LEGEND by David A. Gemmell

‘They are outlaws and I have promised them a pardon – and five gold Raq a head.’

‘I don’t like it, Druss. They are mercenaries and not to be trusted.’

‘You have asked me to take over,’ said Druss. ‘So trust me; I won’t let you down. Order the pardons to be drawn up and prepare notes against the treas­ury in Drenan.’ He turned to the young officer stand­ing patiently by the window. ‘You, young Mendar!’

‘Sir?’

‘Go, and tell . . . ask . . . Gan Orrin if he will see me in an hour. My friend and I have much to talk over, but tell him that I would be grateful for a meeting. Understand?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then get on with it.’ The officer saluted and left. ‘Now, before you tire, my friend, let us get down to business. How many fighting men have you?’

‘Just over nine thousand. But six thousand of those are recruits, and only a thousand – The Legion -are battle-hardened warriors.’

‘Surgeons?’

‘Ten, led by Calvar Syn. You remember him?’

‘Aye. A point on the credit side.’

For the rest of the hour Druss questioned the Earl, and by the end of the time he was visibly weaker. He began to cough blood once more, eyes squeezed shut against the pain that wracked him. Druss lifted him from his chair. ‘Where is your room?’ he asked. But the Earl was unconscious.

Druss strode from the hall, bearing the limp form of the Warden of the North. He hailed a passing soldier, gained directions and ordered Calvar Syn to be summoned.

Druss sat at the foot of the Earl’s bed as the elderly surgeon ministered to the dying man. Calvar Syn had changed little; his shaven head still gleamed like polished marble, and his black-eye-patch looked even more tattered than Druss remembered.

‘How is he?’ asked Druss.

‘How do you think he is, you old fool?’ answered the surgeon. ‘He is dying. He cannot last another two days.’

‘I see you have retained your good humour, doctor,’ said Druss, grinning.

‘What is there to be good-humoured about?’ queried the surgeon. ‘An old friend is dying, and thousands of young men will follow him within the next few weeks.’

‘Perhaps. It is good to see you, anyway,’ said Druss, rising.

‘Well it’s not good to see you,’ said Calvar Syn, a gleam in his eye and a faint smile on his lips. ‘Where you go, the crows gather. Anyway, how is it that you seem so ridiculously healthy?’

‘You’re the doctor – you tell me.’

‘Because you are not human! You were carved out of stone on a winter’s night and given life by a demon. Now get out! I have work to do.’

‘Where will I find Gan Orrin?’

‘Main Barracks. Now go!’ Druss grinned and left the room.

Dun Mendar took a deep breath. ‘You don’t like him, sir?’

‘Like him? Of course I like him!’ snapped the surgeon. ‘He kills men clean, boy. Saves me work. Now you get out, too.’

*

As Druss walked across the parade ground before the main barracks building, he became aware of the stares of the soldiers and the muted whispers as he passed. He smiled inwardly. It had begun! From now on he would be unable to relax for a moment.

Never could he show these men a glimpse of Druss the Man. He was The Legend. The invincible Cap­tain of the Axe. Indestructible Druss.

He ignored the salutes until he reached the main entrance, where two guards snapped to attention.

‘Where will I find Gan Orrin?’ he asked the first.

‘Third doorway of the fifth corridor on the right,’ answered the soldier, back straight, eyes staring a head.

Druss marched inside, located the room and knocked on the door.

‘Come!’ said a voice from within and Druss entered. The desk was immaculately tidy, the office spartanly furnished but smart. The man behind the desk was tubby, with soft doelike dark eyes. He looked out of place in the gold epaulettes of a Drenai Gan.

‘You are Gan Orrin?’ asked Druss.

‘I am. You must be Druss. Come in, my dear fellow, and have a seat. You have seen the Earl? Yes, of course you have. Of course you have. I expect he has told you about our problems here. Not easy. Not easy at all. Have you eaten?’ The man was sweating and ill at ease and Druss felt sorry for him. He had served under countless commanders in his lifetime. Many were fine, but as many were incompetent, foolish, vain or cowardly. He did not know as yet into which category Orrin fell, but he sympathised with his problems.