LEGEND by David A. Gemmell

‘I’ll be damned if I will apologise,’ said Rek.

‘It will be a frosty ride if you do not,’ said the Abbot.

A soft moan came from the sleeping Serbitar. Instantly Vintar, Menahem, Arbedark and Rek moved over to him. The albino’s eyes fluttered and opened . . . Once more they were the green of rose leaves. He smiled at Vintar.

‘Thank you, Lord Abbot,’ he whispered. Vintar patted his face gently.

‘Are you all right?’ asked Rek.

Serbitar smiled. ‘I am well. Weak but well.’

‘What happened?’ asked Rek.

‘Nosta Khan. I tried to force entry at the fortress and was flung into the outer mists. I was lost . . . broken. I saw futures that were terrible and chaos beyond all imagining. I fled.’ He lowered his eyes. ‘I fled in panic, I know not where or when.’

‘Speak no more, Serbitar,’ said Vintar. ‘Rest now.’

‘I cannot rest,’ said the albino, struggling to rise. ‘Help me, Rek.’

‘Maybe you should rest, as Vintar says,’ Rek told him.

‘No. Listen to me. I did enter Delnoch and I saw death there. Terrible death!’

“The Nadir are there already?’ asked Rek.

‘No. Be silent. I could not see the man clearly, but I saw the Musif well being poisoned behind Wall Two. Anyone who drinks from that well will die.’

‘But we should arrive before the fall of Wall One,’ said Rek. ‘And surely they will not need the Musif well until then?’

‘That is not the point. Eldibar, or Wall One as you call it, is indefensible. It is too wide; any capable commander will give it up. Don’t you understand? That’s why the traitor poisoned the other well. Druss is bound to fight his first battle there and the men will be fed that day at dawn. By midday the deaths will begin, and by dusk you will have an army of ghosts.’

‘We must ride,’ said Rek. ‘Now! Get him on a horse.’

Rek ran to find Virae as The Thirty saddled their mounts. Vintar and Arbedark helped Serbitar to his feet.

‘There was more, was there not?’ said Vintar.

‘Aye, but some tragedies are best left unspoken.’

*

For three days they rode in the shadow of the Delnoch range into deep glens, and over wooded hills. They rode swiftly but with caution, Menahem scouting ahead and pulsing messages to Serbitar. Virae had said little since the argument and avoided Rek studiously. He in turn gave no ground and made no attempt to breach the silence, though it hurt him deeply.

On the morning of the fourth day, as they breasted a small hill above thick woods, Serbitar held up a hand to halt the column.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Rek, drawing alongside.

‘I have lost contact with Menahem.’

Trouble?’

‘I don’t know. He could have been thrown from his horse.’

‘Let us go and find out,’ said Rek, spurring the mare.

‘No!’ called Serbitar, but the horse was already on the move downhill and gathering speed. Rek tugged at the reins to bring the animal’s head up, then leaned back in the saddle as the beast slithered to the foot of the hill. Once more on firm ground Rek glanced about him. Amongst the trees he could see Menahem’s grey standing with head down, and beyond the warrior himself lying face down on the grass. Rek cantered the mare towards him, but as he passed under the first tree a whisper of movement alerted him and he flung himself from his saddle as a man leapt from the branches. Rek landed on his side, rolled and regained his feet, dragging his sword free of its scabbard. His attacker was joined by two others, all wore the flowing white robes of the Sathuli.

Rek backed towards the fallen Menahem and glanced down. The warrior’s head was bleeding at the temple. Slingshot, Rek realised, but had no chance to check if the priest was still alive. Other Sathuli now crept from the undergrowth, their broad tulwars and long knives in hand.

Slowly they advanced, grins splitting their dark, bearded features. Rek grinned back.

‘This is a good day to die,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you join me?’