'The enemy can fight only so long as they have water. This is the only deep pool. Every day that we deny them water gives our brothers a further chance of victory, and in this we become part of the Great Song. I am a man with no friends, no sword brothers. My youth was stolen from me in the Gothir mines, working in the dark, my body covered in sores. I have no wife, no sons. Kzun can make no gifts to the future. When I am dead, who will mourn for me? Not one. The blood of Kzun runs in no living creature. The Gothir put my spirit in chains, and when I slew the guards and freed my body my spirit remained, trapped in the dark. I think it is there still, living in the black filth, hiding in the dark tunnels. I could not. . . cannot. . . ever feel the sense of belonging that is at the heart of all we are. All that is left to me is a desire to see the Nadir - my people - walk straight and free. I should not have called you cowards, for you are all brave men. But your spirits too have been chained by the gajin. We are born to fear them, to run from them, to bow our heads. They are the masters of the world. We are vermin upon the steppes. Well, Kzun believes this no longer. Kzun is a lost and bitter man,' he said, his voice breaking. 'Kzun has nothing to lose. Your comrade back there is dead. He asked me if I would walk into the dark with him; he said his spirit would wait for me. I knew then that I would die here. I am ready for that. Perhaps I will be reunited with my spirit? But I will meet him on the dark road. And we will walk together into the Void. Any man among you who is not ready to do the same should leave now. I will not send him on his way with curses. Here is where Kzun stands. Here is where he will fall. That is all I have to say.'
Kzun walked back through the circle and on up into the rocks overlooking the steppes. The wagons were no longer burning, but smoke was rising still from the charred wood. Vultures had begun to tear at the corpses. Kzun squatted down in the shadows; his hands were trembling and fear rose in him, bringing bile to his throat.
An eternity in the dark beckoned and Kzun could imagine no greater terror. He glanced up at the clear blue sky. What he had told them was true - that when he died not one living creature upon the surface of the steppes would mourn for him. He had nothing save a scarred, hairless body and rotting teeth to show for his life. In the mines there were no luxuries like friendship. Each man struggled alone. When he was free, the legacy of the years in the dark haunted him still. He could no longer abide sleeping in tents with others, but needed the clean open air and the wondrous taste of solitude. There had been one woman he had yearned for, but he had never spoken of it. By then Kzun was a warrior with many ponies, and could have bid for her. He had not, and had watched in sick despair as she wed another.
He felt a hand upon his shoulder. The warrior with the greying hair squatted down beside him. 'You say you have no sword brothers. Now you have. We will stand with you, Kzun of the Lone Wolves. And we will walk the dark road with you!'
For the first time since he had been dragged to the mines Kzun felt the rush of hot tears to his cheeks. He bowed his head, and wept unashamedly.
Gargan, the Lord of Larness, reined in his massive grey stallion and leaned forward on the high pommel of his saddle. Ahead lay the buildings housing the Shrine of Oshikai Demon-bane. Behind him his troops waited: the eight hundred infantry standing in patient lines of four, the two hundred archers flanking the foot soldiers, while the Royal Lancers, in four columns of two hundred and fifty, fanned out on both sides. Gargan stared hard at the white walls, noting the V-shaped crack in the first. Shading his eyes the warrior scanned the defenders, seeking out the vile face of Okai. But at this distance they were all a blur.
Gargan's hands opened and closed, gripping the pommel so tightly that his knuckles shone white against the tan of his skin. 'I will take you, Okai,' he whispered. 'I will put you through ten thousand torments before you die.'
Raising his arm, Gargan called out for the herald. The young man rode alongside him. 'You know what to say. Do it! And try to stay out of bowshot. These savages have no understanding of honour.'
The soldier saluted and then rode his black gelding at a run towards the walls, drawing up in a cloud of red dust. The gelding reared and the herald's voice rang out. 'Know this, that the Lord Gargan, with the full authority of the God-King, has come to visit the Shrine of Oshikai Demon-bane. The gate will be opened within the hour, and the traitor Okai, known now as Talisman, will be brought before the Lord Gargan. If this is done, no harm will be offered to those within the Shrine.' He paused, allowing his words to sink in, then he called out again. 'If this is not done the Lord Gargan will have to consider all men inside the compound as traitors. The army will surround them and take them captive. Every man will have his hands cut off, his eyes put out, before being hanged. You will all walk the Void blind and maimed. These are the words of the Lord Gargan. You have one hour.'
Swinging his horse, the young Lancer rode back to the column.
Premian rode alongside Gargan. 'They'll not surrender, sir,' he said.
'I know,' replied Gargan.
Premian looked up into the general's hard face, seeing the glint of triumph there. 'We have only thirty ladders left, sir. An assault on the walls will be costly.'
'That's what soldiers are paid for. Prepare the camp, send out fifty Lancers to patrol the surrounding country. We'll launch the first attack at dusk. Concen-trate on the broken wall and then torch the gates.'
Gargan turned his horse and rode back through the men, while Premian ordered the troops to stand down and prepare camp. Gargan's tent had been destroyed in the fire, but a new one had been constructed from canvas sacking and cloth that had survived the blaze. The general sat his stallion as soldiers erected the tent, then dismounted and strode inside. His chairs had been destroyed but the pallet bed had survived. Gargan sat down, glad to be out of the blazing sun. Removing his plumed helm and unbuckling his breastplate, he stretched out on the bed.
A rider from the city had arrived the previous afternoon. There was great unrest in Gulgothir, according to the message from Garen-Tsen, but the secret police had arrested scores of nobles, and the situation was under control at the moment. The God-King was in hiding, guarded by Garen-Tsen's minions. Gargan was urged to complete his mission with all speed and return as soon as possible.
Well, he thought, we should take the Shrine by dawn. With luck he could be back in Gulgothir in ten days.
A servant entered the tent, bringing a goblet of water. When Gargan sipped it, the water was hot and brackish. 'Send Premian and Marlham to me,' he told the man.
'Yes, sir.' The officers arrived, saluted, then removed their helms, holding them under their arms. Marlham looked terribly tired, the iron-grey stubble on his cheeks adding ten years to him. Premian, though much younger, also looked weary, with dark rings under his pale blue eyes.
'How is morale?' Gargan asked the older man.
'Better now we are here,' he said. 'The Nadir are not known for their defensive abilities. Most of the men believe that once we have reached the ramparts they will run.'
'Probably true,' said Gargan. 'I want Lancers ringing the walls. They must not be allowed to escape - not one of them. You understand me?'
'I understand, sir.'
'I do not believe they will run,' put in Premian. 'They will fight to the death. This Shrine is their one great holy place.'
'That is not the Nadir way,' sneered Gargan. 'You don't understand these vermin - cowardice is built into them! You think they will care about Oshikai's bones once the arrows fly and cold steel scores their flesh? They won't.'
Premian drew in a deep breath. 'Okai will. He is no coward. He is a trained tactician - the best we ever saw at Bodacas.'
Gargan surged to his feet. 'Do not praise him!' he roared. 'The man murdered my son!'
'I grieved for your loss, general; Argo was a friend of mine. But that evil deed does not change Okai's talents. He will have banded those men together and he understands discipline and morale. They won't run.'
'Then let them stand and die,' shouted Garg
an. 'I never yet met any ten Nadir who could outfight a single Gothir swordsman. How many men do they have? Two hundred. By dusk we'll have twice that many infantry storming the walls. Whether they stand or run is immaterial.'
'They also have the man, Druss,' said Premian.
'What are you saying? Is Druss a demi-god? Will he cast mountains down upon us?'
'No, sir,' said Premian evenly, 'but he is a legend among his own people. And we know, to our cost, that he can fight. He slew seven of our Lancers when they attacked the renegade camp. He is a fearsome warrior, and the men are already talking about him. No-one relishes going up against that axe.'
Gargan looked hard at the young man. 'What are you suggesting, Premian? That we go home?*
'No, sir. We have our orders, and they must be carried out. All I am saying is that we should treat them with a little more respect. In an hour our infantry will assault the walls. If they believe - wrongly - that the defence will be no more than token they will be in for a terrible surprise. We could lose a hundred men before dusk. They are already tired and thirsty; it would mean a bitter blow to morale.'
'I disagree, sir,' said Marlham. 'If we tell them that the assault will be murderous, then we risk instilling a fear of defeat in them. Such fears can prove self-fulfilling prophecies.'
'That's not what I am saying,' insisted Premian. 'Tell them the defenders are ready to lay down their lives, and that the battle will not be easy. Then impress upon them that they are Gothir soldiers, and no-one can stand against them.'
Gargan returned to the bed, where he sat in silence for several minutes. At last he looked up. 'I still think they will run. However, it would be a foolhardy general who did not allow for a margin of error. Do it, Premian. Warn them and lift them.'
'Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.'
'When the hour is up, release the prisoner. Send him towards their walls. When he is close enough for the defenders to see him, have three mounted archers cut him down.'
Premian saluted and replaced his helm.
'No words of condemnation, Premian ?' asked Gargan.
'No, sir. I have no taste for such things, but the sight of him will unnerve the defenders. Of that there is no doubt.'
'Good. You are learning.'
Sieben gazed out at the Gothir army, and felt the cold touch of panic in his belly. 'I think I'll wait in the hospital, old horse,' he told Druss.
The axeman nodded. 'Probably best,' he said grimly. 'You'll soon have plenty to do there.'
On unsteady legs, Sieben walked from the ramparts. Nuang Xuan approached Druss. 'I stand with you,' he said, his face pale, his eyes blinking rapidly.
Around twenty Nadir were standing silently close by. 'What tribe are you?' Druss asked the nearest, a young man with nervous eyes.
'Lone Wolves,' he answered, licking his lips.
'Well,' said Druss good-naturedly, his voice carrying to the other men on the western wall. 'This old man with me has pledged to kill a hundred Gothir soldiers. I am to keep count. I don't want any of you Lone Wolves to get in his way. Killing a hundred takes great concentration!'
The young man swung to look at Nuang. Then he grinned. 'I kill more than him,' he said.
'That sounds like a wager in the offing,' said Druss. 'What is your name?'
'I am Chisk.'
'Well, Chisk, I have a silver piece that says when dusk falls old Nuang will have outscored you.'
The man looked downcast. 'I have no silver with which to gamble.'
'What have you got?' the axeman asked.
The Nadir warrior fished deep into the pocket of his filthy goatskin jacket, coming up with a small round charm inset with lapis lazuli. 'This wards off evil spirits,' he said. 'It is worth many pieces of silver.'
'I expect it is,' agreed Druss. 'You want to pledge it?'
The man nodded. 'I bet I kill more than you too,' said the Nadir.
Druss laughed and patted the man's shoulder. 'One bet per man is enough, lad. Any of you other Lone Wolves want to wager?'
Warriors pushed forward, offering ornate belts, curved daggers and buttons of carved horn. Druss accepted all offers.
A burly warrior with deep-set eyes tapped him on the arm. 'Who counts?' he asked 'No-one can watch us all.'
Druss smiled. 'You are all heroes,' he said, 'and men to trust. Count for yourselves. Tonight, when the enemy has skulked back to his camp, we'll get together and see who has won. Now get back to your positions. The hour is almost up.'
Nuang stepped in close. 'I think you lose a lot of silver, axeman,' he whispered.
'It's only money,' said Druss.
Talisman joined Druss. 'What is the commotion here ?' he asked. Several of the warriors gathered around him, speaking in Nadir. Talisman nodded and gave a weary smile. 'They think you are a great fool,' he told Druss.
'It's been said before,' the axeman admitted.
Three riders came from the enemy camp, one of them dragging a prisoner. As they came closer they swerved their horses; the prisoner fell heavily, and struggled to rise.
'It is Quing-chin,' said Talisman, his voice flat, his expression unreadable.
The prisoner's hands had been cut off, the stumps dipped in black pitch. The rider leading him cut free the rope; Quing-chin stumbled on, turning in a half-circle.
'He has been blinded also,' whispered Nuang.
Several of the Nadir on the walls cried out to the maimed man. His head came up and he staggered towards the sound. The three riders let him approach, then notched arrows to their bows and galloped towards him. One arrow struck him low in the back, but he did not cry out. A second arrow plunged between his shoulder-blades. Quing-chin fell then, and began to crawl. A horseman drew reins alongside him, sending a third shaft deep into his back.
An arrow flew from the ramparts, falling well short of the riders.
'No-one shoot!' bellowed Talisman.
'A hard way to die,' whispered Nuang Xuan. 'That is what the enemy promises for all of us.'
'This was their moment,' said Druss, his voice cold and bitter. 'Let them enjoy it. In a little while we will have our moment. They will not enjoy that!'
A drum sounded in the enemy camp and hundreds of infantrymen began to move towards the western wall, the sun bright upon their silver breastplates and helms. Behind them came two hundred archers, arrows notched to the strings.
Druss swung to Talisman, who had drawn his sabre. 'No place here for you, general,' he said softly. 'I need to fight,' hissed Talisman. 'Just what they'd want. You are the leader, you cannot die in the first attack - the blow to morale would be savage. Trust me. Leave the wall. I won't let it fall.'
Talisman stood for a moment, then rammed his sabre back in its scabbard and turned on his heel.
'Right, lads,' shouted Druss. 'Keep your heads down, for they'll pepper us with arrows at first. Spread your-selves and put away your swords. When the ladder men reach the walls we'll pelt the whoresons with rocks. Then use daggers - they're better for the close work. Save the long blades for when they've reached the ramparts.'
The lines of infantry slowed, just out of bowshot, Druss knelt and watched the archers run through their ranks. Hundreds of shafts slashed through the air. 'Get down!' he yelled, and all along the wall the Nadir defenders ducked behind the crenellated battlements, Druss glanced back to the compound. Talisman and the reserve force of twenty men, led by Lin-tse, were out in the open as the shafts soared over the wall. One man was struck in the leg; the rest ran back to the cover of the lodging building. Out on the plain the infantry began to move, slowly at first and then, as they closed upon the wall, they raised their round shields before them and broke into a charge. Nadir arrows slashed at them and several men fell. The Gothir archers sent volley after volley over the heads of the infantry. Two Nadir bowmen were cut down.
The ladder-bearers reached the western wall. Druss knelt, wrapped his arms around a boulder as large as a bull's head and, with a grunt, heaved it to the battlements. A ladder thudded
against the wall. Gripping the boulder between his hands, Druss hoisted it above his head and sent it sailing out over the wall. Seven men were on the ladder as the boulder struck the first, smashing his skull to shards. The huge rock hit the shoulder of the third man, snapping his collar-bone; he fell, dislodging three others. Rocks and stones rained down on the attackers, but they pushed on.
The first man reached the ramparts, his shield held above his head. Chisk ran forward, ramming his dagger through the man's eye, and with a choking cry he fell.
'One for Chisk!' shouted the Nadir. Two more men reached the ramparts. Druss leapt to his right, sending Snaga crashing through a wooden helm, and braining the second man with a reverse sweep. Nuang jumped forward, thrusting his dagger at the head of a climbing soldier. The blade gashed the man's forehead but he stabbed out with his own short sword, catching Nuang on the left wrist and scoring the flesh. Snaga crashed down on the man's shoulder, splitting his breastplate. Blood gushed from the wound and the climber fell away.
To Druss's left four Gothir soldiers had forced their way to the ramparts, forming a fighting wedge that allowed more men to reach the walls unopposed. Druss charged the group, Snaga sweeping down in a murderous arc. One man was cut down instantly; Druss shoulder-charged a second, spinning him from the ramparts to fall head first to the compound below; a third went down to a terrible blow which caved in his ribs. The fourth thrust his sword at Druss's belly. Nuang's blade hacked down, parrying the thrust, then swept up to slash through the soldier's neck. Dropping his sword, the Gothir soldier staggered back with blood pumping from his severed jugular.
Dropping his axe, Druss grabbed the dying man by throat and groin and heaved him high into the air. Spinning, he hurled the body at two more soldiers as they cleared the ramparts; both were thrown back from the walls. Nuang ran forward to plunge his sword into the open mouth of a bearded soldier who had just reached the top of the ladder. The blade smashed through the man's palate, emerging from the back of his neck. The sword was torn from Nuang's grasp as the man plum-meted to the ground.
The Legend of Deathwalker Page 31
