The Legend of Deathwalker

by David Gemmell

  Druss swept up a short sword lying on the ram-parts and tossed it to the old man. Nuang caught it expertly.

  All along the western wall the Nadir struggled to block wave after wave of attackers.

  Below, Talisman stood with Lin-tse and twenty warriors, trying to judge the best moment to launch fresh troops into the fray. Beside him Lin-tse waited with sword drawn. The defence was briefly breached: five soldiers hacking and cleaving a path to the steps. Lin-tse started forward, but Talisman called him back. Druss had attacked the men, cutting three down in as many heartbeats.

  'He is terrifying,' said Lin-tse. 'Never have I seen the like.'

  Talisman did not reply. The Lone Wolves were fighting like demons, inspired by the ferocious skills of the black-garbed axeman. On the other walls Nadir warriors watched in awed admiration.

  'They are coming for the gates!' shouted Gorkai. 'They have fire buckets and axes.'

  Talisman lifted his arm to show that he had heard, but made no move. More than a dozen of the defenders on the western wall were wounded. Five fought on, several others struggled down the steps, making their way to the hospital.

  'Now!' he told Lin-tse.

  The tall Sky Rider leapt forward, sprinting up the steps.

  Axes thudded into the gate and Talisman saw Gorkai and the men of the Fleet Ponies hurling rocks over the battlements. Smoke seeped through the ancient wood. But, as Druss had suggested, they had soaked the gates every day and the fires quickly died away.

  Talisman signalled to Gorkai to send back ten men to stand with him.

  The battle raged on. Druss, covered in blood, stormed along the ramparts, leaping down to the fighting platform and scattering the Gothir warriors who had forced a way over the battlements. Talisman committed his ten men to help, then drew his sword and followed them in. He knew Druss was right about the crushing blow there would be to morale if he died. Equally, his men had to see him fight.

  Climbing to the platform, he swept his sabre through the throat of a charging Gothir soldier. Two more ran at him. Druss smashed his axe through the shoulder of the first; then the old man, Nuang Xuan, gutted the second.

  The Gothir fell back, taking their ladders with them.

  A great cry went up from the Nadir. They jeered and waved their swords over their heads.

  Talisman called Lin-tse to him. 'Get a count of the injured, and have the more seriously wounded men carried to the hospital.'

  The Lone Wolves gathered around Druss, clapping him on the back and complimenting him. In their excitement they were speaking Nadir, and Druss understood not a word of it. He turned to the stocky Chisk. 'Well, laddie,' he said. 'How many did you kill?'

  'I don't know. But it was many.'

  'Did you beat this old man, do you think?' asked Druss, throwing his arm around Nuang's shoulder.

  'I don't care,' shouted Chisk happily. 'I kiss his cheek!' Dropping his sword, he took the surprised Nuang by the shoulders and hugged him. 'We showed them how Nadir fight, eh? We whipped the gajin dogs.'

  Nuang grinned, took a step, then fell to the ground with a surprised look on his face. Chisk knelt down beside him, dragging open the old man's jerkin. Three wounds had pierced Nuang's flesh and blood was flowing freely.

  'Hold fast, brother,' said Chisk. 'The wounds are not bad. We get you to the surgeon, though, hey?' Two Lone Wolves helped Chisk to carry Nuang across to the hospital.

  Druss strode from the wall to the well, drawing up a bucket of clear, cool water. Pulling an old cloth from his belt, he sponged the blood from his face and jerkin, then emptied the bucket over his head.

  From the battlements came the sound of laughter. 'You could do with a bath too, you whoresons!' he shouted. Dropping the bucket back into the well, he drew it forth again, then drank deeply. Talisman joined him. 'We killed or wounded seventy,' said the Nadir leader. 'For the loss of nine dead and fifteen wounded. What next, do you think?'

  'The same again, but with fresh troops,' said Druss. 'And before dark too. My guess is there will be at least two more attacks today.'

  'I agree with you. And we will hold - I know that now.'

  Druss chuckled. 'They're a fine bunch of fighters. Tomorrow it will be the gates - a concerted attack.'

  'Why not tonight?'

  'They haven't learned their lesson yet,' said Druss.

  Talisman smiled. 'You are a good teacher, axeman. I am sure they will learn before the day is over.'

  Druss took another long drink, then pointed to a group of men working at the base of the old tower. They were separating blocks of granite and hauling them clear of the rubble. 'What is the purpose of that?' asked the axeman.

  'The gates will fall,' said Talisman, 'but we will have a surprise for the first troops to get through!'

  Nuang Xuan lay quietly on the floor with his head on a pillow stuffed with straw, a single blanket covering him. The stitches in his chest and shoulder were tight, his wounds painful, yet he felt at peace. He had stood beside the axeman, and had killed five of the enemy. Five! Across the room a man cried out. Nuang carefully rolled to his side, seeing that the surgeon was stitching wounds in a man's belly; the wounded warrior thrashed out and Niobe grabbed his arms. Waste of time, thought Nuang, and within moments the injured man gave a gurgling cry and was still. The surgeon swore. Niobe dragged the corpse from the table, and two men carried a freshly wounded man to take his place.

  Sieben pulled open the man's jerkin. He had been cut across the chest and deep into the side; the sword had broken off above the hip. 'I need pliers for this,' said Sieben, wiping a bloodied hand across his brow, leaving a smear of crimson. Niobe handed him a rusty pair and Sieben dug his fingers into the wound, feeling for the broken blade. Once he had it, he pushed the pliers against the split flesh and with a great wrench dragged the iron clear. Elsewhere in the room two other Nadir women were applying stitches or bandages.

  Nosta Khan entered, looked around and then moved across the room, past Nuang and into the small office beyond.

  Nuang could just make out the conversation that followed. 'I leave tonight,' came the voice of the shaman. 'You must prepare the woman.'

  'She stays,' said Talisman.

  'Did you not understand what I said about destiny?'

  'It is you who are without understanding,' roared Talisman. 'You do not know the future, shaman. You have had glimpses, tantalizing and incomplete. Despite your powers you cannot locate Ulric. How hard should it be to find a violet-eyed leader? You cannot find the Eyes of Alchazzar. And you did not warn me they would take Quing-chin. Go from here if you must. But you travel alone.'

  'You fool!' shouted Nosta Khan. 'This is no time for betrayal. Everything you live for hangs in the balance. If I take her, she lives. Can you understand that?'

  'Wrong again, shaman. If you take her, she will kill herself - she has told me this and I believe her. Go. Seek out the man with violet eyes. Let him build on what we accomplish here.'

  'You will die here, Talisman,' said Nosta Khan. 'It is written in the stars. Druss will escape, for I have seen him in the many futures. For you there is no place.'

  'Here is my place,' responded Talisman. 'Here I stand.'

  The shaman said more, but Huang did not hear it for the voices within were suddenly lowered.

  Niobe knelt beside Nuang handing him a clay cup full of lyrrd. 'Drink, old father,' she said. 'It will put strength back into your ancient bones.'

  'Ancient they may be, but my blood runs true, Niobe. Five I killed. I feel so strong I could even survive a night with you.'

  'You were never that strong,' she said, patting his cheek. 'Anyway Chisk told us you killed at least a dozen.'

  'Ha! Good men, these Lone Wolves.'

  Rising, she moved back to the table. Taking a fresh cloth, she wiped the blood and sweat from Sieben's brow. 'You are working good,' she said. 'No mistakes.'

  From outside came the screams of wounded men and the clash of swords. 'It is vile,' he said. 'All vile.'
/>   'They say your friend is a god of battle. They call him the Deathwalker.'

  'The name suits him.'

  The doors opened'and two men were carried inside. 'More bandages and thread,' he told Niobe.

  Outside on the walls Druss relaxed; the enemy had pulled back for the second time. Chisk came alongside him. 'You hurt, Deathwalker?'

  'The blood is not mine,' Druss told him.

  'You are wrong; your shoulder bleeds.'

  Druss glanced down to the gash in his jerkin. Blood was leaking from it. Doffing the jerkin he examined the cut beneath, which was no more than two inches long, but deep. He swore. 'You hold this damned wall till I get back,' he said.

  'Till the mountains crumble to dust,' promised Chisk. As Druss walked away he added, 'But you don't take too long, hey?'

  Inside the hospital Druss called out to Niobe and she ran across to him. 'Don't bother Sieben with it,' he said. 'It's no deeper than a dog-bite. Get a needle and thread for me; I'll do it myself.'

  She returned with the implements and a long stretch of bandage. The wound was just below the collar-bone and Druss fumbled his way through the stitching, drawing the lips of the gash together.

  'You have many scars,' said Niobe, staring at his upper body.

  'All men get careless,' he told her. The wound was beginning to throb now. Pushing himself to his feet, he strode from the room and out into the fading sunlight. Behind the gates some thirty warriors were manhandling blocks to form a semi-circular wall. The work was back-breaking and slow, yet no word of complaint came from them. They had erected a rough hoist and pulley on the ramparts, and the blocks of granite were being hauled into place, blocking the gates. Suddenly the pulley gave way and a huge block fell, hurling two men to the ground. Druss ran over to where they lay. The first was dead, his skull crushed, but the other man was merely winded. Pulling the corpse aside the other warriors continued with their work, their faces grim. The blocks were being laid four deep, forming a curved wall eight feet wide.

  'They'll get a nasty shock as they come through,' said Lin-tse, striding down the rampart steps to join Druss.

  'How tall can you get it?'

  'We think twelve feet at the front, ten at the back. But we need a stronger hoist bar and supports.'

  'Tear up the floorboards in the upper lodging-rooms,' advised Druss. 'Use the cross joists.'

  Returning to the wall, Druss put on his jerkin and silver-skinned gauntlets. Talisman's man, Gorkai, joined him. 'The Curved Horn will stand with you for the next attack,' he said. 'This is Bartsai, their leader.' Druss nodded, then reached out and shook hands with the stocky Nadir.

  'Well, lads,' he said, with a wide smile, 'do you fight as well as the Lone Wolves?'

  'Better,' grunted a young warrior.

  'Would you care to make a wager on that, laddie?'

  Chapter Twelve

  The moon was bright as Talisman and Lin-tse watched the Gothir carrying away their dead and wounded. The stretcher-bearers worked with great efficiency and no little courage, coming in close to the walls to pick up the wounded. The Nadir did not loose shafts at them. Talisman had forbidden it - not for any reason of mercy, but simply because every wounded Gothir soldier needed to be tended and fed, and that would help to exhaust the enemy's supplies. The Nadir dead had been wrapped in blankets and placed in the cool of the Shrine.

  'They lost sixty-four, with another eighty-one wounded,' said Lin-tse gleefully. 'Our losses are less than a third of that.'

  'Twenty-three dead,' said Talisman, 'and nine wounded who will not fight again.'

  'That is good, eh?'

  'They outnumber us ten to one. Five to one for casualties is not good enough,' Talisman told him. 'However, as Fanlon used to say, the worst always die first - those with the least skill, or the least luck. We did well today.'

  'The Lancers are not riding out,' observed Lin-tse.

  'Their mounts are thirsty and tired,' said Talisman, 'as indeed are the men. Their wagons went out again this morning. They have not returned; Kzun is still holding them away from the pool.'

  Lin-tse moved to the edge of the battlements. 'I wish we could bring in Quing-chin's body,' he said. 'It saddens me to think of his spirit wandering blind and maimed.'

  Talisman did not reply. Two years before, the three Nadir warriors had sought revenge for the death of their comrade. They had found satisfaction in kidnapping and killing the son of Gargan; he too had been blinded and maimed. Now the circle of violence had swung once more, and Quing-chin's body lay as cold testimony to the cruel reality of revenge. Talisman rubbed at his eyes.

  The smell of scorched wood drifted to him. The gates had come under two attacks, the Gothir using oil in an attempt to burn a way through. This had failed, and some twenty Gothir soldiers had paid with their lives. Talisman shivered.

  'What is wrong, brother?' asked Lin-tse.

  'I do not hate them any longer,' Talisman told him.

  'Hate them? The Gothir? Why?'

  'Do not misunderstand me, Lin-tse. I will fight them, and - if the Gods of Stone and Water permit - I will see their towers crumble and their cities fall. But I cannot hold to hate any longer. When they killed Zhen-shi, we lusted for blood. Do you remember the terror in Argo's eyes as we gagged him and carried him out?'

  'Of course.'

  'Now his father nurses the hatred and it hangs like a bat at his throat, ready to be passed on.'

  'But his father began it with his hatred of all Nadir,' argued Lin-tse.

  'Precisely. And what caused it? Some Nadir atrocity back in his own youth? My dream is to see the Nadir united, every man standing tall and proud. But I will never again hate an enemy.'

  'You are tired, Okai. You should rest. They will not come again tonight.'

  Talisman walked away along the ramparts. Nosta Khan had gone, and no man had seen him drop from the walls. He had tried to reach Zhusai, but had found Gorkai standing guard at her door.

  Even as he thought of her, Talisman saw her walking across the compound. She was wearing a white blouse of shining silk, and silver-grey leggings. She waved and moved to him, throwing her arms around his neck.

  'We are together, now and always,' she said.

  'Now and always,' he agreed.

  'Come. I have perfumed oil in my room, and I will ease away your fatigue.' Taking him by the hand, she led him back to her room.

  Druss and Sieben watched them from the ramparts of the western wall. 'Love in the midst of death,' said Druss. 'It is good.'

  'Nothing is good here,' snapped Sieben. 'The whole business stinks like a ten-week fish. I wish I had never come.'

  'They say you are a great surgeon,' said Druss.

  'A fine seamstress, more like. Eleven men died under my hands, Druss, coughing up their blood. I cannot tell you how sick I am of it. I hate war and I hate warriors. Scum of the earth!'

  'It won't stop you singing about it, if we survive,' Druss pointed out.

  'What is that supposed to mean?'

  'Who is it who tells of the glory, the honour and the chivalry of war?' asked Druss, softly. 'Rarely the soldier who has seen the bulging entrails and the crows feasting on dead men's eyes. No, it is the saga poet. It is he who feeds young men with stories of heroism. How many young Drenai men have listened to your poems and songs and lusted for battle?'

  'Well, that as a neat twist,' said Sieben. 'Poets are to blame now, are they?'

  'Not just poets. Hell's teeth, man, we are a violent race. What I am saying is that soldiers are not the scum of the earth. Every man here is fighting for what he believes in. You knew that - before the killing started. You'll know it again when it has stopped.'

  'It will never stop, Druss,' said Sieben sadly. 'Not as long as there are men with axes and swords. I think I had better get back to the hospital. How is your shoulder?'

  'Stings like the devil.'

  'Good,' said Sieben, with a tired smile.

  'How is Nuang?'

  'Resting. The wo
unds were not mortal, but he won't fight again.'

  As Sieben walked away Druss stretched himself out on the ramparts. All along the wall exhausted Nadir warriors were sleeping. For many it would be the last sleep they ever enjoyed.

  Maybe for me, thought Druss. Perhaps I will die tomorrow.

  Perhaps not, he decided. And drifted into a dreamless sleep . . .

  Gargan walked among the wounded, talking to the survivors and offering praise for their heroism. Returning to his tent, he summoned Premian. 'I understand the Nadir are still denying us water,' he said. 'How many defend the pool?'

  'That is hard to say, sir. The trail up to the pool is narrow, and our men are coming under attack from warriors hidden in the rocks. No more than thirty I would say. They are led by a madman who wears a white scarf upon his head; he leapt twenty feet from a tall rock and landed on the officer's mount, breaking its back. Then he killed the rider, wounded another and sprinted back into the rocks.'

  'Who was the officer?'

  'Mersham, sir. Newly promoted.'

  'I know his family. Good stock.' Gargan sat down on his pallet bed; his face was drawn and strained, his lips dry. 'Take a hundred men and wipe them out. The water here is all but gone, and without more we are finished. Go now, tonight."

  'Yes, sir. I have had men digging at the bend of the dry stream to the east and we have uncovered a seep. It is not large, but it will fill several barrels.'

  'Good,' said Gargan wearily. The general stretched himself out on the bed and closed his eyes. As Premian was about to leave, he spoke again. 'They killed my son,' he said. 'They cut out his eyes.'

  'I know, sir.'

  'We will not attack before mid-morning. I need you back with water by then.'