The Legend of the Deathwalker

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?