‘Life is nothing unless death has been faced down.
‘In times to come, men will say “I wish I had been there with them.” By then the cause won’t matter.
‘You are standing at a frozen moment in history. The world will be changed when this battle is over – either the Drenai will rise again, or a new empire will dawn.
‘You are now men of history.’ Druss was sweating now, and strangely tired, but he knew he had to go on. He was desperate to remember Sieben’s saga of the elder days and the stirring words of an elder general. But he could not. He breathed in deeply, tasting the sweet mountain air.
‘Some of you are probably thinking that you may panic and run. You won’t! Others are worried about dying. Some of you will. But all men die. No one ever gets out of this life alive.
‘I fought at Skeln Pass when everyone said we were finished. They said the odds were too great but I said be damned to them! For I am Druss and I have never been beaten, not by Nadir, Sathuli, Ventrian, Vagrian or Drenai.
‘By all the gods and demons of this world, I will tell you now – I do not intend to be beaten here either!’ Druss was bellowing at the top of his voice as he dragged Snaga into the air. The axe blade caught the sun and the chant began.
‘DRUSS THE LEGEND! DRUSS THE LEGEND!’ The men on other battlements could not hear Druss’s words, but they heard the chant and took it up. Dros Delnoch echoed to the sound, a vast cacophony of noise that crashed and reverberated through the peaks, scattering flocks of birds which took to the skies in fluttering panic. At last Druss raised his arms for silence and gradually the chant subsided, though more men were running from Wall Two to hear his words. By now almost five thousand men were gathered about him.
‘We are the Knights of Dros Delnoch, the siege city. We will build a new legend here to dwarf Skeln Pass. And we will bring death to the Nadir in their thousands. Aye, in their hundreds of thousands. WHO ARE WE?’
‘KNIGHTS OF DROSS DELNOCH!’ thundered the men.
‘And what do we bring?’
‘DEATH TO THE NADIR!’
Druss was about to continue when he saw men’s heads turn to face down into the valley. Columns of dust in the distance created clouds which rose to challenge the sky, like a gathering storm. Like the father of all storms. And then, through the dust could be seen the glinting spears of the Nadir, filling the valley from all sides, sweeping forward, a vast dark blanket of fighting men, with more following. Wave after wave of them came into sight. Vast siege towers pulled by hundreds of horses; giant catapults, leather-covered battering rams; thousands of carts and hundreds of thousands of horses; vast herds of cattle and more men than the mind could total.
Not one heart among the watchers failed to miss a beat at the sight. Despair was tangible and Druss cursed softly. He had nothing more to say. And he felt he had lost them. He turned to face the Nadir horsemen bearing the horse-hair banners of their tribes. By now their faces could be seen, grim and terrible. Druss raised Snaga into the air and stood, legs spread, a picture of defiance. Angry now, he stared at the Nadir outriders.
As they saw him they pulled up their horses and stared back. Suddenly the riders parted to allow a herald through. Galloping his steppe pony forward he rode towards the gates, swerving as he came beneath the wall where Druss stood. He dragged on the reins and the horse skidded to a stop, rearing and snorting.
‘I bring this command from the Lord Ulric, he shouted. ‘Let the gates be opened and he will spare all within, save the white-bearded one who insulted him.’
‘Oh, it’s you again, lard-belly,’ said Druss. ‘Did you give him my message as I said it?’
‘I gave it, Deathwalker. As you said it.’
‘And he laughed, did he not?’