The Legend of the Deathwalker

'You are strange,' she said. 'And you are no warrior. What will you do here, when the blood spills?'

'With luck I won't be here when the fighting starts. But if I am. .' He spread his hands. 'I have some skill with wounds,' he told her. 'I will be the Fort Surgeon.'

'I too can stitch wounds. We will need cloth for bandages, and much thread. Also needles. I will gather these things. And there must be a place for the dead, otherwise they stink, bloat, split and attract flies.'

'How nicely phrased,' he said. 'Shall we talk about something else?'

'Why for?'

'Because the subject is. . demoralizing.'

'I do not know this word.'

'No,' he said. 'I don't think you do. Tell me, are you frightened at all?'

'Of what?'

'Of the Gothir.'

She shook her head. 'They will come, we will kill them.'

'Or be killed by them,' he pointed out.

She shrugged. 'Whatever,' she said grimly.

'You, my dear, are a fatalist.'

'You are wrong. I am of the Lone Wolves,' she said. 'We were to be Eagle Wing tribe, under Nuang. Now there are not enough of us, so we will become Lone Wolves again.'

'Niobe of the Lone Wolves, I adore you,' he said, with a smile. 'You are a breath of fresh air in this jaded life of mine.'

'I will only wed a warrior,' she told him sternly. 'But until a good one approaches me I will sleep with you.'

'What gentleman would spurn such a delicate advance?' he said.

'Strange,' she muttered, then walked away from him.

Druss strolled across the compound. 'Nuang says he's tired of running. He and his people will stay here and fight.'

'Can they win, Druss?'

'They look like a tough bunch, and Talisman has done well with the defences.'

'That doesn't answer the question.'

'There is no answer,' Druss told him. 'Only odds. I wouldn't bet a half-copper on their holding for more than a day.'

Sieben sighed. 'Naturally this does not mean we'll do something sensible — like leave?'

'The Gothir have no right to despoil this Shrine,' said Druss, a cold look in his grey eyes. 'It is wrong. This Oshikai was a hero to all the Nadir. His bones should be left in peace.'

'Excuse me for stating the obvious, old horse, but his tomb has already been plundered and his bones hacked around. I think he's probably past caring by now.'

'It is not about him, it's about them,' said Druss, indicating the Nadir. 'Despoiling the Shrine robs them of their heritage. Such a deed has no merit. It is born of spite and I can't abide such things.'

'We're staying, then?'

Druss smiled. 'You should leave,' he said. 'This is no place for a poet.'

'That is a tempting thought, Druss, old horse. I may just do that — as soon as we sight their battle flags.'

Nuang called out to Druss and the axeman strode away. As Sieben sat at the table, sipping water, Talisman walked across to him and sat down.

'Tell me of the friend who is dying,' he said. Sieben explained all that he knew about the fight that had left Klay crippled, and Talisman listened gravely.

'It is right,' he said, 'that a man should risk all for friendship. It shows he has a good heart. He has fought in many battles?'

'Many,' said Sieben bitterly. 'You know how a tall tree attracts lightning during a storm? Well, Druss is like that. Wherever he is battles just seem to spring up around him. It really is galling.'

'Yet he survives them.'

'That is his talent. Wherever he walks, Death is close behind.'

'He will be most welcome here,' said Talisman. 'But what of you, Sieben? Niobe tells me you wish to be our surgeon. Why should you do this?'

'Stupidity runs in my family.'

* * *

Lin-tse sat on his pony and scanned the pass. To his right rose the sheer red rock-face of Temple Stone, a towering monument to the majesty of nature, its flanks scored by the winds of time, its shape carved by a long-forgotten sea that had once covered this vast land. To Lin-Tse's left was a series of jagged slopes, covered with boulders. The enemy would have to pass along the narrow trail that led down beside Temple Stone. Dismounting, he ran up the first slope, pausing at several jutting rocks. With enough men, and enough time, he could dislodge several of the larger boulders and send them hurtling down on to the trail. He thought about it for a while.

Running back to his pony, he vaulted to the saddle and led his small company on, deeper into the red rocks. Talisman needed a victory, something to lift the hearts of the defenders.

But how? Talisman had mentioned Fecrem and the Long Retreat — that had involved a series of lightning guerrilla raids on enemy supply lines. Fecrem was Oshikai's nephew, and a skilled raider. Red dust rose in puffs of clouds beneath the ponies' hooves and Lin-tse's throat was dry as he leaned in to his mount, urging the stallion up the steep slope. At the crest he paused, and dismounted once more. Here the trail widened. A long finger of rock jutted from the left, leaning towards a cluster of boulders on the right. The gap between was about eighteen feet. Lin-tse pictured the advancing line of Lancers. They would be travelling slowly, probably in a column of twos. If he could make them move faster at this point. . Swinging in the saddle, he scanned the back trail. The slope behind him was steep, but a skilled horseman could ride down it at a run. And the Lancers were skilled. 'Wait here,' he told his men, then dragged on the reins. The pony reared and twisted, but Lin-tse heeled him into a run and set off down the slope. At the bottom he drew up sharply. Dust had kicked up behind him, like a red mist over the trail. Lin-tse angled to the right and moved on more cautiously. Away from the trail the ground was more broken, leading to a crevice and a sheer drop of some three hundred feet. Dismounting again, he moved to the lip of the chasm, then worked his way along it. At the widest point there was at least fifty feet between the two edges, but it narrowed to ten feet where he now knelt. On the other side the ground was angled upwards, and littered with rocks. But this led to a wider trail, and Lin-tse followed it with his eyes. It would take him down to the western side of Temple Stone.

He sat alone for a while, thinking the plan through. Then he rode back to his men.

* * *

Premian led his hundred Lancers deep into the red rock country. He was tired, his eyes bloodshot and gritty. The men behind him rode silently in columns of twos; all of them were unshaven, their water rations down by a third. For the fourth time that morning Premian held his arm in the air, and the troops reined in. The young officer, Mikal, rode alongside Premian. 'What do you see, sir?' he asked.

'Nothing. Send a scout to that high ground to the north-east.'

'There is no army facing us,' complained Mikal. 'Why all these precautions?'

'You have your orders. Obey them,' said Premian. The young man reddened and wheeled his horse. Premian had not wanted Mikal on this mission. The boy was young and hot-headed. Worse, he held the Nadir in contempt — even after the fire at the camp. But Gargan had overruled him; he liked Mikal, and saw in him a younger version of himself. Premian knew that the men did not object to the slow advance into enemy territory. The Royal Lancers had all fought Nadir warriors in the past, and in the main were canny men who would sooner suffer discomfort in the saddle than ride unawares into an ambush.

One fact was sure: the man who planned the raid on the camp would not have only one string to his bow. Premian had not ridden these lands before, but he had studied the exquisite maps in the Great Library at Gulgothir, and knew that the area around Temple Stone was rich with hiding-places from which archers could attack his troops or send boulders hurtling down upon them. Under no circumstances would he lead his men headlong into the enemy's arms. Sitting on his mount, he watched as the scout rode to the high ground. The man reached the top and then waved his arm in a circular motion, indicating the way was clear. Premian led his four companies forward once more.