LEGEND by David A. Gemmell

He nodded, smiled and kissed her hair. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘Get some sleep.’ She curled beside him and he gathered the blanket around her. ‘I don’t deserve you,’ he said, as her eyes closed.

Where had it gone wrong? When they were young and full of fire Reinard’s cruelty had been an occ­asional thing, a device to create a legend. Or so he had said. They would be a thorn in Abalayn’s side until they achieved justice. Now it was ten years. Ten miserable bloody years.

And had the cause ever been just?

Grussin hoped so.

‘Well, are you coming?’ asked Reinard, from the doorway. ‘They’re at the old cabin.’

The march had been a long one and bitterly cold, but Reinard had scarcely felt it. Anger filled him with warmth and the prospect of revenge fed his muscles so that the miles sped by.

His mind filled with pictures of sweet violence and the music of screams. He would take the woman first and cut her with a heated knife. Arousal warmed his loins.

And as for Rek . . . He knew what Rek’s expres­sion would be as he saw them arrive.

Terror! Mind-numbing, bowel-loosening terror!

But he was wrong.

*

Rek had stalked from the hut, furious and trembling. The scorn on Virae’s face was hard to bear. Only anger could blank it out. And even then, barely. He couldn’t help what he was, could he? Some men are born to be heroes. Others to be cowards. What right had she to judge him?

‘Regnak, my dear! Is it true you have a woman inside?’

Rek’s eyes scanned the group. More than twenty men stood in a half-circle behind the tall, broad-shouldered outlaw leader. Beside him stood Grussin the Axeman, huge and powerful, his double-headed axe in his hand.

‘Morning, Rein,’ said Rek. ‘What brings you here?’

‘I heard you had a warm bedmate and I thought, “Good old Rek, he won’t mind sharing”. And I’d like to invite you to my camp. Where is she?’

‘She’s not for you, Rein. But I’ll make a trade. There’s a caravan headed . . .’

‘Never mind the caravan!’ shouted Reinard. ‘Just bring out the woman.’

‘Spices, jewels, furs. It’s a big one,’ said Rek.

‘You can tell us about it as we march. Now I’m losing patience. Bring her out!’

Rek’s anger blazed and his sword snaked from its scabbard.

‘Come and get her then, you bastards!’

Virae stepped from the doorway to stand beside him, blade in hand, as the outlaws drew their wea­pons and advanced.

‘Wait!’ ordered Reinard, lifting his hand. He stepped forward, forcing a smile. ‘Now listen to me, Rek. This is senseless. We’ve nothing against you. You’ve been a friend. Now, what’s this- woman to you? She killed my brother, so you see it’s a matter of personal honour. Put up your sword and you can ride away. But I want her alive.’ And you too, he thought.

‘You want her – you take her!’ said Rek. ‘And me, too. Come on, Rein. You still remember what a sword’s for, don’t you? Or will you do what you normally do and scuttle back into the trees while other men do your dying for you? Run, you dung-worm!’ Rek leapt forward and Reinard backed away at speed and stumbled into Grussin.

‘Kill him – but not the woman,’ he said. ‘I want that woman.’

Grussin walked forward, his axe swinging at his side. Virae advanced to stand beside Rek. The axeman stopped ten paces short of the pair and his eyes met Rek’s: there was no give there. He turned his gaze to the woman. Young, spirited – not beauti­ful – but a handsome lass.

‘What are you waiting for, you ox!’ screamed Reinard. Take her!’

Grussin turned and walked back to the group. A sense of unreality gripped him. He saw himself again as a young man, saving for his first holding; he had a plough which was his father’s and the neighbours were ready to help him build his home near the elm grove. What had he done with the years?

‘You traitor!’ shouted Reinard, dragging his sword into the air.

Grussin parried the blow with ease. ‘Forget it, Rein. Let’s go home.’