‘Till the mountains crumble to dust,’ promised Chisk. As Druss walked away he added, ‘But you don’t take too long, hey?’
Inside the hospital Druss called out to Niobe and she ran across to him. ‘Don’t bother Sieben with it,’ he said. ‘It’s no deeper than a dog-bite. Get a needle and thread for me; I’ll do it myself.’
She returned with the implements and a long stretch of bandage. The wound was just below the collar-bone and Druss fumbled his way through the stitching, drawing the lips of the gash together.
‘You have many scars,’ said Niobe, staring at his upper body.
‘All men get careless,’ he told her. The wound was beginning to throb now. Pushing himself to his feet, he strode from the room and out into the fading sunlight. Behind the gates some thirty warriors were manhandling blocks to form a semi-circular wall. The work was back-breaking and slow, yet no word of complaint came from them. They had erected a rough hoist and pulley on the ramparts, and the blocks of granite were being hauled into place, blocking the gates. Suddenly the pulley gave way and a huge block fell, hurling two men to the ground. Druss ran over to where they lay. The first was dead, his skull crushed, but the other man was merely winded. Pulling the corpse aside the other warriors continued with their work, their faces grim. The blocks were being laid four deep, forming a curved wall eight feet wide.
‘They’ll get a nasty shock as they come through,’ said Lin-tse, striding down the rampart steps to join Druss.
‘How tall can you get it?’
‘We think twelve feet at the front, ten at the back. But we need a stronger hoist bar and supports.’
‘Tear up the floorboards in the upper lodging-rooms,’ advised Druss. ‘Use the cross joists.’
Returning to the wall, Druss put on his jerkin and silver-skinned gauntlets. Talisman’s man, Gorkai, joined him. ‘The Curved Horn will stand with you for the next attack,’ he said. ‘This is Bartsai, their leader.’ Druss nodded, then reached out and shook hands with the stocky Nadir.
‘Well, lads,’ he said, with a wide smile, ‘do you fight as well as the Lone Wolves?’
‘Better,’ grunted a young warrior.
‘Would you care to make a wager on that, laddie?’
Chapter Twelve
The moon was bright as Talisman and Lin-tse watched the Gothir carrying away their dead and wounded. The stretcher-bearers worked with great efficiency and no little courage, coming in close to the walls to pick up the wounded. The Nadir did not loose shafts at them. Talisman had forbidden it – not for any reason of mercy, but simply because every wounded Gothir soldier needed to be tended and fed, and that would help to exhaust the enemy’s supplies. The Nadir dead had been wrapped in blankets and placed in the cool of the Shrine.
‘They lost sixty-four, with another eighty-one wounded,’ said Lin-tse gleefully. ‘Our losses are less than a third of that.’
‘Twenty-three dead,’ said Talisman, ‘and nine wounded who will not fight again.’
‘That is good, eh?’
‘They outnumber us ten to one. Five to one for casualties is not good enough,’ Talisman told him. ‘However, as Fanlon used to say, the worst always die first – those with the least skill, or the least luck. We did well today.’
‘The Lancers are not riding out,’ observed Lin-tse.
‘Their mounts are thirsty and tired,’ said Talisman, ‘as indeed are the men. Their wagons went out again this morning. They have not returned; Kzun is still holding them away from the pool.’
Lin-tse moved to the edge of the battlements. ‘I wish we could bring in Quing-chin’s body,’ he said. ‘It saddens me to think of his spirit wandering blind and maimed.’
Talisman did not reply. Two years before, the three Nadir warriors had sought revenge for the death of their comrade. They had found satisfaction in kidnapping and killing the son of Gargan; he too had been blinded and maimed. Now the circle of violence had swung once more, and Quing-chin’s body lay as cold testimony to the cruel reality of revenge. Talisman rubbed at his eyes.
The smell of scorched wood drifted to him. The gates had come under two attacks, the Gothir using oil in an attempt to burn a way through. This had failed, and some twenty Gothir soldiers had paid with their lives. Talisman shivered.