LEGEND by David A. Gemmell

‘Virae? Virae? I waited for you . . . just one more time. See you. So much . . . So much wanted . . .’ The frail body trembled, then lay still. Druss closed the dead man’s eyes and wiped a hand across his own.

‘He should never have sent her away,’ said Calvar Syn. ‘He loved that girl, she was all he lived for.’

‘Maybe that’s why he sent her,’ said Hogun.

Druss pulled the silk sheet up and over the Earl’s face, and walked to the window. Now he was alone -the last survivor of Skeln. He leaned on the window sill and sucked in the night air.

Outside the moon bathed the Dros hi eldritch light, grey and ghostly, and the old man gazed towards the north. Overhead a fluttering pigeon flew in and circled a loft beneath the Keep. It had come out of the north.

He turned from the window.

‘Bury him quietly tomorrow,’ he said. ‘We will not interrupt training for a full funeral.’

‘But Druss, this is Earl Delnar!’ said Hogun, eyes blazing.

‘That,’ said Druss, pointing at the bed, ‘is a cancer-ridden corpse. It isn’t anyone. Just do as I say.’

‘You cold-hearted bastard,’ said Dun Mendar.

Druss turned his icy gaze on the officer.

‘And just you remember that, laddie, the day you – or any of you – go against me.’

12

Rek leaned on the starboard rail with one arm about Virae’s shoulders and stared at the sea. Strange, he thought, how night changed the mood of the ocean. A vast, semi-solid mirror reflecting the stars, while the moon’s twin floated, fragmented and ethereal, a mile or so away. Always a mile or so away. A gentle breeze billowed the triangular sail as the Wastrel cut a white path through the waves, gently dipping and rising with the swell. Aft stood the mate at the spoked wheel, his silver eye-patch glinting in the moonlight. Forward a young seaman cast his lead into the waves, calling out the changes in depth as they passed over the hidden reef.

All was tranquillity, peace, and harmony. The steady lapping of the waves added to the feeling of isolation that enveloped Rek as he stared out to sea. With stars above and below them they could be floating on the tides of the galaxy, far from the all too human struggle that awaited them.

This is contentment, thought Rek.

‘What are you thinking?’ asked Virae, slipping an arm round his waist.

‘I love you,’ he said. A dolphin surfaced below them, calling out a musical welcome before again seeking the depths. Rek watched his lithe form swimming among the stars.

‘I know you love me,’ said Virae, ‘but I was asking you what you were thinking?’

‘That’s what I was thinking. I am content. At peace.’

‘Of course you are. We’re on a ship and it’s a lovely night.’

‘Woman, you have no soul,’ he said, kissing her brow.

She looked up at him and smiled. ‘If you think that – you are a fool! I’m just not as practised as you at telling pretty lies.’

‘Hard words, my lady. Would I lie to you? You would cut my throat.’

‘I would too. How many women have heard you say you love them?’

‘Hundreds,’ said Rek, watching her eyes and seeing the smile fade from them.

‘So why should I believe you?’

‘Because you do.’

‘That’s no answer.’

‘Of course it is. You’re not some dimwitted milk­maid fooled by an easy smile. You know the truth when you hear it. Why do you suddenly doubt it?’

‘I don’t doubt you, you oaf! I just wanted to know how many women you’ve loved.’

‘Slept with, you mean?’

‘If you want to be coarse.’

‘I don’t know,’ he lied. ‘It’s not my habit to keep count. And if your next question is, “How do I compare?”, you will find yourself alone, because I shall go below.’

It was. But he did not.

The mate by the tiller watched them, listened to their easy laughter and smiled with them, although he could not hear the cause of their good humour. At home he had a wife and seven children, and it made him feel good to watch, the young man and his woman. He waved as they went below deck, but they did not see him.