LEGEND by David A. Gemmell

‘We just haven’t got them,’ said Pinar. ‘On the credit side, we do have almost a thousand Legion Riders.’

‘Some good news at least. Who leads them?’

‘Gan Hogun.’

‘The same Hogun who routed the Sathuli at Corteswain?’

‘Yes,’ said Pinar, pride in his voice. ‘A skilled soldier, strong on discipline and yet worshipped by his men. He’s not very popular with Gan Orrin.’

‘He wouldn’t be,’ said Druss. ‘But that’s a matter we shall settle at Delnoch. What of supplies?’

‘There we have a few problems. There is enough food for a year, and we discovered three more wells, one as far back as the keep. We have close to six hundred thousand arrows, a multitude of javelins and several hundred spare mail-shirts.

‘But the biggest problem is the town itself. It has spread from Wall Three down to Wall Six, hundreds of buildings from wall to wall. There is no killing ground, Druss. Once over Wall Six, the enemy has cover all the way to the keep.’

‘We will tackle that, too, when I arrive. Are there still outlaws in Skultik?’

‘Of course. When have there not been?’ answered Pinar.

‘How many?’

‘Impossible to say. Five or six hundred, perhaps.’

‘Do they have a known leader?’

‘Again, hard to say,’ said Pinar. ‘According to rumour, there is a young nobleman who heads the largest band. But you know how these rumours grow. Every outlaw leader is an ex-nobleman or a prince. What are you thinking?’

‘I’m thinking they are archers,’ said Druss.

‘But you cannot enter Skultik now, Druss. Any­thing could happen. They could kill you.’

‘True. All things could happen. My heart could give out, my liver fail. Disease could strike me. A man cannot spend his life worrying about the unexpected. I need archers. In Skultik there are archers. It’s that simple, boy.’

‘But it’s not that simple. Send someone else. You are too valuable to lose like this,’ Pinar told him, gripping the old man’s arm.

‘I’m too long in the tooth to change my ways now. Direct action pays off, Pinar. Believe me. And there’s more to it, which I will tell you about some other time.

‘Now,’ he said, leaning back and addressing the crowd, ‘you know who I am, and where I am heading. I will speak plainly to you; many of you are Runners, some are frightened, others are demoral­ised. Understand this: when Ulric takes Dros Delnoch the Drenai lands will become Nadir lands. The farms you are running to will be Nadir farms. Your wives will become Nadir women. There are some things no man can run from. I know.

‘At Dross Delnoch you risk death. But all men die.

‘Even Druss. Even Karnak the One-Eyed. Even the Earl of Bronze.

‘A man needs many things in his life to make it bearable. A good woman. Sons and daughters. Comradeship. Warmth. Food and shelter. But above all these things, he needs to be able to know that he is a man.

‘And what is a man? He is someone who rises when life has knocked him down. He is someone who raises his fist to heaven when a storm has ruined his crop – and then plants again. And again. A man remains unbroken by the savage twists of fate.

‘That man may never win. But when he sees him­self reflected, he can be proud of what he sees. For low he may be in the scheme of things: peasant, serf, or dispossessed. But he is unconquerable.

‘And what is death? An end to trouble. An end to strife and fear.

‘I have fought in many battles. I have seen many men die. And women too. In the main, they died proud.

‘Bear this in mind, as you decide your future.’

The old man’s fierce blue eyes scanned the faces in the crowd, gauging reaction. He knew he had them. It was time to leave.

He bade his farewells to Pinar and the rest, settled his bill despite the protestations of the innkeeper and set off for Skultik.

He was angry as he walked, feeling the stares on his back as the inn emptied to watch him go. He was angry because he knew his speech had been a falsehood, and he was a man who liked the truth. Life, he knew, breaks many men. Some as strong as oak wither as their wives die, or leave them, as their children suffer or starve. Other strong men break if they lose a limb; or worse, the use of their legs or their eyesight. Each man has a breaking point, no matter how strong his spirit. Somewhere, deep inside him, there is a flaw that only the fickle cruelty of fate can find. A man’s strength is ultimately born of his knowledge of his own weakness, Druss knew.