‘Now!’ he yelled, smoothly drawing back the string to touch his right cheek. The arrow leapt free with a thousand others, to be lost within the surging mass below. Again and again they fired until their quivers were empty. Finally Caessa leapt to the battlements and fired her last arrow straight down at a man pushing a ladder against the wall. The shaft entered at the top of the shoulder and sheared through his leather jerkin, lancing through his lung and lodging in his belly. He dropped without a sound.
Grappling-irons clattered to the ramparts.
‘Back!’ yelled Bowman, and began to run across the open ground, across the fire-gully bridges and the trench of oil-soaked brush. Ropes were lowered and the archers swiftly scaled them. Back at Eldibar the first of the Nadir had gained the wall. For long moments they milled in confusion before they spotted the archers clambering to safety. Within minutes the tribesmen had gathered several thousand strong. They hauled their ladders over Eldibar and advanced on Musif. Then arrows of fire arced over the open ground to vanish within the oil-soaked brush. Instantly thick smoke welled from the gully, closely followed by roaring flames twice the height of a man.
The Nadir fell back. The Drenai cheered.
The brush blazed for over an hour, and the four thousand warriors manning Musif were stood down. Some lay in groups on the grass; others wandered to the three mess halls for a second breakfast. Many sat in the shade of the rampart towers.
Druss strolled among the men, swopping jests here and there; accepting a chunk of black bread from one man, an orange from another. He saw Rek and Virae sitting alone near the eastern cliff and wandered across to join them.
‘So far, so good!’ he said, easing his huge frame to the grass. ‘They’re not sure what to do now. Their orders were to take the wall, and they’ve accomplished that.’
‘What next, do you think?’ asked Rek.
‘The old boy himself,’ answered Druss. ‘He will come. And he’ll want to talk.’
‘Should I go down?’ asked Rek.
‘Better if I do. The Nadir know me. “Death-walker.” I’m part of their legends. They think I’m an ancient god of death stalking the world.’
‘Are they wrong, I wonder?’ said Rek, smiling.
‘Maybe not. I never wanted it, you know. All I wanted was to get my wife back. Had slavers not taken her I would have been a farmer. Of that I am sure – though Rowena doubted it. There are times when I do not much like what I am.’
‘I’m sorry, Druss. It was a jest,’ said Rek. ‘I do not see you as a death-god. You are a man and a warrior. But most of all, a man.’
‘It’s not you, boy; your words only echo what I already feel. I shall die soon . . . Here at this Dros. And what will I have achieved in my life? I have no sons nor daughters. No living kin . . . Few friends. They will say, “Here lies Druss. He killed many and birthed none.” ‘
‘They will say more than that,’ said Virae suddenly. ‘They’ll say, “Here lies Druss the Legend, who was never mean, petty, nor needlessly cruel. Here was a man who never gave in, never compromised his ideals, never betrayed a friend, never despoiled a woman and never used his strength against the weak.” They’ll say “He had no sons, but many a woman asleep with her babes slept more soundly for knowing Druss stood with the Drenai.” They’ll say many things, whiteboard. Through many generations they will say them, and men with no strength will find strength when they hear them.’
‘That would be pleasant,’ said the old man, smiling.
The morning drifted by and the Dros shone in the warm sunlight. One of the soldiers produced a flute and began to play a lilting springtime melody that echoed down the valley, a song of joy in a time of death.
At midday Rek and Druss were summoned to the ramparts. The Nadir had fallen back to Eldibar, but at the centre of the killing ground was a man seated on a huge purple rug. He was eating a meal of dates and cheese, and sipping wine from a golden goblet. Thrust into the ground behind him was a standard sporting a wolfs head.