‘You think that bedding an Earl’s daughter gives you that right?’ asked Druss.
‘You know it does! But that’s not the point. I have fought before and my understanding of strategy is as sound as any here. Added to that I have The Thirty, and their knowledge is second to none. But even more important: if I have to die at this forsaken place it will not be as a bystander. I shall control my own fate.’
‘You seek to take a lot on yourself, laddie.’
‘No more than I can handle.’
‘Do you really believe that?’
‘No,’ said Rek frankly.
‘I didn’t think you did,’ said Druss with a grin.
‘What the hell made you come here?’
‘I think fate has a sense of humour.’
‘She always had in my day. But you look like a sensible young fellow. You should have taken the girl to Lentria and set up home there.’
‘Druss, nobody takes Virae anywhere she does not want to go. She has been reared on war and talk of war; she can cite all your legends and the facts behind every campaign you ever fought. She’s an Amazon – and this is where she wants to be.’
‘How did you meet?’
Rek told him about the ride from Drenan, through Skultik, the death of Reinard, the Temple of The Thirty, the shipboard wedding and the battle with the Sathuli. The old man listened to the straightforward story without comment.
‘. . . and here we are,’ concluded Rek.
‘So you’re baresark,’ said Druss.
‘I didn’t say that!’ retorted Rek.
‘But you did, laddie – by not saying it. It doesn’t matter. I have fought beside many such. I am only surprised the Sathuli let you go; they’re not known for being an honourable race.’
‘I think their leader – Joachim – is an exception. Listen, Druss, I would be obliged if you could keep quiet about the baresark side.’
Druss laughed. ‘Don’t be a fool boy! How long do you think it will stay a secret once the Nadir are on the walls? You stick by me and I will see that you don’t swat anyone from our side.’
‘That’s good of you – but I think you could be a little more hospitable. I’m as dry as a vulture’s armpit.’
‘There is no doubt,’ said Druss, ‘that talking works up more of a thirst than fighting. Come on, we will find Hogun and Orrin. This is the last night before the battle, so it calls for a party.’
20
As the dawn sky lightened on the morning of the third day, the first realities of apocalypse hammered home on the walls of Dros Delnoch. Hundreds of ballistae arms were pulled back by thousands of sweating warriors. Muscles bunching and knotting, the Nadir drew back the giant arms until the wicker baskets at their heads were almost horizontal. Each basket was loaded with a block of jagged granite.
The defenders watched in frozen horror as a Nadir captain raised his arm. The arm swept down and the air became filled with a deadly rain that crashed and thundered amidst and around the defenders. The battlements shook as the boulders fell. By the gate tower, three men were smashed to oblivion as a section of crenellated battlement exploded under the impact of one huge rock. Along the wall men cowered, hurling themselves flat, hands over their heads. The noise was frightening, the silence that followed was terrifying. For as the first thunderous assault ceased and soldiers raised their heads to gaze below, it was only to see the same process being casually repeated. Back, and further back went the massive wooden arms. Up went the captain’s hand. Down it went.
And the rain of death bore down.
Rek, Druss and Serbitar stood above the gate tower, enduring the first horror of war along with the men. Rek had refused to allow the old warrior to stand alone, though Orrin had warned that for both leaders to stand together was lunacy. Druss had laughed. ‘You and the lady Virae shall watch from the second wall, my friend. And you will see that no Nadir pebble can lay me low.’