The Legend Of Deathwalker By David Gemmell

Talisman led the way out on to the steppes, Gorkai riding beside him. ‘How many Notas raid in this area?’ Talisman asked.

‘Thirty,’ answered Gorkai. ‘We . . . they call themselves Chop-backs.’

‘So I have heard. Have you been to Oshikai’s tomb?’

‘Three times.’

‘Tell me of it.’

‘It is a simply carved sarcophagus set in a building of white stone. Once it was a Gothir fort, now it is a holy place.’

‘Who will be guarding it now?’

Gorkai shrugged. ‘Hard to say. There are always warriors from at least four tribes camped close by. A blind priest sends messages to each, telling them when they may take up their duties. He also tells them when to return to their own lands, and at such times other tribes send warriors. It is a great honour to be chosen to guard the resting place of Oshikai. The last time I was there the Green Monkey tribe patrolled the tomb. Waiting were the Northern Greys, the Stone Tigers, and the Fast Ponies.’

‘How many in each group?’

‘No more than forty.’

The clouds began to break, and the burning sun shone clear. Zhusai lifted a wide-brimmed straw hat from the pommel of her saddle and tied it into place. The shifting dust dried her throat, but she resisted the urge to drink.

And the trio rode on through the long day.

Chapter Five

The riots lasted three days, beginning in the poorest section and spreading fast. Troops were called in from surrounding areas, cavalry charging into the rioters. The death toll rose, and by the end of the third day some four hundred people were reported killed, and hundreds more injured.

The Games were suspended during the troubles, the athletes advised to remain in their quarters, the surrounding area patrolled by soldiers. As darkness fell Druss stared gloomily from the upstairs window, watching the flames leap from the burning buildings of the western quarter.

‘Madness,’ he said as Sieben moved alongside him.

‘Majon was telling me they caught the crossbow man and hacked him to pieces.’

‘And yet the killing still goes on. Why, Sieben?’

‘You said it yourself: madness. Madness and greed. Almost everyone had money on Klay, and they feel betrayed. Three of the gambling houses have been burned to the ground.’ Outside a troop of cavalry cantered along the wide avenue, heading for the riot area.

‘What is the news of Klay?’ asked Druss.

‘There is no word, but Majon told me he has many friends among the physicians. And Klay is a rich man, Druss; he can afford the best.’

‘I would have died,’ said Druss softly. ‘A knife was flashing towards my eye. In that moment I could do nothing. His hand moved like lightning, poet. I have never seen anything like it. He plucked the blade from the air.’ Druss shook his head. ‘I still do not believe it. Yet moments later a coward’s bolt had smashed him to the ground. He’ll not walk again, Sieben.’

‘You can’t say that, old horse. You are no surgeon.’

‘I know his spine was smashed. I have seen that injury a score of times. There’s no coming back from it. Not without. . .’ He fell silent.

‘Without what?’

Druss moved away from the window. ‘A Nadir shaman came to me — just before the fight. He told me of magical gems to heal any wound.’

‘Did he also try to sell you a map to a legendary diamond mine?’ asked Sieben, with a smile.

‘I’m going out,’ said Druss. ‘I need to see Klay.’

‘Out? Into that chaos? Come on, Druss, wait till morning.’

Druss shook his head.

‘Then take a weapon,’ Sieben urged. ‘The rioters are still looking for blood.’

‘Then they had better stay away from me,’ snarled Druss, ‘or I’ll spill enough of it to drown them all!’

The grounds were deserted and the gates open. Druss paused and stared at the broken statue lying on the lawn. It looked as if the legs had been shattered by hammers. The neck was sheared away, the head lying on the grass, its stone eyes staring unseeing at the black-bearded warrior standing in the gateway.

Druss gazed around him. The flower-beds had been uprooted, the lawn churned into mud around the statue. He strode to the front door, which was open. No servants greeted him as he moved through to the training area. There was no sound. The sand circles were empty of fighters, the fountains silent. An old man came in sight, carrying a bucket of water; he was the servant who had looked after the beggar boy. ‘Where is everyone?’ asked Druss.

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