'Centuries ago, wise men of the Nadir committed an act of appalling stupidity. They drew the magic from the land and set it in these,' he said, drawing the Eyes of Alchazzar from the pocket of his goatskin jerkin. The jewels shone in the torchlight as he raised them up.
'The power of the steppes and the mountains,' he said. 'The magic of the Gods of Stone and Water. Trapped here. . with these purple jewels any man here could be khan. He could be immortal. I saw their power. I was struck down at the Shrine, pierced through the body, yet I have no scar.'
All eyes were upon the jewels now, and he felt the lust in every gaze.
'The Eyes of Alchazzar!' he shouted, his voice echoing around the cavern. 'But does any man here believe that Bartsai or Kzun or Quing-chin died so that one petty Wolfshead leader could command the magic of the Gods of Stone and Water? Is any one of you worthy to wield this power? If he is here, let him stand now and tell us why he deserves this honour!'
The leaders glanced one to another, but no-one moved.
Talisman spun on his heel and walked to the Stone Wolf. Reaching up he pressed the stones back into the eye-sockets. Then turning once more he gestured to Gorkai, who threw the long hammer through the air. Talisman caught it.
'No!' screamed Nosta Khan.
Talisman took one step back, then swung the hammer in a mighty blow, the iron connecting with the stone brow and shattering the wolf's head. In that moment the jewels flared in a blinding blaze of purple light, engulfing Talisman and filling the cavern. Lightning crackled between the stalactites and a great rumble, like distant thunder, caused the cavern floor to tremble and groan.
Dust fell from the ceiling, the purple light shining upon the motes like a thousand jewels hanging in the air. As the dust settled and the light faded, Talisman dropped the hammer and stood staring at the ruins of the Stone Wolf. Of the Eyes of Alchazzar there was no sign.
'What have you done?' screamed Nosta Khan, rushing at him and grabbing his arm. Talisman turned and the shaman gasped and fell back, his jaw slack, his eyes blinking rapidly.
Gorkai moved forward. . and stopped. Talisman's eyes had changed, as if the blazing purple light of the jewels had lodged there, glittering in the torchlight. No longer dark, they shone with violet light.
'Your eyes. .' whispered Gorkai.
'I know,' said Talisman.
Moving past the stunned shaman, Talisman stood before the awed leaders.
'Today I take my Nadir name,' he said. 'Today Talisman is no more. He died as the magic returned to the land. From this day, I am Ulric of the Wolfshead.'
Dros Delnoch
Thirty years later
Druss the Legend sat beside the young soldier, Pellin, and chuckled as he concluded his tale. 'So, in the end,' he said, 'we did it all for a young whore! Sieben didn't seem to mind; he had Niobe, and he took her home and bought her a fabulously ornate fire-bucket. She was a good woman — outlived him by ten years. He wasn't faithful to her — I don't think Sieben knew what faithful meant. He was loyal though, and I guess that counts for something.'
The surgeon, Calvar Syn, moved alongside the axeman. '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 Skein.'
'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 axe, 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 now 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 axeman, 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 on to the killing ground and spread a purple rug upon the ground. A jug of wine, a plate of dates and some cheese were 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 axeman approached Ulric found his heart hammering. In Druss's 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 honour.
'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 Axe.' The axeman'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 this 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 for ever. 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.'