‘There is a green leaf called Neptis. When chewed it will relieve toothache, or head pain. No one knows why, it just does. I suppose Druss is like that. When he is around, fear seems to fade. That’s the best I can do to explain.’
‘He doesn’t have that effect on me,’ said Caessa.
*
On the tower battlements, Bregan and Gilad watched the Nadir preparations. Along the wall Dun Pinar supervised the setting of notched poles to repel siege ladders, while Bar Britan oversaw the plugging of scores of pottery jugs containing oil. Once filled and plugged, the jugs were placed in wicker baskets at various points along the walls. The mood was grim. Few words were exchanged as men checked their weapons, sharpened already sharp swords, oiled armour or checked each shaft in their quivers.
*
Hogun and Bowman left the mess hall together, leaving Orrin and Caessa deep in conversation. They sat on the grass some twenty paces from the axeman, Bowman lying on his side and resting on his elbow. ‘I once read some fragments from the Book of Elders,’ said the archer. ‘One line in particular strikes me now. “Come the moment, come the man.” Never did a moment call for a man more desperately than this. And Druss has arrived. Providence, do you think?’
‘Great gods, Bowman! You’re not turning superstitious, are you?’ asked Hogun, grinning.
‘I should say not. I merely wonder whether there is such a thing as fate that such a man should be supplied at such a time.’
Hogun plucked a stem of couch grass and placed it between his teeth. ‘All right, let us examine the argument. Can we hold for three months until Woundweaver gathers and trains his army?’
‘No. Not with these few.’
‘Then it matters not whether Druss’s arrival was coincidence or otherwise. We may hold for a few more days because of his training, but that is not enough.’
‘Morale is high, old horse, so best not repeat those sentiments.’
‘Do you think me a fool? I will stand and die with Druss when the time comes, as will the other men. I share my thoughts with you because you will understand them. You are a realist – and moreover, you remain only until the third wall falls. With you I can be frank, surely?’
‘Druss held Skeln Pass when all others said it would fall,’ said Bowman.
‘For eleven days – not three months. And he was fifteen years younger then. I don’t belittle what he did; he is worthy of his legends. Knights of Dros Delnoch! Have you ever seen such knights? Farmers, peasants and raw recruits. Only the Legion have seen real action, and they are trained for hit-and-run charges from horseback. We could fold on the first attack.’
‘But we won’t, will we!’ said Bowman, laughing. ‘We are Druss’s knights and the ingredients of a new legend.’ His laughter sang out, rich and full of good humour. ‘Knights of Dros Delnoch! You and me, Hogun. They will sing about us in days to come. Good old Bowman, he came to the aid of an ailing fortress for love of liberty, freedom and chivalry . . .’
‘. . . and gold. Don’t forget the gold,’ said Hogun.
‘A minor point, old horse. Let us not ruin the spirit of the thing.’
‘Of course not, I do apologise. However, surely you have to die heroically before you can be immortalised in song and saga?’
‘A moot point,’ admitted Bowman. ‘But I’m sure I will find a way round it.’
Above them on Musif, Wall Two, several young Culs were ordered to help fetch buckets for the tower well. Grumbling, they left the battlements to join the line of soldiers waiting by the stores.
Each armed with four wooden buckets, the men filed from the building towards the shallow cave beyond where the Musif well nestled in the cold shadows. Attaching the buckets to a complicated system of pulleys, they lowered them slowly towards the dark water below.
‘How long is it since this has been used?’ asked one soldier as the first bucket reappeared, covered in cobwebs.
‘Probably about ten years,’ answered the officer, Dun Garta. ‘The people who had homes here used the centre well. A child died in here once and the well was polluted for over three months. That and the rats kept most people away.’