LEGEND by David A. Gemmell

‘What do you mean by lesser men? A man doesn’t have to be a killer to be great.’

‘That’s not what I meant . . . But I suppose it could have been. If I tried to farm – as your neigh­bour – men would say that I was not as good as you. They would look down on me as a bad farmer. On these battlements men will be judged by how long they stay alive. Lesser men, or lesser soldiers if you will, either change or fall.’

‘Why did you come here, Druss?’ asked Gilad, meaning to ask why the axeman had chosen to interrupt his watch. But the warrior misunderstood.

‘I came to die,’ he said softly, warming his hands and staring into the coals. ‘To find some spot on the battlements to make a stand, and then to die. I didn’t expect to have to take over the damned defence. A pox on it! I’m a soldier, not a general.’

As Druss talked on, Gilad realised the axeman was not talking to him – not to Cul Gilad, the former farmer. He was chatting to just another soldier at just another fire at just another fortress. In micro­cosm this scene was Druss’s life, the wait before the war.

‘I always promised her that I would stop and tend the farm, but always someone, somewhere, had a battle to fight. I thought for years that I was repre­senting something – liberty, treedom, I don’t know. The truth was always much more simple. I love to fight. She knew, but had the good grace never to point it out. Can you imagine what it’s like to be a Legend – THE damned Legend? Can you, boy?’

‘No, but it must make you feel proud,’ said Gilad, uncertain.

‘It makes you tired. It saps your strength when it should raise it. Because you can’t afford to be tired. You’re Druss the Legend and you’re invulnerable, invincible. You laugh at pain.You can march for ever. With one blow you can topple mountains. Do I look as if I can topple mountains?’

‘Yes,’ said Gilad.

‘Well, I damned well can’t. I’m an old man with a weak knee and an arthritic back. My eyes are not so good as they were either.

‘When I was young and strong, the bruises always healed quickly. I was tireless then. I could fight all damned day. As I grew older I learned to fake it and snatch rest where I could. To use my experience in battle where before I had just powered my way through. In my fifties I was careful, and anyway by that time the Legend made men tremble. Three times since, I have fought men who could have beaten me, but they beat themselves because they knew who I was and were afraid.

‘Do you think I’m a good leader?’

‘I don’t know. I’m a farmer, not a soldier,’ said Gilad.

‘Don’t hedge with me, boy. I asked for an opinion.’

‘No, you’re probably not. But you are a great warrior. I suppose in years gone by you would have been a war chief. I can’t tell. You’ve done wonders with the training; there’s a new spirit at the Dros.’

‘There were always leaders in my day,’ said Druss. ‘Strong men with quick minds. I have tried to remember all their lessons. But it’s hard, boy. Do you see? It’s hard. I’ve never been afraid of enemies I can face with an axe or my hands, if needs be. But the enemies at this fortress are not the same. Morale, preparation, fire gullies, supplies, liaison, organis­ation. It saps the soul.’

‘We’ll not fail you, Druss,’ said Gilad, his heart reaching out to the older man. ‘We will stand firm beside you. You have given us that, though I hated you for most of the training.’

‘Hate breeds strength, laddie. Of course you will hold. You’re men. Did you hear about Dun Mendar?’

‘Yes, it was tragic. A good job that he was there to aid you,’ said Gilad.

‘He was there to kill me, boy. And he almost did.’

‘What?’ said Gilad, shocked.

‘You heard me. And I don’t expect you to repeat it. He was in the pay of the Nadir and he led the assassins.’