The Legend of Deathwalker

by David Gemmell

  Outside he heard the riders returning with the head of Shanqui, but he remained in the tent, his thoughts sombre. The rituals of the revenge-duel differed from tribe to tribe, but the principles remained the same. Had he cut out the eyes of the Sky Rider and placed them in the dead hand of Shanqui, then the spirit of the Sky Rider would have been bonded to Shanqui for eternity. The belief was that the Sky Rider would be blind in the Void, unless Shanqui loaned him the use of his eyes. This would ensure obedience. Now Quing-chin had broken the ritual. And to what purpose ? Tomorrow he must fight again. If he won, another warrior would challenge him.

  His friend Shi-da entered the tent, and squatted down before him. 'You fought bravely,' said Shi-da. 'It was a good fight. But tomorrow you must take the eyes.'

  'The eyes of Lin-tse,' whispered Quing-chin. 'The eyes of one who was my friend? I cannot do this.'

  'What is wrong with you, my brother? These are our enemies!'

  Quing-chin rose. 'I shall go to the Shrine. I need to think.'

  Leaving Shi-da, he ducked under the tent-flap and stepped out into the sunshine. The body of Shanqui, wrapped in hide, had been left within yards of his tent. The right hand of the corpse had been left exposed, the fingers clawed and open. Striding to his dappled pony, Quing-chin mounted and rode to the white-walled Shrine. In what way did they poison my Nadir spirit, he wondered ? Was it the books, the manuscripts, the paintings ? Or perhaps the teachings concerning morality, or the endless discussions on philosophy? How can I know?

  The gates were open and Quing-chin rode inside and dismounted. Leaving his pony in the shade, he strode towards the Shrine.

  'We shall make them suffer, as Zhen-shi suffered,' said a voice. Quing-chin froze. Slowly he turned towards the speaker.

  Talisman stepped from the shadows and approached the taller man. 'It is good to see you again, my friend,' he said.

  Quing-chin said nothing for a moment, then he gripped Talisman's outstretched hand. 'You gladden my heart, Okai. All is well with you?'

  'Well enough. Come, share water and bread with me.'

  The two men strolled back to the shade, where they sat beneath a wooden awning. Filling two clay cups with cool water from a stone jug, Talisman passed one to Quing-chin. 'What happened in the fight this morning?' he asked. 'There was so much dust I could see nothing from the walls.'

  'A Sky Rider died,' said Quing-chin.

  'When will such madness end?' asked Talisman sadly. 'When will our eyes be opened to the real enemy?'

  'Not soon enough, Okai. Tomorrow I fight again.' He looked into Talisman's eyes. 'Against Lin-tse.'

  Lin-tse sat on a rock sharpening his sword, his face impassive and his anger masked. Of all the men in the world, the last he wished to kill was Dalsh-chin. Yet such was his fate, and a true man never whined when the Gods of Stone and Water twisted the knife! The whetstone slid along the sabre's edge and Lin-tse imagined the silver steel blade slicing through Dalsh-chin's neck. He swore softly, then stood and stretched his back.

  At the last there had only been four Nadir janizaries at the Academy - himself, Dalsh-chin, the miserable Green Monkey boy, Zhen-shi, and the strange one from the Wolfshead, Okai. Some of the others had fled, most had simply failed their examinations miserably - much to the delight of Gargan, Lord Larness. One had been hanged after killing an officer; another had committed suicide. The experiment - as Lord Larness intended -had been a failure. Yet much to the Gothir general's chagrin four Nadir youngsters had consistently passed the examinations. And one - Okai - excelled above all other students including the general's own son, Argo.

  Lin-tse scabbarded his sword and walked out on to the steppes. His thoughts turned to Zhen-shi, with his frightened eyes and his nervous smile. Tormented and abused, he had fawned around the Gothir cadets, especially Argo, serving him like a slave. 'Grinning Monkey', Argo called him and Lin-tse had despised the youth for his cowardice. Zhen-shi carried few scars, but then he was everything the Gothir boys had been taught to expect of a barbarian - subservient and inferior to the civilized races.

  Yet he had made a mistake - and it had cost him his life. In the end-of-year examinations he had outscored all but Okai. Lin-tse still remembered the look on Zhen-shi's face when the results were announced. At first his delight was obvious but then, as he gazed at Argo and the others, the full horror of his plight dawned on him. Grinning Monkey had beaten them all. No longer did they see him as an object of scorn or derision. Now he became a figure of hate. Little Zhen-shi had withered under their malevolent gazes.

  That night Zhen-shi had plunged from the roof, his body crushed to pulp on the snow-covered cobbles below.

  It was winter, the night harsh and cold, ice forming on the insides of the glass windows. Yet Zhen-shi had been dressed only in a loincloth. Hearing the scream as he fell, Lin-tse had looked out of the window and saw his scrawny body leaking blood to the snow. He and Okai had run out with scores of other boys, and stood over the corpse. The body bore the red weals of a lash on the back, buttocks and thighs. The wrists were also bleeding.

  'He was tied,' said Lin-tse. Okai did not answer; he was staring up at the gable from which Zhen-shi had fallen. The rooms on that top level were reserved for the senior cadets from noble families. But the nearest window was that of Argo. Lin-tse followed Okai's gaze. The blond-haired son of Gargan was leaning on his window-sill, and gazing down with mild interest on the scene below.

  ' Did you see what happened, Argo ?' someone shouted.

  'The little monkey tried to climb the roof. I think he was drunk.' Then he leaned back and slammed shut his window.

  Okai turned to Lin-tse and the two boys walked back to their room. Dalsh-chin was waiting for them. Once inside they squatted on the floor and spoke Nadir in low voices.

  'Argo sent for Zhen-shi,' whispered Dalsh-chin, 'three hours ago.'

  'He was tied and beaten,' said Okai. 'He could not stand pain, and therefore must have also been gagged. Otherwise we would have heard the screams. There will be an inquiry.'

  'It will find,' said Lin-tse, 'that Grinning Monkey, having consumed too much alcohol in celebration of his success, fell from the roof. A salutary lesson that barbarians have no tolerance for strong drink.'

  'That is true, my friend,' said Okai. 'But we will make them suffer - as Zhen-shi suffered.'

  'A pleasing thought,' said Lin-tse. 'And how will this miracle be accomplisheo?'

  Okai sat silently for a moment. Lin-tse would never forget what followed. Okai's voice dropped even lower: 'The re-building work on the north tower is not yet complete. The labourers will not return for three days. It is deserted. Tomorrow night we will wait until everyone is asleep, then we will go there and prepare the way for vengeance.'

  Gargan, Lord of Larness, removed his helm and drew in a deep breath of hot desert air. The sun was beating down, shimmering heat hazes forming over the steppes. Twisting in the saddle, he glanced back along the column. One thousand lancers, eight hundred infantry Guardsmen and two hundred archers were moving slowly in line, dust rising in a cloud around them. Gargan tugged on the reins and cantered back along the column, past the water-wagons and supply carts. Two of his officers joined him and together they rode to the crest of a low hill where Gargan drew rein and scanned the surrounding landscape.

  'We will make camp by that ridge,' said Gargan, pointing to a rocky outcrop some miles to the east. 'There is a series of rock pools there.'

  'Yes, sir,' answered Marlham, a grizzled, white-bearded career officer coming close to mandatory retirement.

  'Put out a screen of scouts,' Gargan ordered. 'Any Nadir seen should be killed.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  Gargan swung to the second officer, a handsome young man with clear blue eyes. 'You, Premian, will take four companies and scout the marshes. No prisoners. All Nadir are to be treated as hostiles. Understand?'

  'Yes, Lord Gargan.' The boy had not yet learned how to keep bis feelings from showing in his expression.

&nbs
p; 'I had you transferred to this force,' said Gargan. 'Do you know why?'

  'No, Lord Gargan.'

  'Because you are soft, boy,' snapped the general. 'I saw it at the Academy. The steel in you - if steel there is - has not been tempered. Well, it will be during this campaign. I mean to soak the steppes in Nadir blood.' Spurring his stallion, Gargan galloped down the hillside.

  'Watch yourself, my boy,' said Marlham. 'The man hates you.'

  'He is an animal,' said Premian. 'Vicious and malevolent.'

  'All of that,' Marlham agreed. 'He always was a hard man, but when his son disappeared . . . well, it did something to him. He's never been the same since. You were there at the time, weren't you?'

  'Aye. It was a bad business,' said Premian. 'There was to be an inquiry over the death of a cadet who fell from Argo's window. On the night before the inquiry Argo vanished. We searched everywhere; his clothes were gone, as was a canvas shoulder-pack. We thought at first that he had feared being implicated in the boy's death. But that was ridiculous, for Gargan would have protected him.'

  'What do you think happened?'

  'Something dark,' said Premian. With a flick of the reins he moved away, returning to the rear of the column and signalling his junior officers to join him. Swiftly he told them of their new orders. The news was greeted with relief by the two hundred men under his command, for it would mean no more swallowing the dust of the column.

  While the men were being issued with supplies, Premian found himself thinking back to his last days at the Academy, that summer two years ago. Only Okai remained of the original Nadir contingent, his two comrades having been sent home after failing the toughest of the pre-final examinations. Their failure had concerned Premian, for he had worked with them and knew their mastery of the subjects was no less proficient than his own. And he had passed with a credit. Only Okai remained - a student so brilliant there was no way he could fail.. Even he, however, had barely scraped a pass.

  Premian had voiced his concerns to the oldest - and best - of the tutors, a former officer named Fanlon. Late at night, in the old man's study, he told Fanlon he believed the youths were unfairly dismissed.

  'We speak much of honour,' said Fanlon sorrowfully, 'but in reality it is in short supply. It always was. I was not allowed to take part in the judging of their papers; the Lord Larness and two of his cronies marked them. But I fear you are correct, Premian. Both Dalsh-chin and Lin-tse were more than capable students.'

  'Okai was allowed to pass. Why?' asked Premian.

  'He is exceptional, that one. But he will not be allowed to graduate; they will find a way to mark him down.'

  'Is there no way we can help him?'

  'Tell me first, Premian, why you would wish to? You are not friends.'

  'My father taught me to loathe injustice,' answered Premian. 'Is that not enough?'

  'Indeed it is. Very well then, I shall help you.'

  On the day of the finals, upon entering the examination room, each cadet was handed a small numbered disc taken from a black velvet sack held by the Chief Prefect, a tall, spindly youth named Jashin. Each disc was wrapped in paper to prevent the number being seen by the Prefect. It was a ritual intended to ensure no preferential treatment could be given to any student during the examinations; cadets would merely write the number of their disc at the top of their papers. At the close of the examination the gathered papers would be taken to the judges, who would mark them immediately.

  Premian stood in line behind Okai, and noticed that Jashin's fist was already clenched as he delved into the bag before handing the Nadir boy his disc. Premian followed Okai into the examination room, where desks had been set out in rows.

  The examination lasted three hours and involved, firstly, establishing a logistical formula and a strategy for supplying an invading army of twenty thousand men, conducting a campaign across the Ventrian Sea; and secondly, constructing a letter of advice to the commanding officer of the expedition, outlining the hazards he must expect to face during his invasion of Ventria.

  Premian felt exhausted by the close, but was fairly certain he had performed well. The questions were based on a real campaign of two centuries earlier led by the legendary Gothir General, Bodacas, after whom the Academy was named. Happily, Premian had studied the campaign fairly recently.

  As the cadets trooped out, Premian saw General Gargan enter the room along with the other judges. Premian avoided eye contact and sought out Fanlon. The elderly tutor poured the cadet a goblet of watered wine, and the two of them sat for a while in silence by the upper window overlooking the bay.

  The afternoon wore on and finally the Keep bell sounded. Premian joined the other students streaming towards the main hall to hear the results.

  Gargan and the senior tutors stood on the raised stage at the south end of the hall as the two hundred senior cadets filed in. This time Premian looked squarely at the general, who was now wearing the full armour of his rank, gilded breastplate and the white cloak of a senior Guards officer. Behind him, set on wooden stands, were scores of shining sabres. When the cadets had taken up their positions, Gargan moved to the front of the stage.

  His voice thundered out. 'One hundred and forty-six cadets have passed the final examination and will receive their sabres this day,' he said. 'A further seventeen passed with credit. One cadet gained an honour pass. Thirty-six failed, and leave this honoured place bearing the shame earned by their slothful behaviour. In the time-honoured tradition we will begin with the passes, and progress to the honour-cadet. As your disc number is called, move forward.'

  One by one the cadets moved forward and handed in their discs, receiving their sabres and bowing to their tutors, before marching to the back of the hall and standing in rank.

  The credit students followed. Premian was not among them, nor was Okai. Premian's mouth was dry; he was standing close to the stage and staring up at Gargan. 'Now,' said Gargan, 'we come to the Honour Student - the cream of the Academy, and a man whose martial skills will help to maintain the glory of Gothir.' Turning, he took the last sabre from the stand. Its blade was shining silver steel, its hilt embellished with gold. 'Step forward, number seventeen.'

  Okai marched from the ranks and up the short wooden steps as whispers began all around the hall. Premian focused on Gargan's broad face; the man's eyes widened, and Premian saw his jaw twitch. He stood silently, staring with undisguised hatred at the young Nadir.

  'There has been a mistake,' he said at last. 'This cannot be! Fetch his paper!'

  There was silence in the hall as the Chief Prefect ran from the stage. Minutes passed and no-one moved or spoke. The Chief Prefect returned and handed the sheaf of papers to Gargan, who stood and studied them. Fanlon stepped forward. 'There is no question as to the handwriting, Lord Gargan,' he said softly. 'These are Okai's papers. And I see that you marked them yourself. There can be no mistake.'

  Gargan blinked. Okai stepped forward, hand outstretched. Gargan stared at him, then looked down at the sabre in his own trembling hands. Suddenly he thrust the sabre at Fanlon. 'You give it to him!' he hissed. And he strode from the stage.

  The elderly tutor smiled at Okai. 'This was well-merited, young man,' he said, his voice carrying to all in the hall. 'For five years you have endured much, both in physical hardship and emotional cruelty. For what it is worth - and I hope it is something - you have my respect and my admiration. I hope that when you go from here you will carry with you some fond memories. Would you like to say a few words to your fellow cadets ?'

  Okai nodded. Stepping forward, he stood and ran his gaze over the assembled cadets. 'I have learned much here,' he said. 'One day I will put that knowledge to good use.' Without another word he walked from the stage, and out of the hall.

  Fanlon followed him from the stage and approached Premian. 'I shall appeal on your behalf and have your papers re-examined.'

  'Thank you, sir. For everything. You were right about the discs. I saw Jashin's fingers were closed as he dipp
ed his hand into the bag; he already had a disc ready for Okai.'

  'Jashin will be in serious trouble,' said Fanlon. 'Lord Gargan is not a forgiving man.'

  Later that day Premian was summoned to Gargan's study. The general was still in his armour, and his face was grey. 'Sit down, boy,' he said. Premian obeyed. 'I am going to ask you a question, and I put you on your honour to answer it with truth.'

  'Yes sir,' answered Premian, with a sinking heart.

  'Is Okai a friend of yours?'

  'No, sir. We rarely speak; we have little in common. Why do you ask, sir?'

  For a long moment Gargan stared at him, then he sighed. 'It does not matter. It broke my heart to see him take the sabre. However, that is of no interest to you. I called you here to tell you there has been an error in the marking. You have gained a credit pass.'

  'Thank you, sir. How . . . did it happen?'

  'It was an honest mistake, and I hope you will accept my apologies for it.'

  'Of course, sir. Thank you, sir.'

  Premian had left the study and returned to his room, where at midnight he was awakened by a tapping at the door. Rising, he lifted the latch. Okai stood there; the Nadir was fully dressed for travel. 'You are leaving? But the prize-giving is not until tomorrow.'

  'I have my sabre,' said Okai. 'I came to thank you. I had thought Gothir honour was all sham. I was wrong.'

  'You have suffered here, Okai, but you emerged triumphant and I admire you for it. Where will you go now?'

  'Back to my tribe.'

  Premian held out his hand and Okai shook it. As the Nadir turned away Premian spoke: 'Do you mind if I ask a question?'

  'Not at all.'

  'When we were at the burial of your friend, Zhen-shi, you opened the coffin and pressed a small package into his hand. There was blood on it. I have often wondered what it was. Is it part of some Nadir ritual?'

  'Yes,' said Okai. 'It gave him a servant in the next life.'