It was three hours to dusk.
Bowman knelt on the grass behind the battlements, three quivers of arrows before him on the ground. Coolly he notched shaft to his bow, drew and let fly. A man to the left of Orrin fell, the arrow piercing his temple. Then a second Nadir fell to Orrin’s sword, before another arrow downed a third. The wedge was falling apart as the Drenai hacked their way forward.
At the stair-well Togi was bandaging a long gash in his forearm while a fresh squad of Legion warriors held the entrance. Gilad leaned against a boulder, wiping sweat from his brow.
‘A long day,’ he said.
‘It will be longer yet,’ muttered Togi. “They can sense how close they are to taking the wall.’
‘Yes. How is the arm?’
‘All right,’ answered Togi. ‘Where now?’
‘Hogun said to fill in where we’re needed.’
‘That could be anywhere. I’m for the gate – coming?’
‘Why not?’ answered Gilad, smiling.
Rek and Serbitar cleared a section of battlements, then raced to join Orrin and his group. All along the wall the defensive line was bending. But it held.
‘If we can hold out until they re-form for another charge, we may yet have time to get everyone back behind Valteri,’ yelled Orrin as Rek fought his way alongside.
For another hour the battle raged, then the huge bronze head of the battering ram breached the timbers of the gate. The great beam at the centre sagged as a crack appeared, then with a tearing groan it slid from its sockets. The ram was withdrawn slowly, to clear the way for the fighting men beyond.
Gilad sent a runner to the battlements to inform Rek, or either of the Gans, then he drew his sword and waited with fifty others to hold the entrance.
As he rocked his head from side to side to ease the aching muscles of his shoulders, he glanced at Togi. The man was smiling.
‘What is so funny?’
‘My own stupidity,’ answered Togi. ‘I suggested the gates to get a bit of rest. Now I’m going to encounter death.’
Gilad said nothing. Death! His friend was right – there would be no escape to Wall Five for the men at the gate. He felt the urge to turn and run and suppressed it. What did it matter anyway? He’d seen enough of death in the last few weeks. And if he survived, what would he do, where would he go? Back to the farm and a dull wife? Grow old somewhere, toothless and senile, telling endlessly boring stories of his youth and courage.
‘Great gods!’ said Togi suddenly. ‘Just look at that!’
Gilad turned. Coming slowly towards them across the grass was Druss, leaning on the girl outlaw, Caessa. He staggered and almost fell, but she held him. As they came closer Gilad swallowed back the horror he felt. The old man’s face had a sunken look; it was pallid and tinged with blue, like a two-day-old corpse. The men stepped aside as Caessa steered Druss to the centre of the line, then she drew a short sword and stood with him.
The gates opened and the Nadir poured through. Druss, with great effort, drew Snaga. He could hardly see through the mists of pain and each step had been a new agony as the girl brought him forward. She had dressed him carefully, crying all the while, then helped him to his feet. He himself had begun to weep, for the pain was unbearable.
‘I can’t make it,’ he had whimpered.
‘You can,’ she told him. ‘You must.’
‘The pain
‘You have had pain before. Fight through it.’
‘I cannot. I’m finished.’
‘Listen to me, damn you! You are Druss the Legend, and men are dying out there. One last time, Druss. Please. You mustn’t give up like an ordinary man. You are Druss. You can do it. Stop them. You must stop them. My mother’s out there!’
His vision cleared momentarily and he saw her madness. He could not understand it, for he knew nothing of her life, but he sensed her need. With an effort that tore an agonising scream from him, he bunched his legs beneath him and stood, clamping a huge hand to a shelf on the wall to hold himself upright. The pain grew, but he was angry now and used the pain to spur him on.