‘Come on, lads,’ said Gilad. ‘Let’s be sitting up. Let’s start taking some deep breaths.’ Groans followed the order and there was scarce a movement from the men. ‘Come on, now. Group Kestrian are already moving. Bastards!’ Gilad pushed himself to his feet, pulling Bregan up with him. Then he moved to each of the men. Slowly they rose and began to move towards the tunnel.
‘I think I’m dying,’ said Midras.
‘You will if you let us down today,’ muttered Gilad. ‘If that old swine laughs at us one more time . . .’
‘A pox on him,’ said Midras. ‘You don’t see him working up a sweat, do you?’
At dusk the weary men trooped away from the tunnels towards the peace and relative sanctity of the barracks. They hurled themselves on to narrow cots and began to unbuckle breastplates and graves.
‘I don’t mind the work,’ said Baile, a stocky farmer from a village neighbouring Gilad’s, ‘but I don’t see why we have to do it in full armour.’
No one answered him.
Gilad was almost asleep when a voice bellowed: ‘Group Karnak to the parade ground!’
Druss stood in the parade-ground square, hands on hips, his blue eyes scanning the exhausted men who stumbled from the barracks, their eyes squinting against the torch-light. Flanked by Hogun and Orrin, he smiled grimly as the men shambled into ranks.
The fifty men of group Karnak were joined by Group Kestrian and Group Sword.
Silently they waited for whatever foul idea Druss had now dreamed up.
‘You three groups,’ said Druss, ‘are to run the length of the wall and back. The last man’s group will run again. Go!’
As the men set off for the gruelling half-mile, someone yelled from the crowd: ‘What about you, fat man? Coming?’
‘Not this time,’ Druss yelled back. ‘Don’t be last.’
‘They’re exhausted,’ said Orrin. ‘Is this wise, Druss?’
‘Trust me. When the attacks come, men will be dragged from sleep fast enough. I want them to know their limits.’
Three more days passed. Tunnel one was almost filled, and work had begun on tunnel two. No one cheered now as Druss walked by, not even among the townsfolk. Many had lost their homes, others were losing business. A deputation had visited Orrin, begging for demolition to cease. Others found that sight of the clear ground between walls only emphasised that Druss expected the Nadir to take the Dros. Resentment grew, but the old warrior swallowed his anger and pushed on with his plan.
On the ninth day something happened which gave the men a fresh topic of conversation.
As Group Karnak assembled for their run Gan Orrin approached Dun Mendar, the officer commanding.
‘I shall be running with your group today,’ he said.
‘You are taking over, sir?’ said Mendar.
‘No, no. Just running. A Gan must be fit too, Mendar.’
A sullen silence greeted Orrin as he joined the ranks, his bronze and gold armour setting him apart from the waiting soldiers.
Throughout the morning he toiled with the men, scaling ropes, sprinting between walls. Always he was last. As he ran some of the men laughed, others jeered. Mendar was furious. The man’s making an even greater fool of himself, he thought. And he’s making us the laughing stock, too. Gilad ignored the Gan, except at one point to pull him over the battlements when it looked as if he might fall.
‘Let him drop,’ yelled a man further along the wall.
Orrin gritted his teeth and carried on, staying with the troop throughout the day and even working on the demolition. By afternoon he was working at half the speed of the other soldiers. No one had yet spoken to him. He ate apart from the other men, but not by choice – where he sat, they did not.
At dusk he made his way to his quarters, body trembling, muscles on fire and slept in his armour.
At daybreak he bathed, put on his armour and rejoined Group Karnak. Only at sword practice did he excel, but even then he half thought the men were letting him win. And who could blame them?
An hour before dusk Druss arrived with Hogun, ordering four groups to assemble by the gate of Wall Two: Karnak, Sword, Egel and Fire.