LEGEND by David A. Gemmell

‘This friend asked you to join us at Dros Delnoch? Is he mad? We need soldiers, archers, pikemen, warriors. I haven’t time to be respectful, old man. But you should go home – we have no need of greybeards.’

Druss smiled grimly. ‘You are a blunt speaker, boy. But your brains are in your breeches. I have handled an axe for twice your lifetime. My enemies are all dead, or wished they were.’ His eyes blazed and he stepped closer towards the younger man. ‘When your life has been spent in one war after another for forty-five years, you have to be pretty handy to survive. Now you, laddie – your lips scarce dry from your mother’s milk – are just a beardless boy to me. Your sword looks pretty there at your side. But if I chose, I could kill you without breaking sweat.’

A silence had fallen on the room and the watchers noted the bright sheen on Pinar’s brow.

‘Who invited you to Dros Delnoch?’ he said at last.

‘Earl Delnar.’

‘I see. Well, the earl has been ill, sir. Now you may or may not be a mighty warrior still. And I most certainly am a beardless boy to you. But let me tell you this: Gan Orrin commands at Dros Delnoch, and he will not allow you to stay, Earl Delnar or no. I am sure your heart is in the right place, and I am sorry if I sounded disrespectful. But you are too old for a war.’

‘The judgement of youth!’ said Druss. ‘It is seldom of value. All right, much as it goes against the grain, I can see I still have to prove myself. Set me a task, boy!’

‘I don’t understand you,’ said Pinar.

‘Set me a task. Something no man here can do. And we will see how “the old man” fares.’

‘I have no time for these games. I must return to the Dros.’ He turned to go, but Druss’s words hit him like a blow, chilling his blood.

‘You don’t understand, boy. If you do not set me that task, I will have to kill you. For I will not be shamed.’

The young man turned again. ‘As you say. Very well, shall we adjourn to the market-place?’

The inn emptied, the crowd forming a circle about the two men in the deserted village square. The sun beat down and Druss sucked in a deep breath, glorying in the warmth of spring.

‘It will be pointless giving you a test of strength,’ said Pinar, ‘for you are built like a bull. But war, as you know, is a test of stamina. Do you wrestle?’

‘I have been known to,’ said Druss, doffing his jerkin.

‘Good! Then you may test your skill, one at a time, against three men of my choice. Do you agree?’

‘All too simple against these soft, fat runners,’ said Druss. An angry murmur arose from the crowd but Pinar silenced them with a raised hand.

‘Dorian. Hagir. Somin. Will you give old father here a trial?’

The men were the first three Dross had met at the bar. Dorian removed his cloak and tied his shoulder-length hair behind his neck with a leather thong. Druss, unnoticed, tested his knee: it was not strong.

‘Are you ready?’ asked Pinar.

Both men nodded and immediately Dorian rushed the older man. Druss lashed out, grabbing the other’s throat, then stooped to push his right hand between the man’s legs and lifted. With a grunt and a heave, he hurled him ten feet through the air to land like a sack on the hard-packed earth. Dorian half rose, than sat back shaking his head. The crowd hooted with laughter.

‘Who’s next?’ asked Druss.

Pinar nodded to another youngster; then, observ­ing the fear on the lad’s face, he stepped forward. ‘You have made your point, greybeard. You are strong and I am at fault. But Gan Orrin will not allow you to fight.’

‘Laddie, he will not stop me. If he tries, I will tie him to a fast horse and send him back to his uncle.’ All eyes turned as a hoarse cry split the air.

‘You old bastard!’ Dorian had gathered up his longsword and was advancing Towards Druss, who stood with arms folded, waiting.