The Legend of Deathwalker

by David Gemmell

  youth bom,

  blood letters,

  axe urielders,

  victors still.'

  'Chills the blood, rather,' observed Sieben.

  Druss nodded. 'He's a clever man. He knows there are disasters to come, and he's filling them with pride at the outset. They'll fight like devils for him now.'

  'I didn't know you could understand Nadir?'

  'I can't . . . but you don't need to be a linguist to understand what's happening here. He sent out Lin-tse to blood the enemy. To give them a victory. To bond them together. He's probably just told them they are all heroes, and that together they can withstand any force. Something like that.'

  'And can they?'

  'No way to judge, poet. Not until the first deaths. A fighting force is like a sword-blade. You can't test it until it has passed through fire.'

  'Yes, yes, yes,' said Sieben irritably, 'but apart from the war-like analogies, what is your feeling? You know men. I trust your judgement.'

  'I don't know these men. Oh, they are ferocious, right enough. But they are not disciplined - and they are superstitious. They have no history of success to fall back upon, to lift them in the dark hours. They have never defeated the Gothir. Everything depends on the first day of battle. Ask me again if we survive that!'

  'Damn, but you are gloomy today, my friend,' said Sieben. 'What is it?'

  'This is not my war, poet. I have no feeling for it, you know? I fought alongside Oshikai. I know that it doesn't matter a damn to him what happens to his bones. This is a battle over nothing, and nothing will be achieved by it, win or lose.'

  'I think you may be wrong there, old horse. All this talk of a Uniter is important to these people. You say they have no history of success to fall back upon - well, perhaps this will be the first for them.' Sieben hoisted himself to the wall and sat looking at his friend. 'But you know all this. There's something more, isn't there, Druss? Something deeper.'

  Druss gave a wry smile, then rubbed his huge hand over his black beard. 'Aye, there is. I don't like them, poet. It is that simple. I have no affinity with these tribesmen. I don't know how they think, or what they feel. One thing is for damned sure, they don't think like us.'

  'You like Nuang, and Talisman. They are both Nadir,' Sieben pointed out.

  'Yes, I know. I can't make sense of it.'

  Sieben chuckled. 'It's not hard, Druss. You are Drenai, born and raised - the greatest race on earth. That's what they told us. Civilized men in a world of savages. You had no trouble fighting alongside the Ventrians, but then they are like us, round-eyed and tall. We share a common mythology. But the Nadir are descended from the Chiatze and with them we share nothing that is obvious. Dogs and cats, Druss. Or wolves and lions if you prefer. But I think you are wrong to believe they don't think like us, or feel like us. They just show things differently, that's all. A different culture base.'

  'I am not a bigot,' said Druss defensively.

  Sieben laughed. 'Of course you are, it is bred into you. But you are a good man, Druss, and it won't make a damn bit of difference to the way you behave. Drenai teachings may have lodged in your head, but you've a fine heart. And that will always carry you through.'

  Druss relaxed, and felt the tension flow from him. 'I hope you are right,' he said. 'My grandfather was a butchering killer; his atrocities haunt me still. I never want to be guilty of that kind of evil. I never want to be fighting on the wrong side. The Ventrian War was just, I believe that, and it meant something. The people now have Gorben as a leader, and he is as great a man as I ever met.'

  'Perhaps,' said Sieben doubtfully. 'History will judge him better than you or I. But if you are concerned about this current. . . vileness, put your mind at rest. This is a Shrine, and here lie the bones of the greatest hero the Nadir have ever known. This place means something to all their people. The men who are coming serve a mad Emperor, and they seek to despoil this place for no other purpose than their desire to humiliate the tribes, to keep them in their place. The Source knows how I hate violence, but we are not on the wrong side in this, Druss. By Heaven, we're not!'

  Druss clapped him on the shoulder. 'You're beginning to sound like a warrior,' he said, with a wide grin.

  'Well, that's because the enemy haven't arrived yet. When they do, you'll find me hiding in an empty flour barrel.'

  'I don't believe that for a moment,' Druss told him.

  In a small room alongside the makeshift hospital, Zhusai sat quietly as Talisman and Lin-tse discussed the raid. The two men were physically very different; Lin-tse was tall, his solemn face showing his mixed-blood ancestry - the eyes only barely slanted, the cheek and jaw-bones heavy. His hair too was not the jet-black of the Nadir, but tinged with auburn streaks. Talisman, his hair drawn back into a tight pony-tail, looked every inch the Nadir warrior - his skin pale gold, his face flat, the dark eyes expressionless. And yet, thought Zhusai, there was a similarity that was not born of the physical; an aura almost that spoke of brotherhood. Was it, she wondered, the shared experience in the Bodacas Academy, or the desire to see the Nadir free and proud once more? Perhaps both, she thought.

  'They will be here tomorrow afternoon. No later,' said Lin-tse.

  'There is nothing more we can do. The warriors are as ready now as they will ever be.'

  'But will they hold, Talisman? I have never heard much that is good of the Curved Horn. And as for the Lone Wolves . . . well, they seem nervous without their leader. And I see the groups do not mix at all.'

  'They will hold,' Talisman told him. 'And as for what you have heard of the Curved Horn, I wonder what they have heard of the Sky Riders. It is not our custom to think well of tribal enemies. Though I note you have not mentioned the Fleet Ponies. Could that be because our friend Quing-chin leads them?'

  Lin-tse gave a tight smile. 'I take your point. The axeman looks like a fighting man.'

  'He is. I have walked the Void with him, my friend, and believe me he is awesome to behold.'

  'Even so I feel uncomfortable with a gajin within the walls. Is he a friend?'

  'To the Nadir? No. To me? Perhaps. I am glad that he is here. He has an indomitable feel about him.' Talisman stood. 'You should go and rest, Lin-tse. You have earned it. I wish I could have seen you and your men leap the chasm. Truly you were Sky Riders in that moment. Men will sing of it in years to come.'

  'Only if we survive, general.'

  'Then we must, for I would like to hear that song myself.'

  Lin-tse rose and the two men gripped hands. Then Lin-tse bowed to Zhusai and left the room. Talisman slumped back to his seat.

  'You are more tired than he,' Zhusai admonished him. 'It is you who needs to rest.'

  Talisman gave a weary smile. 'I am young and full of strength.'

  Zhusai crossed the room and knelt beside him, her arms resting on his thighs. 'I will not go with Nosta Khan,' she said. 'I have thought long on this. I know it is the custom for a Nadir father to choose the husband for his daughter, but my father was not Nadir and my grandfather had no right to pledge me. I tell you this, Talisman, if you make me leave then I shall wait for news of you. If you die . . .'

  'Do not say it! I forbid it!'

  'You can forbid me nothing,' she told him quietly. 'You are not my husband; you are my guardian. No more. Very well, I shall not say it. But you know what I will do.'

  Angrily he grabbed her shoulders, lifting her. 'Why are you torturing me in this way?' he shouted. 'Can you not see that your safety would give me strength; give me hope?'

  Relaxing in his arms, she sat down on his lap. 'Hope? What hope for Zhusai with you dead, my love? What would the future hold? Marriage to an un-named man with violet eyes? No, not for me. It will be you, or no-one.'

  Leaning forward she kissed him, and he felt the soft warmth of her tongue on his lips. His mind screamed at him to pull away from her, but arousal swept over him and he drew her close, returning the kiss with an ardour he had not known he possessed. His hand slid over he
r shoulder, feeling the softness of her white silk shirt and the flesh beneath. His palm followed the contours of her body, down over her left breast, the hardness of the nipple causing him to slow, and stroke it between thumb and forefinger.

  He did not hear the door open, but felt the warm flow of air from outside. Drawing back, he swung his head to see Nuang Xuan. 'This a bad time, hey?' said the old warrior, with a wink.

  'No,' answered Talisman, his voice thick. 'Come in.' Zhusai rose, then leaned forward and kissed his cheek. He watched her walk from the room, following the sway of her slender hips.

  Nuang Xuan sat down awkwardly on the wooden chair. 'Better to sit Nadir fashion on the floor,' he said, 'but I don't want to be looking up at you.'

  'What do you require of me, old one?'

  'You wish me to guard the gate - but I desire to stand alongside Druss on the wall.'

  'Why?'

  Nuang sighed. 'I think I will die here, Talisman. I do not object to this, for I have lived a long time. And I have killed many men. You doubt me?'

  'Why would I doubt you?'

  'Because it's not true,' said Nuang, with a wicked grin. 'I have killed five men in my life: three in duels when I was young, and two Lancers when they attacked us. I told the axeman I would kill a hundred on the walls. He said he would keep count for me.'

  'Only a hundred?' queried Talisman.

  Nuang smiled. 'I have not been feeling well.'

  'Tell me the real reason you wish to stand beside him,' said Talisman.

  Nuang's old eyes narrowed, and he took a deep breath. 'I have seen him fight and he is deadly. Many gajin will die around him. If I am there, men will see me fight. I cannot reach a hundred, but it will seem like it to those watching. Then, when they sing the songs of this defence, my name will live on. You understand?'

  'Nuang and the Deathwalker,' said Talisman softly. 'Yes, I understand.'

  'Why do you call him that?'

  'He and I walked the Void. It is a good name for him.'

  'It is very fine. Nuang and the Deathwalker. I like this. Can it be so?'

  'It can. I shall also watch you, old man, and keep count.'

  'Ha! I am happy now, Talisman.' Nuang stood and nibbed his buttocks. 'I don't like these chairs.'

  'The next time we talk, we will sit on the floor,' promised Talisman.

  Nuang shook his head. 'Not much talking left. The gajin will be here tomorrow. Is your woman staying here?'

  'Yes.'

  'As it should be,' said'Nuang. 'She is very beautiful and sex with her will aid you in the times ahead. Bear in mind, however, that her hips are very small. The first birth for such women is always hard.'

  'I will bear that in mind, old one.'

  Nuang strode to the door. He stopped there for a moment, then looked back at Talisman. 'You are very young. But if you live you will be a great man - I know these things.'

  Then he was gone.

  Talisman moved to a second door at the back of the room and emerged into the hospital. Sieben was spreading blankets on the floor, and a young Nadir woman was sweeping the dust from the room.

  'All ready here, general,' said Sieben brightly. 'Plenty of thread and sharp needles. And bandages - and the most disgusting-smelling herbs I've ever come across. I would think the threat of them alone will have wounded men rushing back to the walls.'

  'Dried tree fungus,' said Talisman. 'It prevents infection. Do you have any alcohol?'

  'I do not have the skill to operate. There will be no need to get men drunk.'

  'Use it for cleaning wounds and implements. This also helps to prevent infection.'

  'Maybe you should be the surgeon,' said Sieben. 'You seem to know a lot more than I do.'

  'We had lessons on military surgery at Bodacas. There were many books.'

  As Talisman walked away, the Nadir woman approached him. Not conventionally pretty, she was devastatingly attractive. She moved in close. 'You are young for a general,' she said, her breasts touching his chest. 'Is it true what they say about you and the Chiatze woman ?'

  'What do they say?'

  'They say she is pledged to the Uniter, and that you cannot have her.'

  'Do they? And if it is true, how does that concern you?'

  'I am not pledged to the Uniter. And no general should have to worry about both heads, above and below. It is said there is not enough blood in any man to fill both heads at the same time. Perhaps you should empty one, so that the other may function?'

  Talisman laughed aloud. 'You are one of Nuang's women . . . Niobe?'

  'Yes. Niobe,' she said, pleased that he remembered her name.

  'Well, Niobe, I thank you for your offer. It is a great compliment and it has lifted my spirits.'

  'Is that a no or a yes?' she asked, bemused.

  Talisman smiled, then swung away and walked out into the sunlight. As Niobe turned back to Sieben, the poet chuckled.

  'By Heavens, but you are a brazen hussy. What happened to the warrior you had your pretty eye on?'

  'He has two wives, and one pony,' she said. 'And bad teeth.'

  'Well, don't despair, there are almost two hundred others to choose from.'

  She looked at him, then cocked her head. 'There is no-one here. Come, lie with me.'

  'There are men, my darling, who would feel hurt and humiliated to be second choice to a man with one pony and bad teeth. I, on the other hand, have no qualms about accepting such a graceless offer. But then the men of my family have always had a weakness for attractive women.'

  'Do all the men in your family talk so much?' she asked, untying the cord belt and letting fall her skirt.

  'Talking is the second-best talent we have.'

  'What is the first?' she asked him.

  'Sarcasm as well as beauty, sweet one? Ah, but you are an enchanting creature.' Stripping off his clothes, Sieben spread a blanket on the floor and drew her down upon it.

  'You will have to be quick,' she said.

  'Speed in matters of the loins is a talent that seems to have escaped me. Thankfully,' he added.

  Kzun felt a roaring sense of exultation as he watched the two wagons burning. Leaping over the boulders he ran down to where a Gothir wagon driver, shot through the neck, was trying to crawl away. Plunging his dagger between the man's shoulders, Kzun twisted it savagely; the man cried out, then began to choke on his own blood. When Kzun rose up and let out a blood-curdling cry, the Curved Horn warriors rose from their hiding-places and ran down to join him. The wind shifted, acrid smoke burning Kzun's eyes. Swiftly he loped around the blazing wagons and surveyed the scene. There had been seven wagons in all, and a troop of fifteen Lancers. Twelve of the Lancers were dead - eight peppered with arrows, four slain in fierce hand-to-hand fighting. Kzun himself had killed two of them. Then the Gothir had turned the remaining wagons and fled. Kzun had longed to ride after them, but his orders were to remain at the pool, denying it to the enemy.

  The Curved Horn men had fought well. Only one had a serious wound. 'Gather their weapons and armour!' shouted Kzun, 'then move back into the rocks.'

  A young man, sporting a Lancer's white plumed helm, approached him. 'Now we go, hey?' he said.

  'Go where?' countered Kzun.

  'Where?' responded the man, mystified. 'Away before they come back.'

  Kzun walked away from him, back up the boulder-strewn slope to the pool. Kneeling there, he washed the blood from his naked upper body. Then, removing the white scarf from his head, he dipped it into the water before re-tying it over his bald dome. The warriors gathered behind him.

  Kzun stood and turned to face them. Scanning their faces, he saw the fear there. They had killed Gothir soldiers. Now more would come - many more. 'You want to run?' he asked them.

  A slender warrior with greying hair stepped forward. 'We cannot fight an army, Kzun. We burned their wagons, hey? They will come back. Maybe a hundred. Maybe two. We cannot fight them.'

  'Then run,' said Kzun contemptuously. 'I would expect no
more from Curved Horn cowards. But I am of the Lone Wolves, and we do not run. I was told to hold this pool, to defend it with my life. This I shall do. While I live not one gajin will taste of the water.'

  'We are not cowards!' shouted the man, reddening. An angry murmur rose up among the warriors around him. 'But what is the point of dying here?'

  'What is the point of dying anywhere?' countered Kzun. 'Two hundred men wait at the Shrine of Oshikai, ready to defend his bones. Your own brothers are among them. You think they will run?'

  'What would you have us do?' asked another warrior.

  'I don't care what you do!' stormed Kzun. 'All I know is that I will stand and fight.'

  The grey-haired warrior called his comrades to him and they walked away to the far side of the pool, squatting in a rough circle to discuss their options. Kzun ignored them. A low groan came from his left, and he saw the wounded Curved Horn warrior sitting with his back against the red rock, his blood-covered hands clenched over a deep belly wound. Kzun lifted a Lancer helmet and dipped it into the pool, then carried it to the dying man. Squatting down, he held the helmet to the warrior's lips. He drank two swallows, then coughed and cried out in pain. Kzun sat down beside him. 'You fought well,' he said. The young man had hurled himself upon a Lancer, dragging the soldier from his horse. In the fight that followed the Lancer had drawn a dagger and rammed it in the Nadir's belly. Kzun had rushed to his aid and slain the Lancer.

  The sun rose above the red cliffs, shining down on the young man's face, and Kzun saw then that he was no more than fifteen years old. 'I dropped my sword,' said the warrior. 'Now I am going to die.'

  'You died defending your land. The Gods of Stone and Water will welcome you.'

  'We are not cowards,' said the dying boy. 'But we . . . spend so much of our lives . . . running from the gajin.'

  'I know.'

  'I am frightened of the Void. If. . . I wait. . . will you walk with me into the dark?'

  Kzun shivered. 'I have been in the dark, boy. I know what fear is. Yes, you wait for me. I shall walk with you.' The youngster gave a tired smile, then his head fell back. Kzun closed the boy's eyes and stood. Spinning on his heel, he walked across to the far side where the warriors were still arguing. They looked up as he approached. Pushing through the circle, he stood at its centre. 'There is a time to fight,' he said, 'and a time to run. Think back over your lives. Have you not run enough? And where will you go? How far must you run to avoid the Lancers? The fighters at the Shrine will become immortal. How far must you run to escape the haunting words of their song?