LEGEND by David A. Gemmell

Rek studied the stars and remembered the sight­less seer and his prophetic verse.

‘The earl and the legend will be together at the wall, and men shall dream, and men shall die, but shall the fortress fall?’

In his mind’s eye Rek pictured Virae as she had been when he left her almost an hour ago, her light hair tangled upon the pillow, her eyes closed and her face peaceful in rest. He had wanted to touch her, to pull her close and feel her arms about him. Instead he had covered her gently with a blanket, dressed and quietly climbed to the deck. Away to starboard he could hear the dolphins’ ghostly music.

Now he pulled himself upright and returned to his cabin. Once more Virae had kicked away the blan­ket. Rek undressed slowly and eased himself down beside her.

And this time he touched her.

Amidships, the leaders of The Thirty finished their prayers and broke bread together, which Vintar blessed. They ate in silence, breaking the bond of unity to enjoy their own thoughts. At last Serbitar leaned back and signalled the opening. Their minds blended together.

‘The old man is a fearsome warrior,’ said Menahem.

‘But he is no strategist,’ said Serbitar. ‘His method of holding the Dros will be to man the walls and do battle until a conclusion is reached.’

‘There is little choice,’ said Menahem. ‘We will offer no other option.’

‘That is true. What I am saying is that Druss will merely pack the walls with men, which is not a serviceable idea. He has ten thousand men and to defend efficiently he will only be able to use seven thousand at any given time. The other walls must be manned, essential services run, messengers assigned. There must also be a floating force ready to offer instant aid to any weak spot.

‘Our strength must be to achieve maximum efficiency with total economy of effort. Withdrawals must be meticulously timed. Every officer must be not only aware but totally sure of his role.’

‘And we must,’ said Arbedark, ‘develop an aggressive attitude to defence. We have seen our­selves that Ulric is stripping whole forests in order to build his ballistae and siege towers. We must have inflammables, also containers for them.’

For over an hour, as the dawn breasted the eastern horizon, the leaders set about their plans: eliminat­ing some ideas, refining and expanding others.

Finally Serbitar called on them to join hands. Arbedark, Menahem and Vintar relaxed their con­trol, drifting down into the darkness, as Serbitar drew their power to him.

‘Druss! Druss!’ he pulsed, his mind soaring across the ocean, past Dros Purdol, the port fortress, on along the Delnoch range past the Sathuli settle­ments, over the vast Sentran plain – faster and faster he flew.

Druss awoke with a start, blue eyes scanning the room, nostrils flared to scent danger in the air. He

shook his head. Someone was saying his name, but there was no sound. Swiftly he made the sign of the Claw over his heart. Still someone called him.

Cold sweat appeared on his brow.

He reached across the bed, snatching Snaga from the chair by the wall.

‘Listen to me, Druss,’ pleaded the voice.

‘Get out of my head, you whore-son!’ bellowed the old man, rolling from the bed.

‘I am of The Thirty. We are travelling to Dros Delnoch to aid you. Listen to me!’

‘Get out of my head!’

Serbitar had no choice, for the pain was incred­ible. He released the old warrior and returned to the ship.

Druss staggered to his feet, fell and rose again. The door opened and Calvar Syn moved swiftly to him.

‘I told you not to get up before noon,’ he snapped.

‘Voices,’ said Druss. ‘Voices . . . Inside my head!’

‘Lie down. Now listen. You are the Captain and you expect men to obey you. That’s what discipline is about. I am the Surgeon and I expect to be obeyed by my patients. Now tell me about the voices.’

Druss laid his head on the pillow and closed his eyes. His head ached abominably and his stomach was still queasy. ‘There was only one voice. It said my name. Then it said it was from The Thirty and that they were coming to aid us.’