LEGEND by David A. Gemmell

Woundweaver is – needless to say – against this policy, and has made it clear that he will take his army into the hills as a raiding force should the Nadir be allowed to pass to the Sentran Plain.

You are an old soldier and the decision must be yours.

Pin the blame for surrender upon me. It is mine by right, since I have brought the Drenai people to this parlous state.

Do not think of me unkindly. I have always tried to do that which was best for my people.

But perhaps the years have told more heavily upon me than I realised, for my wisdom has been lacking in my dealings with Ulric.

It was signed simply ‘Abalayn’, and below the signa­ture was the red seal of the Drenai dragon.

Rek re-folded the scroll and returned it to his saddle bag.

Surrender . . . A helping hand at the brink of the abyss.

Virae returned from the stream, her hair dripping and her features flushed.

‘Ye gods, that was good!’ she said, sitting beside him. ‘Why the long face? Serbitar not awake yet?’

‘No. Tell me, what would your father have done if Abalayn had told him to surrender the Dros?’

‘He would never have given that order to my father.’

‘But if he had?’ insisted Rek.

‘The point does not arise. Why do you always ask questions that have no relevance?’

He put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Listen to me. What would he have done?’

‘He would have refused. Abalayn would know that my father is the lord of Dros Delnoch, the High Warden of the North. He can be relieved of command – but not ordered to give up the fortress.’

‘Suppose Abalayn had then left the choice to Delnar. What then?’

‘He would have fought to the last; it was his way. Now will you tell me what all this is about?’

‘The despatch Degas gave me for your father. It is a letter from Abalayn withdrawing his “fight to the last” order.’

‘How dare you open that?’ stormed Virae. ‘It was addressed to my father and should have been given to me. How dare you!’ Her face red with fury, she suddenly struck out at him. When he parried the blow, she launched another and without thinking he struck her, flat-handed, sprawling her to the grass.

She lay there, eyes blazing.

‘I’ll tell you how I dare,’ he said, suppressing his anger with great effort. ‘Because I am the Earl. And if Delnar is dead, then it was addressed to me. Which means that the decision to fight is mine. As is the decision to open the gates to the Nadir.’

‘That’s what you want, isn’t it? A way out?’ She rose to her feet, snatching up her leather jerkin.

‘Think what you like,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t matter to me. Anyway, I should have known better than to talk to you about the letter. I’d forgotten how much this war means to you. You can’t wait to see the crows feast, can you? Can’t wait for the bodies to start swelling and rotting! You hear me?’ he shouted at her back as she walked away.

‘Trouble, my friend?’ asked Vintar as he sat down opposite the angry Rek.

‘Nothing whatsoever to do with you,’ snapped the new Earl.

‘Of that I don’t doubt,’ said Vintar calmly. ‘But I might be able to help. After all, I’ve known Virae for many years.’

‘I’m sorry, Vintar. That was unforgivable of me.’

‘I have found in my life, Rek, that there are a few actions which are unforgivable. And certainly there are no words said that carry such a penalty. It is a man’s lot, I fear, to strike out when he has suffered hurt. Now, can I help?’

Rek told him about the despatch and Virae’s reaction.

‘A thorny problem, my boy. What will you do?’

‘I have not yet made up my mind.’

‘That is as well. No one should make a hasty decision over such a weighty matter. Do not be too hard on Virae, she is now sitting by the stream and feeling very miserable. She is desperately sorry for what she said and is merely waiting for you to apolo­gise so that she can tell you it was all her own fault.’