A young Cul – Bregan, was it? – made him feel better as they passed the small group of men near the gate tower.
‘Will you be fighting with Karnak today, sir?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Thank you, sir. It is a great honour – for all of us.’
‘It is nice of you to say so,’ said Orrin.
‘No, I mean it,’ said Bregan. ‘We were talking about it last night.’
Embarrassed and pleased, Orrin smiled and walked on.
‘Now that,’ offered Hogun, ‘is a greater responsibility than checking supply lines.’
‘In what way?’
‘They respect you. And that man hero-worships you. It is not an easy thing to live up to. They will stand beside you when all have fled. Or they will flee with you when all else stand.’
‘I won’t run away, Hogun,’ said Orrin.
‘I know you won’t, that’s not what I meant. As a man, there are times when you want to lie down, or give in, or walk away. It’s usually left to the individual, but in this case you are no longer one man. You are fifty. You are Karnak. It is a great responsibility.’
‘And what of you?’ asked Orrin.
‘I am the Legion,’ he answered simply.
‘Yes, I suppose you are. Are you frightened today?’
‘Of course.’
‘I’m glad of that,’ said Orrin, smiling. ‘I wouldn’t like to be the only one.’
*
As Druss had promised the day brought fresh horror: stone missiles obliterating sections of battlements, then the terrible battle cries and the surging attack with ladders to the wall, and a snarling horde breasting the granite defence to meet the silver steel of the Drenai. Today it was the turn of three thousand men from Musif, Wall Two, to relieve warriors who had fought long and hard the day before. Swords rang, men screamed and fell and chaos descended for long hours. Druss strode the walls like a fell giant, blood-spattered and grim, his axe cleaving the Nadir ranks, his oaths and coarse insults causing the Nadir to centre upon him. Rek fought with Serbitar beside him, as on the previous day, but with them now were Menahem and Antaheim, Virae and Arbedark.
By afternoon the twenty-foot-wide battlements were slippery with blood and cluttered by bodies; yet still the battle raged. Orrin, by the gate towers, fought like a man possessed, side by side with the warriors from Group Karnak. Bregan, his sword broken, had gathered a Nadir axe, two-headed and long-handled, which he wielded with astonishing skill.
‘A real farmer’s weapon!’ yelled Gilad during a brief lull.
‘Tell that to Druss!’ shouted Orrin, slapping Bregan on the back.
At dusk the Nadir fell back once more, sent on their way by jeers and catcalls. But the toll had been heavy. Druss, bathed in crimson, stepped across the bodies and limped to where Rek and Serbitar stood cleaning their weapons.
‘The wall’s too damned wide to hold for long,’ he muttered, leaning forward to clean Snaga on the jerkin of a dead Nadir.
‘Too true,’ said Rek, wiping the sweat from his face with the edge of his cloak. ‘But you are right, we cannot just give it to them yet.’
‘At present,’ said Serbitar, ‘we are killing them at a rate of three to one. It is not enough. They will wear us down.’
‘We need more men,’ said Druss, sitting back on the battlements and scratching his beard.
‘I sent a messenger last night to my father at Dros Segril,’ said Serbitar. ‘We should have reinforcements in about ten days.’
‘Drada hates the Drenai,’ said Druss. ‘Why should he send men?’
‘He must send my personal bodyguard. It is the law of Vagria, and though my father and I have not spoken for twelve years, I am still his first-born son. It is my right. Three hundred swords will join me here – no more than that, but it will help.’
‘What was the quarrel?’ asked Rek.
‘Quarrel?’ queried the albino.
‘Between you and your father.’
‘There was no quarrel. He saw my talents as “Gifts of Darkness” and tried to kill me. I would not allow it. Vintar rescued me.’ Serbitar removed his helm, untied the knot that bound his white hair and shook his head. The evening breeze ruffled his hair. Rek exchanged glances with Druss and changed the subject.