‘DRUSS THE LEGEND! DRUSS THE LEGEND!’ The men on other battlements could not hear Druss’s words, but they heard the chant and took it up. Dros Delnoch echoed to the sound, a vast cacophony of noise that crashed and reverberated through the peaks, scattering flocks of birds which took to the skies in fluttering panic. At last Druss raised his arms for silence and gradually the chant subsided, though more men were running from Wall Two to hear his words. By now almost five thousand men were gathered about him.
‘We are the Knights of Dros Delnoch, the siege city. We will build a new legend here to dwarf Skeln Pass. And we will bring death to the Nadir in their thousands. Aye, in their hundreds of thousands. WHO ARE WE?’
‘KNIGHTS OF DROSS DELNOCH!’ thundered the men.
‘And what do we bring?’
‘DEATH TO THE NADIR!’
Druss was about to continue when he saw men’s heads turn to face down into the valley. Columns of dust in the distance created clouds which rose to challenge the sky, like a gathering storm. Like the father of all storms. And then, through the dust could be seen the glinting spears of the Nadir, filling the valley from all sides, sweeping forward, a vast dark blanket of fighting men, with more following. Wave after wave of them came into sight. Vast siege towers pulled by hundreds of horses; giant catapults, leather-covered battering rams; thousands of carts and hundreds of thousands of horses; vast herds of cattle and more men than the mind could total.
Not one heart among the watchers failed to miss a beat at the sight. Despair was tangible and Druss cursed softly. He had nothing more to say. And he felt he had lost them. He turned to face the Nadir horsemen bearing the horse-hair banners of their tribes. By now their faces could be seen, grim and terrible. Druss raised Snaga into the air and stood, legs spread, a picture of defiance. Angry now, he stared at the Nadir outriders.
As they saw him they pulled up their horses and stared back. Suddenly the riders parted to allow a herald through. Galloping his steppe pony forward he rode towards the gates, swerving as he came beneath the wall where Druss stood. He dragged on the reins and the horse skidded to a stop, rearing and snorting.
‘I bring this command from the Lord Ulric, he shouted. ‘Let the gates be opened and he will spare all within, save the white-bearded one who insulted him.’
‘Oh, it’s you again, lard-belly,’ said Druss. ‘Did you give him my message as I said it?’
‘I gave it, Deathwalker. As you said it.’
‘And he laughed, did he not?’
‘He laughed. And swore to have your head. And my Lord Ulric is a man who always fulfils his desires.’
‘Then we are two of a kind. And it is my desire that he should dance a jig on the end of a chain, like a performing bear. And I will have it so, even if I have to walk into your camp and chain him myself.’
‘Your words are like ice on the fire, old man – noisy and without worth,’ said the herald. ‘We know your strength. You have maybe 11,000 men. Mostly farmers. We know all there is to know. Look at the Nadir army! How can you hold? What is the point? Surrender yourself. Throw yourself on the mercy of my Lord.’
‘Laddie, I have seen the size of your army and it does not impress me. I have a mind to send half my men back to their farms. What are you? A bunch of pot-bellied, bow-legged northerners. I hear what you say. But don’t tell me what you can do. Show me! And that’s enough of talk. From now on this will talk for me.’ He shook Snaga before him, sunlight flashing from the blade.
Along the line of defenders Gilad nudged Bregan. ‘Druss the Legend!’ he chanted and Bregan joined him with a dozen others. Once more the sound began to swell as the herald wheeled his mount and raced away. The noise thundered after him:
‘DRUSS THE LEGEND! DRUSS THE LEGEND!’