The Legend of the Deathwalker

Chapter Nine

The blind Nadir priest, Enshima, sat silently on the edge of the rocks overlooking the steppes below. Behind him, at the hidden spring, some two dozen refugees — mostly older women and young children — sat forlornly in the shade. He had seen the distant fire in the night, and felt the passing of souls into the Void. The priest's pale blue robes were dust-stained, and his feet were sore and bleeding from walking upon the sharp, volcanic rock that blighted this area of the mountains.

Silently Enshima offered up a prayer of thanks for the ragged band of Curved Horn who had reached the spring two days before. They had been part of a larger group attacked by Gothir Lancers, but had managed to flee to higher ground where the heavily armed horsemen could not follow. Now they were safe for the moment. Hungry, bereaved, desolated, but safe. Enshima thanked the Source for their lives.

Releasing the chains of his spirit Enshima soared high above the mountains, gazing down on the vast emptiness of the steppes. Twelve miles to the north-west he could see the tiny battlements of the Shrine, but he did not fly there. Instead he scanned the land for the two riders he knew would soon be approaching the spring.

He saw them riding out of a gully some two miles from the rocks in which his body sat. The axeman was leading two horses while the poet, Sieben, rode at the rear, carrying the babe wrapped in its red blanket. Floating closer to the lead rider, he looked closely at the man. Riding a sway-backed mare, he was dressed in a jerkin of black leather with shining silver shoulder-guards, and carrying a huge, double-headed axe.

The route they were taking would lead them past the hidden spring. Enshima floated closer to the poet. Reaching out with his spirit hand, he touched the rider's shoulder.

'Hey, Druss,' said Sieben. 'You think there might be water in those rocks?'

'We don't need it,' said the axeman. 'According to Nuang the Shrine should be no more than around ten miles from here.'

'That may be true, old horse, but the child's blanket is beginning to stink. And I would appreciate the opportunity to wash some of my clothes before we make our grand entrance.'

Druss chuckled. 'Aye, poet, it would not be seemly for you to arrive looking any less than your glorious best.' Tugging the reins to the left, Druss angled towards the dark, volcanic rocks.

Sieben rode alongside him. 'How will you find these healing jewels?' he asked.

The axeman pondered the question. 'I expect they are in the coffin,' he said. 'That would be usual, would it not?'

'It is an old shrine. I would think it would have been pillaged by now.'

Druss was silent for a moment, then he shrugged. 'Well, the old shaman said they were there. I'll ask him about it when I see him.'

Sieben gave a wry grin. 'I wish I had your faith in human nature, Druss, my friend.'

The mare's head came up, nostrils quivering, and she quickened her pace. 'There is water, right enough,' said Sieben. 'The horses can smell it.'

They climbed the narrow, twisting trail, and as they reached the crest two ancient Nadir warriors stepped out ahead of them. Both were carrying swords. A small priest in robes of faded blue appeared and he spoke to the old men, who grudgingly backed away. Druss rode on, dismounting by the spring and casting a wary eye over the group of Nadir sitting close by.

The priest approached him. 'You are welcome at our camp, axeman,' he said. The man's eyes were blind, their pupils of smoky opal. Laying Snaga against a rock, Druss took the baby from Sieben and waited as the poet swung down.

'This child needs milk,' said Druss. The priest called out a name and a young woman came forward, moving hesitantly. Taking the child from Druss, she walked back to the group.

'They are survivors from a Gothir raid,' said the priest. 'I am Enshima, a Priest of the Source.'

'Druss,' said the axeman. 'And this is Sieben. We are travelling. .'

'To the Shrine of Oshikai,' said Enshima. 'I know. Come, sit with me for a while.' He walked away to a cluster of rocks by the spring. Druss followed him, while Sieben watered the horses and refilled their canteens.

'A great battle will be fought at the Shrine,' said Enshima. 'You know this.'

Druss sat down beside him. 'I know. It does not interest me.'

'Ah, but it does, for your own quest is linked to it. You will not find the jewels before the battle begins, Druss.'

The axeman knelt by the spring and drank. The water was cool and refreshing, but it left a bitter aftertaste on the tongue. Looking up at the blind man, he said, 'You are a seer?'

'For what it is worth,' agreed Enshima.

'Then can you tell me what this damned war is about? I see no sense in it.'

Enshima gave a rueful smile. 'That question presupposes there is sense to any war.'

'I am not a philosopher, priest, so spare me your ruminations.'

'No, Druss, you are not a philosopher,' said Enshima amiably, 'but you are an idealist. What is this war about? As with all wars it is about greed and fear; greed in that the Gothir are rich and desire to stay that way, and fear in that they see the Nadir as a future threat to their wealth and position. When has a war been fought over anything else?'

'These jewels exist, then,' said Druss, changing the subject.

'Oh, they exist. The Eyes of Alchazzar were crafted several hundred years ago. They are like amethysts, each as big as an egg, and each imbued with the awesome power of this savage land.'

'Why will I not find them before the battle?' asked Druss, as Sieben came up and sat alongside.

'Such is not your destiny.'

'I have a friend in need of them,' said Druss. 'I would appreciate your help in this matter.'

Enshima smiled. 'It gives me no pleasure to withhold help from you, axeman. But what you would ask of me I shall not give you. Tomorrow I will lead these people deep into the mountains, in the hope — vain though it may be — that I can keep them alive. You will journey to the Shrine, and there you will fight. For that is what you do best.'

'You have any bright words of comfort for me, old man?' asked Sieben.

The old man smiled and, reaching out, patted Sieben's arm. 'I was set a problem, and you helped solve it, for which my thanks. What you did, back in the death chamber, was a pure and good act, for which I hope the Source blesses you. Show me the lon-tsia.' Sieben fished into his pocket and produced the heavy silver medallion. The old man held it up before his face and closed his wood-smoke eyes. 'The male head is that of Oshikai Demon-bane, the female that of his wife, Shul-sen. The script is Chiatze. A literal translation would be Oshka-Shul-sen — together. But it really means spirit-entwined. Their love was very great.'

'Why would anyone want to torture her so?' asked Sieben.

'I cannot answer that, young man. The ways of evil men are lost to me; I have no understanding of such barbarity. Great magic was used, in order to cage Shul-sen's spirit.'

'Did I free her?'

'I do not know. A Nadir warrior told me that the spirit of Oshikai has been searching for her through the endless dark valleys of the Void. Perhaps now he has found her. I hope so. But as I said, the spells were very great.'

Enshima returned the lon-tsia to Sieben. 'This too has had a spell cast upon it,' he said.

'Not a curse, I hope,' said the poet, holding the medallion gingerly.

'No, not a curse. I think it was a Hide-spell. It would have masked it from the eyes of men. It is quite safe to carry, Sieben.'

'Good. Tell me — you said the man was Oshikai, and yet the name upon it is Oshka. Is that a short form?'

'There is no i in the Chiatze alphabet. It is written as a small curved stroke above the preceding letter.'

Sieben pocketed the medallion and Enshima rose. 'May the Source guard you both,' he said.

Druss strode away and mounted the mare. 'We leave you the two ponies,' he said.

'That is most kind.'

Sieben paused beside the old man. 'How many defenders at the Shrine?'

'I expect there will be fewer than two hundred when the Gothir arrive.'

'And the jewels are there?'

'Indeed they are.'

Sieben swore, then he smiled sheepishly. 'I was rather hoping they weren't. I am not at my best in battles.'

'No civilized man is,' said the priest.

'So why are the jewels hidden there?' asked Sieben.

Enshima shrugged. 'They were crafted several hundred years ago, and set in the head of a stone wolf. A shaman stole them. Obviously he wanted the power for himself. He was hunted and hid the jewels, then he tried to escape over the mountains. But he was caught, tortured and killed near where you found the bones of Shul-sen. He did not reveal the hiding-place of the Eyes.'

'The story makes no sense,' said Sieben. 'If the jewels were imbued with great power, why did he leave them behind? Surely he could have used their power against his pursuers?'

'Do the deeds of men always, as you say, make sense?' countered the priest.

'After a fashion,' argued Sieben. 'What kind of power did the Eyes possess?'

'That is difficult to say. Much would depend on the skill of the man using them. They could heal all wounds, and breach any spell. They were said to have powers of regeneration and replication.'

'Could their power have hidden him from his pursuers?'

'Yes.'

'Then why did he not use it?'

'I am afraid, young man, that will remain a mystery.'

'I hate mysteries,' said Sieben. 'You said regeneration. They could raise the dead?'

'I meant regeneration of tissue — as in deep wounds, or diseases. It was said that an old warrior became young again after being healed by them. But I think that is a fanciful tale.'

Druss pushed himself to his feet. 'Time to move on, poet,' he said.

A young Nadir woman approached them, carrying the baby. Silently she offered it to Sieben. The poet stepped back. 'No, no, my dear,' he said. 'Fond as we are of the little tyke, I think he is better off here, with his own people.'

Talisman walked along the narrow wooden ramparts of the north wall, testing the strength of the structure, examining the ancient beams that held them in place. They seemed solid. The parapets were crenellated, allowing for archers to shoot through the gaps. But each Nadir warrior carried only about twenty arrows, and these would be exhausted by the end of the first charge. The enemy would be loosing shafts, and these could be gathered. Even so, this would not be a battle won by archery. Gazing around, he saw Kzun directing building operations below the broken wall. A solid fighting platform had been constructed there. The Lone Wolves leader was still sporting the white scarf Zhusai had given him. Kzun saw him watching, but did not wave. Quing-chin was working with a team on the gates, smearing animal fat to the hinges, trying to free them. How long since they have been closed, Talisman wondered. Ten years? A hundred?

Bartsai and ten of his men were working on the parapet of the eastern wall, where a section of ramparts had given way. Floorboards had been ripped from nearby buildings to be used in the repairs.

Quing-chin climbed the ramparts and gave a Gothir salute. 'Make that the last Gothir tribute to me,' said Talisman coldly. 'It does not amuse the tribesmen.'

'My apologies, brother.'

Talisman smiled. 'Do not apologize, my friend. I did not mean to scold. You did well last night. A shame they saved their water wagons.'

'Not all of them, Talisman. They will be on short rations.'

'How did they react when disaster struck?'

'With great efficiency. They are well led,' said Quing-chin. 'We almost killed Gargan. I was watching from a rise and I saw him stumbling around in the flames. A young officer rode in and rescued him — it was the same man who saved the wagons.'

Talisman leaned on the parapet staring out over the valley. 'Much as I hate Gargan, it must be said that he is a skilled general. He has his own chapter in Gothir history books. He was twenty-two when he led the charge that ended the civil war, the youngest general in Gothir history.'

'He's not twenty-two now,' said Quing-chin. 'He is old and fat.'

'Courage remains, even when youth has faded,' Talisman pointed out.

'There is great venom in the man,' said Quing-chin, removing his fur-fringed helm and running his fingers through his sweat-streaked hair. 'An abiding malice that burns him. I think it will rage like last night's blaze when he learns that you are the leader here.'

'With luck you will be proved correct. An angry man rarely makes rational decisions.'

Quing-chin moved to the ramparts and sat down. 'Have you thought about who will lead the fighters at the water-hole?'

'Yes. Kzun.'

Quing-chin looked doubtful. 'I thought you said the Curved Horn were to guard it?'

'They will. Under Kzun.'

'A Lone Wolf? Will they stand for it?'

'We will see,' said Talisman. 'Get your men to gather heavy rocks and stones, and place them around the battlements. We should have some missiles to hurl down upon the infantry as they try to scale the walls.'

Without another word Talisman walked away, climbing down from the wall and approaching Bartsai, who had stopped repair work while his people rested and drank from the well. 'You have chosen your fighters?' he asked.

'I have. Twenty as you ordered. We could make it more now. Another thirty-two warriors have come in.'

'If the well is as you described it, then twenty should be enough. Have the men come to me here. I wish to speak with them.'

Bartsai moved away and Talisman walked to where Kzun and his men were putting the last touches to the fighting platform. The top had been covered with wooden planks from the old tower. Talisman climbed to it and gazed through the jagged crack. 'It is good,' he said, as Kzun moved alongside.

'It will do,' said Kzun. 'Is this where you wish my men and me to fight?'

'Your men, yes. But not you. Appoint a leader for them. I want you to take command of the Curved Horn at the well.'

'What?' Kzun reddened. 'You want me to lead those frightened monkeys?'

'If the Gothir take the well, they will take the Shrine,' said Talisman, his voice low and even. 'It is the very heart of our defence. Without water the enemy will be forced to all-out attack; if we can hold them for long enough they will start to die. With water they have a dozen options; they could even starve us out.'

'You don't have to convince me of the importance, Talisman,' snapped Kzun. 'But why should I lead Curved Horn? They are soft. My own men could hold the well. I can trust them to fight to the death.'

'You will lead the Curved Horn,' said Talisman. 'You are a fighting man and they will follow you.'

Kzun blinked. 'Just tell me why. Why me?'

'Because I order it,' said Talisman.

'No, there is more. What is it you are hiding from me?'

'There is nothing,' lied Talisman smoothly. 'The well is vital and it is my judgement that you are the best man to lead the defence. But the well is on Curved Horn lands and they would feel insulted should I ask another tribe to defend it.'

'You think they will not feel insulted when you name me as their leader?'

'That is a risk that must be taken. Come with me now, for they are waiting for us.'

Bartsai was furious, but he bit back his anger as he watched Kzun lead the warriors out through the gates. The nagging chest pain was back — a dull, tight cage of iron around his upper ribs. He had looked forward eagerly to the fight at the well. There were many escape routes open. He and his men would have defended it well, but also slipped away to safety should the need have arisen. Now he was trapped here in this rotting would-be fortress. Talisman approached him. 'Come, we must talk,' he said. A fresh pain stabbed at him as he looked at the younger man.

'Talk? I have had enough of talk. If the situation were not desperate I would challenge you, Talisman.'

'I understand your anger, Bartsai,' said Talisman. 'Now hear me: Kzun would have been useless in the siege. I have watched him pacing this compound, and seen his lantern flickering throughout the night. He sleeps in the open. Have you noticed that?'

'Aye, he's a strange one. But what makes you think he should lead my men?'

Talisman led Bartsai to the table in the shade. 'I do not know what demons plague Kzun, but it is obvious he fears confinement. He does not like the dark, and he avoids enclosed spaces. When the siege begins we will all be confined here. I think that would have broken Kzun. But he is a fighter, and will defend the well with his life.'

'As would I,' said Bartsai, not meeting Talisman's eyes. 'As would any leader.'

'We all carry our own fears, Bartsai,' said Talisman softly.

'What does that mean?' snapped the Curved Horn leader, reddening. Anxiously he looked up into Talisman's dark, enigmatic eyes.

'It means that I also fear the coming days. As do Quing-chin, Lin-tse and all the warriors. None of us want to die. That is one reason why I value your presence here, Bartsai. You are older and more experienced than the other leaders. Your calm and your strength will be of great importance when the Gothir attack.'

Bartsai sighed, and the pain subsided. 'When I was your age I would have ridden a hundred miles to be at this battle. Now I can feel the cold breath of Death upon my neck. It turns my bowels to water, Talisman. I am too old, and it would be best if you did not rely on me too much.'

'You are wrong, Bartsai. Only the stupid are fearless. I am young, but I am a good judge of men. You will stand, and you will inspire the warriors around you. You are Nadir!'

'I don't need pretty speeches. I know my duty.'

'It was not a speech, Bartsai. Twelve years ago, when Chop-backs raided your village you led a force of twenty men into their camp. You scattered them, and recovered all the lost ponies. Five years ago you were challenged by a young swordsman from the Lone Wolves. You were stabbed four times, but you killed him. Then, though wounded, you walked to your pony and rode away. You are a man, Bartsai.'

'You know a great deal about me, Talisman.'

'All leaders must know the men who serve them. But I only know this of you because your men brag of it.'

Bartsai grinned. 'I'll stand,' he said. 'And now I had better get back to the work on the ramparts. Otherwise I'll have nothing to stand on!'

Talisman smiled and the older man walked away. Nosta Khan came out of the Shrine building and walked across the compound. Talisman's good mood evaporated as the shaman approached. 'There is nothing there,' said Nosta Khan. 'I have cast search spells, but they fail. Perhaps Chorin-Tsu was wrong. Perhaps they are not there at all.'

'The Eyes are here,' said Talisman, 'but they are hidden from us. The spirit of Oshikai told me that a foreigner was destined to find them.'

Nosta Khan spat upon the dust. 'There are two coming, Druss and the poet. Let us hope one of them will prove to be the man of destiny.'

'Why is Druss coming here?' asked Talisman.

'I told him the Eyes would heal a friend of his who was wounded in a fight.'

'And will they?'

'Of course — though he'll never have them. You think I would allow the sacred future of the Nadir to rest in the hands of a gajin? No, Talisman. Druss is a great warrior. He will be of use to us in the coming battle, after that he must be killed.'

Talisman looked closely at the little man, but said nothing. The shaman sat down at the table and poured himself a cup of water. 'You say there is a lon-tsia inside the coffin?'

'Yes. Silver.'

'That is curious,' said Nosta Khan. 'The Shrine was plundered centuries ago. Why would the thieves leave a silver ornament behind?'

'It would have been worn next to the skin,' observed Talisman, 'underneath his shirt. Perhaps they missed it. The shirt then rotted away, which is why I found it.'

'Hmm,' murmured Nosta Khan, unconvinced. 'I think a spell was placed upon it, which has faded with time.' His glittering dark eyes fixed on Talisman's face. 'Now let us talk about the girl. You cannot have her, Talisman; she is pledged to the Uniter and you are not he. From his line will come the great men of the future. Zhusai will be his first bride.'

Talisman felt a tight knot in his belly, and his anger rose. 'I do not want to hear any more prophecies, shaman. I love her as I love life. She is mine.'

'No!' hissed Nosta Khan, leaning in close. 'The welfare of the Nadir is your first concern — indeed it is your only concern. You want to see the day of the Uniter? Then do not meddle with his destiny. Somewhere out there,' said Nosta Khan, waving his thin arm in the air, 'is the man we wait for. The strands of his destiny are interwoven with that of Zhusai. You understand me, Talisman? You cannot have her!'

The young Nadir looked into Nosta Khan's dark eyes and saw the malice lurking there. But more than that, he saw the little man was genuinely frightened. His life, even more than Talisman's, was devoted to one end, the coming of the Uniter.

Talisman felt as if a stone had replaced his heart. 'I understand,' he said.

'Good.' The little shaman relaxed and gazed around at the warriors working on the walls. 'It looks impressive,' he said. 'You have done well.'

'Are you staying with us for the battle?' asked Talisman coldly.

'For a while. I shall use my powers against the Gothir. But I cannot die here, Talisman; my work is too important. If the defence fails I shall leave. I shall take the girl with me.'

Talisman's heart lifted. 'You can save her?'

'Of course. Though let me speak plainly, Talisman. If you take away her virtue I shall leave her behind.'

'You have my word, Nosta Khan. Is it good enough for you?'

'Always, Talisman. Do not hate me, boy,' he said sadly. 'There are too many who do. Most of them have justification. It would hurt me for you to be among them. You will serve the Uniter well, I know this.'

'You have seen my destiny?'

'Yes. But some things are not to be spoken of. I need rest now.' The shaman walked away, but Talisman called him back.

'If you have any regard for me, Nosta Khan, you will tell me what you have seen.'

'I have seen nothing,' said Nosta Khan, without turning round. The little man's shoulders sank. 'Nothing. I do not see you riding with the Uniter. There is no future for you, Talisman. This is your moment. Relish it.' Without looking back he moved away.

Talisman stood for a moment, then turned towards the sleeping quarters and made his way up the stairs to Zhusai's room. She was waiting for him, her long black hair sleekly combed and shining with perfumed oil. As he entered she ran across to him, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing his face. Gently he pulled away from her, and told her the words of the shaman.

'I don't care what he says,' she told him. 'I will never feel for another man what I feel for you. Never!'

'Nor I for any woman. Let us sit together for a while, Zhusai. I need to feel the touch of your hand.' He led her to the small bed. She took his hand and kissed it, and he felt the warmth of her tears falling to his skin. 'When all else fails,' he whispered, 'Nosta Khan will take you from here to a place of safety. He has great magic and he will lead you through the Gothir. You will live, Zhusai.'

'I don't want to live without you. I will not leave.'

Her words touched Talisman, but they also made him fearful. 'Do not say that, my love. You have to understand that, for me, your safety would be like a victory. I could die happy.'

'I don't want you to die!' she said, her voice breaking. 'I want to be with you, somewhere deep in the mountains. I want to bear your sons.'

Talisman held her close, breathing in the perfume of her hair and skin, his fingers stroking her face and neck. He could find no words, and a terrible sadness smote him. He had thought his dreams of Nadir unity were more important than life itself. Now he knew differently. This one, slender woman had shown him a truth he had not known existed. For her he could almost betray his destiny. Almost. His mouth was dry, and with a great effort he released his hold on her and stood. 'I must go now,' he said.

She shook her head and rose alongside him. 'No, not yet,' she told him, her voice controlled. 'I am Chiatze, Talisman. I am trained in many things. Remove your shirt.'

'I cannot. I gave my word to Nosta Khan.'

She smiled then. 'Take off your shirt. You are tense and weary, your muscles knotted. I shall massage your shoulders and neck. Then you may sleep. Do this for me, Talisman.'

Shrugging off his goatskin jerkin, he doffed his shirt, unbuckled his sword-belt and sat back on the bed. She knelt behind him, her thumbs working at the knots in his muscles. After a while she ordered him to lie down on his stomach. He did so, and she rubbed perfumed oil into his back. The scent was delicate, and Talisman felt his tension flowing from him.

When he awoke she was lying beside him under a single blanket. Her arm was resting on his chest, her face next to his on the pillow. The dawn sun was shining through the window. Lifting her arm, Talisman eased himself from the bed and stood. She awoke. 'How are you feeling, my Lord?' she asked him.

'I am well, Zhusai. You are very skilled.'

'Love is magic,' she said, sitting up. She was naked, the sunlight turning her skin to gold.

'Love is magic,' he agreed, dragging his gaze from her breasts. 'You did not dream of Shul-sen?'

'I dreamed only of you, Talisman.'

Pulling on his shirt and jerkin he looped his sword-belt over his shoulder and left the room. Gorkai was waiting below.

'Two riders coming,' he said. 'Could be Gothir scouts. One carries a great axe. You want them dead or alive?'

'Let them come. I have been expecting them.'

Druss reined in the mare before the western wall and stared hard at the jagged crack that ran down it. 'I have seen better forts,' he told Sieben.

'And friendlier welcomes,' muttered Sieben, staring up at the bowmen who stood on the ramparts, aiming down at them. Druss grinned and tugged on the reins and the mare walked on. The gates were old and half-rotted, but he could see that the hinges had been recently cleaned of rust. The ground was scored under both gates in deep semi-circles, showing they had been closed recently.

Touching heels to the mare, he rode into the compound and dismounted. He saw Talisman walking towards him. 'We meet again, my friend,' he said. 'No robbers this time hunting you?'

'Two thousand of them,' Talisman told him. 'Lancers, infantry and archers.'

'You had better set some men to soak those gates,' said Druss. 'The wood is dry. They'll not bother to smash them. They'll set fire to them.' The axeman cast his experienced eye over the defences, impressed with what he saw. The ramparts had been restored, and a fighting platform raised beneath the crack in the western wall. Rocks and boulders were set on each rampart, ready to be hurled down on advancing infantry. 'How many men do you have?'

'Two hundred.'

'They'll need to be fighters.'

'They are Nadir. And they are defending the bones of the greatest Nadir warrior of all time. They will fight. Will you?'

Druss chuckled. 'I love a good fight, boy. But this one isn't mine. A Nadir shaman told me there were jewels here — healing jewels. I need them for a friend.'

'So I understand. But we have not found them yet. Tell me, did this shaman promise you the jewels?'

'Not exactly,' admitted Druss. 'He just told me they were here. Do you mind if we search?'

'Not at all,' said Talisman. 'I owe you my life, it is the least I can do.' He pointed to the main building. 'That is the Shrine of Oshikai Demon-bane. If the jewels are anywhere they are hidden there. Nosta Khan — the shaman you spoke of — has searched with spells, but he cannot find them. For myself I summoned the spirit of Oshikai, but he would not divulge their whereabouts. Good luck, axeman!'

Hoisting his axe to his shoulder, Druss strode across the compound with Sieben beside him. The Shrine was dimly lit, and the axeman paused before the stone sarcophagus. The chamber was dust-covered, and empty of adornments.

'It has been plundered,' said Sieben. 'Look at the pegs on the wall. Once they would have carried his armour and his battle flag.'

'No way to treat a hero,' said Druss. 'Any idea where to look?'

'Inside the sarcophagus,' said Sieben. 'But you'll find no jewels there.'

Druss laid his axe aside and moved to the coffin. Grasping the stone lid, he tensed his muscles and heaved. The stone groaned and grated as he slid it aside. Sieben looked in. 'Well, well,' he said.

'Are they there?'

'Of course they are not there,' snapped Sieben. 'But the corpse is wearing a lon-tsia exactly like the one we found on the woman.'

'Nothing else?'

'No. He has no fingers, Druss. Someone must have hacked them away to get at his rings. Put the lid back.'

Druss did so. 'What now?' he asked.

'I will think on it,' said the poet. 'There is something here that is not right. It will come to me.'

'Make it soon, poet. Otherwise you may find yourself at the centre of a war.'

'A charming thought.'

The sound of horses' hooves came from the compound. Druss walked to the door and stepped into the sunlight. Sieben followed him in time to see Nuang Xuan leap from his pony, his people streaming in through the gates behind him.

'I thought you were heading away from here,' called Druss. The Nadir leader hawked and spat.

'So did I, axeman. But some fool set a fire in our path and we had no choice but to flee from it. When we tried to cut across to the east we saw a column of Lancers. Truly the Gods of Stone and Water hate me.'

'You're still alive, old man.'

'Pah, not for much longer. Thousands of them, there are — all heading this way. I will let my people rest for tonight.'

'You are a bad liar, Nuang Xuan,' said Druss. 'You have come here to fight — to defend the Shrine. It is no way to change your luck.'

'I ask myself, is there no end to Gothir malice? How does it benefit them to destroy that which we hold dear?' He drew in a deep breath. 'I shall stay,' he said. 'I will send the women and children away, but I and my warriors will stay. And as for luck, axeman, to die defending a sacred place is a privilege. And I am not so old. I think I will kill a hundred by myself. You are staying, yes?'

'It is not my fight, Nuang.'

'What they are planning to do is evil, Druss.' He gave a sudden, gap-toothed grin. 'I think you will stay too. I think the Gods of Stone and Water brought you here so that you could watch me kill my hundred. Now I must find the leader here.'

Sieben walked to where Niobe was standing in the shade. She was carrying a canvas pack, which she had dropped to the ground at her feet. Sieben smiled. 'Missed me?' he asked.

'I am too tired for love-making,' she said tonelessly.

'Ever the Nadir romantic,' said Sieben. 'Come, let me get you some water.'

'I can fetch my own water.'

'I am sure that you can, my lovely, but I would cherish your company.' Taking her hand he led her to the table in the shade. Stone jugs had been filled with water and there were clay cups upon the table. Sieben filled one and passed it to her.

'Do men serve women in your land?' she asked.

'One way or another,' he agreed. Niobe drained the cup and held it out to him, and Sieben re-filled it.

'You are strange,' she said. 'And you are no warrior. What will you do here, when the blood spills?'

'With luck I won't be here when the fighting starts. But if I am. .' He spread his hands. 'I have some skill with wounds,' he told her. 'I will be the Fort Surgeon.'

'I too can stitch wounds. We will need cloth for bandages, and much thread. Also needles. I will gather these things. And there must be a place for the dead, otherwise they stink, bloat, split and attract flies.'

'How nicely phrased,' he said. 'Shall we talk about something else?'

'Why for?'

'Because the subject is. . demoralizing.'

'I do not know this word.'

'No,' he said. 'I don't think you do. Tell me, are you frightened at all?'

'Of what?'

'Of the Gothir.'

She shook her head. 'They will come, we will kill them.'

'Or be killed by them,' he pointed out.

She shrugged. 'Whatever,' she said grimly.

'You, my dear, are a fatalist.'

'You are wrong. I am of the Lone Wolves,' she said. 'We were to be Eagle Wing tribe, under Nuang. Now there are not enough of us, so we will become Lone Wolves again.'

'Niobe of the Lone Wolves, I adore you,' he said, with a smile. 'You are a breath of fresh air in this jaded life of mine.'

'I will only wed a warrior,' she told him sternly. 'But until a good one approaches me I will sleep with you.'

'What gentleman would spurn such a delicate advance?' he said.

'Strange,' she muttered, then walked away from him.

Druss strolled across the compound. 'Nuang says he's tired of running. He and his people will stay here and fight.'

'Can they win, Druss?'

'They look like a tough bunch, and Talisman has done well with the defences.'

'That doesn't answer the question.'

'There is no answer,' Druss told him. 'Only odds. I wouldn't bet a half-copper on their holding for more than a day.'

Sieben sighed. 'Naturally this does not mean we'll do something sensible — like leave?'

'The Gothir have no right to despoil this Shrine,' said Druss, a cold look in his grey eyes. 'It is wrong. This Oshikai was a hero to all the Nadir. His bones should be left in peace.'

'Excuse me for stating the obvious, old horse, but his tomb has already been plundered and his bones hacked around. I think he's probably past caring by now.'

'It is not about him, it's about them,' said Druss, indicating the Nadir. 'Despoiling the Shrine robs them of their heritage. Such a deed has no merit. It is born of spite and I can't abide such things.'

'We're staying, then?'

Druss smiled. 'You should leave,' he said. 'This is no place for a poet.'

'That is a tempting thought, Druss, old horse. I may just do that — as soon as we sight their battle flags.'

Nuang called out to Druss and the axeman strode away. As Sieben sat at the table, sipping water, Talisman walked across to him and sat down.

'Tell me of the friend who is dying,' he said. Sieben explained all that he knew about the fight that had left Klay crippled, and Talisman listened gravely.

'It is right,' he said, 'that a man should risk all for friendship. It shows he has a good heart. He has fought in many battles?'

'Many,' said Sieben bitterly. 'You know how a tall tree attracts lightning during a storm? Well, Druss is like that. Wherever he is battles just seem to spring up around him. It really is galling.'

'Yet he survives them.'

'That is his talent. Wherever he walks, Death is close behind.'

'He will be most welcome here,' said Talisman. 'But what of you, Sieben? Niobe tells me you wish to be our surgeon. Why should you do this?'

'Stupidity runs in my family.'

Lin-tse sat on his pony and scanned the pass. To his right rose the sheer red rock-face of Temple Stone, a towering monument to the majesty of nature, its flanks scored by the winds of time, its shape carved by a long-forgotten sea that had once covered this vast land. To Lin-Tse's left was a series of jagged slopes, covered with boulders. The enemy would have to pass along the narrow trail that led down beside Temple Stone. Dismounting, he ran up the first slope, pausing at several jutting rocks. With enough men, and enough time, he could dislodge several of the larger boulders and send them hurtling down on to the trail. He thought about it for a while.

Running back to his pony, he vaulted to the saddle and led his small company on, deeper into the red rocks. Talisman needed a victory, something to lift the hearts of the defenders.

But how? Talisman had mentioned Fecrem and the Long Retreat — that had involved a series of lightning guerrilla raids on enemy supply lines. Fecrem was Oshikai's nephew, and a skilled raider. Red dust rose in puffs of clouds beneath the ponies' hooves and Lin-tse's throat was dry as he leaned in to his mount, urging the stallion up the steep slope. At the crest he paused, and dismounted once more. Here the trail widened. A long finger of rock jutted from the left, leaning towards a cluster of boulders on the right. The gap between was about eighteen feet. Lin-tse pictured the advancing line of Lancers. They would be travelling slowly, probably in a column of twos. If he could make them move faster at this point. . Swinging in the saddle, he scanned the back trail. The slope behind him was steep, but a skilled horseman could ride down it at a run. And the Lancers were skilled. 'Wait here,' he told his men, then dragged on the reins. The pony reared and twisted, but Lin-tse heeled him into a run and set off down the slope. At the bottom he drew up sharply. Dust had kicked up behind him, like a red mist over the trail. Lin-tse angled to the right and moved on more cautiously. Away from the trail the ground was more broken, leading to a crevice and a sheer drop of some three hundred feet. Dismounting again, he moved to the lip of the chasm, then worked his way along it. At the widest point there was at least fifty feet between the two edges, but it narrowed to ten feet where he now knelt. On the other side the ground was angled upwards, and littered with rocks. But this led to a wider trail, and Lin-tse followed it with his eyes. It would take him down to the western side of Temple Stone.

He sat alone for a while, thinking the plan through. Then he rode back to his men.

Premian led his hundred Lancers deep into the red rock country. He was tired, his eyes bloodshot and gritty. The men behind him rode silently in columns of twos; all of them were unshaven, their water rations down by a third. For the fourth time that morning Premian held his arm in the air, and the troops reined in. The young officer, Mikal, rode alongside Premian. 'What do you see, sir?' he asked.

'Nothing. Send a scout to that high ground to the north-east.'

'There is no army facing us,' complained Mikal. 'Why all these precautions?'

'You have your orders. Obey them,' said Premian. The young man reddened and wheeled his horse. Premian had not wanted Mikal on this mission. The boy was young and hot-headed. Worse, he held the Nadir in contempt — even after the fire at the camp. But Gargan had overruled him; he liked Mikal, and saw in him a younger version of himself. Premian knew that the men did not object to the slow advance into enemy territory. The Royal Lancers had all fought Nadir warriors in the past, and in the main were canny men who would sooner suffer discomfort in the saddle than ride unawares into an ambush.

One fact was sure: the man who planned the raid on the camp would not have only one string to his bow. Premian had not ridden these lands before, but he had studied the exquisite maps in the Great Library at Gulgothir, and knew that the area around Temple Stone was rich with hiding-places from which archers could attack his troops or send boulders hurtling down upon them. Under no circumstances would he lead his men headlong into the enemy's arms. Sitting on his mount, he watched as the scout rode to the high ground. The man reached the top and then waved his arm in a circular motion, indicating the way was clear. Premian led his four companies forward once more.

His mouth was dry. Fishing in his saddle-bag, he produced a small silver coin which he put into his mouth to encourage saliva. The men would be watching him, and if he drank then so would they. According to the maps there was no major water supply in this region, though there were several dry river-beds. Often solid digging produced small seeps which would at least give the horses a drink. Or there might be hidden rock tanks of which the cartographers were unaware. Premian kept watch for bees, who never strayed far from water. So far he had seen nothing. Nor had the horses reacted to the shifting of the hot winds; they could scent water from great distances.

Premian summoned his Master Sergeant, Jomil. The man was close to fifty, and a veteran of Nadir campaigns. Heeling his horse alongside Premian he gave a crisp salute. His grizzled face looked even older now, with its two-day growth of silver bristles. 'What do you think?' he asked the man.

'They're close,' answered Jomil. 'I can almost smell them.'

'Lord Larness requires prisoners,' said Premian.'Relay that to the men.'

'A reward would be pleasant,' suggested Jomil.

'There will be one, but do not announce it. I want no recklessness.'

'Ah, but you are a careful man, sir,' Jomil said, with a grin.

Premian smiled. 'That is what I would like my grandchildren to say as I sit with them in the cool of an autumn garden. "He was a careful man."'

'I already have grandchildren,' Jomil told him.

'Probably more than you know.'

'No probably about it, sir.' Jomil returned to his men, passing the word concerning prisoners. Premian lifted the white horsehair-plumed helm from his head and ran his fingers through his sweat-streaked blond hair. Just for a moment the wind felt cool as the sweat evaporated, then the oppressive heat began again. Premian replaced the helm.

Ahead the trail twisted and Temple Stone came into sight. Shaped like a giant bell, it reared up majestically towards the sky. Premian found it an impressive sight, and wished that he had the time to sketch it. The trail steepened towards a crest. Summoning Mikal, he told him to take his company of twenty-five to the crest and wait for the main body to follow. The young man saluted and led his men away to the east, Premian scowled. He was riding too fast — did he not understand that the horses were tired, and that water was scarce?

Mikal and his men reached the crest — just in time to see a small group of four startled Nadir warriors running for their ponies. The Lord Gargan had said he wanted prisoners, and Mikal could almost hear the words of praise the general would heap upon him. 'A gold raq for the man who captures one!' he shouted, and spurred his mount. The gelding leapt forward. The Nadir scrambled to their mounts and kicked them into a run, sending up clouds of red dust as they galloped down the slope. The ponies were no match for Gothir horses, and it would be a matter of only moments before Mikal and his men reached them. Drawing his sabre, Mikal squinted against the dust and leaned in to the neck of his mount, urging it to greater speed. The Nadir rounded a bend in the trail. . he could just make them out through the dust-cloud. His horse was at full gallop, his men bunched behind him as he rounded the bend. He saw the Nadir slightly to the left; their horses bunched and jumped, as if over a small fence.

In that terrible moment Mikal saw the chasm yawning before him like the mouth of a giant beast. Throwing himself back in the saddle, he hauled savagely on the reins — but it was too late. The gelding, at full gallop, leapt out over the awesome drop and then tipped headfirst, flinging Mikal from the saddle. He fell screaming towards the distant rocks.

Behind him the Lancers had also dragged on their reins. Seven fell immediately after him, the others milling at the edge of the crevice. Fifteen Nadir warriors, shouting at the tops of their voices, rose from hiding-places in the rocks and ran towards the riders. The startled horses bolted, sending ten more Lancers plunging to their deaths. The remaining eight men jumped from their saddles and turned to fight. Outnumbered and demoralized, with the chasm behind them and nowhere to run, they were hacked down swiftly and mercilessly. Only one Nadir warrior was wounded — his face gashed, the skin of his cheek flapping against his chin. Gathering the Gothir horses, and the helms of the fallen men, they rode swiftly back down the trail.

Premian and his three companies topped the crest moments later. Jomil rode down and found the bodies. Returning to his captain, he made his report. 'All dead, sir. Most of them appear to have ridden over a cliff. Their bodies are scattered on the rocks below. Some good men lost, sir.'

'Good men,' agreed Premian, barely keeping the fury from his voice. 'Led by an officer with the brains of a sick goat.'

'I heard your order to him, sir. You told him to wait. You're not to blame, sir.'

'We'll detour down to the bodies and bury them,' he said. 'How many do you think were in the attacking party?'

'From the tracks, no more than twenty, sir. Some of the Nadir were riding ahead of our boys. They jumped the gorge at a narrow point.'

'So, twenty-six men dead for the loss of how many of the enemy?'

'Some were wounded. There was blood on the ground where they hid their ponies — maybe ten of them.'

Premian gave him a hard look. 'Well, maybe one or two,' Jomil admitted.

It took more than three hours to detour to the foot of the chasm. By the time the Gothir troops reached the bodies it was almost dusk.

The eighteen corpses had all been stripped of armour and weapons, and beheaded.