LEGEND by David A. Gemmell

Again and again Temple launched himself towards the Dros, striking blows of fearful power. The bar­rier trembled and changed.

Temple drew back, confused, watching.

The barrier drew in on itself like swirling mist, reforming. Then it darkened into a thick plume, blacker than the night. Arms emerged, legs formed and a horned head grew with seven slanted red eyes.

Temple had learned much during his few minutes of life.

Joy, freedom, and knowledge of life had come first. Then pain and fury.

Now he knew fear and gained the knowledge of evil.

His enemy flew at him, curving black talons slash­ing the sky. Temple met him head on, curling his arms around its back. Sharp teeth tore at his face, talons ripping his shoulders. His own huge fists locked together at the creature’s spine, drawing it in upon itself.

Below on Musif, Wall Two, three thousand men took up their positions. Despite all arguments, Druss had refused to surrender Wall One without a fight and waited there with six thousand men. Orrin had raged at him that such action was stupidity; the width of the wall made for an impossible task. Druss was obstinate, even when Hogun backed Orrin.

‘Trust me,’ Druss urged them. But he lacked the words to convince them. He tried to explain that the men needed a small victory on the first day in order to hone that final edge to their morale.

‘But the risk, Druss!’ said Orrin. ‘We could lose on the first day. Can’t you see that?’

‘You are the Gan,’ snarled Druss then. ‘You can overrule me if you wish.’

‘But I will not, Druss. I will stand beside you on Eldibar.’

‘And I,’ said Hogun.

‘You will see that I am right,’ said Druss. ‘I pro­mise you.’

Both men nodded, smiling to mask their despair.

Now the duty Culs were queuing by the wells, gathering the water buckets and making their way along the battlements, stepping over the legs and bodies of men still sleeping.

On Wall One Druss dipped a copper dish into a bucket and drank deeply. He wasn’t sure that the Nadir would attack today. His instincts told him Ulric would allow another full day of murderous tension, the sight of his army preparing for battle draining the defenders of courage and sapping them of hope. Even so Druss had little choice. The move was Ulric’s: the Drenai would have to wait.

Above them Temple suffered the fury of the beast, his shoulders and back shredded, his strength fading. The horned creature was also weakening. Death faced them both.

Temple did not want to die – not after such a short bitter-sweet taste of life. He wanted to see at close hand all those things he had glimpsed from afar, the coloured lights of expanding stars, the silence at the centre of distant suns.

His grip tightened. There would be no joy in the lights, no thrill amid the silence if this thing was left alive behind him. Suddenly the creature screamed – a high terrible sound, eerie and chilling. It’s back snapped and it faded like mist.

Semi-conscious within Temple’s soul, Vintar cried out.

Temple looked down watching the men, tiny frail creatures, preparing to break their fast with dark bread and water. Vintar cried out again and Temple’s brow furrowed.

He pointed his finger at the wall.

Men began to scream, hurling water cups and buckets from the Musif battlements. In each vessel black worms wriggled and swam. Now more men surged to their feet, milling and shouting.

‘What the devil’s happening up there?’ said Druss, as the noise flowed down to him. He glanced down at the Nadir and saw that men were streaming back from the siege engines towards the tent city. ‘I don’t know what’s going on,’ said Druss. ‘But even the Nadir are leaving. I’m going back to Musif.’

*

In the city of tents Ulric was no less angry as he shouldered his way through to the wide tent of Nosta Khan. His mind was icy calm as he confronted the sentry outside.

The news was spreading through the army like a steppe gorse-fire: as dawn broke, the tents of Nosta Khan’s sixty acolytes had been filled with soul-sear­ing screams. Guards had rushed in to find men wri­thing broken backed on the dirt-floors, their bodies bent like overstrung bows.