David Gemmell - Legend

"Yes," said Gilad.

"Well, I damned well can't. I'm an old man with a weak knee and an arthritic back. My eyes are not so good as they were either.

"When I was young and strong, the bruises always healed quickly. I was tireless then. I could fight all damned day. As I grew older I learned to fake it and snatch rest where I could. To use my experience in battle where before I had just powered my way through. In my fifties I was careful, and anyway by that time the Legend made men tremble. Three times since, I have fought men who could have beaten me, but they beat themselves because they knew who I was and were afraid.

"Do you think I'm a good leader?"

"I don't know. I'm a farmer, not a soldier," said Gilad.

"Don't hedge with me, boy. I asked for an opinion."

"No, you're probably not. But you are a great warrior. I suppose in years gone by you would have been a war chief. I can't tell. You've done wonders with the training; there's a new spirit at the Dros."

"There were always leaders in my day," said Druss. "Strong men with quick minds. I have tried to remember all their lessons. But it's hard, boy. Do you see? It's hard. I've never been afraid of enemies I can face with an axe or my hands, if needs be. But the enemies at this fortress are not the same. Morale, preparation, fire gullies, supplies, liaison, organisation. It saps the soul."

"We'll not fail you, Druss," said Gilad, his heart reaching out to the older man. "We will stand firm beside you. You have given us that, though I hated you for most of the training."

"Hate breeds strength, laddie. Of course you will hold. You're men. Did you hear about Dun Mendar?"

"Yes, it was tragic. A good job that he was there to aid you," said Gilad.

"He was there to kill me, boy. And he almost did."

"What?" said Gilad, shocked.

"You heard me. And I don't expect you to repeat it. He was in the pay of the Nadir and he led the assassins."

"But… that means you stood alone against them all," said Gilad. "Five of them and you survived?"

"Aye, but they were a motley crew, and ill-trained. Do you know why I told you that… about Mendar?"

"Because you wanted to talk?"

"No. I've never been much of a talker, and I have little need for sharing my fears. No, I wanted you to know that I trust you. I want you to take over Mendar's role. I'm promoting you to Dun."

"I don't want it," said Gilad fiercely.

"Do you think I want this responsibility? Why do you think I've spent this time here? I am trying to make you understand that often — more often than not — we are forced into doing what we fear. You will take over as of tomorrow."

"Why? Why me?"

"Because I have watched you and I think you have a talent for leadership. You've impressed me in leading your ten. And you helped Orrin in that race. That was pride. Also I need you, and others like you."

"I've no experience," said Gilad, knowing it sounded lame.

"That will come. Think on this: your friend Bregan is no soldier and some of your men will die at the first attack. Having a good officer will save some of them."

"All right. But I can't afford to dine in the officers' mess or run up an armourer's bill. You will have to supply me with the uniform."

"Mendar's gear should fit you, and you will put it to more noble use."

"Thank you. You said earlier on that you came here to die. Does that mean you think we cannot win?"

"No, it doesn't. Forget what I said."

"Damn you, Druss, don't patronise me! You just talked about trust. Well, I'm an officer now and I asked you a straight question. I won't repeat the answer. So trust me."

Druss smiled and his eyes met the fierce gaze of the young sentry.

"Very well. We have no chance in the long term. Every day brings us closer to a Nadir victory. But we will make them pay dearly. And you can believe that, laddie, for that's Druss the Legend talking."

"Never mind the Legend," said Gilad, returning the other's smile. "That's the man who took on five assassins in a darkened alley."

"Don't build me up too high because of that, Gilad. All men have talents. Some build, some paint, some write, some fight. For me it is different. I have always had a way with death."

The girl moved along the battlements, ignoring the comments of the soldiers; her auburn hair glinting in the morning sun, her long legs, slender and bronzed, the objects of many of the friendly though intimate comments from the troops. She smiled once, when one of the men she passed murmured to a companion, "I think I'm in love." She blew him a kiss and winked.

Bowman smiled, gently shaking his head. He knew Caessa was making a meal of her entrance, but with a body like hers who would blame her? As tall as most men, willowy and graceful, her every movement combined to promise pleasure to any man watching. Physically, Bowman thought, she is the perfect woman. The ultimate female.

He watched her string her longbow. Jorak looked at him questioningly but he shook his head. The rest of the archers stood back. This was Caessa's moment, and after an entrance like that she deserved a little applause.

Straw dummies had been set up one hundred paces from the wall. The heads were painted yellow, the torsos red. It was a standard distance for a fine archer, but shooting down from a battlement added several degrees to the difficulty.

Caessa reached over her shoulder to the doeskin quiver and drew a black feathered shaft. She checked it for line, then notched it to the string.

"Head," she said.

With one flowing movement she drew back the string and as it touched her cheek, she loosed the shaft. It flashed through the morning air and hammered into the neck of the nearest dummy. The watching men burst into rapturous applause and Caessa glanced at Bowman. He raised an eyebrow.

Five more arrows lanced into the straw target before Bowman raised a hand to signal the other archers forward. Then he called Caessa to him and walked from the battlements.

"You took your time getting here, lady," he said, smiling.

She linked her arm in his and blew him a kiss. As always he felt arousal stirring. As always he suppressed it.

"Did you miss me?" Her voice was deep and throaty, a sound as full of sexual promise as her body was a vision.

"I always miss you," he said. "You raise my spirits."

"Only your spirits?"

"Only my spirits."

"You lie. I can see it in your eyes," she said.

"You see nothing that I do not want you to see — or anyone else. You are safe with me, Caessa. Have I not told you? But allow me to say that for a woman who does not seek the company of men, you make a very spectacular entrance. Where are your trousers?"

"It was hot. The tunic is decorous enough," she said, absently tugging at the hem,

"I wonder if you really know what you want," he said.

"I want to be left alone."

"Then why do you seek my friendship?"

"You know what I mean."

"Yes, I do," he told her, "but I'm not sure that you do."

"You are very serious today, O Lord of the Forest. I can't think why. We are all being paid. We have our pardons and the quarters are a sight better than Skultik."

"Where have they placed you?" he asked.

"The young officer… Pinar?… insisted that I have a room in the main barracks. He wouldn't hear of me sharing with the rest of the men. It was quite touching really. He even kissed my hand!"

"He's all right," said Bowman. "Let's have a drink." He led her into the Eldibar mess hall and on through the officers' section at the rear, ordering a bottle of white wine. Seated by the window, he drank in silence for a while, watching the men train.

"Why did you agree to this?" she asked him, suddenly. "And don't give me any of that rubbish about pardons. You don't give a damn about that, or about the money."

"Still trying to read me? It can't be done," he said, sipping his wine. Then he turned and called out for bread and cheese. She waited until the serving soldier had left.

"Come on, tell me!"

"Sometimes, my dear, as you will no doubt find when you are a little older, there are no simple reasons for a man's actions. Impulse. An act spurred by the moment. Who knows why I agreed to come here? I certainly do not!"

"You're lying again. You just won't say. Is it that old man, Druss?"

"Why are you so interested? In fact, why are you here?"

"Why not? It should be exciting and not terribly dangerous. We are leaving, aren't we, when the third wall goes?"

"Of course. That was the agreement," he said.

"You don't trust me, do you?" she said, smiling.

"I don't trust anybody. You know, sometimes you do act just like every other woman I have known."

"Is that a compliment, O Master of the Green Wood?"

"I think not."

"Then what does it mean? After all, I am a woman. How do you expect me to act?"

"There you go again. Let's get back to trust. What made you ask?"

"You won't say why you came, and then you lie about leaving. Do you think I'm a complete fool? You have no intention of quitting this doomed pile of rock. You will stay to the end."

"And where do you come by this remarkable intelligence?" he asked.

"It's written all over your face. But don't worry, I won't let on to Jorak or any of the others. But don't count on me to stay. I have no intention of dying here."

"Caessa, my little dove, you only prove how little you know me. Anyway, for what it's worth…"

Bowman ceased his explanation as the tall figure of Hogun entered the doorway and the Gan threaded his way through the tables towards them. It was Caessa's first sight of the Legion general and she was impressed. He moved with grace, one hand resting on his sword hilt. His eyes were clear, his jaw strong and his features fair — handsome almost. She disliked him instantly. Her view was strengthened when he pulled up a chair, reversed it and sat facing Bowman, ignoring her totally.

"Bowman, we must talk," he said.

"Go ahead. First, let me introduce Caessa. Caessa, my dear, this is Gan Hogun of the Legion." He turned and nodded once in her direction.

"Do you mind if we talk alone?" he asked Bowman. Caessa's green eyes blazed with anger but she kept silent and stood, desperate for a parting remark that would sting the man.

"I will see you later," said Bowman, as she opened her mouth. "Get yourself some food now." As she turned on her heel and left the room, Bowman watched her, delighting in the feline grace of her walk.

"You've upset her," he said.

"Me? I didn't even speak to her," said Hogun, removing his black and silver helm and placing it on the table. "Anyway, that's immaterial. I want you to speak to your men."

"What about?"

"They spend a lot of their time loafing around and jeering at the soldiers as they train. It's not good for morale."

"Why shouldn't they? They are civilian volunteers. It will all stop when the fighting starts."

"The point is, Bowman, that the fighting may start before the Nadir arrive. I have just stopped one of my men from gutting that black-beared giant, Jorak. Much more of this and we will have murder on our hands."

"I'll talk to them," said Bowman. "Calm yourself and have a drink. What did you think of my lady archer?"

"I really didn't look too closely. She seemed pretty."

"I think it must be true what they say about the cavalry," said Bowman. "You are all in love with your horses! Great gods, man, she's more than merely pretty!"

"Talk to your men now. I will feel a lot better then. Tensions are rising pretty badly and the Nadir are only two days away."

"I said I would. Now, have a drink and relax. You're getting as edgy as your men and that can't be good for morale."

Hogun grinned suddenly. "You're right. It's always like this before a fight. Druss is like a bear with a sore head."

"I hear you lost the Open Swords to the fat one," said Bowman, grinning. "Tut, tut, old horse! This is no time to be currying favour with the hierarchy."

"I didn't let him win, he's a fine swordsman. Don't judge him too harshly, my friend; he may yet surprise you. He certainly surprised me. What did you mean when you said I upset the girl?"

Bowman smiled, then laughed loudly. He shook his head and poured another glass of wine.

"My dear Hogun, when a woman is beautiful she comes to expect a certain… how shall I say?… a certain reverence from men. You should have had the good grace to be thunderstruck by her beauty. Stunned into silence, or better still into a babbling fool. Then she would have merely ignored you and answered your devotion with arrogant disdain. Now you have slighted her and she will hate you. Worse than this, she will do all in her power to win your heart."

"I don't think that makes a great deal of sense. Why should she try to win my heart if she hates me?"

"So that she can be in a position to treat you with disdain. Do you know nothing about women?"

"I know enough," said Hogun. "I also know that I don't have time for this foolishness. Should I apologise to her, do you think?"

"And let her know you know how slighted she was? My dear boy, your education has been sadly lacking!"

18

Druss welcomed the arrival of the Dros Purdol riders — not so much for their numbers, more for the fact that their arrival proved that the Dros had not been forgotten by the outside world.

Yet still, Druss knew, the defenders would be badly stretched. The first battle on Eldibar, Wall One, would either raise the men — or destroy them. The Delnoch fighting edge was sharp enough, but spirit was a different thing. You could fashion the finest steel into a sword blade of passing excellence, but occasionally the move from fire to water would cause it to crack where blades of lesser metal survived. An army was like that, Druss knew. He had seen highly trained men panic and run, and farmers stand their ground, armed with picks and hoes.

Bowman and his archers practiced daily now on Kania, Wall Three, which had the longest stretch of ground between the mountains. They were superb. The 600 archers could send 3,000 arrows arcing through the air every ten heartbeats. The first charge would bring the Nadir into range for nearly two minutes before the siege ladders could reach the walls. The attacking warriors would suffer terrible losses over the open ground. It would be bloody carnage. But would it be enough?

They were about to see the greatest army ever assembled, a horde that within twenty years had built an empire stretching across a dozen lands and five-score cities. Ulric was on the verge of creating the largest empire in known history, a mighty achievement for a man not yet out of his forties.

Druss walked the Eldibar battlements, chatting to individual soldiers, joking with them, laughing with them. Their hatred of him had vanished like dawn mist during these last days. They saw him now for what he was: an iron old man, a warrior from the past, a living echo of ancient glories.

They remembered then that he had chosen to stand with them. And they knew why. This was the only place in all the world for the last of the old heroes: Druss the Legend, standing with the last hopes of the Drenai on the battlements of the greatest fortress ever built, waiting for the largest army in the world. Where else would he be?