Bartsai and ten of his men were working on the parapet of the eastern wall, where a section of ramparts had given way. Floor-boards had been ripped from nearby buildings to be used in the repairs.
Quing-chin climbed the ramparts and gave a Gothir salute. “Make that the last Gothir tribute to me,” said Talisman coldly. “It does not amuse the tribesmen.”
“My apologies, Brother.”
Talisman smiled. “Do not apologize, my friend. I did not mean to scold. You did well last night. A shame they saved their water wagons.”
“Not all of them, Talisman. They will be on short rations.”
“How did they react when disaster struck?”
“With great efficiency. They are well led,” said Quing-chin.
“We almost killed Gargan. I was watching from a rise, and I saw him stumbling around in the flames. A young officer rode in and rescued him; it was the same man who saved the wagons.”
Talisman leaned on the parapet, staring out over the valley.
“Much as I hate Gargan, it must be said that he is a skilled general. He has his own chapter in Gothir history books. He was twenty-two when he led the charge that ended the civil war, the youngest general in Gothir history.”
“He’s not twenty-two now,” said Quing-chin. “He is old and fat.”
“Courage remains even when youth has faded,” Talisman pointed out.
“There is great venom in the man,” said Quing-chin, removing his fur-fringed helm and running his fingers through his sweat-streaked hair. “An abiding malice that burns him. I think it will rage like last night’s blaze when he learns that you are the leader here.”
“With luck you will be proved correct. An angry man rarely makes rational decisions.”
Quing-chin moved to the ramparts and sat down. “Have you thought about who will lead the fighters at the water hole?”
“Yes. Kzun.”
Quing-chin looked doubtful. “I thought you said the Curved Horn men were to guard it?”
“They will. Under Kzun.”
“A Lone Wolf? Will they stand for it?”
“We will see,” said Talisman. “Get your men to gather heavy rocks and stones and place them around the battlements. We should have some missiles to hurl down on the infantry as they try to scale the walls.”
Without another word Talisman walked away, climbing down from the wall and approaching Bartsai, who had stopped repair work while his people rested and drank from the well.
“You have chosen your fighters?” he asked.
“I have. Twenty, as you ordered. We could make it more now. Another thirty-two warriors have come in.”
“If the well is as you described it, twenty should be enough. Have the men come to me here. I wish to speak with them.”
Bartsai moved away, and Talisman walked to where Kzun and his men were putting the last touches on the fighting platform. The top had been covered with wooden planks from the old tower. Talisman climbed to it and gazed through the jagged crack. “It is good,” he said as Kzun moved alongside him.
“It will do,” said Kzun. “Is this where you wish my men and me to fight?”
“Your men, yes. But not you. Appoint a leader for them. I want you to take command of the Curved Horn men at the well.”
“What?” Kzun reddened. “You want me to lead those frightened monkeys?”
“If the Gothir take the well, they will take the shrine,” said Talisman, his voice low and even. “It is the very heart of our defense. Without water the enemy will be forced into an all-out attack; if we can hold them long enough, they will start to die. With water they have a dozen options; they could even starve us out.”
“You don’t have to convince me of the importance, Talisman,” snapped Kzun. “But why should I lead Curved Horn? They are soft. My own men could hold the well. I can trust them to fight to the death.”
“You will lead the Curved Horn,” said Talisman. “You are a fighting man, and they will follow you.”
Kzun blinked. “Just tell me why. Why me?”
“Because I order it,” said Talisman.
“No, there is more. What is it you are hiding from me?”
“There is nothing,” Talisman lied smoothly. “The well is vital, and it is my judgment that you are the best man to lead the defense. But the well is on Curved Horn lands, and they would feel insulted if I asked another tribe to defend it.”
“You think they will not feel insulted when you name me as their leader?”
“That is a risk that must be taken. Come with me now, for they are waiting for us.”
Bartsai was furious, but he bit back his anger as he watched Kzun lead the warriors out through the gates. The nagging chest pain was back, a dull, tight cage of iron around his upper ribs. He had looked forward eagerly to the fight at the well. There were many escape routes open. He and his men would have defended it well but also would have slipped away to safety if the need arose. Now he was trapped in this rotting would-be fortress. Talisman approached him. “Come, we must talk,” he said. A fresh pain stabbed at him as he looked at the younger man.
“Talk? I have had enough of talk. If the situation were not desperate, I would challenge you, Talisman.”
“I understand your anger, Bartsai,” said Talisman. “Now hear me: Kzun would have been useless in the siege. I have watched him pacing this compound and seen his lantern flickering throughout the night. He sleeps in the open. Have you noticed that?”
“Aye, he’s a strange one. But what makes you think he should lead my men?”
Talisman led Bartsai to the table in the shade. “I do not know what demons plague Kzun, but it is obvious that he fears confinement. He does not like the dark, and he avoids enclosed spaces. When the siege begins, we will all be confined here. I think that would have broken Kzun. But he is a fighter and will defend the well with his life.”
“As would I,” said Bartsai, not meeting Talisman’s eyes. “As would any leader.”
“We all carry our own fears, Bartsai,” Talisman said softly.
“What does that mean?” snapped the Curved Horn leader, reddening. Anxiously he looked up into Talisman’s dark, enigmatic eyes.
“It means that I also fear the coming days. As do Quing-chin, Lin-tse, and all the warriors. None of us wants to die. That is one reason why I value your presence here, Bartsai. You are older and more experienced than the other leaders. Your calm and your strength will be of great importance when the Gothir attack.”
Bartsai sighed, and the pain subsided. “When I was your age, I would have ridden a hundred miles to be at this battle. Now I can feel the cold breath of death upon my neck. It turns my bowels to water, Talisman. I am too old, and it would be best if you did not rely on me too much.”
“You are wrong, Bartsai. Only the stupid are fearless. I am young, but I am a good judge of men. You will stand, and you will inspire the warriors around you. You are Nadir!”
“I don’t need pretty speeches. I know my duty.”
“It was not a speech, Bartsai. Twelve years ago, when Chopbacks raided your village, you led a force of twenty men into their camp. You scattered them and recovered all the lost ponies. Five years ago you were challenged by a young swordsman from the Lone Wolves. You were stabbed four times, but you killed him. Then, though wounded, you walked to your pony and rode away. You are a man, Bartsai.”
“You know a great deal about me, Talisman.”
“All leaders must know the men who serve them. But I know this of you only because your men brag of it.”
Bartsai grinned. “I’ll stand,” he said. “And now I had better get back to the work on the ramparts. Otherwise I’ll have nothing to stand on!”
Talisman smiled, and the older man walked away. Nosta Khan came out of the shrine building and walked across the compound. Talisman’s good mood evaporated as the shaman approached.
“There is nothing there,” said Nosta Khan. “I have cast search spells, but they fail. Perhaps Chorin-T
su was wrong. Perhaps they are not there at all.”
“The eyes are here,” said Talisman, “but they are hidden from us. The spirit of Oshikai told me that a foreigner was destined to find them.”
Nosta Khan spit on the dust. “There are two coming: Druss and the poet. Let us hope one of them will prove to be the man of destiny.”
“Why is Druss coming here?” asked Talisman.
“I told him the eyes would heal a friend of his who was wounded in a fight.”
“And will they?”
“Of course, though he’ll never have them. You think I would allow the sacred future of the Nadir to rest in the hands of a gajin? No, Talisman. Druss is a great warrior. He will be of use to us in the coming battle; after that he must be killed.”
Talisman looked closely at the little man but said nothing. The shaman sat down at the table and poured himself a cup of water. “You say there is a lon-tsia inside the coffin?”
“Yes. Silver.”
“That is curious,” said Nosta Khan. “The shrine was plundered centuries ago. Why would the thieves leave a silver ornament behind?”
“It would have been worn next to the skin,” observed Talisman, “underneath his shirt. Perhaps they missed it. The shirt then rotted away, which is why I found it.”
“Hmm,” murmured Nosta Khan, unconvinced. “I think a spell was placed on it that has faded with time.” His glittering dark eyes fixed on Talisman’s face. “Now let us talk about the girl. You cannot have her, Talisman; she is pledged to the Uniter, and you are not he. From his line will come the great men of the future. Zhusai will be his first bride.”
Talisman felt a tight knot in his belly, and his anger rose. “I do not want to hear any more prophecies, shaman. I love her as I love life. She is mine.”
“No!” hissed Nosta Khan, leaning in close. “The welfare of the Nadir is your first concern—indeed, it is your only concern. You want to see the day of the Uniter? Then do not meddle with his destiny. Somewhere out there,” said Nosta Khan, waving his thin arm in the air, “is the man we wait for. The strands of his destiny are interwoven with that of Zhusai. You understand me, Talisman? You cannot have her!”
The young Nadir looked into Nosta Khan’s dark eyes and saw the malice lurking there. But more than that, he saw that the little man was genuinely frightened. His life, even more than Talisman’s, was devoted to one end: the coming of the Uniter.
Talisman felt as if a stone had replaced his heart. “I understand,” he said.
“Good.” The little shaman relaxed and gazed around at the warriors working on the walls. “It looks impressive,” he said. “You have done well.”
“Are you staying with us for the battle?” Talisman asked coldly.
“For a while. I shall use my powers against the Gothir. But I cannot die here, Talisman; my work is too important. If the defense fails, I shall leave. I shall take the girl with me.”
Talisman’s heart lifted. “You can save her?”
“Of course. Though let me speak plainly, Talisman. If you take away her virtue, I shall leave her behind.”
“You have my word, Nosta Khan. Is it good enough for you?”
“Always, Talisman. Do not hate me, boy,” he said sadly.
“There are too many who do. Most of them have justification. It would hurt me for you to be among them. You will serve the Uniter well; I know this.”
“You have seen my destiny?”
“Yes. But some things are not to be spoken of. I need rest now.” The shaman walked away, but Talisman called him back.
“If you have any regard for me, Nosta Khan, you will tell me what you have seen.”
“I have seen nothing,” said Nosta Khan without turning around. The little man’s shoulders sank. “Nothing. I do not see you riding with the Uniter. There is no future for you, Talisman. This is your moment. Relish it.” Without looking back, he moved away.
Talisman stood for a moment, then turned toward the sleeping quarters and made his way up the stairs to Zhusai’s room. She was waiting for him, her long black hair sleekly combed and shining with perfumed oil. As he entered, she ran across to him, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing his face. Gently he pulled away from her and told her the words of the shaman.
“I don’t care what he says,” she told him. “I will never feel for another man what I feel for you. Never!”
“Nor I for any woman. Let us sit together for a while, Zhusai. I need to feel the touch of your hand.” He led her to the small bed. She took his hand and kissed it, and he felt the warmth of her tears falling to his skin. “When all else fails,” he whispered, “Nosta Khan will take you from here to a place of safety. He has great magic, and he will lead you through the Gothir. You will live, Zhusai.”
“I don’t want to live without you. I will not leave.”
Her words touched Talisman, but they also made him fearful. “Do not say that, my love. You have to understand that for me your safety would be like a victory. I could die happy.”
“I don’t want you to die!” she said, her voice breaking. “I want to be with you somewhere deep in the mountains. I want to bear your sons.”
Talisman held her close, breathing in the perfume of her hair and skin, his fingers stroking her face and neck. He could find no words, and a terrible sadness smote him. He had thought that his dreams of Nadir unity were more important than life itself. Now he knew differently. This one slender woman had shown him a truth he had not known existed. For her he could almost betray his destiny. Almost. His mouth was dry, and with a great effort he released his hold on her and stood. “I must go now,” he said.
She shook her head and rose alongside him. “No, not yet,” she told him, her voice controlled. “I am Chiatze, Talisman. I am trained in many things. Remove your shirt.”
“I cannot. I gave my word to Nosta Khan.”
She smiled then. “Take off your shirt. You are tense and weary, your muscles knotted. I shall massage your shoulders and neck. Then you may sleep. Do this for me, Talisman.”
Shrugging off his goatskin jerkin, he doffed his shirt, unbuckled his sword belt, and sat back on the bed. She knelt behind him, her thumbs working at the knots in his muscles. After a while she ordered him to lie down on his stomach. He did so, and she rubbed perfumed oil into his back. The scent was delicate, and Talisman felt the tension flowing from him.
When he awoke, she was lying beside him under a single blanket. Her arm was resting on his chest, her face next to his on the pillow. The dawn sun was shining through the window. Lifting her arm, Talisman eased himself from the bed and stood. She awoke. “How are you feeling, my lord?” she asked him.
“I am well, Zhusai. You are very skilled.”
“Love is magic,” she said, sitting up. She was naked, the sunlight turning her skin to gold.
“Love is magic,” he agreed, dragging his gaze from her breasts. “You did not dream of Shul-sen?”
“I dreamed only of you, Talisman.”
Pulling on his shirt and jerkin, he looped his sword belt over his shoulder and left the room. Gorkai was waiting below.
“Two riders coming,” he said. “Could be Gothir scouts. One carries a great ax. You want them dead or alive?”
“Let them come. I have been expecting them.”
Druss reined in the mare before the western wall and stared hard at the jagged crack that ran down it. “I have seen better forts,” he told Sieben.
“And friendlier welcomes,” muttered Sieben, staring up at the bowmen who stood on the ramparts, aiming down at them. Druss grinned and tugged on the reins, and the mare walked on. The gates were old and half-rotted, but he could see that the hinges had been recently cleaned of rust. The ground was scored under both gates in deep semicircles, showing they had been closed recently.
Touching his heels to the mare, he rode into the compound and dismounted. He saw Talisman walking toward him. “We meet again, my friend,” he said. “No robbers hunting you this time?
”
“Two thousand of them,” Talisman told him. “Lancers, infantry, and archers.”
“You had better set some men to soak those gates,” said Druss. “The wood is dry. They’ll not bother to smash them. They’ll set fire to them.” The axman cast his experienced eye over the defenses, impressed with what he saw. The ramparts had been restored, and a fighting platform had been raised beneath the crack in the western wall. Rocks and boulders had been set on each rampart, ready to be hurled down on advancing infantry. “How many men do you have?”
“Two hundred.”
“They’ll need to be fighters.”
“They are Nadir. And they are defending the bones of the greatest Nadir warrior of all time. They will fight. Will you?”
Druss chuckled. “I love a good fight, boy. But this one isn’t mine. A Nadir shaman told me there were jewels here, healing jewels. I need them for a friend.”
“So I understand. But we have not found them yet. Tell me, did this shaman promise you the jewels?”
“Not exactly,” admitted Druss. “He just told me they were here. Do you mind if we search?”
“Not at all,” said Talisman. “I owe you my life; it is the least I can do.” He pointed to the main building. “That is the Shrine of Oshikai Demon-bane. If the jewels are anywhere, they are hidden there. Nosta Khan—the shaman you spoke of—has searched with spells, but he cannot find them. For myself I summoned the spirit of Oshikai, but he would not divulge their whereabouts. Good luck, axman!”
Hoisting his ax to his shoulder, Druss strode across the compound with Sieben beside him. The shrine was dimly lit, and the axman paused before the stone sarcophagus. The chamber was dust-covered and empty of adornment.
“It has been plundered,” said Sieben. “Look at the pegs on the wall. Once they would have carried his armor and his battle flag.”
“No way to treat a hero,” said Druss. “Any idea where to look?”
“Inside the sarcophagus,” said Sieben. “But you’ll find no jewels there.”
Druss laid his ax aside and moved to the coffin. Grasping the stone lid, he tensed his muscles and heaved. The stone groaned and grated as he slid it aside. Sieben looked in. “Well, well,” he said.
The Legend of the Deathwalker Page 24