‘There are about twelve hundred fighting men, all well-armed and well-horsed. Two hundred of them are archers – the rest lancers and swordsmen.’ He paused to let the numbers sink in and watched men exchange glances, noting with pleasure the absence of fear in their faces.
‘I have never believed in lying to the men under my command, and so I tell you this: our chances of victory are slim. Very slim! It is important we understand that.
‘You know me by reputation. As yet you do not know me as a man. But I ask you to listen to what I say now, as if your own fathers were whispering in your ears. Battles are won in many cases by the actions of a single man. Each one of you could represent the difference between victory and defeat.
‘Druss the Legend was such a man. He turned the battle for Skein Pass into one of the greatest Drenai victories of all time. But he was just a man – a Skoda man.
‘On the day one of you, or ten of you, or a hundred of you, will turn the battle. A moment’s panic, or a single second of heroism.’ He paused again and then lifted his hand, one finger pointing to the sky. ‘One single second!’
‘Now I am going to ask for the first act of courage from some of you. If there be any men here who believe they could fail their friends in tomorrow’s fight, let them leave the camp before today’s end.
‘I swear by all I hold precious that I will look down on no man who does this. For tomorrow it is vital that the men who look into the eyes of death should not falter.
‘Later today we will be joined by a warrior second to none on the face of this earth – the most skilful general I have ever known and the deadliest fighting man under the sun. He will have with him a group of soldiers having very special talents; these warriors will be split up among you and their orders are to be obeyed without hesitation. And I mean that!
‘Lastly, I ask for something for myself. I was the Wing Gan of the finest army in the world – the Dragon. They were my family, my friends, my brothers. And they are dead, betrayed and lost to this nation. But the Dragon was more than an army, it was an ideal. A dream, if you like. It was a force to stand against Darkness, formed by men who would march into Hell with a bucket of water, knowing they would put out the fire.
‘But you don’t need glittering armour or a battle standard to be the Dragon. You just need to be willing.
‘The forces of Darkness are marching against us, like storm winds against a lantern. They think to find us cowering in the mountains like sheep. But I want them to feel the Dragon’s breath on their necks and the Dragon’s teeth in their guts! I want those black-garbed, high-riding sons of sluts to burn in the Dragon’s fire!’ He was shouting now, his fists clenched and punching the air for emphasis. He took a deep breath, then another, and suddenly swung out his arm to encompass them all.
‘I want you to be the’Dragon. I want you to think Dragon. When they charge I want you to fight like Dragon!
‘Can you do it? Well, CAN YOU?’ he bellowed, pointing at a man in the front row.
‘Damn right!’ shouted the man.
‘Can you?’ said Ananais, pointing to a warrior several rows back. The man nodded. ‘Use your voice!’ stormed the general.
‘I can!’ the man called.
‘And do you know the Dragon’s roar?’
The man shook his head.
“The Dragon’s roar is death. Death. DEATH! Let’s hear you – you alone!’
The man cleared his throat and began to shout. He was blushing furiously.
‘Give him some support, the rest of you!’ Ananais, joining in with the man.
‘Death, Death, DEATH . . .’ and the sound grew, rolling across the meadow to echo in the white-capped mountains, growing in strength and confidence, hypnotic as it drew the men together.