LEGEND by David A. Gemmell

‘You’re stronger than you look, girl.’

‘Be quiet and sit up, facing the wall.’

This time she seemed almost to break his neck, placing her hands under his chin and over his ear, wrenching first to the left and then to the right. The sound was like a dry branch snapping.

‘Tomorrow you rest,’ she said as she turned to leave.

He stretched and moved his injured shoulder. He felt good – better than he had in weeks.

‘What were those cracking sounds?’ he asked, halting her at the door.

‘You have arthritis. The first three dorsals were locked solid, therefore blood could not flow properly. Also, the muscle under the shoulder blade had knotted, causing spasms which reduced the strength to your right arm. But heed me, old man, tomorrow you must rest. That or die.’

‘We all die,’ he said.

True. But you are needed.’

‘Do you dislike me – or all men?’ he asked as her hand touched the door handle.

She turned to look at him, smiled, pushed the door shut and came back into the room, stopping within inches of his burly naked frame.

‘Would you like to sleep with me, Druss?’ she asked sweetly, laying her left arm across his shoulder.

‘No,’ he said, softly, gazing into her eyes. The pupils were small, unnaturally so.

‘Most men do,’ she whispered, moving closer.

‘I am not most men.’

‘Are you dried-up then?’ she asked.

‘Perhaps.’

‘Or is it boys you lust after? We have some like that in our band.’

‘No, I can’t say I have ever lusted after a man. But I had a real woman once, and since then I have never needed another.’

She stepped away from him. ‘I have ordered a hot bath for you, and I want you to stay in it until the water cools. It will help the blood to flow through those tired muscles.’ With that she turned and was gone. For a few moments Druss stared at the door, then he sat down on the bed and scratched his beard.

The girl disturbed him. There was something in her eyes. Druss had never been good with women, not intuitive as some men are. Women were another race to him, alien and forbidding. But this child was something else again – in her eyes was madness, madness and fear. He shrugged and did what he always had done when a problem eluded him: forgot about it.

After the bath he dressed swiftly, combed his hair and beard, then snatched a hasty breakfast in the Eldibar mess hall and joined the fifty volunteers on the battlements as the dawn sunlight pierced the early morning mist. It was a crisp morning, fresh with the promise of rain. Below him the Nadir were gathering, carts piled with boulders making their slow way to the catapults. Around him there was little conversation – on days such as this a man’s thoughts turned inward. Will I die today? What is my wife doing now? Why am I here?

Further along the battlements Orrin and Hogun walked among the men. Orrin said little, leaving the Legion general to make jokes and ask questions. He resented Hogun’s easy style with the enlisted men, but not too deeply; it was probably more regret than resentment.

A young Cul – Bregan, was it? – made him feel better as they passed the small group of men near the gate tower.

‘Will you be fighting with Karnak today, sir?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Thank you, sir. It is a great honour – for all of us.’

‘It is nice of you to say so,’ said Orrin.

‘No, I mean it,’ said Bregan. ‘We were talking about it last night.’

Embarrassed and pleased, Orrin smiled and walked on.

‘Now that,’ offered Hogun, ‘is a greater responsi­bility than checking supply lines.’

‘In what way?’

‘They respect you. And that man hero-worships you. It is not an easy thing to live up to. They will stand beside you when all have fled. Or they will flee with you when all else stand.’

‘I won’t run away, Hogun,’ said Orrin.

‘I know you won’t, that’s not what I meant. As a man, there are times when you want to lie down, or give in, or walk away. It’s usually left to the individual, but in this case you are no longer one man. You are fifty. You are Karnak. It is a great responsibility.’