Drenai Saga 01 - Legend -...

“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

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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

“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.

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.”

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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!”

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.”

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

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.

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.”

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…

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

“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

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