Legend

28

Six hundred Drenai warriors watched silently as the Nadir gathered about the body of Druss and lifted it gently, bearing it back through the gates he had striven to hold. Ulric was the last man to pass the portals. In the shadow of the broken timbers he turned, his violet eyes scanning the men at the wall, stopping at last to rest on a figure of bronze. Ulric lifted his hand as if in greeting, then slowly pointed at Rek. The message was clear enough.

First the Legend, now the Earl.

Rek made no reply, but merely watched as the Nadir warlord strode into the shadows of the gate and out of sight.

"He died hard," said Hogun as Rek turned and sat back on the ramparts, lifting his helm visor.

"What did you expect?" asked Rek, rubbing tired eyes with weary fingers. "He lived hard."

"We will follow him soon," said Hogun. "There's not a day's fighting left in the men we have. The city is deserted now: even the camp baker has left."

"What of the Council?" asked Rek.

"Gone, all of them. Bricklyn should be back in the next day or two with words from Abalayn. I think he will be bringing his message direct to Ulric — he'll be based in the Keep by then."

Rek did not answer — there was no need. It was true: the battle was over. Only the massacre remained.

Serbitar, Vintar and Menahem approached silently, their white cloaks tattered and bloody. But there was no mark of wounds upon them. Serbitar bowed.

"The end is come," he said. "What are your orders?"

Rek shrugged. "What would you have me say?"

"We could fall back to the Keep," offered Serbitar, "but we have not enough men to hold even that."

"Then we will die here," said Rek. "One place is as good as another."

"Truly," said Vintar, gently. "But I think we have a few hours' grace.

"Why?" asked Hogun, loosening the bronze brooch at his shoulder and removing his cloak.

"I think the Nadir will not attack again today. Today they have slain a mighty man, a legend even among their ranks. They will feast and celebrate. Tomorrow, when we die, they will feast again."

Rek removed his helm, welcoming the cool breeze on his sweat-drenched head. Overhead the sky was clear and blue, the sun golden. He drew in a deep breath of clear mountain air, feeling its power soaking into tired limbs. His mind flew back to days of joy with Horeb in the inn at Drenan — long-gone days, never to be revisited. He swore aloud, then laughed.

"If they don't attack, we should have a party of our own," he said. "Gods, a man can die but once in a lifetime! Surely it's worth celebrating?" Hogun grinned and shook his head but Bowman, who had approached unnoticed, clapped Rek on the shoulder.

"Now that is my kind of language," he said. "But why not do it properly, go the whole way?"

"The whole way?" asked Rek.

"We could join the Nadir party," said Bowman. "Then they would have to buy the drinks."

"There's some truth in that, Earl of Bronze," said Serbitar. "Shall we join them?"

"Have you gone mad?" said Rek, looking from one to the other.

"As you said, Rek, we only die once," suggested Bowman. "We have nothing to lose. Anyway, we should be protected by the Nadir laws of hospitality."

"This is insanity!" said Rek. "You're not serious?"

"Yes, I am," said Bowman. "I think I would like to pay my last respects to Druss. And it will make a grand exit for Nadir poets to sing about in later years. Drenai poets are almost bound to pick it up too. I like the idea — it has a certain poetic beauty to it. Dining in the dragon's lair."

"Damn it, I'm with you then," said Rek. "Though I think my mind must be unhinged. When should we leave?"

Ulric's ebony throne had been set outside his tent, and the Nadir warlord sat upon it dressed in eastern robes of gold thread upon silk. Upon his head was the goatskin-fringed crown of the Wolfshead tribe, and his black hair was braided after the fashion of the Ventrian kings. Around him, in a vast circle many thousands strong, sat his captains; beyond them were many other circles of men. At the centre of each circle Nadir women danced in a frenzy of motion, in tune to the rippling rhythms of a hundred drums. In the circle of captains, the women danced around a funeral pyre ten feet high on which lay Druss the Legend, arms crossed and axe upon his chest.

Outside the circles countless fires blazed and the smell of burning meat filled the air. Everywhere camp women carried yokes bearing buckets of Lyrrd, an alcohol brewed from goat's milk. Ulric himself drank Lentrian Red in honour of Druss. He didn't like the drink; it was too thin and watery for a man reared on the more potent of liquors brewed on the northern steppes. But he drank it anyway. It would be bad manners to do less, for the spirit of Druss had been invited among them: a spare goblet was filled to the brim beside Ulric's own, and a second throne had been set to the right of the Nadir warlord.

Ulric stared moodily over the rim of his goblet, focusing his gaze on the body atop the pyre.

"It was a good time to die, old man," he said softly. "You will be remembered in our songs, and men will talk of you around our camp-fires for generations to come."

The moon shone brightly in a cloudless sky, and the stars gleamed like distant candles. Ulric sat back and gazed into eternity. Why this black mood? What was the weight his soul carried? Rarely before had he felt this way, and certainly never on the eve of such a victory.

Why?

His gaze returned to the body of the axeman.

"You have done this to me, Deathwalker," he said. "For your heroics have made me the dark shadow."

In all legends, Ulric knew, there were bright heroes and dark, dark evil. It was the very fabric of each tale.

"I am not evil," he said. "I am a warrior born, with a people to protect and a nation to build." He swallowed another mouthful of Lentrian and refilled his goblet.

"My Lord, is something wrong?" asked his carle-captain, Ogasi, the thickset steppe rider who had slain Virae.

"He accuses me," said Ulric, pointing to the body.

"Shall we light the pyre?"

Ulric shook his head. "Not until midnight. The Gates must be open when he arrives."

"You do him great honour, Lord. Why then does he accuse you?"

"With his death. Nogusha carried a poisoned blade — I had the story from his tent servant."

"That was not at your command, Lord. I was there."

"Does it matter? Am I no longer responsible for those who serve me? I have tainted my legend in order to end his. A dark, dark deed, Ulric Wolfshead."

"He would have died tomorrow anyway," said Ogasi. "He lost only a day."

"Ask yourself, Ogasi, what that day meant. Men like Deathwalker come perhaps once in twenty lifetimes. They are rare. So what is that day worth to ordinary men? A year? Ten years? A lifetime? Did you see him die?"

"I did, Lord."

"And will you forget it?"

"No, Lord."

"Why not? You have seen brave men die before."

"He was special," said Ogasi. "Even when he fell at the last, I thought he would rise. Even now some of the men cast fearful glances at his pyre, expecting to see him stand again."

"How could he have stood against us?" asked Ulric. "His face was blue with gangrene. His heart should have stopped long since. And the pain…"

Ogasi shrugged. "While men compete in war, there will be warriors. While there are warriors, there will be princes among warriors. Among the princes will be kings, and among the kings an emperor. You said it yourself, my Lord. Such as he come once in twenty lifetimes. You would expect him to die in his bed?"

"No. I had thought to let his name die. Soon I will control the mightiest empire known to men. History will be as I write it.

"I could erase him from the memory of men, or worse still sully his name until his legend reeks. But I shall not. I will have a book written about his life and men shall know how he thwarted me."

"I would expect nothing less from Ulric," said Ogasi, his dark eyes gleaming in the firelight.

"Ah, but then you know me, my friend. There are others among the Drenai who will be expecting me to dine on Druss's mighty heart. Eater of Babies, the Plague That Walks, the Barbarian of Gulgothir."

"Names you yourself invented, my Lord, I think."

"True. But then a leader must know all the weapons of war. And there are many which owe nothing to the lance and sword, the bow and the sling. The Word steals men's souls, while the sword kills only their bodies. Men see me and know fear — it is a potent device."

"Some weapons turn on their users, my Lord. I have…" The man suddenly stuttered to silence.

"Speak, Ogasi! What ails you?"

"The Drenai, my Lord! They are in the camp!" said Ogasi, his eyes wide in disbelief. Ulric spun in his chair. Everywhere the circles were breaking as men stood to watch the Earl of Bronze striding towards the Lord of the Nadir.

Behind him in ranks came sixteen men in silver armour, and behind them a Legion Gan walking beside a blonde warrior bearing a long-bow.

The drums petered to silence and all eyes swung from the Drenai group to the seated warlord. Ulric's eyes narrowed as he saw that the men were armed. Panic welled in his breast but he forced it down, his mind racing. Would they just walk up and slay him? He heard the hiss of Ogasi's blade leaving its scabbard and raised a hand.

"No, my friend. Let them approach."

"It is madness, Lord," whispered Ogasi, as the Drenai drew nearer.

"Pour wine for our guests. The time to kill them will come after the feast. Be prepared."

Ulric gazed down from his raised throne into the grey-blue eyes of the Earl of Bronze. The man had forsaken his helm but otherwise was fully armoured, the great sword of Egel hanging at his side. His companions stood back, awaiting events. There was little sign of tension, though the Legion general Ulric knew as Hogun had his hand resting lightly on his sword hilt and was watching Ogasi keenly.

"Why are you here?" asked Ulric. "You are not welcome in my camp."

The Earl looked slowly about him and then returned the gaze of the Nadir warlord.

"It is strange," he said, "how a battle can change a man's perspectives. Firstly, I am not in your camp, I am standing on Delnoch ground and that is mine by right — it is you who are on my lands. Be that as it may, for tonight you are welcome. As to why I am here? My friends and I have come to bid farewell to Druss the Legend — Deathwalker. Is Nadir hospitality so poor that no refreshment is offered us?"

Ogasi's hand strayed towards his sword once more. The Earl of Bronze did not move.

"If that sword is drawn," he said softly, "I will remove his head."

Ulric waved Ogasi back.

"Do you think to leave here alive?" he asked Rek.

"If I so choose — yes," replied the Earl.

"And I have no say in this matter?"

"None."

"Truly? Now you intrigue me. All around you are Nadir bowmen. At my signal, your bright armour will be hidden by black-shafted arrows. And you say I cannot?"

"If you can, then order it," demanded the Earl. Ulric moved his gaze to the archers. Arrows were ready and many bows were already bent, their iron points glittering in the firelight.

"Why can I not order it?" he asked.

"Why have you not?" countered the Earl.

"Curiosity. What is the real purpose of your visit? Have you come to slay me?"

"No. If I wished, I could have slain you as I killed your shaman: silently, invisibly. Your head would now be a worm-filled shell. There is no duplicity here — I came to honour my friend. Will you offer me hospitality or shall I return to my fortress?"

"Ogasi!" called Ulric.

"My Lord?"

"Fetch refreshments for the Earl and his followers. Order the archers back to their fires and let the entertainment continue."

"Yes, Lord," said Ogasi dubiously.

Ulric gestured the Earl to the throne at his side. Rek nodded and turned to Hogun: "Go and enjoy yourselves. Return for me in an hour."

Hogun saluted and Rek watched his small group wander off around the camp. He smiled as Bowman leaned over a seated Nadir and lifted a goblet of Lyrrd. The man stared when he saw his drink disappear, then laughed as Bowman drained it without a splutter.

"Damn good, hey?" said the warrior. "Better than that red vinegar from the south."

Bowman nodded and pulled a flask from his hip pouch, offering it to the man. Suspicion was evident in the hesitant way the Nadir accepted the flask, but his friends were watching.

Slowly he removed the top, then took a tentative sip, followed by a full-blown swallow.

"This is damn good too," said the man. "What is it?"

"They call it Lentrian Fire. Once tasted, never forgotten!"

The man nodded, then moved aside to make a place for Bowman.

"Join us, Longbow. Tonight no war. We talk, yes?"

"Decent of you, old horse. I think I will."

Seated on the throne, Rek lifted Druss's goblet of Lentrian Red and raised it towards the pyre. Ulric also raised his goblet and both men silently toasted the fallen axeman.

"He was a great man," said Ulric. "My father told me tales of him and his lady. Rowena, wasn't it?"

"Yes, he loved her greatly."

"It is fitting," said Ulric, "that such a man should know great love. I am sorry he is gone. It would be a fine thing if war could be conducted as a game where no lives were lost. At the end of a battle combatants could meet — even as we are doing — and drink and talk."

"Druss would not have had it so," said the Earl. "Were this a game where the odds mattered, Dros Delnoch would already be yours. But Druss was a man who could change the odds and make nonsense of logic."

"Up to a point — for he is dead. But what of you? What manner of man are you, Earl Regnak?"

"Just a man, Lord Ulric — even as you."

Ulric leaned closer, his chin resting on his hand. "But then I am not an ordinary man. I have never lost a battle."

"Nor yet have I."

"You intrigue me. You appear from nowhere, with no past, married to the dying Earl's daughter. No one has ever heard of you and no man can tell me of your deeds. Yet men die for you, as they would for a beloved king. Who are you?"

"I am the Earl of Bronze."

"No. That I will not accept."

"Then what would you have me say?"

"Very well, you are the Earl of Bronze. It matters not. Tomorrow you may return to your grave — you and all those who follow you. You began this battle with ten thousand men; you now boast perhaps seven hundred. You pin your faith on Magnus Woundweaver, but he cannot reach you in time — and even if he did, it would matter not. Look about you. This army is bred on victory. And it grows. I have four armies like this — can I be stopped?"

"Stopping you is not important," said the Earl. "It never was."

"Then what are you doing?"

"We are trying to stop you."

"Is this a riddle which I should understand?"

"Your understanding is not important. It may be that destiny intends you to succeed. It may be that a Nadir empire will prove vastly beneficial to the world. But ask yourself this: were there no army here when you arrived, save Druss alone, would he have opened the gate to you?"

"No. He would have fought and died," said Ulric.

"But he would not have expected to win. So why would he do it?"

"Now I understand your riddle, Earl. But it saddens me that so many men must die when it is futile to resist. Nevertheless I respect you. I will see that your pyre is as high as that of Druss."

"Thank you, no. If you do kill me, lay my body in a garden beyond the Keep. There is already a grave there, surrounded by flowers, within which lies my wife. Put my body beside it."

Ulric fell silent for several minutes, taking time to refill the goblets.

"It shall be as you wish, Earl of Bronze," he said at last. "Join me in my tent now. We shall eat a little meat, drink a little wine and be friends. I shall tell you of my life and my dreams, and you may talk of the past and your joys."

"Why only the past, Lord Ulric?"

"It is all you have left, my friend."