Legend

29

At midnight, as the flames from the funeral pyre blazed against the night sky, the Nadir horde drew their weapons, holding them aloft in silent tribute to the warrior whose soul, they believed, stood at the gates of Paradise.

Rek and the company of Drenai followed suit, then he turned and bowed to Ulric. Ulric returned the bow and the company set off to return to the postern gate of Wall Five. The return journey was made in silence, each man's thoughts his own.

Bowman thought of Caessa, and of her death at Druss's side. He had loved her in his way, though never spoke of it. To love her was to die.

Hogun's mind reeled with the awesome picture of the Nadir army seen from close range; numberless and mighty. Unstoppable!

Serbitar thought of the journey he would make with the remnants of The Thirty at dusk on the morrow. Only Arbedark would be missing, for they had convened the night before and declared him an Abbot. Now he would journey from Delnoch alone to found a new temple in Ventria.

Rek fought against despair. Ulric's last words echoed again and again in his mind:

"Tomorrow you will see the Nadir as never before. We have paid homage to your courage by attacking only in daylight, allowing you to rest at night. Now I need to take your Keep and there will be no rest until it falls, Day and night we will come at you until none are left alive to oppose us."

Silently the group mounted the postern steps, making their way to the mess hall. Rek knew sleep would not come to him this night. It was his last night upon the earth, and his tired body summoned fresh reserves so that he could taste life and know the sweetness of drawing breath.

The group sat around a trestle table and Rek poured wine. Of The Thirty, only Serbitar and Vintar remained. For many minutes the five men said little, until at last Hogun broke the uncomfortable silence.

"We knew it would come to this, did we not? There was no way to hold indefinitely."

"Very true, old horse," said Bowman. "Still, it is a trifle disappointing, don't you think? I must own that I always kept alive a small hope that we would succeed. Now that it is gone, I feel a tiny twinge of panic." He smiled gently, and finished his drink at a single swallow.

"You are not pledged to stay," said Hogun.

"True. Perhaps I will leave in the morning."

"I don't think you will — though I don't know why," said Hogun.

"Well, if truth be told, I promised that Nadir warrior, Kaska, that I would have another drink with him once they took the Keep. Nice chap — if a trifle maudlin in his cups. He has six wives and twenty-three children. It is a wonder he has the time to come to war."

"Or the strength!" added Hogun, grinning. "And what of you, Rek. Why do you stay?"

"Hereditary stupidity," answered Rek.

"That is not enough," said Bowman. "Come on, Rek — the truth, if you please."

Rek scanned the group swiftly, noting the fatigue on all their faces and realising for the first time that he loved them all.

His eyes met Vintar's and understanding flowed between them. The older man smiled.

"I think," said Rek, "that only the Abbot of Swords can answer that question — for all of us."

Vintar nodded and closed his eyes for several moments. Each man knew he was searching their hearts and minds, yet there was no fear, no embarrassment, no desire any longer to be alone.

"All things that live must die," said Vintar. "Man alone, it seems, lives all his life in the knowledge of death. And yet there is more to life than merely waiting for death. For life to have meaning, there must be a purpose. A man must pass something on — otherwise he is useless.

"For most men, that purpose revolves around marriage and children who will carry on his seed. For others it is an ideal — a dream, if you like. Each of us here believes in the concept of honour: that it is man's duty to do that which is right and just; that might alone is not enough. We have all transgressed at some time. We have stolen, lied, cheated — even killed — for our own ends. But ultimately we return to our beliefs. We do not allow the Nadir to pass unchallenged because we cannot. We judge ourselves more harshly than others can judge us. We know that death is preferable to betrayal of that which we hold dear.

"Hogun, you are a soldier and you have faith in the Drenai cause. You have been told to stand, and will do so without question. It would not occur to you that there were any alternatives but to obey. And yet you understand when others think differently. You are a rare man.

"Bowman, you are a romantic — and yet a cynic. You mock the nobility of man, for you have seen that too often nobility gives way to more base desires. Yet you have secretly set yourself standards which other men will never understand. You, more than any of the others, desire to live. The urge is strong in you to run away. But you will not — not as long as a single man stands to defend these walls. Your courage is great.

"Rek, you are the most difficult to answer for. Like Bowman you are a romantic, but there is a depth to you which I have not tried to plumb. You are intuitive and intelligent, but it is your intuition that guides you. You know it is right that you stay — and also senseless that you stay. Your intellect tells you that this cause is folly, but your intuition forces you to reject your intellect. You are that rare animal, a born leader of men. And you cannot leave.

"All of you are bound together in chains a thousand times stronger than steel.

"And finally there is one — who comes now — for which all I have said remains true. He is a lesser man than any here and yet a greater, for his fears are greater than yours, and yet he also will stand firm and die beside you."

The door opened and Orrin entered, his armour bright and freshly oiled. Silently he sat among them, accepting a goblet of wine.

"I trust Ulric was in good health," he said.

"He has never looked better, old horse," answered Bowman.

"Then we will give him a bloody nose tomorrow," said the general, his dark eyes gleaming.

The dawn sky was bright and clear as the Drenai warriors ate a cold breakfast of bread and cheese, washed down with honeyed water. Every man who could stand manned the walls, blades to the ready. As the Nadir prepared to advance, Rek leapt to the battlements and turned to face the defenders.

"No long speeches today," he shouted. "We all know our plight. But I want to say that I am proud — more proud than 1 could ever have imagined. I wish I could find words…" he stammered to silence, then lifted his sword from its scabbard and held it high.

"By all the gods that ever walked, I swear that you are the finest men I ever knew. And if I could have chosen the end of this tale, and peopled it with heroes of the past, I would not change a single thing. For no one could have given more than you have. And I thank you.

"But if any man here wishes to leave now, he may do so. Many of you have wives, children, others depending on you. If that be the case, leave now with my blessing. For what we do here today will not affect the outcome of the war."

He leapt lightly to the ramparts to rejoin Orrin and Hogun.

Further along the line a young Cul shouted: "What of you, Earl of Bronze. Will you stay?"

Rek stepped to the wall once more. "I must stay, but I give you leave to go."

No man moved, though many considered it.

The Nadir war cry rose and the battle began.

Throughout that long day, no foothold could be gained by the Nadir and the carnage was terrible.

The great sword of Egel lunged and slew, cleaving armour, flesh and bone, and the Drenai fought like demons, cutting and slaying ferociously. For these, as Serbitar had predicted so many weeks ago, were the finest of the fighting men, and death and fear of death had no place in their minds. Time and again the Nadir reeled back, bloodied and bemused.

But as dusk approached the assault on the gates strengthened, and the great barrier of bronze and oak began to buckle. Serbitar led the last of The Thirty to stand, as Druss had done, in the shadow of the gate porch. Rek raced to join them, but a withering mind pulse from Serbitar ordered him back to the wall. He was about to resist when Nadir warriors scrambled over the ramparts behind him. Egel's sword flashed, beheading the first, and Rek was once more in the thick of battle.

In the gateway Serbitar was joined by Suboden, the captain of his Vagrian bodyguard. Only some sixty men were still alive out of the force which had originally arrived.

"Go back to the walls," said Serbitar.

The fair-haired Vagrian shook his head. "I cannot. We are here as your carle-guard and we will die with you."

"You bear me no love, Suboden. You have made that plain."

"Love has little to do with my duty, Lord Serbitar. Even so, I hope you will forgive me. I thought your powers were demon-sent, but no man possessed would stand as you do now."

"There is nothing to forgive, but you have my blessing," Serbitar told the blond carle-captain.

The gates splintered suddenly and with a roar of triumph the Nadir burst through, hurling themselves upon the defenders spearheaded by the white-haired templar.

Drawing a slender Ventrian dagger, Serbitar fought two-handed — blocking, stabbing, parrying and cutting. Men fell before him, but always more leapt to fill the breach he created. Beside him the slim Vagrian carle-captain hacked and hammered at the oncoming barbarians. An axe splintered his shield, but hurling aside the fragments, he took a double-handed grip on his sword, bellowed his defiance and launched himself forward. An axe crushed his ribs and a lance tore into his thigh. He fell into the seething mass, stabbing left and right. A kick sent him sprawling to his back and three spears buried themselves in his chest. Feebly he sought to lift his sword for one last time, but an iron-studded boot stamped on his hand, while a blow from a wooden club ended his life.

Vintar fought coolly, pushing himself alongside the albino, waiting for the arrow he knew would be loosed at any second. Ducking beneath a slashing sword, he disembowelled his opponent and turned.

In the shadows of the sundered gates an archer drew back on his string, his fingers nestling against his cheek. The shaft leapt from the bow to take Vintar in the right eye and he fell against the Nadir spears.

The remaining defenders fought in an ever tightening circle as dusk deepened into night. The Nadir cries were silenced now, the battle tense and silent but for the sounds of steel on steel on flesh.

Menahem was lifted from his feet by the force of a stabbing spear that tore into his lungs. His sword whistled down towards the neck of the kneeling lancer — and stopped.

Lightly he touched the blade to the man's shoulder. Unable to believe his luck, the warrior dragged his spear free and buried it once more in the priest's chest.

Now Serbitar was alone.

Momentarily the Nadir fell back, staring at the blood-covered albino. Much of the blood was his own. His cloak was in tatters, his armour gashed and dented, his helm long since knocked from his head.

He took three deep shuddering breaths, looked inside himself and saw that he was dying. Reaching out with his mind, he sought Vintar and the others.

Silence.

A terrible silence.

It was all for nothing then, he thought, as the Nadir tensed for the kill. He chuckled wryly.

There was no Source.

No centre to the universe.

In the last seconds left to him, he wondered if his life had been a waste.

He knew it had not. For even if there was no Source, there ought to have been. For the Source was beautiful.

A Nadir warrior sprang forward. Serbitar flicked aside his thrust, burying his dagger in the man's breast, but the pack surged in, a score of sharp blades meeting inside his frail form. Blood burst from his mouth and he fell.

From a great distance came a voice:

"Take my hand, my brother. We Travel."

It was Vintar!

The Nadir surged and spread towards the deserted Delnoch buildings and the score of streets that led to Geddon and the Keep beyond. In the front line Ogasi raised his sword, bellowing the Nadir victory chant. He began to run, then skidded to a halt.

Ahead of him on the open ground before the buildings stood a tall man with a trident beard, dressed in the white robes of the Sathuli. He carried two tulwars, curved and deadly. Ogasi advanced slowly, confused.

A Sathuli within the Drenai fortress?

"What do you do here?" yelled Ogasi.

"Merely helping a friend," replied the man. "Go back! I shall not let you pass."

Ogasi grinned. So the man was a lunatic. Lifting his sword, he ordered the tribesmen forward. The white-robed figure advanced on them.

"Sathuli!" he yelled.

From the buildings came a mighty answering roar as three thousand Sathuli warriors, their white robes ghostly in the gathering darkness, streamed to the attack.

The Nadir were stunned and Ogasi could not believe his eyes. The Sathuli and the Drenai were lifelong enemies. He knew it was happening, but his brain would not drink it in. Like a white tide on a dark beach, the Sathuli front line crashed into Nadir.

Joachim sought Ogasi, but the stocky tribesman was lost amid the chaos.

The savage twist to events, from certain victory to certain death, dismayed the tribesmen. Panic set in and a slow withdrawal became a rout. Trampling their comrades, the Nadir turned and ran with the white army at their backs, harrying them on with screams as bestial as any heard on the Nadir steppes.

On the walls above, Rek was bleeding from wounds in his upper arms and Hogun had suffered a sword cut to his scalp, blood running from the gash and skin flapping as he lashed out at his attackers.

Now Sathuli warriors appeared on the battlements and once more the Nadir fled their terrible tulwars, backing to the walls and seeking escape down the ropes.

Within minutes it was over. Elsewhere on the open ground small pockets of Nadir warriors were surrounded and despatched.

Joachim Sathuli, his white robes stained with crimson, slowly mounted the rampart steps, followed by his seven lieutenants. He approached Rek and bowed. Turning, he handed his bloody tulwars to a dark-bearded warrior. Another man passed him a scented towel. Slowly, elaborately he wiped his face and then his hands. Finally he spoke:

"A warm welcome," he said, his face unsmiling but his eyes full of humour.

"Indeed," said Rek. "It is lucky the other guests had to leave, otherwise there would not have been any room."

"Are you so surprised to see me?"

"No, not surprised. Astonished sounds more accurate."

Joachim laughed. "Is your memory so short, Delnoch? You said we should part as friends and I agreed. Where else should I be in a friend's hour of need?"

"You must have had the devil's own task convincing your warriors to follow you."

"Not at all," answered Joachim, an impish gleam in his eyes. "Most of their lives they have longed to fight inside these walls."

The tall Sathuli warrior stood on the high walls of Geddon, gazing down at the Nadir camp beyond the deserted battlements of Valteri. Rek was asleep now and the bearded prince strode the walls alone. Around him were sentries and soldiers of both races, but Joachim remained solitary.

For weeks Sathuli scouts atop the Delnoch range had watched the battle raging below. Often Joachim himself had scaled the peaks to view the fighting. Then a Nadir raiding party had struck at a Sathuli village and Joachim had persuaded his men to follow him to Delnoch. Added to this, he knew of the traitor who dealt with the Nadir, for he had witnessed a meeting in a high, narrow pass between the traitor and the Nadir captain, Ogasi.

Two days later the Nadir had tried to send a force over the mountains and the Sathuli had repulsed them.

Joachim heard the news of Rek's loss with sadness. Fatalistic himself, he could still share the feelings of a man whose woman had died. His own had died in childbirth two years before and the wound was still fresh.

Joachim shook his head. War was a savage mistress, but a woman of power nonetheless. She could wreak more havoc in a man's soul than time.

The Sathuli arrival had been timely and not without cost. Four hundred of his men were dead — a loss scarcely bearable to a mountain people who numbered a mere thirty thousand, many of these being children and ancients.

But a debt was a debt.

The man Hogun hated him, Joachim knew. But this was understandable, for Hogun was of the Legion and the Sathuli had spilt Legion blood for years. They reserved their finest tortures for captured Riders. This was an honour, but Joachim knew the Drenai could never understand. When a man died he was tested — the harder the death, the greater the rewards in Paradise. Torture advanced a man's soul and the Sathuli could offer no greater reward to a captured enemy.

He sat upon the battlements and stared back at the Keep. For how many years had he longed to take this fortress? How many of his dreams had been filled with pictures of the Keep in flames?

And now he was defending it with the lives of his followers.

He shrugged. A man with his eyes on the sky does not see the scorpion below his feet. A man with his eyes on the ground does not see the dragon in the air.

He paced the ramparts, coming at last to the gate tower and the stone inscription carved there: GEDDON.

The Wall of Death.

The air was thick with the smell of death and the morning would see the crows fly in to the feast. He should have killed Rek in the woods. A promise to an unbeliever was worth nothing, so why had he kept it? He laughed suddenly, accepting the answer; because the man had not cared.

And Joachim liked him.

He passed a Drenai sentry who saluted him and smiled. Joachim nodded, noting the uncertainty of the smile.

He had told the Earl of Bronze that he and his men would stay for one more day and then return to the mountains. He had expected a plea to remain — offers, promises, treaties. But Rek had merely smiled.

"It is more than I would have asked for," he said.

Joachim was stunned, but he could say nothing. He told Rek of the traitor and of the Nadir attempt to cross the mountains.

"Will you still bar the way?"

"Of course. That is Sathuli land."

"Good! Will you eat with me?"

"No, but I thank you for the offer."

No Sathuli could break bread with an unbeliever.

Rek nodded. "I think I will rest now," he said. "I will see you at dawn."

In his high room in the Keep Rek slept, dreaming of Virae, always of Virae. He awoke hours before dawn and reached out for her. But the sheets beside him were cold and, as always, he felt the loss anew. On this night he wept, long and soundlessly. Finally he rose, dressed and descended the stairs to the small hall. The manservant, Arshin, brought him a breakfast of cold ham and cheese, with a flagon of cold water, laced with honey mead. He ate mechanically until a young officer approached with the news that Bricklyn had returned with despatches from Drenan.

The burgher entered the hall, bowed briefly and approached the table, laying before Rek several packages and a large sealed scroll. He seated himself opposite Rek and asked if he could pour himself a drink. Rek nodded as he opened the scroll. He read it once, smiled, then laid it aside and looked across at the burgher. He was thinner and perhaps even greyer than the first time Rek had seen him. He was still dressed in riding clothes, and his green cloak was dust-covered. Bricklyn drained the water in two swallows and refilled his cup; then he noticed Rek's eyes upon him.

"You have seen the message from Abalayn?" he asked.

"Yes. Thank you for bringing it. Will you stay?"

"But of course. Surrender arrangements must be made and Ulric welcomed to the Keep."

"He has promised to spare no one," said Rek softly.

Bricklyn waved his hand. "Nonsense! That was war talk. Now he will be magnanimous."

"And what of Woundweaver?"

"He has been recalled to Drenan and the army disbanded."

"Are you pleased?"

"That the war is over? Of course. Though I am naturally saddened that so many had to die. I hear that Druss fell at Sumitos. A great shame. He was a fine man and a magnificent warrior. But it was as he would wish to go, I am sure. When would you like me to see Lord Ulric?"

"As soon as you wish."

"Will you accompany me?"

"No."

"Then who will?" asked Bricklyn, noting with pleasure the resignation mirrored in Rek's face.

"No one."

"No one? But that would not be politic, my lord. There should be a deputation."

"You will travel alone."

"Very well. What terms shall I negotiate?"

"You will negotiate nothing. You will merely go to Ulric and say that I have sent you."

"I do not understand, my lord. What would you have me say?"

"You will say that you have failed."

"Failed? In what? You speak in riddles. Are you mad?"

"No. Just tired. You betrayed us, Bricklyn, but then I expect nothing less from your breed. Therefore I am not angry. Or vengeful. You have taken Ulric's pay and now you may go to him. The letter from Abalayn is a forgery and Woundweaver will be here in five days with over fifty thousand men. Outside there are three thousand Sathuli and we can hold the wall. Now be gone! Hogun knows that you are a traitor and has told me that he will kill you if he sees you. Go now."

For several minutes Bricklyn sat stunned, then he shook his head. "This is madness! You cannot hold! It is Ulric's day, can you not see it? The Drenai are finished and Ulric's star shines. What do you hope to achieve?"

Rek slowly drew a long, slender dagger and placed it on the table before him.

"Go now," he repeated quietly.

Bricklyn rose and stormed to the door. He turned in the doorway.

"You fool!" he spat. "Use the dagger on yourself, for what the Nadir will do when they take you will make merry viewing." Then he was gone.

Hogun stepped from behind a tapestry-covered alcove and moved to the table. His head was bandaged and his face pale. In his hand he held his sword.

"How could you let him go, Rek? How?"

Rek smiled. "Because I couldn't be bothered to kill him."