LEGEND by David A. Gemmell

‘Kill him!’ Reinard ordered. The men looked at one another, some starting forward while others hesitated. ‘You bastard! You treacherous filth!’ Reinard screamed, raising his sword once more. Grussin took a deep breath, gripped his axe in both hands and smashed the sword into shards, the axe blade glancing from the shattered hilt and hammer­ing into the outlaw leader’s side. He fell to his knees, doubled over. Then Grussin stepped forward; the axe raised and chopped and Reinard’s head rolled to the snow. Grussin let the weapon fall, then walked back to Rek.

‘He wasn’t always as you knew him,’ he said.

‘Why?’ asked Rek, lowering his blade. ‘Why did you do it?’

‘Who knows? It wasn’t just for you – or her. Maybe something inside me had just had enough. Where was this caravan?’

‘I was lying,’ lied Rek.

‘Good. We will not meet again. I’m leaving Graven. Is she your woman?’

‘No.’

‘You could do worse.’

‘Yes.’

Grussin turned and walked to the body, retrieving his axe. ‘We were friends for a long time,’ he said. Too long.’

Without a backward glance he led the group back into the forest.

‘I simply don’t believe it,’ said Rek. ‘That was an absolute miracle.’

‘Let’s finish breakfast now,’ said Virae. ‘I’ll brew some tea.’

Inside the hut Rek began to tremble. He sat down, his sword clattering to the floor.

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Virae.

‘It’s just the cold,’ he said, teeth chattering. She knelt beside him, massaging his hands, saying nothing.

‘The tea will help,’ she said. ‘Did you bring any sugar?’

‘It’s in my pack, wrapped in red paper. Horeb knows I’ve a sweet tooth. Cold doesn’t usually get to me like this – sorry!’

‘It’s all right. My father always says sweet tea is wonderful for . . . cold.’

‘I wonder how they found us?’ he said. ‘Last night’s snow must have covered our tracks. It’s strange.’

‘I don’t know. Here, drink this.’

He sipped the tea, holding the leather-covered mug in both hands. Hot liquid splashed over his fingers. Virae busied herself clearing away and repacking his saddlebags. Then she raked the ashes in the hearth and laid a fire ready for the next travel­ler to use the hut.

‘What are you doing at Dros Delnoch?’ Rek asked, the warm sweet tea soothing him.

‘I am Earl Delnar’s daughter,’ she said. ‘I live there.’

‘Did he send you away because of the coming war?’

‘No. I brought a message to Abalayn, and now I’ve got a message for someone else. When I’ve delivered it, I’m going home. Are you feeling better?’

‘Yes,’ said Rek. ‘Much better.’ He hesitated, holding her gaze. ‘It wasn’t just the cold,’ he said.

‘I know: it doesn’t matter. Everybody trembles after an action. It’s what happens during it that counts. My father told me that after Skeln Pass he couldn’t sleep without nightmares for a month.’

‘You’re not shaking,’ he said.

‘That’s because I’m keeping busy. Would you like some more tea?’

‘Yes. Thanks. I thought we were going to die. And just for a moment I didn’t care – it was a wonderful feeling.’ He wanted to tell her how good it was to have her standing beside him – but he couldn’t. He wanted to walk across the room and hold her – and knew he would not. He merely looked at her while she refilled his mug, stirring in the sugar.

‘Where did you serve?’ she asked, conscious of his gaze and uncertain of its meaning.

‘Dros Corteswain. Under Gan Javi.’

‘He’s dead now,’ she said.

‘Yes – a stroke. He was a fine leader. He predicted the coming war. I’m sure Abalayn wishes he had listened to him.’

‘It wasn’t only Javi who warned him,’ said Virae. ‘All the northern commanders sent reports. My father has had spies among the Nadir for years. It was obvious that they intended to attack us. Abalayn’s a fool – even now he’s sending messages to Ulric with new treaties. He won’t accept that war’s inevitable. Do you know we’ve only 10,000 men at Delnoch?’

‘I had heard it was less,’ said Rek.

‘There are six walls and a town to defend. The complement in wartime should be four times as strong. And the discipline is not what it was.’