LEGEND by David A. Gemmell

The young soldier shielded his eyes from the sun, then squinted at their back trail.

‘Dust, sir. From maybe two thousand horses.’

‘And ahead?’

‘Perhaps a thousand.’

‘Thank you. Rejoin the troop. Elicas!’

‘Sir?’

‘Cloaks furled. We will take them with lances and sabres.’

‘Yes, sir.’ He cantered back down the column. The black cloaks were unpinned and folded to be strapped to saddles. The black and silver armour glinted in the sunlight as man after man began to prepare for the charge. From saddlebags each rider removed a black and silver forearm guard and slipped it in place. Then small round bucklers were lifted from saddle horns to be fitted to the left arm. Straps were adjusted, armour tightened. The app­roaching Nadir could now be seen as individuals, but the sound of their battle cries was muffled by the pounding of horses’ hooves.

‘Helms down!’ yelled Hogun. ‘Wedge formation!’

Hogun and Elicas formed the point of the wedge, the other riders slipping expertly into position a hun­dred on either side.

‘Advance!’ yelled Elicas. The troop broke into a canter; then, at full gallop, the lances tilted. As the distance narrowed, Hogun felt his blood racing and could hear his pounding heart in time with the rolling thunder of the black horses’ iron-shod hooves.

Now he could pick out individual Nadir faces, and hear their screams.

The wedge smashed into the Nadir ranks, the larger black war horses cleaving a path through the mass of smaller hill ponies. Hogun’s lance speared a Nadir chest, and snapped as the man catapulted from his pony. Then his sabre slashed into the air; he cut one man from his mount, parried a thrust from the left and back-handed his blade across the throat of the horseman. Elicas screamed a Drenai war cry from his right, his horse rearing, the front hooves caving the chest of a piebald pony who ditched his rider beneath the milling mass of Black Riders.

And then they were through, racing for the dis­tant, fragile safety of Dros Delnoch.

Glancing back, Hogun saw the Nadir reform and canter to the north. There was no pursuit.

‘How many men did we lose?’ he asked Elicas as the troop slowed to a walk.

‘Eleven.’

‘It could have been worse. Who were they?’

Elicas recounted the names. All good men, sur­vivors of many battles.

‘That bastard Orrin will pay for this,’ said Elicas bitterly.

‘Forget it! He was right. More by luck than any judgement, but he was right.’

‘What do you mean “right”? We’ve learned nothing and we’ve lost eleven men,’ said Elicas.

‘We have learned that the Nadir are closer than we believed. Those dog soldiers were Wolfshead tribe. That’s Ulric’s own, they’re his personal guard. He’d never send them that far ahead of his main force. I’d say we now have a month – if we’re lucky.’

‘Damn! I was going to gut the pig and take the consequences.’

‘Tell the men no fires tonight,’ said Hogun.

Well, fat man, he thought, this is your first good decision. May it not be the last.

9

The forest had an ageless beauty that touched Druss’s warrior soul. Enchantment hung in the air. Gnarled oaks became silent sentinels in the silver moonlight, majestic, immortal, unyielding. What cared they for man’s wars? A gentle breeze whisper­ed through the interwoven branches above the old man’s head. A shaft of moonlight bathed a fallen log, granting it momentarily an ethereal splendour. A lone badger, caught in the light, shuffled into the undergrowth.

A raucous song began among the men crowded around the blazing camp fire and Druss cursed softly. Once again the forest was merely forest, the oaks outsize plants. Bowman wandered across to him car­rying two leather goblets and a winesack.

‘Finest Ventrian,’ he said. ‘It’ll turn your hair black.’

‘I’m all for that,’ said Druss. The young man filled Druss’s goblet, then his own.

‘You look melancholy, Druss. I thought the pro­spect of another glorious battle would lighten your heart.’

‘Your men are the worst singers I have heard in twenty years. They’re butchering that song,’ Druss replied, leaning his back against the oak, feeling the wine ease his tension.

‘Why are you going to Delnoch,?’ asked Bowman.