‘You should by now be dead from your wound. But I have not yet claimed you. And now the pain will grow more intense. You will writhe . . . You will scream . . . Finally your mind will snap and you will beg. Beg for me. And I shall come and take you by the hand and you will be mine. Men’s last memories of you will be of a mewling, weeping wreck. They will despise you and your legend will be tainted at the last.’
Druss forced his massive arms beneath him and struggled to rise. But the pain drove him down once more, forcing a groan through clenched teeth.
‘That’s it, axeman. Struggle on. Try harder. You should have stayed on your mountain and enjoyed your dotage. Vain man! You could not resist the call of blood. Suffer – and bring me joy.’
In the makeshift hospital Calvar Syn lifted the hot towels from Druss’s bare back, replacing them swiftly as the stench rilled the room. Serbitar stepped forward and also examined the wound.
‘It is hopeless,’ said Calvar Syn, rubbing his hand over the polished dome of his skull. ‘Why is he still alive?’
‘I don’t know,’ said the albino softly. ‘Caessa, has he spoken?’
The girl glanced up from her bedside chair, her eyes dulled with fatigue. She shook her head. The door opened and Rek moved inside silently. He lifted his eyebrows in a question to the surgeon, but Calvar Syn shook his head.
‘Why?’ asked Rek. ‘The wound was no worse than he has had before.’
‘Gangrene. The wound will not close and the poison has spread through his body. He cannot be saved. All the experience I have gained in forty years says he should now be dead. His body is putrefying at an amazing rate.’
‘He is a tough old man. How long can he last?’
‘He will not live to see tomorrow,’ answered the surgeon.
‘How goes it on the wall?’ asked Serbitar. Rek shrugged. His armour was bloody, his eyes tired.
‘We are holding for the moment, but they are in the tunnel beneath us and the gate will not stand. It’s a damned shame we had no time to fill the gate tunnel. I think they will be through before dusk. They have already burst a postern gate, but Hogun and a few others are holding the stairwell.
‘That’s why I came, doctor. I’m afraid you will have to prepare once more for evacuation. From now on the hospital will be at the Keep. How soon can you move?’
‘How can I say? Men are being brought in all the time.’
‘Begin your preparations, anyway. Those who are too badly hurt to be moved must be despatched.’
‘What?’ shouted the surgeon. ‘Murdered, you mean?’
‘Exactly so. Move those who can move. The others . . . how do you think the Nadir will threat them?’
‘I will move everyone, regardless. If they die during the evacuation, it will still be better than knifing them in their beds.’
‘Then begin now. We are wasting time.’ said Rek.
On the wall Gilad and Togi joined Hogun at the postern stair-well. The stairs were littered with corpses, but more Nadir warriors rounded the bend in the spiral and scrambled over the bodies. Hogun stepped forward, blocking a thrust, and disembowelled the leading man. He fell, tripping the warrior behind him. Togi slashed a two-handed stroke through the second man’s neck as he fell in turn. Two more warriors advanced, holding round ox-hide shields before them. Behind, others pushed forward.
‘It’s like holding back the sea with a bucket,’ yelled Togi.
Above them the Nadir gained a foothold on the ramparts, driving a wedge into the Drenai formation. Orrin saw the danger and raced forward with fifty men of the new Group Karnak. Below them to the right the battering ram thundered against the giant gates of oak and bronze. So far the gates held, but ominous cracks had appeared beneath the crossed centre beams, and the wood groaned under the impact.
Orrin battled his way to the Nadir wedge, using his sword two-handed, cutting and slashing with no attempt at defence. Beside him a Drenai warrior fell, his throat gashed. Orrin back-handed a cut to the attacker’s face, then blocked a blow from his left.