The surgeon, Calvar Syn, moved alongside the axman. “The boy is dead, Druss,” he said.
“I know he’s dead, damn you! Everyone dies on me.” Tenderly he patted Pellin’s still-warm hand, then rose from the bedside. “He fought well, you know. He was frightened, but he didn’t run. He stood his ground like a man should. You think he heard any of my story?”
“It is hard to say. Perhaps. Now you should get some rest. You’re no youngster.”
“Aye, that is the advice from Rek and Hogun and all the others. I’ll rest soon enough. We all will. They’ve all gone, you know—all my friends. I killed Bodasen myself, and Sieben fell at Skeln.”
“What about Talisman? Did you ever see him again?”
“No. I expect he died in one of Ulric’s battles.” Druss forced a laugh and ran his gnarled hand over his silver beard. “He would have been proud to see the tribes now, though, eh? Battling before the walls of Dros Delnoch? All the tribes united?”
“Get some rest, old man,” ordered Calvar Syn. “Otherwise tomorrow you may be in one of these beds and not sitting alongside it.”
“I hear you, surgeon.”
Taking up his ax, Druss strolled out into the moonlight and made his way to the ramparts, staring out over the awesome camp of the Nadir, which filled the pass for as far as the eye could see.
Three of the six great walls had fallen, and Druss stood by the gate towers of Wall Four. “What are you thinking, old horse?” asked Bowman, moving out of the shadows.
“Ulric said his shaman warned that I would die here, by this gate. It seems as good a place as any.”
“You won’t die, Druss. You’re immortal. All men know this.”
“What I am is old and tired,” said Druss. “And I knew before I came here that this would be my last resting place.” He grinned. “I made a pact with death, boy.”
Bowman shivered and changed the subject. “You liked him, didn’t you? Ulric, I mean. What else did he say to you?”
Druss did not answer. Something about the meeting with Ulric had been bothering him, but he had not yet figured it out.
He never would …
Several days later, alone in his tent, Ulric was also thinking about the axman, remembering their last meeting on the killing ground between Walls One and Two. The sun was bright in the sky, and the enemy had fallen back from Eldibar, Wall One.
Ulric had walked out onto the killing ground and spread a purple rug on the ground. A jug of wine, a plate of dates, and some cheese had been brought forward by one of his men, and the great khan had sat waiting.
He had watched as Druss was lowered from the ramparts of Wall Two. He looked old, his beard shining silver in the sunlight. Will you remember me, Druss? he thought. No, how could you? The fresh-faced, dark-eyed young man you knew thirty years ago is now a violet-eyed, battle-scarred warrior. As the axman approached, Ulric found his heart hammering. In Druss’ hand was the terrible weapon Snaga, which had wreaked such a heavy toll at the Shrine of Oshikai. Will you use it on me? wondered Ulric. No, he realized. As always, Druss would be the man of honor.
“I am a stranger in your camp,” said the old man.
“Welcome, stranger, and eat,” said Ulric, and Druss sat cross-legged opposite him. Slowly Ulric unbuckled his lacquered black breastplate and removed it, laying it carefully at his side. Then he removed his black greaves and forearm straps. “I am Ulric of the Wolfshead.”
“I am Druss of the Ax.” The axman’s pale blue eyes narrowed as he stared at the great khan. Was recognition flickering? Ulric wondered. Tell him! Speak to him now. Voice your gratitude.
“Well met! Eat,” bade Ulric.
Druss took a handful of dates from the silver platter before him and ate slowly. He followed with goat’s milk cheese and washed it down with a mouthful of red wine. His eyebrows rose, and he grinned.
“Lentrian red,” said Ulric. “Without poison.”
Druss grinned. “I’m a hard man to kill. It’s a talent.”
“You did well, and I am glad for you.”
“I was grieved to hear of the death of your son. I have no sons, but I know how hard it is for a man to lose a loved one.”
“It was a cruel blow,” said Ulric. “He was a good boy. But then, all life is cruel, is it not? A man must rise above his grief.”
Druss was silent, helping himself to more dates.
“You are a great man, Druss. I am sorry you are to die here.”
“Yes, it would be nice to live forever. On the other hand, I am beginning to slow down. Some of your men have been getting damn close to marking me. It’s an embarrassment.”
“There is a prize for the man who kills you: one hundred horses, picked from my own stable.”
“How does the man prove to you that he slew me?”
“He brings me your head and two witnesses to the blow.”
“Don’t allow that information to reach my men. They will do it for fifty horses.”
“I think not. You have done well. How is the new earl settling in?”
“He would have preferred a less noisy welcome, but I think he is enjoying himself. He fights well.”
“As do you all. It will not be enough, however.”
“We shall see,” said Druss. “These dates are very good.”
“Do you believe you can stop me? Tell me truly, Deathwalker.”
“I would like to have served under you,” said Druss. “I have admired you for years. I have served many kings. Some were weak, others willful. Many were fine men, but you … you have the mark of greatness. I think you will get what you want eventually … but not while I live.”
“You will not live long, Druss,” said Ulric gently. “We have a shaman who knows these things. He told me that he saw you standing at the gates of Wall Four—Sumitos, I believe it is called—and the grinning skull of death floated above your shoulders.”
Druss laughed aloud. “Death always floats where I stand, Ulric! I am he who walks with death. Does your shaman not know your own legends? I may choose to die at Sumitos. I may choose to die at Musif. But wherever I choose to die, know this: as I walk into the Valley of Shadows, I will take with me more than a few Nadir for company on the road.”
“They will be proud to walk with you. Go in peace.”
A movement came at the tent flap, jerking Ulric’s mind back to the present. His lieutenant, Ogasi, son of the long-dead Gorkai, stepped inside. Fist to chest, he saluted his khan. “The cairn is ready, lord,” said the warrior.
Ulric took a deep breath and then walked out into the night.
The body of Druss the Legend lay on the cairn, his arms folded across his chest, his great ax held in his dead hands. Ulric felt the jolt of inner pain as he gazed on the cairn, and the sick empty suffering of bereavement followed. Druss had killed the Nadir champion Nogusha in single combat. Nogusha, however, had smeared poison on his sword blade. When the next attack came, the old warrior was already dying in agony, yet still he fought, his great ax dealing death until at last, ringed by Nadir warriors, he was cut down.
“Why are we doing this honor for him, lord?” asked Ogasi. “He was gajin and our enemy.”
Ulric sighed. “He fought beside your father and me at the Shrine of Oshikai. He helped bring the magic back to the land. Without him there would have been no Nadir army. Perhaps no future for our people.”
“The more fool him, then,” observed Ogasi.
Ulric quelled the rush of anger he felt. Ogasi was brave and loyal, but he would never understand the greatness of men like Druss the Legend.
“It was my honor and my privilege to stand beside him,” said Ulric. “He was a man who always fought for what he believed in, no matter what the odds. I know you hate the gajin, Ogasi. But Druss was special; he transcended race. A long time ago he and I walked the Void to save the soul of Shul-sen and reunite her with the spirit of Oshikai. Yes, he fought us. But there was no malice in him. He was a great man and—for a time—my friend. Do him h
onor for my sake.”
“I will, lord,” said Ogasi. The warrior was silent for a moment, then he smiled. “By the gods of stone and water, but he could fight, hey?”
“Yes,” said Ulric softly. “He could fight.”
The Legend of the Deathwalker Page 38