LEGEND by David A. Gemmell

But he was still wary around the gelding. It had a tendency to snap at him even now. Rek smiled, thinking back.

‘A fine mount,’ Serbitar had said that morning, stepping forward to stroke the mane. Lancer snapped and Serbitar leapt backwards. ‘May I Speak with him?’ Serbitar had asked.

‘With a horse?’

‘It is more an empathic bond. I shall tell him I mean no harm.’

‘Go ahead.’

After a little while Serbitar smiled. ‘He is being very friendly, but he is waiting to snap at me again. That, my friend, is a cantankerous animal.’

Rek walked back to the camp-site to find four fires glowing merrily and the riders eating their oatcakes. Virae was asleep beneath a tree, wrapped in a red blanket, her head resting on her white cloak. He joined Serbitar, Vintar and Menahem at their fire. Arbedark was talking softly to a nearby group.

‘We’re pushing hard,’ said Rek. ‘The horses won’t last.’

‘We can rest aboard ship,’ said Serbitar. ‘And we will be aboard the Lentrian vessel Wastrel early tomorrow. It sails with the morning tide, hence the urgency.’

‘Even my bones are tired,’ said Rek. ‘Is there any more news from Delnoch?’

‘We will see later,’ said Menahem, smiling. ‘I am sorry, friend Rek, for my testing of you. It was a mistake.’

‘Please forget it – and what I said. The words were spoken in anger.’

‘That is gracious. Before you joined us we were talking of the Dros. It is our belief that under exist­ing leadership it cannot last a week. Morale is low and their leader Orrin is overwhelmed by his pos­ition and responsibility. We need a fair wind and no delays.’

‘You mean it could be over before we arrive?’ said Rek, his heart leaping.

‘I think not,’ said Vintar. ‘But the end may be near. Tell me, Regnak, why do you travel to Delnoch?’

‘The possibility of stupidity can never be ruled out,’ Rek told him, without humour. ‘Anyway, we might not lose. Surely there is at least a faint chance?’

‘Druss will be there soon,’ said Vintar. ‘Much will depend on his reception. If it is good, and we can arrive while the first wall holds, we should be able to harness the strengths of the defenders and guarantee resistance for about a month. I cannot see a mere 10,000 men holding for longer.’

‘Woundweaver may send reinforcements,’ said Menahem.

‘Perhaps,’ said Serbitar. ‘But unlikely. Already his marshals are scouring the empire. Virtually the entire army is gathered at Delnoch, with 3,000 men holding Dros Purdol and another thousand at Corteswain.

‘Abalayn has been foolish these last years, running down the army and cultivating trade agreements with Ulric. It was folly. Had it not been the Nadir attack­ing now, it would have been Vagria before long.

‘My father would love to humble the Drenai. He has dreamed about it long enough.’

‘Your father?’ queried Rek.

‘Earl Drada of Dros Segril. Did you not know?’ said Serbitar.

‘No, I didn’t. But Segril is only eighty miles west of Delnoch. Surely he will send men when he knows you are there?’

‘No. My father and I are not friends; my talent unnerves him. However, if I am killed he will be in blood feud with Ulric. That means he will swing his forces to Woundweaver. It may help the Drenai -but not Dros Delnoch.’

Menahem tossed twigs to the fire, holding his dark-skinned hands towards the blaze. ‘Abalayn has at least got one thing right. This Lentrian Woundweaver is quality. A warrior of the old school, tough, determined, and practical.’

‘There are times, Menahem,’ Vintar said, smiling gently, age sitting heavily on him following the hard ride, ‘when I doubt you will achieve your aim. War­riors of the old school, indeed!’

Menahem grinned broadly. ‘I can admire a man for his talents, while debating his principles,’ he said.

‘Indeed you can, my boy. But did I not note the merest hint of empathy?’ asked Vintar.

‘You did, master Abbot. But only a hint, I assure you.’

‘I hope so, Menahem. I would not want to lose you before the Journey. Your soul must be sure.’

Rek shivered. He had no idea what they were talking about. On reflection he had no wish to know.