LEGEND by David A. Gemmell

And that he held the Nadir in contempt.

Bowman, Hogun, Orrin and Caessa also left the walls for the shade of the mess hall, the green-clad archer pointing at the sleeping giant.

‘Was there ever such a one?’ he said.

‘He just looks old and tired to me,’ said Caessa. ‘I can’t see why you regard him with such reverence.’

‘Oh yes, you can,’ said Bowman. ‘You are just being provocative as usual, my dear. But then that’s the nature of your gender.’

‘Not so,’ said Caessa, smiling. ‘What is he after all? He is a warrior. Nothing more, nothing less. What has he ever done to make him such a hero? Waved his axe? Killed men? I have killed men. It is no great thing. No one has written a saga about me.’

‘They will, my lovely, they will,’ said Bowman. ‘Just give them time.’

‘Druss is more than just a warrior,’ said Hogun, softly. ‘I think he always has been. He is a standard, an example if you like . . .’

‘Of how to kill people?’ offered Caessa.

‘No, that’s not what I meant. Druss is every man who has refused to quit; to surrender when life offered no hope; to stand aside when the alternative was to die. He is a man who has shown other men there is no such thing as guaranteed defeat. He lifts the spirit merely by being Druss, and being seen to be Druss.’

‘Just words!’ said Caessa. ‘You men are all the same. Always lofty words. Would you sing the praises of a fanner who fought for years against failed crops and floods?’

‘No,’ admitted Hogun. ‘But then it is the life of a man like Druss which inspires the fanners to battle on.’

‘Garbage!’ sneered Caessa. ‘Arrogant garbage! The farmer cares nothing for warriors or war.’

‘You will never win, Hogun,’ said Bowman, hold­ing open the mess hall door. ‘Give up now, while you can.’

‘There is a fundamental error in your thinking, Caessa,’ said Orrin suddenly, as the group seated themselves around a trestle table. ‘You are ignoring the simple fact that the vast majority of our troops here are farmers. They have signed on for the dur­ation of this war.’ He smiled gently and waved his hand for the mess servant.

‘Then the more fool them,’ said Caessa.

‘We are all fools,’ agreed Orrin. ‘War is a ridicu­lous folly, and you are right: men love to prove themselves in combat. I don’t know why, for I have never desired it myself. But I have seen it too often in others. But even for me Druss is, as Hogun describes him, an example.’

‘Why?’ she asked.

‘I cannot put it into words, I’m afraid.’

‘Of course you can.’

Orrin smiled and shook his head. He filled their goblets with white wine, then broke the bread and passed it round. For a while they ate in silence, then Orrin spoke again.

‘There is a green leaf called Neptis. When chewed it will relieve toothache, or head pain. No one knows why, it just does. I suppose Druss is like that. When he is around, fear seems to fade. That’s the best I can do to explain.’

‘He doesn’t have that effect on me,’ said Caessa.

*

On the tower battlements, Bregan and Gilad watched the Nadir preparations. Along the wall Dun Pinar supervised the setting of notched poles to repel siege ladders, while Bar Britan oversaw the plugging of scores of pottery jugs containing oil. Once filled and plugged, the jugs were placed in wicker baskets at various points along the walls. The mood was grim. Few words were exchanged as men checked their weapons, sharpened already sharp swords, oiled armour or checked each shaft in their quivers.

*

Hogun and Bowman left the mess hall together, leaving Orrin and Caessa deep in conversation. They sat on the grass some twenty paces from the axeman, Bowman lying on his side and resting on his elbow. ‘I once read some fragments from the Book of Elders,’ said the archer. ‘One line in particular strikes me now. “Come the moment, come the man.” Never did a moment call for a man more desperately than this. And Druss has arrived. Provi­dence, do you think?’