The Legend of the Deathwalker

Chapter Seven

Nuang Xuan was a wily old fox, and he would never have brought his people into Chop-back territory had fortune not ceased to smile upon him. Shading his eyes he scanned the surrounding land, pausing at the pinnacles of rock to the west. His nephew Meng rode alongside. 'Are they the Towers of the Damned?' he asked, keeping his voice low so as not to invoke the spirits who dwelt there.

'They are indeed,' Nuang told the boy, 'but we will not be going close enough for the demons to strike us.' The boy reined his pony round, galloping back to the little convoy. Nuang's gaze followed him. Fourteen warriors, fifty-two women and thirty-one children; not a great force with which to enter such lands. But then who could have supposed that a Gothir cavalry force would be so close to the Mountains of the Moon? When Nuang had led the raid on the Gothir farmers of the marches, seeking to seize horses and goats, he had done so in the knowledge that no soldiers had been stationed there for five years. He had been lucky to escape with fourteen men when the Lancers charged. More than twenty of his warriors had been-hacked down in that first charge, among them two of his sons and three nephews. With the cursed gajin following his trail, he had no choice but to lead the remnants of his people into this cursed place.

Nuang kicked his pony into a run and rode to the high ground, squinting against the morning sun and studying the back trail. There was no sign of the Lancers. Perhaps they too feared the Chop-backs. Yet why had they been so close to the marches? No Gothir force ever entered the eastern flat lands, save in time of war. Were they at war with someone? The Wolfshead perhaps, or the Green Monkeys? No, surely he would have heard from passing merchants and traders.

It was a mystery, and Nuang disliked mysteries. Once more he glanced at his small company — too small now to build his clan into a full tribe. I will have to lead them back to the north, he thought. He hawked and spat. How they would laugh when Nuang begged for re-admittance to the tribal grounds. Nuang No-luck, they would call him.

Meng and two of the other young men galloped their ponies up the rise. Meng arrived first. 'Riders,' he said, pointing to the west. 'Gajin, two of them. Can we kill them, Uncle?' The boy was excited, his dark eyes gleaming.

Nuang swung his gaze to where Meng pointed. At this distance, through the heat haze, he could barely make out the riders, and just for a moment he envied the eyes of the young. 'No, we will not attack yet. They may be scouts from a larger force. Let them approach.'

Heeling his pony he rode down to the flat lands, his fourteen warriors alongside him, fanning out in a skirmish line. Summoning Meng, he said, 'What do you see, boy?'

'Still only two, Uncle. Gajin. One has a beard and wears a round black helm and a black jerkin with silver armour on the shoulders; the other is yellow-haired and carries no sword. He has knife-sheaths on his chest. Ah!'

'What?'

'The black-bearded one carries a great axe, with two shining blades. They ride Gothir horses, but are leading four saddled ponies.'

'I can see that myself now,' said Nuang testily. 'Go to the rear.'

'I want my part in the kill, Uncle!'

'You are not yet twelve, and you will obey me or feel my whip across your buttocks!'

'I'm almost thirteen,' contradicted Meng, but reluctantly he dragged on his reins and backed his pony to the rear of the group. Nuang Xuan waited, his gnarled hand resting on his ivory-hilted sabre. Slowly the two riders closed the distance until Nuang could see their features clearly. The fair-haired gajin was very pale, his manner betraying his nervousness and fear, his hands gripping the reins tightly and his body stiff in the saddle. Nuang flicked his gaze to the axeman. No fear could be seen in this one. Still, one man and a coward against fourteen? Surely now Nuang's luck had changed? The riders drew rein just ahead of the group and Nuang took a deep breath, ready to order his men to the attack. As he did so he looked at the axeman, and found himself staring into the coldest eyes he had ever seen — the colour of winter storm clouds, grey and unyielding. A nagging doubt struck him and he thought of his remaining sons and nephews, many of whom already carried wounds as their bloody bandages bore witness. The tension grew. Nuang licked his lips and prepared once more to give the signal. The axeman gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head; then he spoke, his voice deep and, if anything, colder than his stare. 'Think carefully about your decision, old one. It seems that luck has not favoured you recently,' he said. 'Your women outnumber your men by, what, three to one? And the riders with you look bloodied and weary.'

'Perhaps our fortune has changed,' Nuang heard himself say.

'Perhaps it has,' agreed the rider. 'I am in a mood for trade. I have four Nadir ponies, and a few swords and bows.'

'You have a fine axe. Is that also for trade?'

The man smiled; it was not a comforting sight. 'No, this is Snaga, which in the Old Tongue means the Sender, the blade of no return. Any man who wishes to test her name need only ask.'

Nuang felt the men around him stirring. They were young and, despite their recent losses, eager for battle. Suddenly he felt the full weight of his sixty-one years. Swinging his horse, he ordered his men to prepare for a night camp close to the towers of rock, and sent out riders to watch for signs of any enemy force. He was obeyed instantly. Turning back to the axeman, he forced a smile. 'You are welcome in our camp. Tonight we will talk of trade.'

Later, as dusk fell, he sat at a small fire with the axeman and his companion. 'Would it not be safer within the rocks?' asked the black-bearded warrior.

'Safer from men,' Nuang told him. 'They are the Towers of the Damned and demons are said to stalk the passes. An ancient sorcerer is entombed there, his devils with him. At least, that is how the stories tell it. Now, what do you desire in exchange for those scrawny ponies?'

'Food for the journey, and a guide to take us to the next water, and then on to the Shrine of Oshikai Demon-bane.'

Nuang was surprised, but his expression remained neutral. What would gajin seek at the Shrine? 'That is a difficult journey, and perilous. These are the lands of the Chop-backs. Two men and a guide would be. . tempting. . prey.'

'They have already been tempted,' the axeman told him. 'That is why we have ponies and weapons to trade.'

Bored by the continued bartering, Sieben stood and wandered away from the fire. The Nadir clan had pitched their tents in a rough circle and erected wind-screens between them. The women were cooking over small fires, the men sitting in three small groups sharing jugs of lyrrd — a liquor fermented from rancid goats' milk. Despite the fires and the screens the night was cold. Sieben moved to the horses and unstrapped his blanket, tossing it carelessly over his shoulders. When he had first seen the Nadir riders he had assumed that death would be swift, despite the awesome power of Druss. Now, however, reaction had set in and he felt an almost overwhelming sense of fatigue. A young Nadir woman rose from a cooking-fire and brought him a wooden bowl of braised meat. She was tall and slim, her lips full and tempting. Sieben forgot his weariness instantly as he thanked her and smiled. She moved away without a word, and Sieben's eyes lingered on her swaying hips. The meat was hot and heavily spiced, the flavour new to him, and he ate with relish, returning the bowl to where the woman sat with four others. He squatted down among them. 'A meal fit for a prince," he told her. 'I thank you, my lady.'

'I am not your lady,' she said, her voice flat and disinterested.

Sieben flashed his best smile. 'Indeed, no, which is my loss I am sure. It is merely an expression we. . gajin use. What I am trying to say is: Thank you for your kindness, and for the quality of your cooking.'

'You have thanked me three times, and dog is not difficult to prepare,' she told him, 'as long as it has been hung until the worms appear in the eye-sockets.'

'Delightful,' he said. 'A tip I shall long remember.'

'And it mustn't be too old,' she continued. 'Young dogs are better.'

'Of course,' he said, half rising.

Suddenly she cocked her head and her eyes met his. 'My man was killed,' she said, 'by Gothir Lancers. Now my blankets are cold, and there is no-one to stir my blood on a bitter night.'

Sieben sat down again more swiftly than he had intended. 'That is a tragedy,' he said softly, looking deep into her almond-shaped eyes. 'A beautiful woman should never suffer the solitude of a cold blanket.'

'My man was a great fighter; he killed three Lancers. But he rutted like a dog on heat. Fast. Then he would sleep. You are not a fighter. What are you?'

'I am a scholar," he said, leaning in to her. 'I study many things — history, poetry, art. But most of all I study women. They fascinate me.' Lifting his hand he stroked his fingers through her long dark hair, pushing it back from her forehead. 'I love the smell of a woman's hair, the touch of skin upon skin, the softness of lips upon lips. And I am not fast.'

The woman smiled and said something in Nadir to her friends. All the women laughed. 'I am Niobe,' she told him. 'Let us see if you rut as well as you talk.'

Sieben smiled. 'I've always appreciated directness. But is this allowed? I mean, what of the. . ' He gestured towards the men at the camp-fires.

'You come with me,' she said, rising smoothly. 'I wish to see if what they say about gajin is true.' Reaching out, she took his hand and led him to a night-dark tent.

Back at the leader's fire, Nuang chuckled. 'Your friend has chosen to mount the tiger. Niobe has fire enough to melt any man's iron.'

'I think he will survive,' said Druss.

'You want a woman to warm your blankets?'

'No. I have a woman back home. What happened to your people? It looks as if you've been mauled.'

Nuang spat into the fire. 'Gothir Lancers attacked us, they came from nowhere on their huge horses. Twenty men I lost. You spoke with great truth when you said fortune has not favoured me. I must have done something to displease the Gods of Stone and Water. But it does no good to whine about it. Who are you? You are not Gothir. Where are you from?'

'The lands of the Drenai, the far blue mountains to the south.'

'You are far from home, Drenai. Why do you seek the Shrine?'

'A Nadir shaman told me I might find something there to help a dying friend.'

'You take a great risk to help this friend; these are not hospitable lands. I considered killing you myself, and I am among the more peaceable of my people.'

'I am not an easy man to kill.'

'I knew that when I looked into your eyes, Drenai. You have seen many battles, eh? Behind you there are many graves. Once, a long time ago, another Drenai came among my people. He too was a fighter; they called him Old-Hard-To-Kill and he fought a battle against the Gothir. Years later he came to live among us. I was told these stories when I was a child; they are the only stories I have heard of Drenai. His name was Angel.'

'I have heard the name,' said Druss. 'What more do you know of him?'

'Only that he was wed to the daughter of Ox-skull, and they had two sons. One was tall and handsome, and did not look like Angel, but the other was a powerful warrior. He married a Nadir maiden, and they left the tribe to journey south. That is all I know.'

Two women came and knelt beside them, offering bowls of meat to the men. A short series of keening cries came from the tent of Niobe, and the women laughed. Druss reddened and ate his meal in silence. The women moved away. 'Your friend will be a tired man come the dawn,' said Nuang.

Druss lay quietly looking up at the stars. He rarely found sleep difficult, but tonight he was restless. Sitting up, he threw back his blanket. The camp was silent, the fires faded to glowing ash. -Nuang had offered him the shelter of his own tent, but Druss had refused, preferring to sleep in the open.

Gathering his axe and helm and silver-skinned gauntlets, he stood and stretched. The night was cold, and a chill breeze whispered under the wind-breaks stretching between the tents. Druss was uneasy. Pushing his helm into place and pulling on his gauntlets, he silently strode through the camp, easing himself past a stretched canvas wind-break and out on to the open steppes. A sentry was sitting by a creosote bush, a goatskin cloak drawn about him. As Druss approached him he saw it was the slender boy, Meng, whom Nuang had introduced as his youngest nephew. The youth looked up, but said nothing.

'All quiet?' asked Druss. The boy nodded, obviously ill at ease.

Druss strolled on towards the towers of black rock, and sat down on a boulder some fifty feet from the boy. By day the steppes were hot and inhospitable, but the cold magic of the night gave the land a sense of brooding malevolence that spoke of nameless horrors stalking the shadow-haunted rocks. The eyes played tricks upon the brain. Gnarled boulders became crouching demons that seemed to shimmer and move, and the wind hissing over the steppes became a sibilant voice, promising pain and death. Druss was not oblivious to this lunar sorcery. Pushing such thoughts from his mind he gazed up at the moon and thought of Rowena, back on the farm. He had tried so hard, during the years since the rescue, to make her feel loved, needed. But deep down there was a gnawing pain in him that he could not ignore. She had loved the warrior Michanek, and he had loved her. It was not jealousy that hurt Druss, it was a deep sense of shame. When the raiders had stolen her so many years before, Druss had set out to find her with a single-minded determination that would brook no opposition. He had journeyed to Mashrapur and there, to gain enough money for passage to Ventria, had become a fist-fighter. After that he had crossed the ocean, engaged in battles with corsairs and pirates and had joined the demoralized army of Prince Gorben, becoming his champion. All this so that he could find Rowena, and rescue her from what he perceived as a life of abject slavery.

At the last, though, he had learned the truth. Her memory lost to her, she had fallen in love with Michanek, and was a respected and loved wife, living in luxury, happy and content. Yet knowing this, Druss had still fought alongside the soldiers who destroyed the city in which she lived, and butchered the man she loved.

Druss had watched Michanek stand against the best of the Immortals, and had seen them fall back in awe as he stood bleeding from a score of wounds, a dozen assailants dead around him.

'You were a man, Michanek,' whispered Druss, with a sigh. Rowena had never once shown bitterness for his part in Michanek's death. Indeed, they had never spoken of the man. Out here in this lonely wilderness Druss realized that this was wrong. Michanek deserved better. As did Rowena — sweet, gentle Rowena. All she had wanted was to marry the farmer Druss would have become, build a house and raise children. Druss had been a farmer once, but never could be again. He had tasted the joys of battle, the exhilarating narcotic of violence, and not even his love for Rowena could keep him chained to the mountains of home. And as for children? They had not been blessed. Druss would have liked a son. Regret touched him, but he swiftly blocked it from his mind. His thoughts drifted to Sieben, and he smiled. We are not so different, he thought. We are both skilled in a dark sterile art. I live for battle without need of a cause, you live for sex without thought of love. What do we offer this tormented world, he wondered? The breeze picked up and Druss's restlessness increased. Narrowing his eyes, he scanned the steppes. All was silent. Standing, he walked back to the boy. 'What do the riders report?' he asked.

'Nothing,' replied Meng. 'No sign of gajin or Chop-backs.'

'When is the next change of watch?'

'When the moon touches the tallest peak.'

Druss glanced up. That would be soon. Leaving the boy, he strolled out once more, his unease growing. They should have camped within the rocks, and to Hell with fears of demons! A rider came into sight; he waved at Meng and then cantered into the camp. Minutes later his replacement rode out. Another rider came in, then another. Druss waited for some time, then returned to the boy. 'Were not four sent out?'

'Yes. I expect Jodai is sleeping somewhere. My uncle will not be pleased.'

The breeze shifted. Druss's head came up and he sniffed the air. Grabbing the boy by his shoulder, he hauled him to his feet. 'Wake your uncle, now! Tell him to get everyone back into the rocks.'

'Take your hand off me!' Feebly the boy lashed out but Druss dragged him in close. 'Listen to me, boy, death is coming! You understand? There may be no time left. So run as if your life depended on it, for it probably does.'

Meng turned and sprinted back towards the camp. Druss, axe in hand, stared out at the seemingly empty steppes. Then he too turned and loped back to the camp. Nuang was already moving as Druss ducked under the wind-break. Women were hastily gathering blankets and food, and shushing the children into silence. Nuang ran to Druss. 'What have you seen?' he asked.

'Not seen, smelt. Thickened goose-grease. The Lancers use it to protect the leather on their mounts, and also to prevent rust on their chain-mail. They have hidden their horses, and they are close.'

Nuang swore and moved away. As Sieben emerged from a tent, looping his knife baldric over his shoulder, Druss waved to him, pointing to the rocks some hundred paces away. Leaving their tents, the Nadir opened a gap in the wind-breaks and ran across the open ground. Druss saw the remaining warriors leading the ponies into a deep cleft in the rocks. Taking up the rear he moved behind the column. A running woman fell and Druss helped her to her feet. She was carrying a baby, and also holding the hand of a toddler. Druss swept the boy into his arms and ran on. There were only a handful of Nadir women still short of the rocks when fifty Lancers emerged from a nearby gully. On foot they charged, blades bright in the moonlight.

Passing the toddler to his terrified mother, Druss hefted Snaga and turned to face the advancing soldiers. Several of the Nadir warriors had scrambled high in the rocks and they sent black-shafted arrows into the enemy. But the Gothir Lancers were well armoured, with breastplates, chain-mail and full-faced helms. Each carried a round buckler strapped to his left forearm. Most of the arrows bounced harmlessly clear, save for one which took a man deep in the thigh. He stumbled and fell, his white horsehair-plumed helmet falling clear. 'Shoot low!' yelled Druss.

The entrance to the rocks was narrow and Druss backed into it. The first three Lancers ran in to the cleft and with a roar he leapt to meet them, smashing Snaga through the helm of the first, and killing the second with a reverse cut that smashed his hip and tore open his belly. The third tried to bring his sabre to bear, but the blade bounced from Druss's black helm.

Snaga sang out, thundering against the man's chain-mail neck-guard. The mail was well made, and prevented the blades from reaching the skin, but the sheer weight of the blow drove the links against the man's neck, smashing his spine to shards. More soldiers ran in. The first tried to block the sweep of the axe with his iron-reinforced wooden buckler, but the silver blades sliced it cleanly, half severing the arm beneath. With a scream of pain the man fell, tripping two men behind him. The narrow opening would allow only three to attack at any one time, and the rest of the Lancers milled behind the entrance. From above, the Nadir hurled rocks down upon them and sent shafts into unprotected legs.

Druss hacked and cut, the mighty axe drenched in blood. .

And the Lancers fell back. A man groaned at Druss's feet; it was the soldier with the half-severed arm. Kneeling, Druss dragged the soldier's helm clear and seized the wounded man's hair. 'How many in your force?' asked the axeman. 'Speak and you live, for I'll let you go back to your friends.'

'Two companies. I swear it!'

'Get up and run, for I cannot answer for the archers above.'

The man stumbled out into the open, and began to run. Two arrows bounced from his breastplate, a third nailing home into the back of his thigh. Gamely he limped on, and managed to reach his comrades.

Two companies. . fifty men. Druss glanced down at the bodies he could see. Seven were dead by his axe, several more had been struck by shafts and would not fight again. That still left around forty — not enough to storm these rocks, but enough to pin them down until a second force could be sent for.

Three young Nadir climbed down to where he stood and began to strip the dead of armour and weapons. Nuang clambered down also. 'You think they will pull back?'

Druss shook his head. 'They will look for another way in. We must get further back into the rocks, otherwise they'll find a way to get behind us. How many were in the group that attacked you on the marches?'

'No more than a hundred.'

'Then the question remains: Where are the other two companies?'

Suddenly the Lancers charged again. The Nadir youngsters ran back and Druss stepped forward. 'Come in and die, you whoresons!' he bellowed, his voice booming and echoing in the rocks. The first of the Lancers sent his sabre in a hissing arc towards Druss's throat, but Snaga flashed up to shatter the blade. The soldier hurled himself back, cannoning into two of his comrades. As Druss leapt at them, they turned and fled.

Nuang, sword in hand, appeared alongside Druss. Flames leapt up from the Nadir camp and Nuang cursed, but Druss chuckled. 'Tents can be replaced, old man. It seems to me that your luck has changed for the better.'

'Oh, yes,' said Nuang bitterly. 'I leap with joy at this change of fortune!'

Niobe lay on her stomach, staring down into the narrow cleft of black, basaltic rock. 'Your friend is a very great fighter,' she said, pushing her raven hair back from her face.

Sieben hunkered down beside her. 'That is his talent,' he admitted, annoyed at her admiring tone and the way her dark, almond-shaped eyes were focused on the axeman below.

'Why did you not fight alongside him, po-et?'

'My dear, when Druss starts swinging that dreadful axe the last place you want to be is beside him. Anyway, Druss always likes the odds to be against him. Brings out the best in him, you know.'

Niobe rolled to her elbow and gazed into his eyes. 'Why is it you are no longer frightened, po-et? When we ran in here you were trembling.'

'I don't like violence,' he admitted, 'especially when it is directed towards me. But they won't follow us in here. They are Lancers, heavily armoured; they are trained for cavalry charges on open ground. Their boots are metal-reinforced and high-heeled to keep the feet in the stirrups. They are entirely unsuited to scrambling over volcanic rock. No, they will pull back now, and try to catch us in the open. Therefore, for the moment, we are safe.'

She shook her head. 'No-one is safe here,' she told him. 'Look around you, po-et. These black rocks are part of the Towers of the Damned. Evil dwells here. Even now there may be demons creeping towards us!'

Sieben shivered, but even in the fading moonlight he could see the amused gleam in her eyes. 'You don't believe that for a moment,' he said.

'Perhaps I do.'

'No, you are just trying to frighten me. Would you like to know why the Nadir believe there are demons here?' She nodded. 'Because this area is — or once was — volcanic. It would have spewed fire, poisoned ash and red-hot lava. Travellers close by would have heard great rumblings below the earth.' He swung round and pointed to the twin towers rearing towards the brightening sky. 'Those are just cones of hollow, cooled lava.'

'You don't believe in demons?' she asked him.

'Aye,' he said sombrely, 'I do. There are beasts which can be summoned from the Pit — but they are like puppy-dogs when compared with the demons every man carries in his heart.'

'Your heart has demons in it?' she whispered, eyes widening.

'Such a literal people,' he said, shaking his head and rising. Swiftly he climbed down to where Druss was waiting with Nuang and several Nadir. He noted wryly how the Nadir stood close to the axeman, hanging on his words and grinning as he spoke. Only hours before they had been lusting to kill him. Now he was a hero to them. A friend.

'What ho, old horse!' Sieben called and Druss swung towards him.

'What do you think, poet? Have we seen the last of them?'

'I believe so. But we had better find another way out of these hills. I wouldn't want to be caught by them on open ground.'

Druss nodded. Blood was staining his jerkin and beard, but he had cleaned his axe blades.

The dawn sun glinted above the distant mountains and Druss strode to the mouth of the cleft. The Lancers had pulled back in the darkness, and were nowhere in sight.

For another hour the Nadir waited nervously in the rocks, then several of them crept down to the smoking ruins of their camp, gathering what possessions had not been lost to the fires.

Nuang approached Druss and Sieben. 'Niobe tells me you believe the rocks are safe,' he said, and Sieben explained once more about volcanic activity. Nuang did not look impressed, his dark flat face expressionless and his eyes wary.

Druss laughed. 'Given a choice between demons we haven't seen and Lancers we have, I know what I'd choose.'

Nuang grunted, then cleared his throat and spat, 'Does your axe kill demons?'

Druss gave a cold smile and hefted Snaga, holding the blades close to Nuang's face. 'What it can cut it can kill.'

Nuang gave a broad smile. 'I think we will walk the Hills of the Damned,' he said.

'Never a dull moment with you, Druss,' muttered Sieben. As Druss clapped him on the shoulder, he glanced down at the blood-smeared hand. 'Oh, thank you. Just what a blue silk shirt needs, a spot of drying blood!'

'I'm hungry,' Druss announced, swinging away with a grin. Taking a handkerchief from the pocket of his leggings Sieben dabbed at the offending mark, then followed the axeman back into the rocks. Niobe brought him food, cold meat and goat's cheese, and sat beside him as he ate.

'Is there any water?' he asked.

'Not yet. The gajin destroyed all but one of our barrels. Today will be dry and hot. That is a pretty shirt,' she added, reaching out and stroking the silk, her fingers lingering over the mother-of-pearl buttons at the neck.

'I had it made in Drenan,' he told her.

'Everything is so soft,' she murmured, stroking her hand down over his woollen leggings, and resting her palm on his thigh. 'So soft.'

'Raise your hand any higher and it won't stay soft,' he warned her. Glancing up at him she raised one eyebrow, then slid her hand along the inside of his thigh. 'Ah,' she said, 'how true.'

'Time to be moving, poet!' called Druss.

'Your timing is impeccable,' replied Sieben.

For two hours the convoy moved into the black hills. There was no vegetation here, and walls of dark, volcanic rock reared above them. Silently the group pushed on, the Nadir casting fearful glances around them. Even the children remained quiet. No-one rode, for the footing was treacherous. Towards midday the ground gave way under a pony which fell, its left front leg snapping. It thrashed around until a young Nadir warrior leapt upon it, slicing open its throat; blood gushed to the rocks. The women moved forward, dragging the pony clear of the hole and butchering it. 'Fresh meat tonight,' Niobe told Sieben.

The heat was intense now, so strong that Sieben had ceased to sweat and felt his brain was shrivelling to the size of a walnut. By dusk the exhausted party had reached the centre of the hills, and they made camp beneath one of the twin towers. For more than an hour Sieben had been lusting after a drink of water from the one remaining barrel, and he queued with the warriors for a single cup. The taste was beyond nectar.

Later, just before sunset, he wandered away from the camp and climbed the jagged rocks towards the west-facing summit. The climb was not difficult, but it was tiring. Even so Sieben had a need to get away from the others, to find solitude. At the peak he sat down and stared out over the land. White clouds dotted the sky, peaceful and serene, and the setting sun was falling behind them, bathing the distant mountains in golden light. The breeze here was deliciously cool, the view extraordinary. The far mountains lost their colour as the sun sank lower, becoming black silhouettes like storm clouds gathering at the horizon, the sky above them turning mauve, then grey-silver and finally pale gold. The clouds also changed colour, moving from pristine white to coral red in a sea of royal blue. Sieben leaned back against a rock and soaked in the sight. At last the sky dark-ened and the moon appeared, bright and pure. Sieben signed.

Niobe clambered up to sit alongside him. 'I wanted to be alone,' he said. 'We are alone," she pointed out. 'How stupid of me. Of course we are.' Turning from her he gazed down into the cone of the tower. A shaft of moonlight broke through the clouds and illuminated the cone.

Niobe's hand touched his shoulder. 'Look at the ledge down there,' she said.

'I am in no mood for sex, my pretty. Not at this moment.'

'No, look! At the far end of the ledge.' His gaze followed her pointing finger. Some twenty feet below and to the right there was — or what appeared to be — an entrance carved into the rock.

'It is a trick of the light,' he said, peering down into the cone.

'And there,' she said, 'steps!' It was true. At the far end of the ledge a series of steps had been cut into the wall of the cone.

'Go and fetch Druss,' he commanded.

'That is where the demons live,' she whispered, as she walked away.

'Tell him to bring a rope, torches and a tinder-box.'

Niobe stopped and looked back. 'You are going down there? For why?'

'Because I am a naturally curious man, my darling. I want to know why anyone would carve an opening on the inside of a volcano.'

The moonlight was brighter now, as the clouds dispersed, and Sieben edged around the crater, moving closer to the ancient steps. Immediately above the first of them there were rope grooves in the soft rock. The steps themselves had either been hacked with great speed, or had weathered badly — perhaps both, he thought. Leaning over the rim he pushed his fingers against the first step. The rock crumbled away at his touch. Under no circumstances would these steps any longer support the weight of a man.

Druss, Nuang and several Nadir warriors climbed up towards him. Niobe was not with them. Th old Nadir chieftain leaned over the rim and stared at the rectangular entrance below. He said nothing. Druss squatted down beside Sieben. 'The girl says you want to go down there. Is that wise, poet?'

'Perhaps not, old horse. But I don't want to spend the rest of my life wondering about it.'

Druss peered down into the cone. 'That's a long way to fall.'

Sieben gazed down into the black depths. The moonlight, though bright, did not reach the bottom of the cone. 'Lower me down to the ledge,' he said, hanging on to the last of his courage. There was no way now that he could withdraw. 'But don't release your hold when I reach the ledge. The rock crumbles like salt crystals and the ledge may not support me.' Tying a rope around his waist, and waiting until Druss looped it over his huge shoulders, he swung out over the rim. Slowly Druss let out the rope until Sieben's feet touched the ledge, which was solid and strong.

Now he stood before the entrance. There was no doubt it had been carved by men. Strange symbols had been etched into the rock, swirls and stars surrounding what appeared to be the outline of a broken sword. Just inside the entrance a series of iron bars had been cemented into the black rock; these were now red with rust. Sieben gripped one of them and pulled hard, but it did not budge.

'What is happening?' called Druss.

'Come down and see. I'll untie the rope.'

Moments later Druss, holding a lighted torch, joined him. 'Stand back,' said the axeman, handing the torch to Sieben and removing his rope. Taking a firm grip with both hands, Druss wrenched at the first of the bars. With a grinding groan it bent in the middle, then ripped away from the surrounding rock. Druss hurled it over his shoulder and Sieben heard it clanging and bouncing down the walls of the cone. Two more bars were prised loose in the same fashion. 'After you, poet,' said Druss.

Sieben eased himself through the gap in the bars and held up the torch. He found himself standing in a small, round chamber. Turning, he saw two chains hanging from the ceiling. Druss appeared alongside him, and approached the chains, from one of which something dangled. 'Bring the torch closer,' ordered the axeman and Sieben did so.

The chain held a dried and withered arm, which had torn loose from the shoulder as the corpse decayed. Lowering the torch, Sieben gazed down at the long dead, almost mummified body. The flickering torchlight shone on a long dress of decaying white silk, still strangely beautiful in this dark and gloomy setting.

'It was a woman,' said Druss. 'Someone entombed her here alive.'

Sieben knelt by the corpse. Glints of light came from the sunken eye sockets and he almost dropped the torch. Druss peered closer. 'The whoresons put out her eyes with nails of gold,' he said. Touching the corpse's head, he' turned it. Gold also glinted in the ear canals on both sides. Sieben wished Niobe had never seen the ledge. His heart sank with sorrow for this long-dead woman and her terrible suffering.

'Let's get out of here,' he said softly.

At the rim they told Nuang what they had seen. The old leader sat silently until they had finished. 'She must have been a great sorceress,' he said. 'The swirls and the stars on the entrance show that spells were cast there to chain her spirit to this place. And the nails would stop her hearing or seeing in the world of spirit. It is likely they also pierced her tongue.'

Sieben rose and retied his rope. 'What are you doing?' asked Druss.

Tm going back, old horse.'

'For why?' queried Nuang. Sieben gave no answer, but swung himself once more over the rim.

Druss grinned at him as he took up the rope. 'Ever the romantic, eh, poet?'

'Just hand me the torch.'

Once more in the chamber, Sieben knelt by the corpse and forced himself to push his fingers deep into the dry eye-sockets, drawing out the nails of gold. They came away cleanly, as did the longer nail in the right ear. The left was wedged deep and Sieben had to loosen it with a knife-blade. As he opened the mouth of the corpse the jaw fell clear. Steeling himself, he lifted clear the last golden nail. 'I do not know,' he said softly, 'if your spirit is now free, lady. I hope that it is.' As he was about to rise he saw a glint of bright metal within the rotted folds of the woman's dress. Reaching down, he lifted it; it was a round medallion, ringed with dark gold. Holding it up to the light he saw that the centre was tarnished silver and raised with a relief he could not make out. Pocketing it, he walked back out to the ledge and called out to Druss to haul him up.

Once back in the camp Sieben sat in the moonlight polishing the medallion, bringing back its brightness. Druss joined him. 'I see you found a treasure,' said the axeman, and Sieben passed it to him. On one surface was the profile of a man, on the obverse a woman. Around the woman's head were words in a language Sieben did not recognize.

Druss peered at it. 'Perhaps it was a coin — a king and queen,' he said. 'You think the woman was her?'

Sieben shrugged. 'I do not know, Druss. But whoever she was, her murder was administered with the foulest cruelty. Can you imagine what it must have been like? To be dragged to that soulless place and to have your eyes put out? To be left hanging and bleeding while death crept up with agonizing lack of speed?'

Druss handed the medallion back to him. 'Perhaps she was a terrible witch who ate babies. Perhaps her punishment was just.'

'Just? There is no crime, Druss, for which that punishment was just. If someone is evil, then you kill them. But look what they did to her. Whoever was responsible took delight in it. It was so carefully planned, so meticulously executed.'

'Well, you did what you could, poet.'

'Little enough, wasn't it? You think I freed her spirit to see, to talk, to hear?'

'It would be good to think so.'

Niobe moved alongside them and sat next to Sieben. 'You have great tension, po-et. You need love-making.'

Sieben grinned. 'I think you are entirely correct,' he said, rising and taking her by the hand.

Later, Niobe sleeping beside him, Sieben sat in the moonlight thinking about the woman in the tomb. Who was she and for what crime had she been executed, he wondered? She was a sorceress, of that there was no doubt. Her killers had gone to great lengths — and greater cost — to destroy her.

Niobe stirred beside him.,'Can you not sleep, po-et?'

'I was thinking about the dead woman.'

'For why?'

'I don't know. It was a cruel way to die, blinded, chained and left alone in a volcanic cave. Brutal and vicious. And why did they bring her here, to this desolate place? Why hide the body?'

Niobe sat up. 'Where does the sun go to sleep?' she asked. 'Where are the bellows of the winds? Why do you ask yourself questions you cannot answer?'

Sieben smiled and kissed her. 'That is how knowledge is gained,' he said. 'People asking questions for which there are no immediate answers. The sun does not sleep, Niobe. It is a great ball of fire in the heavens, and this planet is a smaller ball spinning round it.' She looked at him quizzically, but said nothing. 'What I am trying to say is that there are always answers even if we cannot see them right away. The woman in that cave was rich, probably high-born, a princess or a queen. The medallion I found has two heads engraved upon it, a man and a woman. Both have Nadir or Chiatze features.'

'Show me.'

Sieben took the medallion from his pouch and dropped it into her hand. The moonlight was bright, and Niobe studied the heads. 'She was very lovely. But she was not Nadir.'

'Why do you say that?'

'The writings on the lon-tsia. They are Chiatze; I have seen the symbols before.'

'Can you read what it says?'

'No.' She passed it back to him.

'What did you call it? A lon-tsia?'

'Yes. It is a love gift. Very expensive. Two would have been made for the wedding. The man is her husband, and her lon-tsia would have been worn with the man's head facing inward, over her heart. He would wear his in the reverse way, her head upon his heart. Old Chiatze custom — but only for the rich.'

'Then I wonder what happened to her husband.'

Niobe leaned in close. 'No more questions, po-et,' she whispered. 'I shall sleep now.' Sieben lay down beside her. Her fingers stroked his face, then slid over his chest and belly.

'I thought you said you wanted sleep?'

'Sleep is always better after love-making.'

By the afternoon of the following day the group came to the last outcrop of rocks before the steppes. Nuang sent out scouts, and the last of the water was doled out to the women and children. Druss, Nuang and the boy, Meng, climbed the rocks and scanned the bleak, apparently empty steppes. There was no sign of any enemy.

After an hour the scouts returned to report that the Lancers had moved on. The riders had followed their tracks to a water-hole in a deep gully, which had been drunk dry and was now deserted.

Nuang led his weary people to the hole, and there made camp. 'They have no patience, these gajin,' he told Druss as they stood beside the mud-churned water-hole. 'It is a seep, and yet they allowed their horses to ride into it. Had they waited and taken only a little water at a time, it would have fully nourished both men and mounts. Now? Ha! Their horses will have barely wet their tongues, and will be useless to them by sunset.'

Several of the Nadir women began digging in the mud and the gravel below, slowly clearing the hole. Then they sat back and waited. After an hour the small seep began to fill.

Later Nuang sent out scouts once more. They returned an hour before dusk. Nuang spoke to them, then moved to where Druss and Sieben were saddling their horses. 'The gajin have cut to the north-west. My men saw a great cloud of dust there. They rode as close as they dared — and saw an army on the march. For why is an army here? What is here for them to fight?'

Druss laid his huge hand on the old man's shoulder. 'They are riding for the Valley of Shul-sen's Tears. They seek to pillage the Shrine.'

'They want Oshikai's bones?' asked the old man, incredulously.

'How far is it to the Shrine?' Druss asked.

'If you take two spare mounts and ride through the night to the north-east, you will see its walls in two days,' said Nuang. 'But the gajin will not be far behind you.'

'May your luck be good,' said Druss, holding out his hand. The Nadir leader nodded, and shook hands.

Sieben moved away to where Niobe stood. 'I hope we meet again, my lady,' he said.

'We will or we won't,' she said, and turned away from him. The poet walked to his horse and vaulted to the saddle. Druss mounted the mare and, leading two spare ponies, the two men left the camp.

Even before Nosta Khan's arrival at the Shrine, news of the Gothir invasion had reached the four camps. A rider from the Curved Horn tribe came in, his pony lathered in sweat. Galloping to the tents of his own people, he leapt from the saddle. A cavalry group had attacked two Curved Horn villages, slaughtering men, women and children. Thousands more soldiers were heading towards the valley, he said.

The leader of the Curved Horn contingent, a middle-aged warrior named Bartsai, sent for the other leaders and they gathered at noon within his tent: Lin-tse of the Sky Riders, Quingíchin of the Fleet Ponies, andàKzun, the shaven-headed war chief of the Lone Wolves. They sat in silence as the rider told of what he had seen — a Gothir army on theàmarch, killing all Nadir in their path.

'Itàmakes no sense,' said Kzun. 'Why have they made war upon the Curved Horn?'m

'And why is their army heading for this valley?' put in Lin-tse.

'Perhaps more importantly,' said Quing-chin, 'we should be asking ourselves what we intend to do. They are less than two days from us.'

'Do?' queried Bartsai. 'What can we do? Do you see an army around you? We have fewer than one hundred and twenty men.'

'We are the guards of the Sacred Shrine,' said Lin-tse. 'Numbers mean nothing. Were we but four, we should fight.'

'You speak for yourself!' snapped Bartsai. 'I see no point in throwing away our lives. If there are no warriors here then the gajin will pass by the Shrine. There is nothing here for them, save the bones of Oshikai. No treasures, no plunder. Therefore we keep the Shrine safe by fleeing.'

'Pah!' sneered Lin-tse. 'What more could be expected from a Curved Horn coward?'

Bartsai surged to his feet, snatching a curved dagger from his belt as Lin-tse reared up, reaching for his sabre. Quing-chin jumped between them. 'No!' he.shouted. 'This is madness!'

'I will not be insulted in my own tent,' shouted Bartsai, glowering at the taller Lin-tse.

'Then do not talk of flight,' said Lin-tse, slamming his sabre back into its scabbard.

'What else is there to talk of?' asked Kzun. 'I do not wish to run from gajin. Neither do I wish to throw away the lives of my men needlessly. I have no love for the Curved Horn, but Bartsai is a warrior who has ridden in many battles. He is no coward. Neither am I. What he says is true. Whatever their purpose, the gajin are looking to kill Nadir. If there are none of us here, they must move on. We should draw them further into the steppes, away from water. Their horses will die there.'

The tent-flap opened and a small man stepped inside. He was old and wizened, and wore a necklace of human finger-bones.

'Who are you?' asked Bartsai warily, aware from the bones that the man was a shaman.

'I am Nosta Khan.' Moving forward he sat between Kzun and Bartsai. Both men moved sideways, making more room for him. 'You now know the threat facing you,' said the shaman. 'Two thousand Gothir warriors, led by Gargan Nadir Bane, are marching upon this holy place. What you do not know is why, but I shall tell you. They come to destroy the Shrine, to raze the walls, take the bones of Oshikai and grind them to dust.'

'For what purpose?' asked Kzun.

'Who can read the minds of the gajin?' said Nosta Khan. 'They treat us like vermin, to be destroyed at their whim. I care nothing for their reasons, it is enough that they are coming.'

'What do you advise, shaman?' asked Lin-tse.

'You must appoint a war leader, and resist them with all your might. The Shrine must not fall to the gajin.'

'Stinking round-eyed vermin!' hissed Kzun. 'It is not enough that they hound us and kill us. Now they wish to desecrate our holy places. I will not suffer this. The question is, which of us should lead? I do not wish to sound arrogant, but I have fought in thirty-seven battles. I offer myself.'

'Hear me,' said Quing-chin softly. 'I respect every leader here, and my words are not intended to cause insult. Of the men here in this tent only two could lead, myself and Lin-tse, for we were both trained by the gajin and we well know the ways of the siege. But one among us here is a man who understands the strategies of gajin warfare better than any other.'

'Who is this. . hero?' asked Bartsai. Quing-chin turned towards Lin-tse. 'Once he was named Okai. Now he is called Talisman.'

'And you believe this man can lead us to victory?' put in Kzun. 'Against a force twenty times our number?'

'The Sky Riders will follow him,' said Lin-tse suddenly.

'As will the Fleet Ponies,' added Quing-chin. 'What tribe is this man from?' Bartsai asked. 'Wolfshead,' Lin-tse told him. 'Then let us go to him. I wish to see him myself before I commit my men to him,' said Bartsai. 'In the meantime I will send out riders, for there are many Curved Horn villages close by. We will need more fighters.'

Zhusai had endured a troubled night, with strange dreams filling her mind. Men were dragging her through a twisted landscape, chaining her in a dark, gloomy chamber. Names were screamed at her: 'Witch! Whore!' Blows struck her face and body.

She had opened her eyes, her heart hammering in panic. Jumping from her bed she had run to the window, throwing it open and breathing deeply of the cool night air. Too frightened to return to sleep, she had walked out into the open yard before the Shrine. Talisman and Gorkai were sitting there as she approached and Talisman rose. 'Are you well, Zhusai?' he asked, taking her arm. 'You are very pale.'

'I had a terrible dream but it is fading now.' She smiled. 'May I sit with you?'

'Of course.'

The three of them had discussed the search for the Eyes of Alchazzar. Talisman had checked the Shrine Room thoroughly, scanning walls and floor for hidden compartments, but there were none. Together with Gorkai he had even lifted the stone coffin lid and examined the dried bones within. There was nothing to be found, save a lon-tsia of heavy silver bearing the heads of Oshikai and Shul-sen. 'He had left it with the bones and carefully replaced the lid.

'Oshikai's spirit told me the Eyes were hidden here, but I cannot think where else to look,' said Talisman.

Zhusai stretched herself out beside the men, and drifted to sleep. .

A slim man with burning eyes pushed his face into her own, biting her lip until it bled. 'Now you die, witch, and not before time.' She spat in his face.

'Then I shall be with my love,' she said, 'and will never have to look upon your worthless face again!' He struck her then, savagely, repeatedly. Then he grabbed her hair. 'You'll never see him this side of eternity.' Holding up his hand he showed her five small golden spikes. 'With these I shall put out your eyes, and pierce your ear-drums. The last I will drive through your tongue. Your spirit will be mine, throughout time. Chained to me, as you should have been in life. Do you want to beg? If I cut you loose will you fall down on your knees and swear loyalty to me?'

Zhusai wanted to say yes, but the voice that came from her mouth was not hers. 'Swear loyalty to a worm? You are nothing, Chakata. I warned my Lord of you, but he would not listen. Now I curse you, and my curse will follow you until the stars die!'

Her head was dragged back. His hand came up, and she felt the glittering spike push into her eyeball. .

With a cry of pain, Zhusai woke to find Talisman sitting beside her bed. 'How did I get here?' she asked. 'I carried you. You began speaking in Chiatze. It is not a tongue with which I am familiar; it changed your voice incredibly.'

'I had the dream again, Talisman. It was so real. A man. . many men. . took me to a dark chamber, and there they put out my eyes. It was horrible. They called me a witch and a whore. They had. . I think. . murdered my husband.'

'Rest,' said Talisman. 'You are distraught.'

'I am distraught,' she agreed, 'but. . I have never experienced a dream like this one. The colours were so sharp, and. .' Gently he stroked her head and, exhausted, she slept again. And this time there were no dreams.

When she awoke she was alone, and bright sunlight filled the room. There was a jug of water and a basin on a table by the window. Rising from the narrow bed she took off her clothes, filled the basin, added three drops of perfume from a tiny bottle and washed her face and upper body. From her pack she took a long tunic of white silk; it was crumpled, but clean. Once dressed, she washed the clothes she had been wearing the previous day and laid them over the window-sill to dry. Bare-footed she left the room, walked down the narrow wooden stairs and emerged into the courtyard below.

Talisman was sitting alone, eating a breakfast of bread and cheese. Gorkai was grooming the ponies on the other side of the courtyard. Zhusai sat beside Talisman and he poured her a goblet of water. 'Did you dream again?' he asked her.

'No.' He is bone-tired, she thought, his eyes dull. 'What will you do now?' she asked him.

'I know. . believe. . the Eyes are here, but I cannot think where else to look.'

Five men came walking through the open gates. Zhusai's heart sank as she recognized Nosta Khan, and she stood and moved back into the shadows. Talisman's face was impassive as the men approached. The first of the men, a shaven-headed warrior with a gold earring, halted before him. 'I am Kzun of the Lone Wolves,' he said, his voice deep and cold. His body was lean and hard, and Zhusai felt a flicker of fear as she gazed upon him. His posture was challenging as he stood looming over Talisman. 'Quing-chin of the Fleet Ponies claims you are a war leader to follow. You do not look like a war leader.'

Talisman rose and stepped past Kzun, ignoring him. He walked to a tall, solemn-faced warrior. 'It is good to see you, Lin-tse,' he said.

'And you, Okai. The Gods of Stone and Water have brought you here at this time.'

A burly, middle-aged man stepped forward. 'I am Bartsai of the Curved Horn.' Dropping into a crouch, he extended his right arm with palm upward. 'Quing-chin of the Fleet Ponies speaks highly of you and we are here to ask of you a service.'

'Not yet we don't,' snapped Kzun. 'First let him prove himself.'

'Why do you need a war leader?' asked Talisman, directing his question at Lin-tse.

'Gargan is coming with an army. The Gothir seek to destroy the Shrine.'

'They have already attacked several Nadir camps,' added Quing-chin.

Talisman walked away from the group, and sat cross-legged on the ground. Three of the others followed and sat around him. Kzun hesitated, then joined them. Gorkai moved across the courtyard and stood, arms folded across his chest, behind Talisman.

'How many men in the Gothir army?' Talisman asked.

'Two thousand,' said Nosta Khan. 'Lancers and foot soldiers.'

'How long before they arrive?'

'Two days. Perhaps three,' Bartsai answered.

'And you intend to fight?'

'Why else would we need a war leader?' asked Kzun.

For the first time Talisman looked the man in the eye. 'Let us be clear, Kzun of the Lone Wolves,' he said, no anger in his voice, 'the Shrine is ultimately indefensible. A sustained assault by two thousand men will take it. . eventually. There is no hope here of victory. At best we could hold for a few days, perhaps a week. Look around you. One wall has already crumbled, and the gates are useless. All the defenders would die.'

'Exactly what I said,' put in Bartsai.

'Then you advocate flight?' Kzun asked.

'At this moment I am not advocating anything,' said Talisman. 'I am stating the obvious. Do you intend to fight?'

'Yes,' said Kzun. 'This is the one place sacred to all Nadir. It cannot be surrendered without a fight.'

Lin-tse spoke up: 'You know the ways of the Gothir, Okai. You know how they will fight. Will you lead us?'

Talisman rose. 'Go back to your warriors. Tell them to assemble here in one hour; I will speak with them.' Leaving them sitting there Talisman walked across the courtyard and climbed to the east-facing parapet. Bewildered, the leaders rose and left the Shrine. Nosta Khan followed Talisman.

Zhusai stood quietly by the wall as Gorkai approached her. 'I don't think we will live to see the day of the Uniter,' he said grimly.

'And yet you will stay,' she said.

'I am Wolfshead,' he told her, proudly. 'I will stay.'

On the wall Nosta Khan came alongside Talisman. 'I did not foresee this,' said the shaman.

'It does not matter,' Talisman told him. 'Win or lose, it will speed the day of reckoning.'

'How so?'

'Four tribes will fight together. It will show the way we must follow. If we succeed, then the Nadir will know the Gothir can be beaten. If we fail, then the sacrilege they commit upon this Shrine will bind the tribes with chains of fire.'

'Succeed? You said we would all die.'

'We must be prepared for death. But there is a chance, Nosta. They have no water, so we must guard the wells, denying them access. Two thousand men will require two hundred and fifty gallons of water a day; the horses three times that. If we deny them water for more than a few days, the horses will start to die. Then the men.'

'Surely they will have thought of that?' argued Nosta Khan.

'I doubt it. They will expect to take the Shrine within a day. And here there are three deep wells.'

'Can you hold them with a hundred men — and guard the wells and water-holes outside?'

'No, we need more warriors. But they will come.'

'From where?' asked the shaman.

'The Gothir will send them,' Talisman told him.