The Legend of Deathwalker

by David Gemmell

  He saw them riding out of a gully some two miles from the rocks in which his body sat. The axeman was leading two horses while the poet, Sieben, rode at the rear, carrying the babe wrapped in its red blanket. Floating closer to the lead rider, he looked closely at the man. Riding a sway-backed mare, he was dressed in a jerkin of black leather with shining silver shoulder-guards, and carrying a huge, double-headed axe.

  The route they were taking would lead them past the hidden spring. Enshima floated closer to the poet. Reaching out with his spirit hand, he touched the rider's shoulder.

  'Hey, Druss,' said Sieben. 'You think there might be water in those rocks?'

  'We don't need it,' said the axeman. 'According to Nuang the Shrine should be no more than around ten miles from here.'

  'That may be true, old horse, but the child's blanket is beginning to stink. And I would appreciate the opportunity to wash some of my clothes before we make our grand entrance.'

  Druss chuckled. 'Aye, poet, it would not be seemly for you to arrive looking any less than your glorious best.' Tugging the reins to the left, Druss angled towards the dark, volcanic rocks.

  Sieben rode alongside him. 'How will you find these healing jewels?' he asked.

  The axeman pondered the question. 'I expect they are in the coffin,' he said. 'That would be usual, would it not?'

  'It is an old shrine. I would think it would have been pillaged by now.'

  Druss was silent for a moment, then he shrugged. 'Well, the old shaman said they were there. I'll ask him about it when I see him.'

  Sieben gave a wry grin. 'I wish I had your faith in human nature, Druss, my friend.'

  The mare's head came up, nostrils quivering, and she quickened her pace. 'There is water, right enough,' said Sieben. 'The horses can smell it.'

  They climbed the narrow, twisting trail, and as they reached the crest two ancient Nadir warriors stepped out ahead of them. Both were carrying swords. A small priest in robes of faded blue appeared and he spoke to the old men, who grudgingly backed away. Druss rode on, dismounting by the spring and casting a wary eye over the group of Nadir sitting close by.

  The priest approached him. 'You are welcome at our camp, axeman,' he said. The man's eyes were blind, their pupils of smoky opal. Laying Snaga against a rock, Druss took the baby from Sieben and waited as the poet swung down.

  'This child needs milk,' said Druss. The priest called out a name and a young woman came forward, moving hesitantly. Taking the child from Druss, she walked back to the group.

  'They are survivors from a Gothir raid,' said the priest. 'I am Enshima, a Priest of the Source.'

  'Druss,' said the axeman. 'And this is Sieben. We are travelling . . .'

  'To the Shrine of Oshikai,' said Enshima. 'I know. Come, sit with me for a while.' He walked away to a cluster of rocks by the spring. Druss followed him, while Sieben watered the horses and refilled their canteens.

  'A great battle will be fought at the Shrine,' said Enshima. 'You know this.'

  Druss sat down beside him. 'I know. It does not interest me.'

  'Ah, but it does, for your own quest is linked to it. You will not find the jewels before the battle begins, Druss.'

  The axeman knelt by the spring and drank. The water was cool and refreshing, but it left a bitter aftertaste on the tongue. Looking up at the blind man, he said, 'You are a seer?'

  'For what it is worth,' agreed Enshima.

  'Then can you tell me what this damned war is about ? I see no sense in it.'

  Enshima gave a rueful smile. 'That question presupposes there is sense to any war.'

  'I am not a philosopher, priest, so spare me your ruminations.'

  'No, Druss, you are not a philosopher,' said Enshima amiably, 'but you are an idealist. What is this war about? As with all wars it is about greed and fear; greed in that the Gothir are rich and desire to stay that way, and fear in that they see the Nadir as a future threat to their wealth and position. When has a war been fought over anything else?'

  'These jewels exist, then,' said Druss, changing the subject.

  'Oh, they exist. The Eyes of Alchazzar were crafted several hundred years ago. They are like amethysts, each as big as an egg, and each imbued with the awesome power of this savage land.'

  'Why will I not find them before the battle?' asked Druss, as Sieben came up and sat alongside.

  'Such is not your destiny.'

  'I have a friend in need of them,' said Druss. 'I would appreciate your help in this matter.'

  Enshima smiled. 'It gives me no pleasure to withhold help from you, axeman. But what you would ask of me I shall not give you. Tomorrow I will lead these people deep into the mountains, in the hope - vain though it may be - that I can keep them alive. You will journey to the Shrine, and there you will fight. For that is what you do best.'

  'You have any bright words of comfort for me, old man?' asked Sieben.

  The old man smiled and, reaching out, patted Sieben's arm. 'I was set a problem, and you helped solve it, for which my thanks. What you did, back in the death chamber, was a pure and good act, for which I hope the Source blesses you. Show me the lon-tsia.' Sieben fished into his pocket and produced the heavy silver medallion. The old man held it up before his face and closed his wood-smoke eyes. 'The male head is that of Oshikai Demon-bane, the female that of his wife, Shul-sen. The script is Chiatze. A literal translation would be Oshka-Shul-sen - together. But it really means spirit-entwined. Their love was very great.'

  'Why would anyone want to torture her so?' asked Sieben.

  'I cannot answer that, young man. The ways of evil men are lost to me; I have no understanding of such barbarity. Great magic was used, in order to cage Shul-sen's spirit.'

  'Did I free her?'

  'I do not know. A Nadir warrior told me that the spirit of Oshikai has been searching for her through the endless dark valleys of the Void. Perhaps now he has found her. I hope so. But as I said, the spells were very great.'

  Enshima returned the lon-tsia to Sieben. 'This too has had a spell cast upon it,' he said.

  'Not a curse, I hope,' said the poet, holding the medallion gingerly.

  'No, not a curse. I think it was a Hide-spell. It would have masked it from the eyes of men. It is quite safe to carry, Sieben.'

  'Good. Tell me - you said the man was Oshikai, and yet the name upon it is Oshka. Is that a short form?'

  'There is no i in the Chiatze alphabet. It is written as a small curved stroke above the preceding letter.'

  Sieben pocketed the medallion and Enshima rose. 'May the Source guard you both,' he said.

  Druss strode away and mounted the mare. 'We leave you the two ponies,' he said.

  'That is most kind.'

  Sieben paused beside the old man. 'How many defenders at the Shrine?'

  'I expect there will be fewer than two hundred when the Gothir arrive.'

  'And the jewels are there?'

  'Indeed they are.'

  Sieben swore, then he smiled sheepishly. 'I was rather hoping they weren't. I am not at my best in battles.'

  'No civilized man is,' said the priest.

  'So why are the jewels hidden there?' asked Sieben.

  Enshima shrugged. 'They were crafted several hundred years ago, and set in the head of a stone wolf. A shaman stole them. Obviously he wanted the power for himself. He was hunted and hid the jewels, then he tried to escape over the mountains. But he was caught, tortured and killed near where you found the bones of Shul-sen. He did not reveal the hiding-place of the Eyes.'

  'The story makes no sense,' said Sieben. 'If the jewels were imbued with great power, why did he leave them behind? Surely he could have used their power against his pursuers?'

  'Do the deeds of men always, as you say, make sense ?' countered the priest.

  'After a fashion,' argued Sieben. 'What kind of power did the Eyes possess?'

  'That is difficult to say. Much would depend on the skill of the man using them. They could heal all wounds, and b
reach any spell. They were said to have powers of regeneration and replication.'

  'Could their power have hidden him from his pursuers?'

  'Yes.'

  'Then why did he not use it?'

  'I am afraid, young man, that will remain a mystery.'

  'I hate mysteries,' said Sieben. 'You said regeneration. They could raise the dead?'

  'I meant regeneration of tissue - as in deep wounds, or diseases. It was said that an old warrior became young again after being healed by them. But I think that is a fanciful tale.'

  Druss pushed himself to his feet. 'Time to move on, poet,' he said.

  A young Nadir woman approached them, carrying the baby. Silently she offered it to Sieben. The poet stepped back. 'No, no, my dear,' he said. 'Fond as we are of the little tyke, I think he is better off here, with his own people.'

  Talisman walked along the narrow wooden ramparts of the north wall, testing the strength of the structure, examining the ancient beams that held them in place. They seemed solid. The parapets were crenellated, allowing for archers to shoot through the gaps. But each Nadir warrior carried only about twenty arrows, and these would be exhausted by the end of the first charge. The enemy would be loosing shafts, and these could be gathered. Even so, this would not be a battle won by archery. Gazing around, he saw Kzun directing building operations below the broken wall. A solid fighting platform had been constructed there. The Lone Wolves leader was still sporting the white scarf Zhusai had given him. Kzun saw him watching, but did not wave. Quing-chin was working with a team on the gates, smearing animal fat to the hinges, trying to free them. How long since they have been closed, Talisman wondered. Ten years? A hundred?

  Bartsai and ten of his men were working on the parapet of the eastern wall, where a section of ramparts had given way. Floorboards had been ripped from nearby buildings to be used in the repairs.

  Quing-chin climbed the ramparts and gave a Gothir salute. 'Make that the last Gothir tribute to me,' said Talisman coldly. 'It does not amuse the tribesmen.'

  'My apologies, brother.'

  Talisman smiled. 'Do not apologize, my friend. I did not mean to scold. You did well last night. A shame they saved their water wagons.'

  'Not all of them, Talisman. They will be on short rations.'

  'How did they react when disaster struck?'

  'With great efficiency. They are well led,' said Quing-chin. 'We almost killed Gargan. I was watching from a rise and I saw him stumbling around in the flames. A young officer rode in and rescued him - it was the same man who saved the wagons.'

  Talisman leaned on the parapet staring out over the valley. 'Much as I hate Gargan, it must be said that he is a skilled general. He has his own chapter in Gothir history books. He was twenty-two when he led the charge that ended the civil war, the youngest general in Gothir history.'

  'He's not twenty-two now,' said Quing-chin. 'He is old and fat.'

  'Courage remains, even when youth has faded,' Talisman pointed out.

  'There is great venom in the man,' said Quing-chin, removing his fur-fringed helm and running his fingers through his sweat-streaked hair. 'An abiding malice that burns him. I think it will rage like last night's blaze when he learns that you are the leader here.'

  'With luck you will be proved correct. An angry man rarely makes rational decisions.'

  Quing-chin moved to the ramparts and sat down. 'Have you thought about who will lead the fighters at the water-hole ?'

  'Yes. Kzun.'

  Quing-chin looked doubtful. 'I thought you said the Curved Horn were to guard it?'

  'They will. Under Kzun.'

  'A Lone Wolf? Will they stand for it?'

  'We will see,' said Talisman. 'Get your men to gather heavy rocks and stones, and place them around the battlements. We should have some missiles to hurl down upon the infantry as they try to scale the walls.'

  Without another word Talisman walked away, climbing down from the wall and approaching Bartsai, who had stopped repair work while his people rested and drank from the well. 'You have chosen your fighters?' he asked.

  'I have. Twenty as you ordered. We could make it more now. Another thirty-two warriors have come in.'

  'If the well is as you described it, then twenty should be enough. Have the men come to me here. I wish to speak with them.'

  Bartsai moved away and Talisman walked to where Kzun and his men were putting the last touches to the fighting platform. The top had been covered with wooden planks from the old tower. Talisman climbed to it and gazed through the jagged crack. 'It is good,' he said, as Kzun moved alongside.

  'It will do,' said Kzun. 'Is this where you wish my men and me to fight?'

  'Your men, yes. But not you. Appoint a leader for them. I want you to take command of the Curved Horn at the well.'

  'What?' Kzun reddened. 'You want me to lead those frightened monkeys?'

  'If the Gothir take the well, they will take the Shrine,' said Talisman, his voice low and even. 'It is the very heart of our defence. Without water the enemy will be forced to all-out attack; if we can hold them for long enough they will start to die. With water they have a dozen options; they could even starve us out.'

  'You don't have to convince me of the importance, Talisman,' snapped Kzun. 'But why should I lead Curved Horn? They are soft. My own men could hold the well. I can trust them to fight to the death.'

  'You will lead the Curved Horn,' said Talisman. 'You are a fighting man and they will follow you.'

  Kzun blinked. 'Just tell me why. Why me?'

  'Because I order it,' said Talisman.

  'No, there is more. What is it you are hiding from me ?'

  'There is nothing,' lied Talisman smoothly. 'The well is vital and it is my judgement that you are the best man to lead the defence. But the well is on Curved Horn lands and they would feel insulted should I ask another tribe to defend it.'

  'You think they will not feel insulted when you name me as their leader?'

  'That is a risk that must be taken. Come with me now, for they are waiting for us.'

  Bartsai was furious, but he bit back his anger as he watched Kzun lead the warriors out through the gates. The nagging chest pain was back - a dull, tight cage of iron around his upper ribs. He had looked forward eagerly to the fight at the well. There were many escape routes open. He and his men would have defended it well, but also slipped away to safety should the need have arisen. Now he was trapped here in this rotting would-be fortress. Talisman approached him. 'Come, we must talk,' he said. A fresh pain stabbed at him as he looked at the younger man.

  'Talk? I have had enough of talk. If the situation were not desperate I would challenge you, Talisman.'

  'I understand your anger, Bartsai,' said Talisman. 'Now hear me: Kzun would have been useless in the siege. I have watched him pacing this compound, and seen his lantern flickering throughout the night. He sleeps in the open. Have you noticed that?'

  'Aye, he's a strange one. But what makes you think he should lead my men?'

  Talisman led Bartsai to the table in the shade. 'I do not know what demons plague Kzun, but it is obvious he fears confinement. He does not like the dark, and he avoids enclosed spaces. When the siege begins we will all be confined here. I think that would have broken Kzun. But he is a fighter, and will defend the well with his life.'

  'As would I,' said Bartsai, not meeting Talisman's eyes. 'As would any leader.'

  'We all carry our own fears, Bartsai,' said Talisman softly.

  'What does that mean?' snapped the Curved Horn leader, reddening. Anxiously he looked up into Talisman's dark, enigmatic eyes.

  'It means that I also fear the coming days. As do Quing-chin, Lin-tse and all the warriors. None of us want to die. That is one reason why I value your presence here, Bartsai. You are older and more experienced than the other leaders. Your calm and your strength will be of great importance when the Gothir attack.'

  Bartsai sighed, and the pain subsided. 'When I was your age I would have ridden
a hundred miles to be at this battle. Now I can feel the cold breath of Death upon my neck. It turns my bowels to water, Talisman. I am too old, and it would be best if you did not rely on me too much.'

  'You are wrong, Bartsai. Only the stupid are fearless. I am young, but I am a good judge of men. You will stand, and you will inspire the warriors around you. You are Nadir!'

  'I don't need pretty speeches. I know my duty.'

  'It was not a speech, Bartsai. Twelve years ago, when Chop-backs raided your village you led a force of twenty men into their camp. You scattered them, and recovered all the lost ponies. Five years ago you were challenged by a young swordsman from the Lone Wolves. You were stabbed four times, but you killed him. Then, though wounded, you walked to your pony and rode away. You are a man, Bartsai.'

  'You know a great deal about me, Talisman.'

  'All leaders must know the men who serve them. But I only know this of you because your men brag of it.'

  Bartsai grinned. 'I'll stand,' he said. 'And now I had better get back to the work on the ramparts. Otherwise I'll have nothing to stand on!'

  Talisman smiled and the older man walked away. Nosta Khan came out of the Shrine building and walked across the compound. Talisman's good mood evaporated as the shaman approached. 'There is nothing there,' said Nosta Khan. 'I have cast search spells, but they fail. Perhaps Chorin-Tsu was wrong. Perhaps they are not there at all.'

  'The Eyes are here,' said Talisman, 'but they are hidden from us. The spirit of Oshikai told me that a foreigner was destined to find them.'

  Nosta Khan spat upon the dust. 'There are two coming, Druss and the poet. Let us hope one of them will prove to be the man of destiny.'

  'Why is Druss coming here ?' asked Talisman.

  'I told him the Eyes would heal a friend of his who was wounded in a fight.'

  'And will they?'

  'Of course - though he'll never have them. You think I would allow the sacred future of the Nadir to rest in the hands of a gajin? No, Talisman. Druss is a great warrior. He will be of use to us in the coming battle, after that he must be killed.'