LEGEND by David A. Gemmell

‘The . . . water! Water!’ He started to choke.

‘He wants water!’ yelled the man supporting him.

Garta shook his head. Suddenly his back arched as pain seared him.

‘Great gods! He’s dead,’ said his companion as Garta slumped in his arms.

19

Rek, Serbitar, Virae and Vintar sat around a small camp-fire an hour before dawn. The camp had been made late the night before in a secluded hollow on the south side of a wooded hill.

‘Time is short,’ said Vintar. “The horses are exhausted and it is at least a five-hour ride to the fortress. We might get there before the water is issued and we might not. Indeed, it may already be too late. But we do have one other choice.’

‘Well, what is it?’ said Rek.

‘It must be your decision, Rek. None other can make it.’

‘Just tell me Abbot. I am too tired to think.’

Vintar exchanged glances with the albino.

‘We can – The Thirty can – join forces and seek to pierce the barrier around the fortress.’

‘Then try it,’ said Rek. ‘Where is the problem?’

‘It will take all our powers and may not succeed. If it does not, we will not have the strength to ride on. Indeed, even if we do succeed we will need to rest for most of the day.’

‘Do you think you can pierce the barrier?’ said Virae.

‘I do not know. We can only try.’

‘Think what happened when Serbitar tried,’ said Rek.’

‘You could all be hurled into the . . . whatever. What then?’

‘We die,’ answered Serbitar, softly.

‘And you say it is my choice?’

‘Yes,’ answered Vintar, ‘for the rule of The Thirty is a simple one. We have pledged our service to the master of Delnoch; you are that master.’

Rek was silent for several minutes, his weary brain numbed by the weight of the decision. He found himself thinking of so many other worries in his life which at the time had seemed momentous. There had never been a choice like this. His mind clouded with fatigue and he could not concentrate.

‘Do it!’ he said. ‘Break the barrier.’ Pushing him­self to his feet he walked away from the fire, ashamed that such an order should be forced from him at a time when he could not think clearly.

Virae joined him, her arm circling his waist.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

‘For what?’

‘For what I said when you told me about the letter.’

‘It doesn’t matter. Why should you think well of me?’

‘Because you are a man and you act like one,’ she said. ‘Now it’s your turn.’

‘My turn?’

‘To apologise, you dolt! You struck me.’

He pulled her to him, lifting her from her feet, and kissed her.

‘That wasn’t an apology,’ she said. ‘And you scratched my face with your stubble.’

‘If I apologise, will you let me do it again?’

‘Strike me, you mean?’

‘No, kiss you!’

Back at the hollow The Thirty formed a circle around the fire, removing their swords and plunging them into the ground at their feet.

The communion began, their minds flowing, streaming into Vintar. He welcomed each by name in the halls of his subconscious.

And merged. The combined power rocked him and he struggled to retain the memory of himself. He soared like a ghostly giant, a new being of incredible power. The tiny thing that was Vintar clung on inside the new colossus, forcing down the combined essence of twenty-nine personalities.

Now there was only one.

It called itself Temple and was born under the Delnoch stars.

Temple reared high under the clouds, stretching ethereal arms across the Delnoch crags.

He soared exultant, new eyes drinking in the sights of the universe. Laughter welled within him. Vintar reeled at the centre, driving himself deeper into the core.

At last Temple became aware of the Abbot, more as a tiny thought niggling at the edge of his new reality.

‘Dros Delnoch. West.’

Temple flew west, high over the crags. Beneath him the fortress lay silent, grey and ghostly in the moonlight. He sank towards it and sensed the barrier.

Barrier?

To him?

He struck at it – and was hurled into the night, angry and hurt. His eyes blazed and he knew fury: the barrier had touched him with pain.