The Legend of the Deathwalker

Chapter Twelve

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

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

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

'That is good, eh?'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Hate them? The Gothir? Why?'

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

'Of course.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Now and always,' he agreed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

'What is that supposed to mean?'

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

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

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

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

'Stings like the devil.'

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

'How is Nuang?'

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Who was the officer?'

'Mersham, sir. Newly promoted.'

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

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

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

'I know, sir.'

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

'Yes, sir.'

Sieben crossed the compound and quietly woke Druss. 'Follow me,' he whispered. Druss rose and the two men moved down the rampart steps and across the open ground to the Shrine. It was dark within and they stood for a moment, allowing their eyes to adjust to the faint moonlight coming through the single window. The Nadir dead had been placed against the north wall, and already the smell of death clung to the air. 'What are we doing here?' whispered Druss.

'I want the healing stones,' said Sieben. 'No more dead men under my hands.'

'We've already searched this place.'

'Yes, and I think we have already seen them. Lift the lid.' Moving to the stone coffin Druss pushed at the lid, slowly easing it to one side to make enough room for Sieben to push his arm inside. His fingers touched dry bones and the dust of decayed garments. Swiftly he moved his hand upward until he reached the skull. Closing his eyes and concentrating, he searched below the fractured jaw until his fingers touched the cold metal of Oshikai's lon-tsia. Pulling it free, he brought it out into the pale moonlight.

'Now you have a pair,' said Druss. 'So what?'

'Shaoshad came here to ask Oshikai to agree to be regenerated. Oshikai refused, unless Shul-sen could be with him. How then did he set about finding her?'

'I don't know,' said Druss, holding his patience. 'I do not understand magic.'

'Bear with me, my friend, and look at the evidence. Both Oshikai and Shul-sen wore lon-tsia. Oshikai's tomb has already been plundered, but no-one found the medallion. Why? The blind priest told me a Hide-spell had been placed upon the lon-tsia worn by Shul-sen. It is reasonable to suppose that a similar spell was cast upon that worn by Oshikai. Now, I believe Shaoshad lifted the spell on this one,' he said, holding up the lon-tsia. 'Why? In order to help him locate Shul-sen. Talisman's man, Gorkai, told me the lon-tsia of the rich were blessed with many spells. I think that in some way Shaoshad used this medallion to find the other. You follow me?'

'No, but I am hanging in,' said Druss wearily.

'Why did he not have the stones when he was caught?'

'Will you stop asking me questions for which there are no answers?' Druss snapped.

'It was rhetorical, Druss. Now don't interrupt any more. According to Gorkai, a search spell is like a tracker dog. I think Shaoshad imbued Oshikai's medallion with the power of one of the stones, and sent the other in search of Shul-sen's lon-tsia. Then he tried to follow the spirit trail. That is why he was caught between here and where we found Shul-sen's remains.'

'And where does this leave us?' asked Druss.

Sieben fished in his pocket, producing the second lon-tsia which he held close to the first. 'It leaves us with this,' he said triumphantly, clapping his hands and pushing the two medallions together.

Nothing happened. .

'It leaves us with what?' asked Druss.

Sieben opened his hands. The two lon-tsia glittered in the moonlight and he swore. 'I was sure I was right,' he said. 'I thought if they were brought together the stones would appear.'

'I am going back to sleep,' said Druss, spinning on his heel and striding from the room.

Sieben pocketed the medallions, and was about to follow when he realized the coffin was still open. He swore again and grasped the lid, straining to drag it back into place.

'So close, my friend,' came a whispered voice, and Sieben swung to see the tiny, glowing figure of Shaoshad sitting cross-legged on the floor. 'But I did not hide the Eyes within the lon-tsia.'

'Where, then?' asked the poet. 'And why did you hide them at all?'

'They should never have been made,' said Shaoshad, his voice edged with sorrow. 'The magic was in the land, but now it is barren. It was an act of colossal arrogance. As to why I hid them — well, I knew I risked capture. There was no way I would allow the Eyes to be retaken. Even now it saddens me to know they must surface once more.'

'Where are they?'

'They are here. You were mostly right — I did use the power to locate Shul-sen's tomb, and I did indeed imbue her lon-tsia with enough power to regenerate her. Watch — and be suitably impressed!'

The two lon-tsia medallions rose up from Sieben's palm and floated across to the stone coffin, hovering just in front of the inscribed name-plate. 'Can you guess?' asked the spirit of the shaman.

'Yes!' said Sieben, moving forward and retrieving the floating medallions. Holding them up before the engraved word Oshikai, he pressed them side on into the two i indentations. Both lon-tsia disappeared. A violet glow radiated from within the coffin. Sieben rose and peered inside. Two jewels now rested in the eye-sockets of the skull of Oshikai Demon-bane. Reaching inside, he drew them out; both were the size of sparrow's eggs.

'Tell no-one you have them,' warned Shaoshad, 'not even Druss. He is a great man, but he has no guile. If the Nadir find out they will kill you for them; therefore do not use their powers too obviously. When treating the wounded, stitch them and bandage them as before, then concentrate on the healing. You will not need to produce the jewels. If you keep them hidden on your person, the power will still flow through you.'

'How will I know how to heal?'

Shaoshad smiled. 'You do not need to know — that is the beauty of magic, poet. Simply place your hands over the wound and think it healed. Once you have done this you will understand more.'

'I thank you, Shaoshad.'

'No, poet, it is I who thank you. Use them wisely. Now replace the lid of the coffin.'

Sieben took hold of the stone and, as he did so, glanced down. Just for a moment he saw the lon-tsia of Oshikai gleaming among the bones, then it faded. Dragging the lid back into place, he turned to Shaoshad. 'He wears it once more,' said the poet.

'Aye, as it should be, hidden again by a Hide-spell. No-one will plunder it. The other has returned to the resting-place of Shul-sen.'

'Can we win here?' asked Sieben, as the shaman's image began to fade.

'Winning and losing is entirely dependent on what you are fighting for,' answered Shaoshad. 'All men here could die, yet you could still win. Or all men could live, and you could lose. Fare you well, poet.'

The spirit vanished. Sieben shivered, then thrust his hands in his pocket, curling his fingers around the stones.

Returning to the hospital, he walked silently among the ranks of wounded men. In the far corner a man groaned and Sieben moved to his side, kneeling beside the blanket on which he lay. A lantern flickered brightly on the wall, and by its light Sieben looked at the man's gaunt face. He had been stabbed in the belly, and though Sieben had stitched the outer flap of the wound the bleeding was deep and internal. The man's eyes were fever-bright. Sieben gently laid a hand on the bandages and closed his eyes, seeking to concentrate. For a moment nothing happened; then bright colours filled his mind, and he saw the torn muscles, the split entrails, the pooling blood within the wound. In that instant he knew every muscle and fibre, the attachments, the blood routes, the sources of pain and discomfort. It was as if he was floating inside the wound. Blood flowed from a gaping gash in a twisting purple cylinder. . but as Sieben gazed at it, the gash closed and healed. Moving on he sealed other cuts, his mind flowing back from the depths of the wound, healing as he went. At last he reached the outer stitches and here he stopped. It would be wise to let the man feel the pull of the stitches when he woke, he thought. If any wound was utterly healed, the secret of the stones would be out.

The warrior blinked. 'It is taking me a long time to die,' he said.

'You are not going to die,' Sieben promised him. 'Your wound is healing, and you are a strong man.'

'They pierced my guts.'

'Sleep now. In the morning you will feel stronger.'

'You speak the truth?'

'I do. The wound was not as deep as you believe. You are healing well. Sleep.' Sieben touched the man's brow; instantly his eyes closed and his head lolled to one side.

Sieben made his way to every wounded man one by one. Most were sleeping. Those who were awake he spoke softly to, and healed. At the last he came to Nuang. As he floated within the old man's injuries he found himself drawn to the heart, and here he found a section so thin it was almost transparent. Nuang could have died at any time, he realized, for his heart — under strain — could have torn itself apart like wet paper. Sieben concentrated on the area, watching it thicken. The arteries were hard, the inner walls choked and narrow; these he opened and made supple.

Withdrawing at last, he sat back. There was no feeling of weariness in him, rather a sense of exultation and rare delight.

Niobe was asleep in another corner of the room. Placing the jewels in a pouch he hid them behind a water cask, moved to Niobe and lay down beside her, feeling her warmth against him. Drawing a blanket over them both, he leaned over and kissed her cheek. She moaned and rolled in to him, whispering a name that was not his. Sieben smiled.

She awoke then, and raised herself up on one elbow. 'Why you smile, po-et?' she asked him.

'Why not? It is a fine night.'

'You wish to make love?'

'No, but I would appreciate a hug. Come close.'

'You are very warm,' she said, snuggling alongside him and resting her arm on his chest.

'What do you want from life?' he whispered.

'Want? What is there to want? Apart from a good man and strong babies?'

'And that is all?'

'Rugs,' she said, after thinking for a few moments. 'Good rugs. And a fire-bucket of iron. My uncle had a fire-bucket of iron; it heated the tent on the cold nights.'

'What about rings and bracelets, items of gold and silver?'

'Yes, those too,' she agreed. 'You will give these to me?'

'I think so.' Turning his head, he kissed her cheek. 'Amazing as it might seem, I have fallen in love with you. I want you with me. I will take you to my own land and buy you an iron fire-bucket and a mountain of rugs.'

'And the babies?'

'Twenty if you want them.'

'Seven. I want seven.'

'Then seven it will be.'

'If you are mocking me, po-et, I will cut out your heart.'

Sieben chuckled. 'No mockery, Niobe. You are the greatest treasure I ever found.'

Sitting up she looked around the large hospital. 'Everyone is sleeping,' she said suddenly.

'Yes.'

'I think some must have died.'

'I don't believe so,' he told her. 'In fact I am sure that is not the case — just as I am sure none will wake for several hours. So let us return to your earlier offer.'

'Now you want love-making?'

'Indeed I do. Maybe for the first time in my life.'

Master Sergeant Jomil pressed his thick fingers to the cut on his face, trying to stem the flow of blood. Sweat trickled into the shallow wound, the salt stinging him, and he cursed. 'You are slowing down, Jomil,' said Premian.

'Little bastard almost took my eye out. . sir,' he added.

The bodies of the Nadir defenders were dragged from the rocks and laid in a line away from the pool. The fourteen Gothir dead had been wrapped in their cloaks, the bodies of the six slain Lancers tied across the saddles of their mounts, the infantry buried where they had fallen.

'By the Blood of Missael, they put up a fight, didn't they, sir?' said Jomil.

Premian nodded. 'They were fighting for pride and love of land. There is no greater motivation.' Premian himself had led the charge up the slope, while the infantry stormed the rocks. Weight of numbers had carried the day, but the Nadir had fought well. 'You'll need stitches in that face wound. I'll attend to it presently.'

'Thank you, sir,' replied Jomil, without enthusiasm.

Premian grinned at him. 'How is it that a man can face swords, axes, arrows and spears without flinching, yet be terrified of a small needle and a length of thread?'

'I get to whack the buggers with the swords and axes,' said Jomil. Premian laughed aloud, then moved to the poolside. The water was deep, clear and cool. Kneeling, he cupped his hands and drank deeply, then rising, he walked to the line of Nadir dead. Eighteen men, some of them little more than boys. Anger churned inside him: what a wasted exercise this was. What a futile little war! Two thousand highly trained Gothir soldiers marching through a wasteland to sack a Shrine.

Yet something was wrong, Premian could feel it. An invisible worry nagged at his subconscious. An infantry soldier approached him and saluted. The man had a bloody bandage around his scalp.

'Can we start cook-fires, sir?' he asked.

'Yes, but move further into the rocks. I don't want the smoke to spook the wagon horses when they arrive. It'll be hard enough getting them up the slope.'

'Yes, sir.'

Premian walked to his horse and took needle and thread from his saddle-bag. Jomil saw him and cursed under his breath. Only two hours past dawn, and already the heat was formidable, radiating from the red rocks. Premian knelt by Jomil's side and eased the flap of skin into place over his right cheekbone. Expertly he stitched the wound. 'There,' he said, at last, 'now you'll have a fine scar to bewitch the ladies.'

'I already have more than enough scars to brag of,' grumbled Jomil. Then he grinned. 'You remember that battle outside Lincairn Pass, sir?'

'Yes. You received an unfortunate wound, I recall.'

'I don't know about unfortunate. The ladies love the story about that one. Not sure why.'

'Buttock wounds are always a source of great merriment,' said Premian. 'As I recall, you were awarded forty gold crowns for bravery. Did you save any of it?'

'Not a copper of it. I spent most of it on strong drink, fat women and gambling. The rest I wasted.' Premian glanced back at the Nadir dead. 'Something bothering you, sir?' asked Jomil.

'Yes. . but I don't know what.'

'You expected there to be more of them, sir?'

'Perhaps a few.' Premian strolled to the line of dead warriors, then called out to a young Gothir Lancer. The man ran to his side. 'You were involved in the first attack. Which of these is the leader?' The Lancer gazed down at all the faces.

'It is hard to say, sir. They all look alike to me, vomit-coloured and slant-eyed.'

'Yes, yes,' said Premian irritably. 'But what do you remember of the man?'

'He had a white scarf over his head. Oh. . and rotting teeth. I remember that. They were yellow and black. Vile.'

'Check the teeth of the dead,' ordered Premian. 'Find him for me.'

'Yes, sir,' replied the man, without enthusiasm.

Moving back to Jomil, he reached out, taking the man's extended hand and hauling him to his feet. 'Time to work, sergeant,' he said. 'Get the infantry out on the slope. I want all the boulders pushed from the trail. We've fourteen wagons on the way, and it will be bad enough trying to get them up the slope without needing to negotiate them through a maze of scattered rocks.'

'Yes, sir.'

The Lancer returned from his examination of the corpses. 'He's not there, sir; he must have run off.'

'Run off? A man who would leap from rock twenty feet high and launch himself into a group of Lancers? A man who could inspire his warriors to die for him? Run off? That is most unlikely. If he is not here then. . sweet Kama!' Premian swung on Jomil. 'The wagons; he has gone after the wagons!'

'He can't have more than a handful of men,' argued Jomil. 'There are fourteen drivers, tough and armed.'

Premian ran to his horse and stepped into the saddle. Calling out to two of his officers, he ordered them to gather their companies and follow him. Kicking the horse into a run, he left the pool and galloped out on to the slope. As he breasted the rise he saw the smoke more than a mile to the south. At full gallop he pushed the gelding hard. Behind him came fifty Lancers.

It was a matter of minutes before they rounded a bend in the trail and saw the burning wagons. The horses had been cut free, and the bodies of several of the drivers could be seen with arrows jutting from their chests. Premian dragged his exhausted mount to a halt and swiftly surveyed the scene. Smoke was billowing around the area, stinging the eyes. Five wagons were burning.

Suddenly he saw a man with a blazing torch run through the smoke. He was wearing a white head-scarf. 'Take him!' bellowed Premian, kicking his horse forward. The Lancers swept out around him, riding through the oily smoke.

A small group of Nadir warriors were desperately trying to fire the remaining wagons. As the thunder of hoofbeats reached them over the roaring of the flames they dropped their torches and ran for their ponies.

The Lancers tore into them, cutting them down.

Premian swung his horse, just as something dark came launching at him from a blazing wagon. He instinctively ducked as a white-scarfed Nadir warrior cannoned into him, sending him hurtling from the saddle. They hit hard and Premian rolled, scrabbling for his sword. But the man ignored him and, taking hold of the saddle pommel, vaulted to the gelding's back. Drawing his sabre the Nadir charged the Lancers, hacking and cutting. One man fell from his mount with his throat slashed open, a second pitched to his left as the flickering blade pierced his face. A lance ripped into the Nadir's back, half lifting him from the saddle. Twisting savagely, he tried to reach the Lancer. Another soldier heeled his horse forward, cleaving his longsword into the man's shoulder. The Nadir, dying now, sent one last lunge at the sword-wielder, the blade piercing his arm. Then he sagged to his right. The gelding reared, throwing him to the ground with the lance still embedded deep in his back. He struggled to rise and groped for his fallen sabre; blood was bubbling from his mouth and his legs were unsteady. A rider closed in on him, but he lashed out, his sword cutting the horse's flanks. 'Get back from him!' shouted Premian. 'He's dying.'

The Nadir staggered and turned towards Premian. 'Nadir we!" he shouted.

A Lancer spurred his horse forward and slashed his sword down at the man. The Nadir ducked under the blow and leapt forward to grab the Lancer's cloak, dragging him down into the path of his own sabre which sliced up into the man's belly. The Lancer screamed and pitched from the saddle. Both men fell to the ground. Soldiers leapt from their mounts and surrounded the fallen Nadir, hacking and cleaving at his body.

Premian ran forward. 'Get back, you fools!' he yelled. 'Save the wagons!'

Using their cloaks, the Lancers beat at the flames, but it was useless. The dry timbers had caught now and the fires raged on, unstoppable. Premian ordered the five remaining wagons pulled clear, then sent out riders to gather the wagon horses which, having picked up the scent of water, were walking slowly towards the pool. Ten of the drivers were also found, hiding in a gully, and were brought before Premian. 'You ran,' he said, 'from seven Nadir warriors. Now half our wagons are gone. You have put the entire army in peril by your cowardice.'

'They came screaming out of the steppes, in a cloud of dust,' argued one man. 'We thought there was an army of them.'

'You will take your places on the remaining wagons, see them loaded and the water delivered back to the camp. Once there, you will face the Lord Gargan. I don't doubt your backs will feel the weight of the lash. Now get out of my sight!'

Swinging away from them, Premian thought through the mathematics of the situation. Five wagons with eight barrels each. Some fifteen gallons could be stored in each barrel. In these conditions a fighting man needed, minimally, around two pints of water per day. By this rough estimate he calculated that one barrel could supply sixty men with water. Forty barrels would be barely enough for the men, let alone the horses. And horses for only one day. . From now on there would need to be a constant shuttle between the camp and the pool.

Still, he reasoned, it could have been worse. Had he not reacted when he did, all the wagons would have been lost. But the thought did not cheer him. Had he left a guard force with them in the first place, the Nadir attack would have failed.

His thinking was interrupted by the sound of savage laughter and the hacking of sword-blades. The white-scarfed Nadir leader had been beheaded and dismembered. Furious, Premian ran into the jeering group. 'Stand to attention!' he bellowed, and the men shuffled nervously into a line. 'How dare you?' stormed Premian. 'How dare you behave like savages? Can you have any idea what you look like at this moment? Would any of you wish to be seen by your loved ones, prancing about and waving the limbs of a dead warrior above your heads. You are Gothir! We leave this. . barbarity to lesser races.'

'Permission to speak, sir?' asked a lean soldier.

'Spit it out.'

'Well, the Lord Gargan said all Nadir were to have their hands cut off, didn't he, sir?'

'That was a threat made to frighten the Nadir, who believe that if they lose a limb they will be devoid of that limb throughout eternity. It was not a threat, I believe, that the Lord Gargan intends to carry out in reality. I may be wrong in this. But here and now, I am in command. You will dig a grave for that man, and place his limbs alongside him. He was my enemy, but he was brave and he gave his life for a cause he believed in. He will be buried whole. Am I understood?'

The men nodded. 'Then get to it.'

Jomil approached Premian and the two walked away from the surly group. 'That wasn't wise, sir,' said Jomil, keeping his voice low. 'You'll get the name of a Nadir-lover. Word'll spread that you're soft on the enemy.'

'It doesn't matter a damn, my friend. I shall be resigning my commission the moment this battle is, over.'

'That's as maybe, sir — but, if you'll pardon my bluntness, I don't think the Lord Gargan was making an idle threat. And I don't want to see him putting you on trial for disobedience.'

Premian smiled and looked into the old soldier's grizzled face. 'You are a fine friend, Jomil. I value you highly. But my father told me never to be a part of anything that lacked honour. He once said to me that there was no greater satisfaction for a man than to be able to look in a mirror while shaving, and be proud of what he saw. At this moment I am not proud.'

'I think you ought to be,' said Jomil softly.

It was three hours after noon and still the enemy had not attacked. The foot soldiers were sitting in the camp, many of them using their cloaks and swords to form screens against the harsh heat of the blazing sun. The horses of the Lancers were picketed to the west. Most stood forlornly with heads down, others had sunk to the ground for want of water.

Shading his eyes, Druss saw the five water wagons returning and gave a low curse under his breath. Gothir soldiers ran to the wagons, surrounding them.

Talisman climbed to the ramparts and stood beside Druss. 'I should have sent more men with Kzun,' he said.

Druss shrugged. 'As I recall, they set out last night with fourteen wagons. Your man did well. There'll be scarce enough water in those wagons and they'll not last a day. The horses alone need more than those wagons will supply.'

'You've been in sieges before?' asked Talisman.

'Aye, laddie. Too many.'

'Then what is your appraisal?'

'I think they'll throw everything at us. They can't play a waiting game. They have no engineers to mine the walls; they have no battering ram to smash the gates. I think they'll send in every man they have, Lancers and foot. They'll storm this wall by sheer weight of numbers.'

'I think not,' said Talisman. 'It is my belief that they will try a three-pronged attack. This western wall will take the brunt, but I think they will also try to breach the gates, and one other wall. They will try to stretch us. Only if that fails will they risk the final assault.'

'We'll know soon enough,' said Druss. 'If they do what you surmise, how will you combat it?'

Talisman smiled wearily. 'Our options are limited, Druss. We just hold as best we can.'

Druss shook his head. 'You've got to assume some of their soldiers will get through to the ramparts, and perhaps down into the compound itself. Our reaction to that will be crucial. Gut instinct tells a man to tackle the nearest enemy, but in that situation such instincts are liable to prove fatal. If a wall is breached the first option must be to seal the breach. The men already inside are a secondary consideration.'

'What do you suggest?'

'You already have a small reserve force ready to fill in the gaps. Draw more men to it, and split them into two groups. If the enemy take a section of wall, one group must join the defenders to win it back. The second group can attack those who have penetrated inside. We only have one outer perimeter. There is nowhere to fall back to, so these ramparts must be held. No defender must leave his post on them, no matter what he sees in the compound below. The walls, Talisman! Nothing else matters.'

The young Nadir nodded. 'I take your point, axeman. It will be relayed to the men. Did you know that the tribes have been drawing lots to see which group should have the privilege of standing beside you today?'

Druss chuckled. 'So that's what they were doing? Who did I get?'

'The Sky Riders. They are greatly pleased. It is rare for a gajin to be so popular.'

'You think so?' Druss hefted his axe. 'I'm usually popular at times like this. Could be the song of the soldier, could it not? When war and the fear of war comes upon people, they revere the warrior. Once it has passed he is forgotten, or reviled. It never changes.'

'You don't sound bitter about it,' Talisman pointed out.

'I don't get bitter at the falling of the sun, or the cold north wind. They are facts of life. I once took part in a raid that rescued a score of rich farmers from Sathuli tribesmen. Oh, they waxed eloquent about how heroic we were, how they would honour us always. There was a young soldier with us who lost an arm that day. He was from their town. Within six months he and his family had almost starved to death. Facts of life.'

'And did they die?'

'No. I went back to the Sentran Plain and spoke to the leader of the farmers. Reminded him of his obligations.'

'I am not surprised that he listened,' said Talisman, looking into Druss's cold blue eyes. 'But you will not find that with us. Nadir memories are long. You are the Deathwalker; your legend will live on with us.'

'Legends. Pah! I have enough of legends. If I had half the courage of a farmer I would be at home with my wife, looking after my lands.'

'You have no sons?'

'None. Nor will have,' said Druss coldly. 'No. All I will leave behind are those damned legends.'

'Some men would die for your fame.'

'A lot of men have,' observed Druss.

The two warriors stood in silence for a while watching the Gothir surrounding the water wagons. 'You regret being here?' Talisman asked.

'I try not to regret anything,' replied Druss. 'There's no point in it.' Twenty Sky Rider tribesmen trooped up to the ramparts, standing by quietly as the two men spoke. Druss glanced at the first, a hawk-faced young man with brown eyes. 'Were you one of those who leapt the chasm?' he asked him.

The man gave a wide grin and nodded.

'I would like to hear about that,' said Druss. 'Later, when we've seen off the Gothir, you can tell me of it.'

'I shall, Deathwalker.'

'Good. Now gather round, my boys, and I'll give you a few tips about siege warfare.'

Talisman left the ramparts. As he reached the compound below he could hear laughter coming from the men around Druss. Lin-tse joined him. 'I should be there, Talisman. With my men on the wall.'

'No.' Talisman told him to pick forty warriors from among the other tribes. 'You will lead the first group, Gorkai the second.' Then he outlined Druss's battle plan for a wall breach defence.

A young warrior moved past them, heading for the north wall. Talisman called him back. 'What is your name?' he asked.

'Shi-da, general.'

'You were a friend of Quing-chin's?'

'I was.'

'I saw you wounded yesterday — in the belly and chest.'

'It was not as deep as I feared, general. The surgeon has healed me. I can fight.'

'There is no pain?'

'Aye, there is pain. The stitches are tight. But I will stand with the Fleet Ponies, general.'

'Let me see the wound,' said Talisman, leading the man to the shade and sitting him on the table set there. Shi-da doffed his goatskin jerkin. There was blood on the bandage wrapped around his waist. The young warrior started to unravel it but Talisman stopped him.

'The wound is bound well. Do not disturb it. Fight well today, Shi-da.'

The young man nodded, his face grim, then walked away.

'What was that about?' asked Lin-tse.

'Every one of the wounded is back on the walls today,' said Talisman. 'Truly the poet is a fine surgeon. I saw Shi-da struck — I would have sworn the blade passed almost all the way through him.'

'You think he has found the Eyes of Alchazzar?' whispered Lin-tse.

'If he has, then I will take them.'

'I thought you said that Druss needed them?'

'Druss is a fighting man I admire above all others. But the Eyes belong to the Nadir. They are part of our destiny and I cannot allow them to be taken by gajin.'

Lin-tse laid his hand on Talisman's arm. 'If we survive here, my brother, and if Sieben has the jewels, you know what will happen if you try to take them. Druss will fight for them. He is not a man to be frightened by weight of numbers. We will have to kill him.'

'Then we will kill him,' said Talisman, 'though it would break my heart to do so.'

Talisman poured water from a stone jug, drained the clay cup and walked away with Lin-tse to the newly built wall around the gates. Niobe stepped from the shadows behind them and made her way to the hospital.

Sieben was sitting with Zhusai. They were laughing together, and Niobe was surprised to find a ripple of anger within herself at the sight of them. The Chiatze woman was slim and beautiful, her clothes of white silk adorned with mother of pearl. Niobe was still wearing Sieben's blue silk shirt, but it was stained now with the blood of the wounded and with sweat from her own tired body. Sieben saw her, and a broad smile showed on his handsome face. He walked across the deserted room and hugged her. 'You are a vision,' he said, kissing her.

'Why is she here?' asked Niobe.

'She has offered to help with the wounded. Come, say hello.'

Taking Niobe by the hand, he led her to Zhusai. The Chiatze woman looked nervous under Niobe's piercing gaze as Sieben introduced them.

'I should have offered help before,' said Zhusai to Niobe. 'Please forgive me.'

Niobe shrugged. 'We need no help. The po-et is very skilled.'

'I am sure that he is. But I know much of the tending of wounds.'

'She will be valuable,' put in Sieben.

'I do not want her here," said Niobe.

Sieben was surprised, but he masked it and turned to Zhusai. 'Perhaps, my lady, you should change your clothes. Blood will ruin that fine silk. You can return to us when the battle has started.'

Zhusai gave a short bow of her head and walked from the room.

'What is the matter with you?' Sieben asked Niobe. 'Are you jealous, my dove?'

'I am not a dove. And there is no jealousy. Do you not know why she is here?'

'To help. That is what she said.'

'You are in much danger, po-et.'

'From her? I do not think so.'

'Not just from her, fool. Every Nadir knows the story of the Eyes of Alchazzar, the purple jewels of power. Talisman thinks you have found them and so do I. There were men dying here yesterday who are now standing on the walls.'

'Nonsense. They were. .'

'You don't lie to me!' she snapped. 'I hear Talisman. He says that if you have the jewels he will take them, he says that they will kill Druss if he interferes. You give jewels to Talisman — then you are safe.'

Sieben sat down on the newly scrubbed table. 'I can't do that, my love. Druss made a promise to a dying man, and Druss is a man who lives by his word. You understand? But I won't keep them, I promise you that. If we survive here — which is doubtful at best — I will take them to Gulgothir and heal Druss's friend. Then I will return them to Talisman.'

'He will not allow it. That is why he sent the woman; she will watch you like a snake. You heal no more dying men, po-et.'

'I have to. That is what the power is for.'

'This is no time to be weak. Men die in battle. They go to the earth, they feed the land. You understand?' She looked deep into his blue eyes and knew she was not convincing him. 'Fool! Fool!' she said. 'Very well. Keep them alive. But do not heal them so much that they walk from here. You hear what I say?'

'I do, Niobe. And you are right. I can't risk Druss being killed for them.' He smiled and, reaching out, pushed his fingers through her dark hair. 'I love you. You are the light in my life.'

'And you are a trouble to me,' she said. 'You are no warrior, and you are soft like a puppy. I should have no feelings for a man like you.'

'But you do, don't you?' he said, drawing her in to an embrace. 'Tell me!'

'No.'

'You are still angry with me?'

'Yes.'

'Then kiss me and feel it fade.'

'I don't want it to fade,' she said, pulling away. Outside a battle horn sounded. 'It begins again,' sighed Sieben.

The Gothir infantry formed into three groups of about two hundred men. Druss watched them carefully. Only two of the groups contained ladder-bearers. 'The third group is going for the gates,' he said, to no-one in particular.

Behind the infantry more than five hundred Lancers waited on foot in two lines, their lances discarded and their sabres in their hands. A slow drumbeat sounded and the army moved forward, slowly. Druss could feel the fear in the men around him.

'Don't think of numbers,' said Druss, 'all that counts is the number of ladders — and they have fewer than thirty. Only thirty men can reach the wall at any time; the rest will be milling around below, useless. Never be cowed by numbers alone.'

'Do you not know fear, axeman?' asked Nuang Xuan.

Druss turned and grinned. 'What are you doing here, old man? You are wounded.'

'I am as tough as a wolf, as strong as a bear. How close am I to my hundred?'

'By my reckoning you need more than ninety more.'

'Pah, you obviously miscounted.'

'Stay close to me, Nuang,' said Druss softly. 'But not too close.'

'I will be here at day's end, and the Gothir dead will be a mountain,' promised Nuang.

Archers ran through the enemy lines sending scores of shafts at the defenders, who ducked down below the battlements. No-one was struck. The drum-beat quickened, and Druss could hear the sound of running men drowning out the drums. Ladders clattered against the wall and a man to Druss's left started to rise but Druss dragged him down. 'Not yet, laddie. The archers are waiting.'

The warrior blinked nervously. Druss knelt for ten more heartbeats, then launched himself upright, the great axe shining in the sunlight. As he reared up, a Gothir warrior reached the top of the ladder and Snaga thundered down to smash the man's skull.

'Climb and die!' roared Druss, sending a reverse cut into the bearded face of a second warrior.

All around him the Nadir were hacking and slashing at the attackers. Two Gothir soldiers reached the ramparts, but were cut down instantly. A Nadir warrior fell with an arrow jutting from his temple.

On the wall above the gate, Talisman watched as Druss and the Sky Riders fought to contain the western ramparts. The second Gothir force had swung to the north wall, where Bartsai and his Curved Horn were battling to hold them.

Axes smashed into the gates, splintering the ancient wood. Nadir defenders threw rocks down upon the enemy soldiers milling below, but the sounds of tearing wood continued.

'Be ready!' Talisman warned the men of the Fleet Ponies. Notching arrows to their bows, they knelt on the ramparts and the newly built curved wall inside the gates. In that moment Talisman felt a fierce pride surge through him. These men were Nadir, his people! And they were fighting together against the common enemy. This is how it should be, thought the young man. No more slavelike obedience to the cursed gajin. No more running from the threat of their Lancers, their punitive raids, their slaughters.

Suddenly the gates were breached and scores of men pushed through, only to be confronted by an eight-foot wall.

'Now! Now! Now!' yelled Talisman. Arrows lanced into the crowded mass below. So closely packed were they, with others pushing from behind, that few Gothir could raise their shields. Shafts tore into them and rocks pelted them. As Talisman strained to lift a jagged boulder, two men helped him and they pitched the stone over the ramparts and down into the death pit. Panicked now, the Gothir fought to retreat, trampling their own wounded.

Talisman gazed down with grim satisfaction at the thirty or more bodies. An arrow flashed past his face, and he ducked. Enemy archers were now crowding around the breached gates, shooting up at the defenders. Two Nadir warriors fell, their chests pierced.

'Stay down!' shouted Talisman. As ladders suddenly clattered against the wall behind him, he swore. With archers shooting at them from the rear, and an assault from the front, the section would be hard to hold.

Throwing himself flat, Talisman squirmed to the edge of the ramparts, calling down to the bowmen on the curved wall. 'Ten of you pin down the archers,' he commanded. 'The rest to me!'

Ignoring the threat of arrows, Talisman surged upright and drew his sabre. Three men appeared at the ramparts. Leaping forward, he plunged his sabre into the leading man's face, spearing his open mouth.

In the compound below, Gorkai waited with twenty men. Sweat dripped from his face as he watched Talisman and the Fleet Ponies men battling against the warriors swarming over the ramparts. 'I should go to him,' he told Lin-tse.

'Not yet, brother. Stand firm.'

On the north wall, Bartsai and his men fell back as the Lancers gained the ramparts. With an awful suddenness the defending line broke and a dozen enemy soldiers broke dear, swarming down the rampart steps and into the compound.

Lin-tse and his men charged to meet them. Gorkai transferred his sabre to his left hand and wiped his sweating right on his leggings. The men of the Curved Horn were on the verge of breaking, and Gorkai prepared himself to rush to their aid.

At that moment, seeing the danger, Druss ran along the ramparts of the western wall and leapt the yawning gap to the northern ramparts, his huge form crashing into the attackers and scattering them. The silver blades of his axe cut into the enemy ranks. His sudden appearance galvanized the Curved Horn into renewed ferocity, and the Gothir were forced back.

Lin-tse had lost eight men, but the twelve Gothir Lancers were reduced now to four, fighting in two pairs back to back. Two more Nadir fell before Lin-tse and his men cut the Lancers down.

Gorkai swung to watch Talisman. The line was holding, but more than ten Nadir were dead and the attack was no more than minutes old. Some wounded men were making their way to the hospital, others lay where they had fallen, trying to stop the flow of blood with their hands.

Lin-tse and the remainder of his men moved back to stand alongside Gorkai's group. The tall Nadir chief glanced at Gorkai. Blood was flowing from a wound in his face. 'You can tackle the next breach,' he said, forcing a smile.

Gorkai did not have long to wait. Talisman's men were swept aside as a section of the battlements gave way, and Talisman himself took a spear thrust into the chest. Gorkai screamed a battle cry and led his men forward, hurtling up the rampart steps two at a time. Talisman gutted the spearman, dragged the broken spear from his chest and then fell. Gorkai leapt across his body as more Gothir soldiers made it to the ramparts.

Talisman's vision was blurring, and he felt a great dizziness sweep over him. I cannot die, he thought. Not now! Struggling to his knees, he scrabbled for his sabre. Darkness loomed but he fought against it.

Gorkai and his men re-took the battlements, forcing the Gothir back. Blood was bubbling from Talisman's chest, and he knew a lung was punctured. Two men took him by the arms, hauling him to his feet. 'Get him to the surgeon!' ordered Gorkai.

Talisman was half helped, half carried to the hospital building. He heard Zhusai cry out as he was brought in. Desperately trying to focus, he saw the face of Sieben above him. . then he passed out.

The Gothir had given up their assault on the northern wall and Druss, his helm struck from his head, jumped the gap in the ramparts and rejoined the Fleet Ponies. Nuang Xuan, wounded again in the chest and arms, was sitting slumped by the wall.

The Gothir fell back.

Druss knelt down by the old Nadir leader. 'How goes it?' he asked.

'More than a hundred,' said Nuang. 'I think I have killed all the Gothir there are, and what you see outside are merely ghosts.'

Druss rose and scanned the defences. The north wall had only eighteen defenders still standing. Around him on the western ramparts there were some twenty-five Sky Riders. Above the gates he counted thirty, including Talisman's man, Gorkai. In the compound below Lin-tse had fewer than a dozen men. Druss tried to add the numbers together, but lost them in a sea of weariness. Taking a deep breath, he re-counted.

Fewer than a hundred defenders were visible to him, but the bodies of Nadir dead lay everywhere. He saw the Curved Horn leader Bartsai lying on the ground below the ramparts, three dead Gothir around his corpse.

'You are bleeding, Deathwalker,' said a Sky Rider.

'It is nothing,' replied Druss, recognizing the hawk-faced young man he had spoken to earlier.

'Take off your jerkin,' said the youngster.

Druss groaned as he eased the ripped and near ruined leather from his huge frame. He had been cut four times around the shoulders and upper arms, but there was a deeper wound under his right shoulder-blade. Blood had pooled around his belt.

'You need stitches, hey,' the Nadir told him. 'Or you bleed to death.'

Druss leaned on the ramparts and stared down at the Gothir forces, who had moved back out of bowshot.

'Take the old man with you,' said the Nadir, grinning. 'He fights so well he shames us all.'

Druss forced a grin and hauled Nuang Xuan to his feet. 'Walk with me a while, old man.' Turning to the Nadir warrior, he said, 'I'll be back before you know it.'

Talisman felt the pain of his wounds recede, and found himself lying on a bare hillside under a grey sky. His heart hammered in panic as he recognized the landscape of the Void. 'You are not dead,' came a calm voice from close by. Talisman sat up, and saw the little sorcerer Shaoshad sitting beside a flickering blaze. The tall figure of Shul-sen stood beside him, her silver cloak gleaming in the firelight.

'Then why am I here?' he asked.

'To learn,' said Shul-sen. 'When Oshikai and I came to the land of the steppes we were touched by its beauty, but more than this we were called by its magic. Every stone carried it, every plant grew with it. Elemental power radiated from the mountains, and flowed in the streams. The Gods of Stone and Water, we called them. You know what gives birth to this magic, Talisman?'

'No.'

'Life and death. The life forces of millions of men and animals, insects and plants. Each life comes from the land, then returns to the land. It is a circle of harmony.'

'What has this to do with me?'

'Not so much with you, my boy, as with me,' put in Shaoshad. 'I was one of the Three who robbed the land of its magic. We drew it forth and invested it in the Eyes of Alchazzar; we made the land barren; we sought to redirect the random magnificence of the energy, to focus it on behalf of the Nadir. In doing so we destroyed the link between the Nadir and the Gods of Stone and Water. Our people became increasingly nomadic, feeling no love for the earth beneath their feet or the mountains that towered above them. They became split and divided, isolated from one another.'

'Why are you telling me this?' asked Talisman.

'Why do you think?' responded Shul-sen.

'I do not have the Eyes. I thought the poet might, but I think now he is merely a skilled surgeon.'

'If you had them, Talisman, would you do what is right for the land?' asked Shaoshad.

'And what is that?'

'Return to it what was stolen.'

'Give up the power of the Eyes? With them I could bring all the tribes together into one unstoppable army.'

'Perhaps,' admitted Shul-sen, 'but without love of land, what would they fight for? Plunder and rape, revenge and murder? And this army you speak of — it would be filled with men whose lives are but a fraction of a beat in the heart of eternity. The land is immortal. Give it back its magic and it will repay you a thousandfold. It will give you the Uniter you dream of, it will give you Ulric.'

'And how do I do this?' he whispered.

'It is not as deep as you thought,' said Sieben as Druss lay on the table, feeling the poet's ringers probing at the wound in his back. Indeed there was little pain now, except from the ragged stitches.

'You are a revelation to me,' said Druss, grunting as he sat up, the stitches pulling tight. 'Who would have thought it?'

'Who indeed? How is it going out there?'

'The big attack is to come. . soon,' answered Druss. 'If we hold that off. .' His voice tailed away.

'We are going to lose, aren't we?' asked Sieben.

'I think so, poet — though it hurts me to say it. Is Talisman dead?'

'No, he is sleeping. His wounds were not as bad as we feared.'

'I'd better get back to the wall.' Druss stretched his back. 'Amazing,' he said. 'I feel as if I've slept for eight hours. I can feel the strength flowing through me. Those poultices you use have great power — I'd be interested to know what's in them.'

'Me too. Niobe prepares them.'

Druss shrugged on his jerkin and buckled his belt. 'I am sorry I brought you to this,' he said.

'I'm a free man who makes his own decisions,' Sieben told him, 'and I am not sorry at all. I met Niobe. Sweet Heaven, Druss, but I love that woman!'

'You love all women,' said Druss.

'No. Truly, this is different. And what is more incredible is that, given the choice, I would not change a single thing. To die not having known true love must be terrible.'

Nuang approached them. 'Are you ready, axeman?'

'You are a tough old goat,' Druss told him, and together they returned to the battlements. Sieben watched them for a moment, then moved back among the wounded men. He caught Niobe's eye and smiled as she pointed to where Zhusai was sitting beside Talisman, holding the sleeping man's hand. The Chiatze girl was weeping. Sieben crossed the room, settling down beside her.

'He, will live,' he told her softly.

She nodded dumbly.

'I promise you,' he said, gently laying his hand on Talisman's chest.

The Nadir warrior stirred, and opened his eyes. 'Zhusai. .?' he whispered.

'Yes, my love.'

He groaned and struggled to rise. Sieben helped him to his feet. 'What is happening?' he asked.

'The enemy are gathering for another charge,' said Sieben.

'I must be there.'

'No, you must rest!' insisted Zhusai.

Talisman's dark eyes turned to Sieben. 'Give me more strength,' he said.

The poet shrugged. 'I cannot. You have lost a lot of blood and you are weak.'

'You have the Eyes of Alchazzar.'

'I wish I did, old horse — I'd heal everybody here. By Heaven, I'd even raise the dead.'

Talisman looked closely at him, but Sieben met his stare with blank equanimity. Placing his arm over Zhusai's shoulder, Talisman kissed her cheek. 'Help me to the wall, my wife,' he said. 'We will stand upon it together.'

As they moved off, Sieben heard a small voice whisper in his ear. 'Go with them.' He swung round, but there was no-one close. The poet shuddered, and stood where he was. 'Trust me, my boy,' came the voice of Shaoshad.

Sieben walked out into the sunlight, then ran to catch Talisman and the woman. Taking the warrior's other arm he helped him up the rampart steps to the western wall.

'Well, they're gathering again,' muttered Druss.

On the plain beyond, the Gothir were once more in fighting ranks, waiting for the drum-beat signal. All along the wall weary Nadir defenders also waited, swords ready.

'Must be more than a thousand of them,' said Sieben, feeling the onset of terror.

The drum-beat sounded, and the Gothir army began to move.

Zhusai stiffened, and drew in a sharp breath. 'Put your hand on her shoulder,' ordered Shaoshad. When Sieben reached out and gently touched Zhusai, he felt the power of the stones flow from him, like a dam bursting. She released her hold on Talisman and moved to the ramparts.

'What are you doing, Zhusai?' hissed Talisman.

She turned to him and gave a dazzling smile. 'She will return,' said the voice of Shul-sen.

The woman climbed to the top of the ramparts and raised her arms. Overhead the sun — brilliant in a clear blue sky — shone down now on the woman in bloodstained clothes. The wind picked up, stirring her raven-dark hair. Clouds began to form with astonishing speed — small white puffballs that swelled and grew, darkening down and obscuring the sun. The wind roared, buffeting the defenders. Blacker and blacker grew the sky, then a clap of thunder burst above the Shrine. Lightning forked down, exploding in the midst of the Gothir army. Several men were hurled from their feet. Jagged spears of dazzling light flashed into the enemy force, while thunder rolled across the heavens.

The Gothir broke and ran, but still the lightning tore into them, catapulting men into the air. The fierce wind brought the smell of burning flesh to the stunned defenders. The Gothir horses uprooted their picket ropes and galloped away. On the plain men were tearing off their armour and hurling aside their weapons — to no avail it seemed. Sieben saw a man struck, his breastplate exploding. Those close to him were punched to the ground, where their bodies went into spasm.

Then the sun broke through the clouds and the woman in white turned and stepped back to the ramparts. 'My Lord is in Paradise,' she told Talisman. 'This is a debt repaid.' She sagged against Talisman, who held her close.

On the plain more than half the Gothir force was dead, many others suffering terrible burns.

'They'll not fight again,' said Gorkai, as the clouds dispersed.

'No, but they will,' muttered Druss, pointing to a line of cavalry breasting the hills and riding down towards the shattered Gothir camp.

Sieben's heart sank as more than a thousand men came into sight, riding in columns of twos.

'Who would have my luck?' said Nuang bitterly.