The Legend Of Deathwalker By David Gemmell

‘I do think this is unfair, Sieben, after all you won . . .’ At that moment he saw Klay and instantly his face changed, a broad smile appearing. ‘My dear chap, so good to see you again. Please do join us. It would be such an honour. We were talking about you dnly moments ago. This is Sieben the Poet.’

‘I have heard your work performed,’ said Klay, ‘and I have read, with interest, the saga of Druss the Legend.’

The poet gave a wolfish smile. ‘You’ve read the work, and soon you’ll face the man. I have to tell you, sir, that I shall be wagering against you.’

‘Then you will forgive me for not wishing you luck,’ said Klay, sitting down.

‘Did you watch today’s bout?’ asked Majon.

‘I did indeed, ambassador. Druss is an interesting fighter. It seems that pain spurs him to greater efforts. He is indomitable, and very strong.’

‘He always wins,’ said Sieben happily. ‘It’s a talent he has.’

‘Sieben is particularly pleased today,’ put in Majon icily. ‘He has won sixty gold pieces.’

‘I won also,’ said Klay.

‘You bet on Druss?’ asked Sieben.

‘Yes. I had studied both men, and did not feel the Lentrian had the heart to match your man. He also lacked speed in his left, which gave Druss the chance to roll with the punches. But you should advise him to change his attacking stance. He tends to duck his head and charge, which makes for an easy target with an uppercut.’

‘I’ll be sure to tell him,’ promised Sieben.

‘I have a training ground at my house. He is welcome to use it.’

‘That is a very kind offer,’ put in Majon.

‘You seem very confident, sir,’ said Sieben. ‘Does it not concern you that Druss has never lost?’

‘No more than it concerns me that I have never lost. Whatever else happens, one of us will surrender that perfect record. But the sun will still shine, and the earth will not topple. Now, my friends, shall we order some food?’

The air was fresh and clean, and a slight wind whispered across the fountain pool, cooling the air as Sieben and Druss climbed the steep path to the summit of the highest hill in the Grand Park. Above them the sky was the glorious blue of late summer, dotted with thick white clouds drifting slowly from the east. Shafts of sunlight in the distance, breaking clear of the clouds, suddenly illuminated a section of the eastern mountains, turning them to deep shadowed red and gold, glowing like jewels in torchlight. And just as swiftly the wandering clouds blocked the sun, the golden rocks returning to grey. Druss gazed longingly at the mountains, remembering the smell of the pine and the song of the stream in his own high homeland. The clouds drifted on, and the sun shone down on the far mountains once more. The sight was beautiful, but Druss knew there would be no pine forests there. To the east of Gulgothir were the Nadir steppes, an enormous stretch of desert, dry, harsh and inhospitable.

Sieben sat beside the fountain, trailing his hand in the water. ‘Now you can see why this is called the Hill of the Six Virgins,’ he said. At the centre of the pool was a statue of six women, exquisitely carved from a single block of marble. They stood in a circle, each leaning forward and extending their arms, as if in entreaty. Behind and above them was the figure of an old man, holding a huge urn from which came the fountain, spilling out over the white statues and flowing down to the pool. ‘Several hundred years ago,’ continued Sieben, ‘when a raiding army from the north surrounded Gulgothir, six virgins were sacrificed here to appease the Gods of War. They were ritually drowned. After that the Gods favoured the defenders, and they beat off the attack.’

Sieben smiled as he saw Druss’s pale blue eyes narrow. The warrior’s huge hand came up and idly tugged at his square-cut black beard – a sure sign of his growing irritation. ‘You don’t believe in appeasing the Gods?’ asked Sieben innocently.