The sky was dark and angry, huge clouds bunching to the north. Above the walls a patch of blue waited for the storm. Rek smiled suddenly as the poetry of the moment struck him.
The Nadir began to move forward in a seething furious mass, their pounding feet sounding like thunder.
Druss leapt to stand on the crenellated battlements above them.
‘Come on, you whore-sons!’ he bellowed. ‘Death-walker waits!’ His voice boomed out over the valley, echoed by the towering granite walls. At that moment lightning split the sky, a jagged spear above the Dros. Thunder followed.
And the blood-letting began.
As Serbitar had predicted, the centre of the line suffered the most ferocious of attacks, wave upon wave of tribesmen breasting the walls to die under the steel defence of The Thirty. Their skill was consummate. A wooden club knocked Druss from his feet and a burly Nadir warrior aimed an axe blow for his skull. Serbitar leapt forward to block the blow, while Menahem despatched the man with a throat slash. Druss, exhausted, stumbled over a fallen body and pitched to the feet of three attackers. Arbedark and Hogun came to the rescue as he scrabbled for his axe.
The Nadir burst through the line on the right, forcing Orrin and Group Karnak away from the battlements and back on to the grass of the killing ground. As Nadir reinforcements swept over the wall unopposed, Druss saw the danger first and bellowed a warning. He cut two men from his path and raced alone to fill the breach. Hogun desperately tried to follow him, but his way was blocked.
Three young Culs from Karnak joined the old man as he hammered and cut his way to the walls, but they were soon surrounded. Orrin – his helm lost, his shield splintered – stood his ground with the remnants of his group. He blocked a wide, slashing cut from a bearded tribesman and lanced a return thrust through the man’s belly. Then he saw Druss. And knew that save for a miracle he was doomed.
‘With me, Karnak!’ he yelled, hurling himself into the advancing mass. Behind him Bregan, Gilad and twenty others surged forward, joined by Bar Britan and a squad of stretcher guards. Serbitar, with fifteen of The Thirty, clove a path along the walls.
The last of Druss’s young companions fell with a broken skull and the old warrior stood alone as the Nadir circle closed about him. He ducked beneath a swinging sword, grabbed the man’s jerkin and smashed a head butt to his nose. A sword blade cut his upper arm and another sliced his leather jerkin above the hip. Using the stunned Nadir as a shield, Druss backed to the battlements, but an axe blade thudded into the trapped tribesman and tore him from Druss’s grasp. With nowhere to go, Druss braced his foot against the battlements and dived forward into the mass; his great weight carried them back and several tumbled to the earth with him. He lost hold of Snaga, grabbed at the neck of the warrior above him and crushed his windpipe, then hugging the body to him waited for the inevitable killing thrust. As the body was kicked away, Druss lashed out at the leg beside him, sweeping the man from his feet.
‘Whoa, Druss! It’s me – Hogun.’
The old man rolled over and saw Snaga lying several yards away. He stood and snatched up the axe.
‘That was close,’ said the Legion Gan.
‘Yes,’ said Druss. ‘Thank you! That was good work!’
‘I would like to take the credit, but it was Orrin and the men from Karnak. They fought their way to you, though I don’t know how.’
It had begun to rain and Druss welcomed it, turning his face to the sky with mouth open, eyes closed.
‘They’re coming again!’ someone yelled. Druss and Hogun walked to the battlements and watched the Nadir charge. It was hard to see them through the rain.
To the left Serbitar was leading The Thirty from the wall, marching silently back towards Musif.
‘Where in hell’s name are they going?’ muttered Hogun.
‘There’s no time to worry about that,’ snarled Druss, cursing silently as his shoulder flamed with fresh agonies.