “You are not
welcomeinmycamp.”The earl looked slowly
about him and thenreturned the gaze of theNadirwarlord.“It is strange,” he said,
“howabattlecanchangeaman’s perspective. First, Iamnotinyourcamp,Iam
standing on Delnochground, and that is minebyright—itisyouwhoareonmy lands. Be that as itmay, for tonight you arewelcome. As to why I amhere. My friends and Ihave come tobid farewellto Druss the Legend—
Deathwalker. Is Nadirhospitalitysopoorthatnorefreshmentisofferedus?”Ogasi’s hand strayed
toward his sword oncemore. The Earl of Bronzedidnotmove.“If that sword is
drawn,” he said softly, “I
willremovehishead.”UlricwavedOgasiback.“Do you think to leave
herealive?”heaskedRek.“If I so choose, yes,”
repliedtheearl.“And I have no say in
thismatter?”“None.”
“Truly? Now youintrigue me. All aroundyouareNadirbowmen.Atmy signal your brightarmor will be hidden byblack-shafted arrows. AndyousayIcannot?”“If you can, then order
it,” demanded the earl.
Ulric moved his gaze tothe archers. Arrows wereready, and many bowswere already bent, theirironpointsglitteringinthefirelight.“Why can I not order
it?”heasked.“Why have you not?”
counteredtheearl.“Curiosity. What is the
realpurposeofyourvisit?Have you come to slayme?”“No.IfIwished,Icould
have slain you as I killedyour shaman: silently,invisibly.Yourheadwould
now be a worm-filledshell.Thereisnoduplicityhere. I came to honormyfriend. Will you offer mehospitalityorshallIreturntomyfortress?”“Ogasi!”calledUlric.“Mylord?”“Fetch refreshments for
the earl andhis followers.Order the archers back totheir fires and let theentertainmentcontinue.”“Yes, lord,” said Ogasi
dubiously.Ulric gestured the earl
to the throne at his side.Reknoddedand turned to
Hogun. “Go and enjoyyourselves. Return for meinanhour.”Hogunsaluted,andRek
watched his small groupwander off around thecamp. He smiled asBowman leaned over aseated Nadir and lifted a
goblet of Lyrrd. The manstared when he saw hisdrink disappear, thenlaughed as Bowmandrained it without asplutter.“Damngood,hey?”said
the warrior. “Better thanthat red vinegar from the
south.”Bowman nodded and
pulledaflaskfromhishippouch, offering it to theman. Suspicion wasevidentinthehesitantwaythe Nadir accepted theflask, but his friendswerewatching.
Slowly he removed thetop, then took a tentativesip, followed by a full-blownswallow.“This is damn good,
too,” said theman. “Whatisit?”“They call it Lentrian
fire. Once tasted, never
forgotten!”The man nodded, then
moved aside to make aplaceforBowman.“Join us, longbow.
Tonight no war. We talk,yes?”“Decent of you, old
horse.IthinkIwill.”
Seated on the throne,RekliftedDruss’sgobletofLentrian red and raised ittowardthepyre.Ulricalsoraisedhisgoblet,andbothmen silently toasted thefallenaxman.“He was a great man,”
saidUlric.“Myfather told
me tales of him and hislady.Rowena,wasn’tit?”“Yes, he loved her
greatly.”“Itisfitting,”saidUlric,
“that such a man shouldknow great love. I amsorry he is gone. Itwouldbeafinethingifwarcould
be conducted as a gamewhere no lives were lost.At the end of a battlecombatants could meet—evenaswearedoing—anddrinkandtalk.”“Druss would not have
had it so,” said the earl.“Were this a game where
the odds mattered, DrosDelnochwould already beyours. But Druss was amanwhocouldchangetheodds and make nonsenseoflogic.”“Uptoapoint,forheis
dead. But what of you?What manner of man are
you,EarlRegnak?”“Just aman, LordUlric
—evenasyou.”Ulric leaned closer, his
chin resting on his hand.“But then, I am not anordinaryman.Ihaveneverlostabattle.”“NoryethaveI.”
“You intrigue me. Youappear from nowhere,with no past, married tothe dying earl’s daughter.No one has ever heard ofyou, and no man can tellmeofyourdeeds.Yetmendie for you as theywouldfor a beloved king. Who
areyou?”“I am the Earl of
Bronze.”“No. That I will not
accept.”“Then what would you
havemesay?”“Verywell, you are the
Earl of Bronze. It matters
not. Tomorrow you mayreturn to your grave—youand all those who followyou.Youbeganthisbattlewith ten thousand men;you now boast perhapsseven hundred. You pinyour faith on MagnusWoundweaver, but he
cannot reach you in time,and even if he did, itwould matter not. Lookabout you. This army isbred on victory. And itgrows. I have four armieslike this. Can I bestopped?”“Stopping you is not
important,” said the earl.“Itneverwas.”“Then what are you
doing?”“We are trying to stop
you.”“IsthisariddlewhichI
shouldunderstand?”“Your understanding is
not important. It may bethatdestinyintendsyoutosucceed. It may be that aNadir empire will provevastly beneficial to theworld. But ask yourselfthis: Were there no armyhere when you arrived,saveDrussalone,wouldhe
have opened the gate toyou?”“No. He would have
fought and died,” saidUlric.“Buthewouldnothave
expected to win. So whywouldhedoit?”“NowIunderstandyour
riddle,Earl.Butitsaddensmethatsomanymenmustdie when it is futile toresist. Nevertheless Irespectyou.IwillseethatyourpyreisashighasthatofDruss.”“Thank you, no. If you
dokillme,laymybodyin
agardenbeyondthekeep.There is already a gravethere, surrounded byflowers, within which liesmy wife. Put my bodybesideit.”Ulric fell silent for
several minutes, takingtimetorefillthegoblets.
“Itshallbeasyouwish,EarlofBronze,”hesaidatlast. “Join me in my tentnow. We shall eat a littlemeat, drink a little wine,and be friends. I shall tellyou of my life and mydreams, and youmay talkofthepastandyourjoys.”
“Why only the past,LordUlric?”“It is all you have left,
myfriend.”
A29
t midnight, as theflames from the
funeralpyreblazedagainstthe night sky, the Nadirhordedrewtheirweapons,holdingthemaloftinsilenttribute to the warrior
whose soul, theybelieved,stood at the gates ofparadise.Rekandthecompanyof
Drenai followed suit, thenhe turned and bowed toUlric. Ulric returned thebow,andthecompanysetofftoreturntothepostern
gate of Wall Five. Thereturn journey was madein silence, each man’sthoughtshisown.Bowman thought of
CaessaandofherdeathatDruss’s side.Hehad lovedher inhisway, thoughhehadneverspokenof it.To
loveherwastodie.Hogun’s mind reeled
with the awesome pictureof the Nadir army seenfrom close range,numberless and mighty.Unstoppable!Serbitar thought of the
journey he would make
with the remnants of theThirty at dusk on themorrow. Only Arbedarkwouldbemissing,fortheyhad convened the nightbefore and declared himan abbot. Now he wouldjourney from Delnochalone to found a new
templeinVentria.Rek fought against
despair. Ulric’s last wordsechoedagainandagain inhismind:“Tomorrowyouwillsee
theNadir asneverbefore.We have paid homage toyour courage by attacking
only in daylight, allowingyoutorestatnight.NowIneed to take your keep,and there will be no restuntilitfalls.Dayandnightwewill come at you untilnone are left alive toopposeus.”Silently the group
mountedtheposternsteps,makingitswaytothemesshall. Rek knew sleepwould not come to himthis night. It was his lastnight upon the earth, andhis tired body summonedfresh reserves so that hecould taste life and know
the sweetness of drawingbreath.Thegroup sat arounda
trestle table, and Rekpoured wine. Of theThirty, only Serbitar andVintarremained.Formanyminutes the fivemen saidlittle, until at last Hogun
broke the uncomfortablesilence.“We knew it would
come to this, didwe not?Therewasnoway toholdindefinitely.”“Very true, old horse,”
saidBowman.“Still,itisatrifle disappointing, don’t
youthink?ImustownthatIalwayskeptaliveasmallhope that we wouldsucceed. Now that it isgone, I feel a tiny twingeofpanic.”Hesmiledgentlyandfinishedhisdrinkwithasingleswallow.“Youarenotpledgedto
stay,”saidHogun.“True. Perhaps I will
leaveinthemorning.”“I don’t think you will,
thoughIdon’tknowwhy,”saidHogun.“Well,iftruthbetold,I
promised that Nadirwarrior, Kaska, that I
would have another drinkwith him once they tookthe keep. Nice chap—if atriflemaudlin in his cups.He has six wives andtwenty-threechildren.Itisawonder he has the timetocometowar.”“Or the strength!”
added Hogun, grinning.“And what of you, Rek.Whydoyoustay?”“Hereditary stupidity,”
answeredRek.“That is not enough,”
said Bowman. “Come on,Rek—the truth, if youplease.”
Rek scanned the groupswiftly, noting the fatigueon all their faces andrealizing for the first timethathelovedthemall.His eyes met Vintar’s,
and understanding flowedbetween them. The oldermansmiled.
“I think,” said Rek,“that only the Abbot ofSwords can answer thatquestion—forallofus.”Vintar nodded and
closed his eyes for severalmoments. All the menknew he was searchingtheirheartsandminds,yet
there was no fear, noembarrassment, no desireanylongertobealone.“All things that live
must die,” said Vintar.“Manalone,itseems,livesall his life in theknowledge of death. Andyet there is more to life
than merely waiting fordeath. For life to havemeaning, there must be apurpose.Amanmustpasssomething on—otherwiseheisuseless.“For most men that
purpose revolves aroundmarriageandchildrenwho
willcarryonhisseed.Forothers it is an ideal—adream,ifyoulike.Eachofus here believes in theconceptofhonor:thatitisman’s duty to do thatwhich is right and just,that might alone is notenough. We have all
transgressedat some time.We have stolen, lied,cheated—even killed—forour own ends. Butultimately we return toour beliefs. We do notallow the Nadir to passunchallenged because wecannot. We judge
ourselves more harshlythan others can judge us.We know that death ispreferable to betrayal ofthatwhichweholddear.“Hogun, you are a
soldierandyouhave faithin the Drenai cause. Youhave been told to stand
and will do so withoutquestion. It would notoccur to you that therewere any alternatives butto obey. And yet youunderstand when othersthinkdifferently.Youarearareman.“Bowman, you are a
romantic and yet a cynic.You mock the nobility ofman, for you have seenthat too often nobilitygives way to more basedesires. Yet you havesecretly set yourselfstandardswhichothermenwill never understand.
You,morethananyoftheothers, desire to live. Theurge is strong in you torun away. But you willnot,notaslongasasinglemanstandstodefendthesewalls. Your courage isgreat.“Rek, you are the most
difficulttoanswerfor.LikeBowman, you are aromantic, but there is adepthtoyouwhichIhavenot tried to plumb. Youare intuitive andintelligent, but it is yourintuition that guides you.You know it is right that
you stay—and alsosenseless that you stay.Your intellect tells youthatthiscauseisfolly,butyour intuition forces youto reject your intellect.Youarethatrareanimal,aborn leader of men. Andyoucannotleave.
“All of you are boundtogether in chains athousand times strongerthansteel.“Andfinallythereisone
—who comes now—forwhich all I have saidremainstrue.Heisalessermanthananyhereandyet
agreater, forhis fears aregreaterthanyours,andyethealsowillstandfirmanddiebesideyou.”The door opened, and
Orrin entered, his armorbright and freshly oiled.Silently he sat amongthem,acceptingagobletof
wine.“I trust Ulric was in
goodhealth,”hesaid.“He has never looked
better, old horse,”answeredBowman.“Thenwewillgivehim
a bloody nose tomorrow,”said the general, his dark
eyesgleaming.
The dawn sky was brightand clear as the Drenaiwarriors ate a coldbreakfast of bread andcheese,washeddownwithhoneyedwater.Everymanwho could stand manned
the walls, blades to theready. As the Nadirprepared to advance, Rekleapt to the battlementsand turned to face thedefenders.“No long speeches
today,” he shouted. “Weall know our plight. But I
want to say that I amproud, more proud than Icouldeverhave imagined.I wish I could findwords …” He stammeredto silence, then lifted hissword from its scabbardandheldithigh.“By all the gods that
ever walked, I swear thatyou are the finest men Iever knew. And if I couldhave chosen the end ofthis tale and peopled itwith heroes of the past, Iwouldnot changea singlething. For no one couldhavegivenmore thanyou
have.“AndIthankyou.“But if any man here
wishes to leave now, hemay do so. Many of youhave wives, children,others depending on you.If that be the case, leavenowwithmyblessing.For
what we do here todaywillnotaffecttheoutcomeofthewar.”He leapt lightly to the
ramparts to rejoin OrrinandHogun.Fartheralong the linea
young cul shouted: “Whatof you, Earl of Bronze?
Willyoustay?”Reksteppedto thewall
once more. “I must stay,butIgiveyouleavetogo.”Nomanmoved, though
manyconsideredit.TheNadirwarcryrose,
andthebattlebegan.Throughout that long
day, no foothold could begained by the Nadir andthecarnagewasterrible.ThegreatswordofEgel
lunged and slew, cleavingarmor, flesh, and bone,andtheDrenaifought likedemons, cutting andslaying ferociously. For
these, as Serbitar hadpredicted so many weeksago,werethefinestofthefighting men, and deathand fear of death had noplaceintheirminds.TimeandagaintheNadirreeledback, bloodied andbemused.
Butasduskapproached,the assault on the gatesstrengthenedandthegreatbarrier of bronze and oakbegan to buckle. SerbitarledthelastoftheThirtytostand, as Druss had done,in the shadow of the gateporch. Rek raced to join
them, but a witheringmind pulse from Serbitarordered him back to thewall. He was about toresistwhenNadirwarriorsscrambled over theramparts behind him.Egel’s sword flashed,beheading the first, and
Rekwasoncemore in thethickofbattle.In the gateway Serbitar
was joined by Suboden,the captain of his Vagrianbodyguard. Only somesixty men were still aliveout of the force that hadoriginallyarrived.
“Go back to thewalls,”saidSerbitar.The fair-haired Vagrian
shookhishead. “I cannot.Wearehereasyourcarle-guard, and we will diewithyou.”“You bear me no love,
Suboden. You have made
thatplain.”“Love has little to do
with my duty, LordSerbitar. Even so, I hopeyou will forgive me. Ithoughtyourpowersweredemon-sent, but no manpossessed would stand asyoudonow.”
“There is nothing toforgive, but you have myblessing,”Serbitartoldtheblondcarle-captain.The gates splintered
suddenly, andwith a roaroftriumphtheNadirburstthrough, hurlingthemselves upon the
defenders spearheaded bythewhite-hairedtemplar.Drawing a slender
Ventrian dagger, Serbitarfought two-handed,blocking, stabbing,parrying,andcutting.Menfellbeforehim,butalwaysmore leapt to fill the
breach he created. BesidehimtheslimVagriancarle-captain hacked andhammered at theoncoming barbarians. Anax splintered his shield,but hurling aside thefragments, he took adouble-handed grip on his
sword, bellowed hisdefiance, and launchedhimself forward. An axcrushed his ribs, and alance tore into his thigh.He fell into the seethingmass, stabbing left andright. A kick sent himsprawling tohisback,and
three spears buriedthemselves in his chest.Feeblyhesoughttolifthisswordonelasttime,butaniron-studdedbootstampedonhishand,whileablowfromawoodenclubendedhislife.Vintar fought coolly,
pushing himself alongsidethealbino,waiting for thearrow he knew would beloosed at any second.Ducking beneath aslashing sword, hedisemboweled hisopponentandturned.In the shadows of the
sundered gates an archerdrew back on his string,hisfingersnestlingagainsthis cheek. The shaft leaptfrom the bow to takeVintarintherighteye,andhe fell against the Nadirspears.The remaining
defenders fought in anever-tightening circle asdusk deepened into night.The Nadir cries weresilenced now, the battletenseandsilentbutforthesoundsofsteelonsteelonflesh.Menahem was lifted
from his feet by the forceof a stabbing spear thattore into his lungs. Hissword whistled downtoward the neck of thekneeling lancer—andstopped.Lightly he touched the
blade to the man’s
shoulder. Unable tobelieve his luck, thewarrior dragged his spearfree and buried it oncemoreinthepriest’schest.NowSerbitarwasalone.Momentarily the Nadir
fell back, staring at theblood-covered albino.
Muchofthebloodwashisown. His cloak was intatters, his armor gashedanddented,his helm longsince knocked from hishead.He took three deep
shudderingbreaths,lookedinside himself, and saw
that he was dying.Reaching out with hismind, he sought Vintarandtheothers.Silence.Aterriblesilence.It was all for nothing,
then, he thought as theNadir tensed for the kill.
Hechuckledwryly.TherewasnoSource.No center to the
universe.In the last seconds left
tohimhewondered ifhislifehadbeenawaste.Heknewithadnot.For
even if there was no
Source, there ought tohavebeen. For the Sourcewasbeautiful.A Nadir warrior sprang
forward. Serbitar flickedaside his thrust, buryinghis dagger in the man’sbreast,butthepacksurgedin,ascoreofsharpblades
meeting inside his frailform.Bloodburstfromhismouth,andhefell.From a great distance
cameavoice:“Take my hand, my
brother.Wetravel.”ItwasVintar!
The Nadir surged andspreadtowardthedesertedDelnoch buildings and thescoreof streets that led toGeddon and the keepbeyond. In the front lineOgasi raised his sword,bellowing the Nadirvictorychant.Hebeganto
run,thenskiddedtoahalt.Ahead of him on the
open ground before thebuildings stooda tallmanwith a trident beard,dressed in thewhiterobesof the Sathuli. He carriedtwo tulwars, curved anddeadly. Ogasi advanced
slowly,confused.A Sathuli within the
Drenaifortress?“Whatdoyoudohere?”
yelledOgasi.“Merely helping a
friend,” replied the man.“Go back! I shall not letyoupass.”
Ogasi grinned. So themanwas a lunatic. Liftinghis sword, he ordered thetribesmen forward. Thewhite-robed figureadvancedonthem.“Sathuli!”heyelled.From the buildings
came a mighty answering
roar as three thousandSathuli warriors, theirwhite robes ghostly in thegathering darkness,streamedtotheattack.The Nadir were
stunned, and Ogasi couldnot believe his eyes. TheSathuli and the Drenai
were lifelong enemies. Heknew it was happening,but his brain would notdrink it in. Like a whitetide on a dark beach, theSathuli front line crashedintoNadir.Joachim sought Ogasi,
but the stocky tribesman
waslostamidthechaos.The savage twist to
events, from certainvictory to certain death,dismayed the tribesmen.Panic set in, and a slowwithdrawalbecamearout.Trampling their comrades,the Nadir turned and ran
with the white army attheirbacks,harryingthemonwith screamsasbestialasanyheardontheNadirsteppes.Onthewallsabove,Rek
wasbleedingfromwoundsin his upper arms andHogun had suffered a
sword cut to his scalp,blood running from thegash and skin flapping ashe lashed out at hisattackers.Now Sathuli warriors
appeared on thebattlementsandoncemoretheNadirfledtheirterrible
tulwars, backing to thewalls and seeking escapedowntheropes.Within minutes it was
over. Elsewhere on theopengroundsmallpocketsof Nadir warriors weresurrounded anddispatched.
Joachim Sathuli, hiswhite robes stained withcrimson, slowly mountedthe rampart steps,followed by his sevenlieutenants. Heapproached Rek andbowed. Turning, hehandedhisbloody tulwars
toadark-beardedwarrior.Anothermanpassedhimascented towel. Slowly,elaborately, he wiped hisface and then his hands.Finallyhespoke.“A warm welcome,” he
said, his face unsmilingbuthiseyesfullofhumor.
“Indeed,” said Rek. “Itis lucky the other guestshad to leave; otherwisetherewouldnothavebeenanyroom.”“Areyousosurprisedto
seeme?”“No, not surprised.
Astonished sounds more
accurate.”Joachim laughed. “Is
your memory so short,Delnoch? You said weshouldpartasfriends,andI agreed. Where elseshould I be in a friend’shourofneed?”“Youmusthavehadthe
devil’s own taskconvincing your warriorstofollowyou.”“Not at all,” answered
Joachim, an impish gleaminhis eyes. “Most of theirlives they have longed tofightinsidethesewalls.”
The tall Sathuli warriorstoodon thehighwallsofGeddon, gazing down attheNadircampbeyondthedeserted battlements ofValteri. Rek was asleepnow, and the beardedprince strode the wallsalone. Around him were
sentries and soldiers ofboth races, but Joachimremainedsolitary.ForweeksSathuliscouts
atop the Delnoch rangehad watched the battleraging below. OftenJoachim himself hadscaled the peaks to view
the fighting.ThenaNadirraidingpartyhadstruckata Sathuli village, andJoachimhadpersuadedhismen to follow him toDelnoch.Addedtothis,heknew of the traitor whodealt with the Nadir, forhe had witnessed a
meeting inahigh,narrowpass between the traitorand the Nadir captain,Ogasi.Two days later the
Nadir had tried to send aforce over the mountains,and the Sathuli hadrepulsedit.
JoachimheardthenewsofRek’s losswith sadness.Fatalistichimself,hecouldstillsharethefeelingsofaman whose woman haddied.Hisownhaddied inchildbirth two yearsbefore,andthewoundwasstillfresh.
Joachimshookhishead.Warwasasavagemistressbut a woman of powernonetheless. She couldwreak more havoc in aman’ssoulthantime.The Sathuli arrival had
been timely and notwithout cost. Four
hundred of his men weredead, a loss scarcelybearable to a mountainpeople who numbered amere thirty thousand,many of those beingchildrenandancients.Butadebtwasadebt.The man Hogun hated
him, Joachim knew. Butthis was understandable,for Hogun was of thelegionandtheSathulihadspilled legion blood foryears. They reserved theirfinesttorturesforcapturedriders.Thiswas anhonor,but Joachim knew the
Drenai could neverunderstand. When a mandied, he was tested—theharder the death, thegreater the rewards inparadise. Tortureadvanced a man’s soul,andtheSathulicouldofferno greater reward to a
capturedenemy.He sat upon the
battlements and staredbackat thekeep.Forhowmanyyearshadhe longedto take this fortress? Howmany of his dreams hadbeenfilledwithpicturesofthekeepinflames?
And now he wasdefending itwith the livesofhisfollowers.He shrugged. A man
with his eyes on the skydid not see the scorpionbelowhisfeet.Amanwithhiseyesonthegrounddidnot see the dragon in the
air.He paced the ramparts,
coming at last to the gatetower and the stoneinscription carved there:geddon.Thewallofdeath.The air was thick with
thesmellofdeath,andthe
morning would see thecrows fly in to the feast.HeshouldhavekilledRekinthewoods.Apromisetoan unbeliever was worthnothing, so why had hekept it? He laughedsuddenly, accepting theanswer: Because the man
hadnotcared.AndJoachimlikedhim.He passed a Drenai
sentry who saluted himand smiled. Joachimnodded, noting theuncertaintyofthesmile.He had told the Earl of
Bronze that he and his
men would stay for onemore day and then returnto the mountains. He hadexpected a plea to remain—offers,promises,treaties.But Rek had merelysmiled.“ItismorethanIwould
haveaskedfor,”hesaid.
Joachim was stunned,but he could say nothing.He told Rek of the traitorand of the Nadir attempttocrossthemountains.“Will you still bar the
way?”“Of course. That is
Sathuliland.”
“Good! Will you eatwithme?”“No,butIthankyoufor
theoffer.”No Sathuli could break
breadwithanunbeliever.Rek nodded. “I think I
will rest now,” he said. “Iwillseeyouatdawn.”
Inhishigh room in thekeep Rek slept, dreamingof Virae, always of Virae.He awoke hours beforedawn and reached out forher. But the sheets besidehim were cold, and asalways, he felt the lossanew. On this night he
weptlongandsoundlessly.Finally he rose, dressed,anddescendedthestairstothe small hall. Themanservant Arshinbroughthimabreakfastofcoldhamandcheese,witha flagon of cold waterlaced with honey mead.
He ate mechanically untila young officerapproachedwith thenewsthatBricklynhadreturnedwith dispatches fromDrenan.Theburgherenteredthe
hall, bowed briefly, andapproached the table,
laying before Rek severalpackages and a largesealed scroll. He seatedhimself opposite Rek andasked if he could pourhimself a drink. Reknodded as he opened thescroll. He read it once,smiled, then laid it aside
and looked across at theburgher. He was thinnerand perhaps even grayerthanthefirsttimeRekhadseen him. He was stilldressed in riding clothes,and his green cloak wasdust-covered. Bricklyndrained the water in two
swallows and refilled hiscup;thenhenoticedRek’seyesuponhim.“You have seen the
message from Abalayn?”heasked.“Yes. Thank you for
bringingit.Willyoustay?”“But of course.
Surrender arrangementsmust be made, and Ulricwelcomedtothekeep.”“He has promised to
spare no one,” said Reksoftly.Bricklyn waved his
hand.“Nonsense!Thatwaswar talk. Now he will be
magnanimous.”“And what of
Woundweaver?”“Hehasbeenrecalledto
Drenan, and the armydisbanded.”“Areyoupleased?”“That the war is over?
Of course. Though I am
naturally saddened that somany had to die. I hearthat Druss fell at Sumitos.A great shame. He was afine man and amagnificentwarrior.Butitwas as he would havewished to go, I am sure.When would you like me
toseeLordUlric?”“Assoonasyouwish.”“Will you accompany
me?”“No.”“Thenwhowill?”asked
Bricklyn, noting withpleasure the resignationmirroredinRek’sface.
“Noone.”“No one? But that
would not be politic, mylord. There should be adeputation.”“Youwilltravelalone.”“Verywell.What terms
shallInegotiate?”“You will negotiate
nothing. You will merelygo to Ulric and say that Ihavesentyou.”“I do not understand,
my lord.What would youhavemesay?”“You will say that you
havefailed.”“Failed? In what? You
speak in riddles. Are youmad?”“No. Just tired. You
betrayed us, Bricklyn, butthen, Iexpectnothing lessfrom your breed.Therefore, Iamnotangry.Or vengeful. You havetakenUlric’spay,andnow
you may go to him. Theletter from Abalayn is aforgery,andWoundweaverwill be here in five dayswith over fifty thousandmen. Outside there arethree thousand Sathuli,andwecanhold thewall.Now be gone! Hogun
knows that you are atraitor and has told methat hewill kill you if heseesyou.Gonow.”For several minutes
Bricklyn sat stunned, thenheshookhishead.“Thisismadness!Youcannothold!It is Ulric’s day, can you
not see it?TheDrenai arefinished, and Ulric’s starshines.What do you hopetoachieve?”Rekslowlydrewalong,
slender dagger and placeditonthetablebeforehim.“Go now,” he repeated
quietly.
Bricklyn rose andstormed to the door. Heturnedinthedoorway.“Youfool!”hespit.“Use
thedaggeronyourself,forwhat the Nadir will dowhen they take you willmake merry viewing.”Thenhewasgone.
Hogun stepped frombehind a tapestry-coveredalcove and moved to thetable. His head wasbandaged, and his facepale. In his hand he heldhissword.“Howcouldyoulethim
go,Rek?How?”
Rek smiled. “Because Icouldn’tbebotheredtokillhim.”
T30
he last candlegutteredanddiedasa
light autumn windbillowed the curtains. Rekslept on, head resting onhisarmsatthetablewhereonlyanhourbeforehehad
sentBricklyntotheNadir.His sleep was light butdreamless. He shivered asthe room became cooler,thenawokewithastartinthedarkness.Feartouchedhim, and he reached forhis dagger. He shiveredagain. It was cold … so
cold. He glanced at thefire.Itwasblazing,butnoheat reached him. Hestood and walked towardit, squatting in front of itand opening his hands tothe heat. Nothing.Confused, he stood oncemore and turned back to
the table, and then theshockhithim.Head resting on his
arms, the figure of EarlRegnakstillsleptthere.Hefought down panic,watching his sleepingform,notingthewearinessinthegauntface,thedark-
hollowed eyes, and thelines of strain about themouth.Then he noticed the
silence. Even at this latehour of deepest darknesssome sounds should beheard from sentries orservants or the few cooks
preparing the morning’sbreakfast. But there wasnothing. Hemoved to thedoorway and beyond intothe darkened corridor,then beyond that into theshadow of the portcullisgate. He was alone.Beyond the gate were the
walls, but no sentriespacedthem.Hewalkedonin the darkness, and theclouds cleared and themoonshonebrightly.The fortress was
deserted.From the high walls of
Geddon he looked to the
north. The plain wasempty. No Nadir tentswerepitchedthere.So he was truly alone.
Panic lefthim,andadeepsenseofpeacecoveredhissoul like a warm blanket.He sat on the ramparts,gazingbackatthekeep.
Was this a taste ofdeath? he wondered. Ormerelyadream?Hecarednot.Whetheraforetasteoftomorrow’s reality or theresult of a needed fantasywas immaterial. He wasenjoyingthemoment.And then, with a deep
senseofwarmth,heknewthathewasnotalone.Hisheart swelled, and tearscame to his eyes. Heturned,andshewasthere:Dressed as he had firstseen her, with a bulkysheepskin jerkin andwoolen trews, she opened
her arms and walked intohis embrace. He held hertightlytohim,pressinghisface into her hair. For along time they stood thuswhiledeepsobsrackedhisbody. Finally the cryingsubsided, and he gentlyreleased her. She looked
upathimandsmiled.“You have done well,
Rek,” she said. “I am soproudofyou.”“Without you it is
meaningless,”hesaid.“I wouldn’t change
anything,Rek. If they toldme that I could have my
life again but not meetyou, Iwould refuse.Whatdoesitmatterthatwehadonly months? Whatmonthstheywere!”“I never loved anyone
asIlovedyou,”hesaid.“Iknow.”They talked for hours,
but the moon shone fromthe same place and thestarswerestatic,thenighteternal. Finally she kissedhimtostemhiswords.“There are others you
mustsee.”He tried to argue, but
sheheldher fingers tohis
mouth. “We will meetagain, my love. For now,speaktotheothers.”Around the walls was
now a mist, swirling andthick. Overhead themoonshone in a cloudless sky.She walked into the mistandwas gone.Hewaited,
andsoona figure insilverarmor came toward him.As always he looked freshand alert, his armorreflected the moonlight,and his white cloak wasspotless.Hesmiled.“Well met, Rek,” said
Serbitar. They clasped
handsinthewarrior’sgrip.“The Sathuli came,”
said Rek. “You held thegatejustlongenough.”“Iknow.Tomorrowwill
behard,and Iwillnot lieto you. All futures have Iseen, and in only one doyou survive the day. But
there are forces herewhich I cannot explain toyou, and even now theirmagic is at work. Fightwell!”“Will Woundweaver
arrive?”askedRek.Serbitar shrugged. “Not
tomorrow.”
“Thenwewillfall?”“It is likely. But if you
do not, I want you to dosomethingforme.”“Nameit,”saidRek.“GooncemoretoEgel’s
room,wherethereisalastgift for you. The servantArshinwillexplain.”
“What is it? Is it aweapon? I could use ittomorrow.”“It isnot aweapon.Go
theretomorrownight.”“Serbitar?”“Yes,myfriend.”“Was all as you
dreamed itwouldbe?The
Source,Imean?”“Yes! And so much
more. But I cannot speakofitnow.Waitforawhilelonger. There is anotherwhomustspeakwithyou.”Themistdeepened,and
Serbitar’swhiteformdrewback until he merged and
wasgone.And Druss was there.
Mighty and strong, hisblack jerkinglistening,hisaxathisside.“He gave me a fine
send-off,” said Druss.“How are you, boy? Youlooktired.”
“I am tired but all thebetterforseeingyou.”Druss clapped him on
theshoulderandlaughed.“That Nogusha used a
poisoned blade on me. Itellyou,laddie,ithurtlikehell. Caessa dressed me. Idon’t know how she got
metomyfeet.Still…shedid.”“Isawit,”saidRek.“Aye, a grand exit,was
it not? That young ladGilad fought well. I havenot seen him yet, but Iexpect I shall. You’re agoodboy,Rek.Worthy! It
wasgoodtoknowyou.”“Andyou,Druss.Inever
metabetterman.”“Ofcourseyoudid,boy.
Hundreds! But it’s nice ofyou to say it. However, Ididn’t come here toexchange compliments. Iknowwhatyouarefacing,
andIknowtomorrowwillbe hard—damned hard.But don’t give ground.Donot retreat to the keep.Whatever happens, holdthewall.Muchrestsonit.Keep Joachim beside you;ifhedies,youarefinished.I must go. But remember.
Holdthewall.Donotretreattothekeep.”“Iwillremember.Good-
bye,Druss.”“Not good-bye. Not
yet,”saidDruss.“Soon.”The mist moved
forward, enveloping theaxman and sweeping over
Rek. Then the moonlightfaded,anddarkdescendedontheEarlofBronze.Back in the keep Rek
awoke. The fire stillburned, and he washungryagain.In the kitchens Arshin
was preparing breakfast.
Theoldmanwastired,buthe brightened when Rekwalkedin.He liked the new earl
and remembered whenVirae’s father,Delnar,hadbeen a youngman, proudand strong. There seemeda similarity, but perhaps,
Arshin thought, the longyears had distorted hismemory.He handed the earl
some toasted bread andhoney, which he wolfeddown, following it withwateredwine.BackinhisquartersRek
buckled his armor intoplaceandmadehiswaytothe battlements. Hogunand Orrin were alreadythere, supervising thebarricade within the gatetunnel.“This istheweakspot,”
said Orrin. “We should
retiretothekeep.At leastthe gates will hold forsomehours.”Rek shook his head.
“WewillstandonGeddon.Theremustbenoretreat.”“Then we shall die
here,” said Hogun. “Forthat barricade will hold
themnotatall.”“Perhaps,” said Rek.
“We shall see. Goodmorning, JoachimSathuli.”The bearded warrior
nodded and smiled. “Yousleptwell,EarlofBronze?”“Well, indeed. I thank
you for giving us this dayofyourtime.”“It is nothing. The
paymentofasmalldebt.”“You owe me nothing.
But I tell you this: If wesurvive this day, thereshall be no more warbetween us. The rights to
the high Delnoch passesare mine, though youdispute the rights of theDrenaitothem.Therefore,before these witnesses, Igivethemtoyou.“There is also a scroll
bearing my seal at thekeep. When you leave
tonight, you shall have it.Acopywillgo toAbalayninDrenan.“Iknowthatthegesture
will have littlemeaning ifthe Nadir win throughtoday, but it is all I cando.”Joachim bowed. “The
gestureisenoughinitself.”The talk ceased as the
Nadir drums sounded andthe warriors of DrosDelnoch spread out alongthe wall to receive theattackers. Rek lowered hishelm visor and drew thesword of Egel. Below, in
thebarricadedgatetunnel,stood Orrin and onehundred warriors. Thetunnel was only twentyfeet wide at the center,andOrrinreckonedtoholdit for the greater part ofthe morning. After that,with the barricades torn
down, the sheerweight ofthe Nadir horde wouldpush them back into theopen ground behind theramparts.And so the last bloody
day began at DrosDelnoch.
W31
aveafterwaveofscreamingtribesmen
scaled ropes and laddersthroughout the morning,finding that only cold,terrible death awaitedthem under the slashing
swords and tulwars of thedefenders. Men fellscreaming to the rocksbelow the walls or diedtrampled beneath the feetof battling men on theramparts. Side by side,SathuliandDrenaibroughtdeathtotheNadir.
Rek cut and slashedtwo-handed, the sword ofEgel cleaving the ranks ofthe Nadir like a scythethroughwheat.BesidehimJoachim fought with twoshortswords,whirlingandkilling.Below, Orrin’s men
were being pushed slowlybackintothewidersectionof the tunnel, though theNadirpaiddearlyforeveryinchofground.Blocking a thrusting
lance,Orrinbackhandedaslashing cut to awarrior’sface.Themandisappeared
in the milling mass, andanother attacker took hisplace.“We can’t hold!” yelled
a young officer to Orrin’sright.Orrin had no time to
answer.Suddenly the leading
Nadirwarrior screamed inhorror, pushing back intohis comrades. Othersfollowed his gaze, lookingbackbeyondtheDrenaiatthetunnelmouth.A gap opened between
the Drenai and the Nadirand widened as the
tribesmen turned and fleddown into the opengrounds between ValteriandGeddon.“GreatgodsofMissael!”
said the officer. “What’sgoing on?” Orrin turnedand saw what had filledtheNadirwithterror.
Behind them in thedarkened tunnel stoodDrusstheLegend,Serbitar,andtheThirty.With themwere many departedwarriors.Druss’saxwasinhis hand, and the joy ofbattle was in his eyes.Orrin swallowed, then
lickedhislips.Hereplacedhis sword in its scabbardatthethirdattempt.“I think we will leave
them to hold the tunnel,”he said. The remainingmen bunched behind himas he walked towardDruss.
The ghostly defendersappeared not to noticethem, their eyes fixed onthe tunnel beyond. OrrintriedtospeaktoDruss,butthe old man just staredahead. When Orrinreached out a shakinghand and tried to touch
the axman, his hand metnothing, only cold, coldair.“Let us get back to the
wall,” he said. He closedhis eyes and walkedblindly through the ranksof the spirits. By the timehe reached the tunnel
mouth, he was shivering.The other men with himsaidnothing.Noonelookedback.He joined Rek on the
wall, and the battlecontinued. Moments later,during a brief lull, Rekshouted: “What’s
happeninginthetunnel?”“Druss isthere,”replied
Orrin. Rekmerely noddedand turned again as freshNadir warriors breastedtheramparts.Bowman, bearing a
short sword and buckler,fought beside Hogun.
Thoughnotasskilledwiththebladeaswiththebow,hewasnomeanwarrior.Hogun blocked an ax
blow, and his swordsnapped. The ax headcrushed his shoulder,burying itself in his chest.He hammered the broken
swordintothebellyoftheaxmanandfellwithhimtotheground.A lance licked out,
spearing the legiongeneral’s back as hestruggled to rise.Bowman’s short sworddisemboweled the lancer,
but more Nadir pressedforwardandHogun’sbodywaslostinthemelee.By the gate tower
Joachim Sathuli fell, hisside pierced by a thrownspear.Rekhalfcarriedhimbeyond the ramparts buthad to leave him, for the
Nadir had almost brokenthrough. Joachim grippedthespearwithbothhands,sweat breaking out on hisforehead, and examinedthewound.Thepointhadpassed through just abovethe right hip and brokenthe skin of his back. The
head, he knew, wasbarbed, and there wouldbe no drawing it out. Hegripped the spear morefirmly, rolled to his side,thenpusheditfartherintothewounduntilthewholeof the spear head clearedhisback.Hepassedoutfor
several minutes, but thegentle touch of a handroused him. A Sathuliwarrior named Andisimwasbesidehim.“Remove the head of
thespear,”Joachimhissed.“Quickly!”Wordlessly the man
took his dagger and asgently as possible leveredthe spear head from theshaft. At last it was done.“Now,” whisperedJoachim, “pull the shaftclear.” Standing abovehim, the man slowlywithdrew the spear as
Joachim grunted againstthe agony. Blood gushedout, but Joachim rippedhis robe and plugged thewound, allowing Andisimtodothesamefortheholeinhisback.“Getmetomyfeet,”he
ordered, “and fetch me a
tulwar.”Beyond the walls of
Eldibar, within his tent,Ulric watched the sandsfall in the huge glass.Beside him was the scrollhe had received thatmorningfromthenorth.His nephew Jahingir
haddeclaredhimselfkhan—overlord of the north.He had slain Ulric’sbrother, Tsubodi, andtaken Ulric’s mistress,Hasita,asahostage.Ulric could not blame
himandfeltnoanger.Hisfamily was born to lead,
andblood ran trueamongthem.But he could not dally
here and so had set theglass. If the wall had notfallenbythetimethesandranout,hewouldleadhisarmy north again, winback his kingdom, and
return to take DrosDelnochonanotherday.He had received the
message about Drussholdingthetunnelandhadshrugged. Alone oncemore,hehadsmiled.So, not even paradise
can keep you from the
battle,oldman!Outside his tent stood
three men bearing rams’horns, waiting for hissignal. And the sandsflowedon.On the wall of Geddon
theNadirbrokethroughtotheright.Rekscreamedfor
Orrin to follow him andcut a path along theramparts.TotheleftmoreNadirgainedtheramparts,and the Drenai fell back,leaping to the grass andreforming. The Nadirswarmedforward.Thedaywaslost.
Sathuli and Drenaiwaited, swords ready, asthe Nadir massed beforethem. Bowman and Orrinstood beside Rek, andJoachim Sathuli limpedtowardthem.“I’m glad we are
offering you only one
day,” grunted Joachim,clutching the bloodybandage wedged into hisside.The Nadir spread out
beforethemandcharged.Rekleanedonhissword
blade, breathing deeplyand saving what was left
of his strength. Therewasno longer the energyinside him to promote abaresarkrage,orthewill.All his life he had
feared this moment, andnowthatitwasuponhim,it was as meaningless asdust upon the ocean.
Wearily he focused hisgaze on the chargingwarriors.“I say, old horse,”
muttered Bowman, “doyou think it’s too late tosurrender?”Rek grinned. “Just a
little,” he said. His hands
curled around the swordhilt, he twisted his wrist,and the blade hissed intotheair.The front ranks of the
Nadir were less thantwenty paces from themwhen the soundof distantrams’ horns echoed up
fromthevalley.Thechargeslowed…And stopped. Less than
tenpacesapart,bothsidesstood listening to theinsistentwailing.Ogasi cursed and spit,
sheathing his sword. Hestared sullenly into the
astonishedeyesoftheEarlof Bronze. Rek removedhis helm and plunged hissword into the groundbefore him as Ogasisteppedforward.“It isover!”hesaid.He
lifted his arm,waving theNadir back to the walls.
Then he turned. “Knowthis, you round-eyedbastard. It was I, Ogasi,whoslewyourwife.”Ittookafewsecondsfor
thewordstoregister,thenRek took a deep breathandremovedhisgauntlets.“Doyouthinkitmatters
amid all this,” said Rek,“to know who fired onearrow? You want me toremember you? I shall.Youwantmetohateyou?I cannot. Maybetomorrow. Or next year.Maybenever.”For a moment Ogasi
stood silent, then heshrugged.“The arrow was meant
for you,” he said,weariness settling on himlike a dark cloak. Turningon his heel, he followedthe departing warriors.Silently they climbed
down the ladders andropes; none took the paththroughthegatetunnel.Rek unbuckled his
breastplate and walkedslowly to the tunnelmouth. Coming towardhim were Druss and theThirty.Rekliftedahandin
greeting, but a wind blewand thewarriors vanishedintomistandweregone.“Good-bye, Druss,” he
saidsoftly.Later that evening Rek
bade farewell to theSathuli and slept forseveral hours, hoping for
another meeting withVirae.Heawokerefreshedbutdisappointed.Arshin brought him
food, and he ate withBowman and Orrin. Theysaid little. Calvar Syn andhis orderlies had foundHogun’s body, and the
surgeon was laboring tosave the hundreds ofwounded men now beingcarried to the Geddonhospital.Rekmadehiswaytohis
roomaroundmidnightandremoved his armor; thenhe remembered Serbitar’s
gift. He was too tired tocare, but sleep would notcome, so he rose anddressed, tooka torch froma wall bracket, and madehis way slowly down intothe bowels of the keep.The door to Egel’s roomwasclosedoncemore,but
itopenedtohimasbefore.Thelightsblazedwithin
as Rek placed his torchagainst the wall andstepped inside. His breathcaught in his throat as hegazedonthecrystalblock.Within it lay Virae! Uponherbodywasnomark,no
arrow wound; she laynaked and peaceful,seemingly asleep, floatingwithin the transparentcrystal. He walked to theblock, reached inside, andtouched her. She did notstir, and her body wascold. Stooping, he lifted
her clear and placed heronanearbytable.Thenheremoved his cloak,wrapped it around her,and lifted her again.Gatheringupthetorch,hemadehisslowwaybacktohis room above the keephall.
He summoned Arshin,and the old retainerblanched as he saw thestillformoftheearl’swife.He looked at Rek, thengazedatthefloor.“I am sorry, my lord. I
do not know why thewhite-haired one placed
her body in the magiccrystal.”“What happened?”
askedRek.“The prince Serbitar
and his friend the abbotcametoseemeonthedayshe died. The abbot hadhad a dream, he said. He
wouldnotexplainittome,but he said it was vitalthat my lady’s body beplaced within the crystal.He said something aboutthe Source … I didn’tunderstand it. I stilldon’t,my lord. Is she alive ordead? And how did you
findher?Welaidheruponthis crystal block, and shegently sank into it. Yetwhen I touched it, it wassolid.Iunderstandnothinganymore.”Tearswelled inthe old man’s eyes, andRekmovedtohim,placinga hand on his bony
shoulder.“Itisallhardtoexplain.
Fetch Calvar Syn. I willwaitherewithVirae.”A dream of Vintar’s—
what could it mean? Thealbino had said that thereweremanytomorrowsandthatnoonecouldevertell
whichwouldcometopass.Buthehadobviouslyseenone in which Virae livedandhadorderedherbodyto be preserved. Andsomehow the wound hadbeen healed inside thecrystal. Butdid thatmeanshewouldlive?
Viraealive!His mind reeled. He
could neither think norfeel, and his body seemednumb. Her death had allbut destroyed him, yetnow, with her here oncemore, he was afraid tohope. If life had taught
him anything, it hadshownhimthateverymanhad a breaking point. Heknew he was now facinghis.Hesatbythebedandlifted her cold hand, hisown hand shaking withtension, and felt for apulse. Nothing. Crossing
the room, he fetchedanother blanket andcovered her, thenwent toworkbuildingafireinthehearth.It was nearly an hour
beforeheheardCalvarSynon the stairs outside. Theman was cursing Arshin
loudly. Wearing a stainedblue tunic and a blood-covered leather apron, thesurgeon stepped into theroom.“What fool nonsense is
this, Earl?” he thundered.“Ihavemenwhoaredyingfor want of my skills.
What…”Hestammeredtosilence as he saw the girlin the bed. “So, the oldman was not lying. Why,Rek? Why have youbroughtherbodyback?”“I don’t know. Truly.
Serbitar came to me in adreamandtoldmehehad
left a gift for me. This iswhatIfound.Idon’tknowwhat’s happening. Is shedead?”“Of course she’s dead.
The arrow pierced herlung.”“Look at her, will you.
There’snowound.”
Thesurgeonpulledbackthe sheet and lifted herwrist.Forseveralmomentshestoodinsilence.“Thereis a pulse,” he whispered,“but it is faint and very,very slow. I cannot waitwith you. There are mendying.But Iwill return in
the morning. Keep herwarm; that’s all you cando.”Rek sat beside the bed,
holding her hand.Sometime, though heknew not when, he fellasleep beside her. Thedawn broke bright and
clear, and the rising sun’slight entered the easternwindow, bathing the bedin golden light. At itstouch, Virae’s cheeksgained color and herbreathingdeepened.Asoftmoan came from her lips,and Rek was instantly
awake.“Virae? Virae, can you
hearme?”Her eyes opened, then
closed again, her lashesfluttering.“Virae!”Oncemoreher
eyes opened, and shesmiled.
“Serbitar brought meback,” she said. “Sotired … Must sleep.” Sheturned over, hugged thepillow,and fellasleep justas the door opened andBowmansteppedinside.“Gods, it’s true, then,”
hesaid.
Rek ushered him fromtheroomintothecorridor.“Yes.SomehowSerbitar
savedher.Icannotexplainit.Idon’tevencarehowithappened. What is goingonoutside?”“They’ve gone! All of
them—every damned one
of them, old horse. Thecamp is deserted; Orrinand Ihavebeen there.Allthat’s left is a Wolfsheadstandard and the body ofthatburgherBricklyn.Canyoumakeanysenseoutofit?”“No,” said Rek. “That
standard means that Ulricwill return. The body? Ican’t say. I sent him tothem. He was a traitor,andobviouslytheyhadnomoreuseforhim.”A young officer came
running up the spiralstairs.
“My lord! There is aNadir rider waiting atEldibar.”Rek and Bowman
walked together to WallOne.BelowthemonagraysteppeponysatUlric,Lordof the Nadir, dressed infur-rimmed helmet,
woolen jerkin, andgoatskin boots. He lookedupasRek leanedover theramparts.“You fought well, Earl
of Bronze,” he shouted. “Icame to bid you farewell.There is civil war in myown kingdom, and Imust
leave you for a while. IwantedyoutoknowthatIshallreturn.”“I will be here,” said
Rek. “And next time yourreception will be evenwarmer. Tellme,why didyour men retire when wewerebeaten?”
“Do you believe infate?”askedUlric.“Ido.”“Then let us call it a
trickoffate.Orperhapsitwas a cosmic jest, a jokeplayedby the gods. I carenot.Youareabraveman.Your men are brave men.
And you have won. I canlive with that, Earl ofBronze.ApoormanwouldIbe if Icouldnot.But fornow, farewell! I shall seeyouagaininthespring.”Ulricwaved, turned his
pony’s head, and gallopedoffintothenorth.
“Do you know,” saidBowman,“althoughitmaysound grotesque, I think Iliketheman.”“Today I could like
anybody,” said Rek,smiling. “The sky is clear,thewind is fresh, and lifetastesvery fine.Whatwill
youdonow?”“IthinkIwillbecomea
monk and devote myentire life to prayer andgoodworks.”“No,”saidRek.“Imean,
whatwillyoudotoday?”“Ah! Today I’ll get
drunk and go whoring,”
saidBowman.Throughout the long
day Rek periodicallyvisited the sleeping Virae.Her color was good, herbreathing deep and even.Late in the evening, as hesat alone in the smallhallbefore a dying fire, she
came to him, dressed in alight green woolen tunic.Hestoodandtookherintohis arms, kissed her, thensat down in the leatherchairandpulledhertohislap.“The Nadir have really
gone?”sheasked.
“Theyhaveindeed.”“Rek,did I trulydie? It
seems like a dream now.Hazy. I seemtorememberSerbitar bringingme backandmybodylayinaglassblockbeneaththekeep.”“It was not a dream,”
said Rek. “Do you
remembercomingtomeasI fought the giant wormandahugespider?”“Vaguely.Butit’sfading
evenasIrememberit.”“Don’tworryabout it. I
will tell you everythingduring thenext fifty yearsorso.”
“Only fifty years?” shesaid. “So you will desertme when I’m old andgray?”The sound of laughter
echoedthroughthekeep.
UEpilogue
lric neverreturned to Dros
Delnoch. He defeatedJahingirinapitchedbattleat Gulgothir Plain andthen took his army toinvadeVentria.Duringthecampaignhecollapsedand
died. The tribes fled backto the north, and withouthis influence Nadir unitywas broken. Civil warcame once more to thenorth, and the people ofthe rich southlandsbreathedagain.Rekwaswelcomedasa
hero in Drenan but soontired of the city life andreturned with Virae toDelnoch. Their familygrew over the years, withthree sons and twodaughters. The sons wereHogun, Orrin, and Horeb.The daughterswere Susay
and Besa. GrandfatherHoreb brought his familyfrom Drenan to Delnoch,taking over the inn of thetraitorMusar.Orrin returned to
Drenan and resigned fromthe army. His uncleAbalayn retired from
public life, and MagnusWoundweaverwas electedto lead the council. HechoseOrrinashisdeputy.Bowman remained at
Delnoch for a year, thentraveledtoVentriatofightthe Nadir once more. Hedidnotreturn.