LEGEND by David A. Gemmell

‘Oh damn!’ said the young man, smiling and reseating himself. ‘I told you, Jorak, that this old fellow had a warrior look about him.’

‘And I told you that we should have merely shot him down and then taken his purse,’ said Jorak.

‘Unsporting,’ said the first. He turned to Druss. ‘Listen, old man, it would be churlish of us to shoot you down from a distance and that sets us a pretty problem. We must have your purse, don’t you see? No point in being a robber else?’ He paused, deep in thought, then spoke once more. ‘You’re obviously not a rich man, so whatever we get will not be worth a great deal of effort. How about spinning a coin? You win you keep your money, we win we take it. And I’ll throw in a free meal. Roast stag! How does that sound?’

‘How about if I win I get your purses, and a meal?’ asked Druss.

‘Now, now, old horse! No point in taking liberties when we’re trying to be friendly. All right! How about this? Honour needs to be satisfied. How about a little skirmish with Jorak here? You look quite strong, and he’s a dab hand at bare-knuckle squabbles.’

‘Done!’ said Druss. “What are the rules?’

‘Rules? Whoever is left standing wins. Win or lose, we’ll stand you a supper. I rather like you -you remind me of my grandfather.’

Druss grinned broadly, reached into his pack and pulled on his black gauntlets. ‘You don’t mind do you, Jorak?’ he asked. ‘It’s the old skin on my knuckles – it tends to split.’

‘Let’s get it over with,’ said Jorak, advancing.

Druss stepped in to meet him, taking in the awe­some breadth of the man’s shoulders. Jorak lunged, hurling a right cross. Druss ducked and crashed his own right fist into the other’s belly. A whoosh of air exploded from the giant’s mouth. Stepping back, Druss thundered a right hook to the jaw and Jorak hit the ground face first. He twitched once, then lay still.

‘The youth of today,’ said Druss sadly, ‘have no stamina!’

The young leader chuckled. ‘You win, Father Time. But look, for the sake of my fast diminishing prestige, give me the opportunity of besting you at something. We will have a wager: I wager my purse against yours that I am a better archer.’

‘Hardly a fair bet, laddie. I will concede that point. But I will make a wager with you: strike the trunk of the tree behind me with one arrow, and I’ll pay up.’

‘Come now, dear sir, where is the art in that? Less than fifteen paces, and the bole is three hands wide.’

‘Try it and see,’ offered Druss.

The young outlaw shrugged, hefted his bow and drew a long arrow from his doeskin quiver. With a fluid motion his strong fingers drew back the string and released the shaft. As the outlaw’s bow bent, Druss drew Snaga and the axe sang through the air in a glittering arc of white light as he sliced the blade to his right. The outlaw’s shaft splintered as the axe struck. The young man blinked and swallowed. ‘I would have paid to have seen that,’ he said.

‘You did!’ said Druss. ‘Where is your purse?’

‘Sadly,’ said the young man, pulling his pouch from his belt, ‘it is empty. But the purse is yours as we agreed. Where did you learn that trick?’

‘In Ventria, years ago.’

‘I’ve seen some axe work in the past. But that bordered on the incredible. My name is Bowman.’

‘I am Druss.’

‘I know that, old horse. Actions speak louder than words.’

8

Hogun swallowed back despair, his mind working furiously. He and 200 of his Legion Riders faced more than a thousand Nadir dog-soldiers, the cavalry wing of Ulric’s forces.

Sent out to gauge the strength and disposition of the Nadir horde, Hogun was over 150 miles from Delnoch. He had all but pleaded with Orrin to for­sake this plan, but the First Gan was not to be dissuaded.

‘A refusal to obey a direct order is punishable by instant dismissal for any of Gan rank. Is that what you wish, Hogun?’