The Legend of the Deathwalker

by David Gemmell

  Druss, Nuang, and several Nadir warriors climbed up toward him. Niobe was not with them. The 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.

  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; they 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 axman, 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 prized 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 axman, and Sieben did so.

  The chain held a dried and withered arm that had torn loose from the shoulder as the corpse had 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 that 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 from hearing or seeing in the world of spirit. It is likely that they also pierced her tongue.”

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

  “I’m 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 nail 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 center 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 axman, and Sieben passed it to him. On one surface was the profile of a man; on the obverse was 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 lovemaking.”

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

  Later, with 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 around 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 highborn, a princess or a queen. The medallion I found has two heads engraved on 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 lovemaking.”

  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, 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 northwest. 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 northeast, 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 toward 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 in his tent: Lin-tse of the Sky Riders, Quing-chin of the Fleet Ponies, and Kzun, the shaven-headed war chief of the Lone Wolves. They sat in silence as the rider told them what he had seen: a Gothir army on the march, killing all Nadir in its path.

  “It makes no sense,” said Kzun. “Why have they made war on the Curved Horn?”

  “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 120 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 saber. 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 saber 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 farther 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 on 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, to 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,” Quing-chin said 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 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 toward 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 a
t 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 the 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 except a lon-tsia of heavy silver bearing the heads of Oshikai and Shul-sen. He had left it with the bones and had 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 your time.” She spit 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 eardrums. 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!”