The Legend Of Deathwalker By David Gemmell

In that terrible moment Mikal saw the chasm yawning before him like the mouth of a giant beast. Throwing himself back in the saddle, he hauled savagely on the reins – but it was too late. The gelding, at full gallop, leapt out over the awesome drop and then tipped headfirst, flinging Mikal from the saddle. He fell screaming towards the distant rocks.

Behind him the Lancers had also dragged on their reins. Seven fell immediately after him, the others milling at the edge of the crevice. Fifteen Nadir warriors, shouting at the tops of their voices, rose from hiding-places in the rocks and ran towards the riders. The startled horses bolted, sending ten more Lancers plunging to their deaths. The remaining eight men jumped from their saddles and turned to fight. Outnumbered and demoralized, with the chasm behind them and nowhere to run, they were hacked down swiftly and mercilessly. Only one Nadir warrior was wounded – his face gashed, the skin of his cheek flapping against his chin. Gathering the Gothir horses, and the helms of the fallen men, they rode swiftly back down the trail.

Premian and his three companies topped the crest moments later. Jomil rode down and found the bodies. Returning to his captain, he made his report. ‘All dead, sir. Most of them appear to have ridden over a cliff. Their bodies are scattered on the rocks below. Some good men lost, sir.’

‘Good men,’ agreed Premian, barely keeping the fury from his voice. ‘Led by an officer with the brains of a sick goat.’

‘I heard your order to him, sir. You told him to wait. You’re not to blame, sir.’

‘We’ll detour down to the bodies and bury them,’ he said. ‘How many do you think were in the attacking party?’

‘From the tracks, no more than twenty, sir. Some of the Nadir were riding ahead of our boys. They jumped the gorge at a narrow point.’

‘So, twenty-six men dead for the loss of how many of the enemy?’

‘Some were wounded. There was blood on the ground where they hid their ponies – maybe ten of them.’

Premian gave him a hard look. ‘Well, maybe one or two,’ Jomil admitted.

It took more than three hours to detour to the foot of the chasm. By the time the Gothir troops reached the bodies it was almost dusk.

The eighteen corpses had all been stripped of armour and weapons, and beheaded.

Chapter Ten

Sieben stood and gazed around at the old storehouse. Niobe and other Nadir women had cleaned it of dust, dirt and ancient cobwebs, and five lanterns had been set in brackets on the walls. Only one was lit now and he used its flickering light to study the layout of this new hospital. Two barrels full of water had been set at the northern end of the large, square room, placed close to the two long tables the Nadir had carried in earlier. Sieben examined the tools set there – an old pair of pliers, three sharp knives, several curved needles of horn and one long straight needle of iron. He found that his hands were trembling. Niobe moved silently alongside him. ‘Is this all you need, po-et?’ she asked, laying a small box filled with thread upon the table.

‘Blankets,’ he said. ‘We’ll need blankets. And food bowls.’

‘Why for food bowls?’ she asked. ‘If a wounded man has strength to eat, he has strength to fight.’

‘A wounded man loses blood, and therefore strength. Food and water will help rebuild him.’

‘Why do you tremble?’

‘I have assisted surgeons three times in my life. Once I even stitched a wound in a man’s shoulder. But my knowledge of anatomy . . . the human body . . . is severely limited. I do not, for example, know what to do with a deep belly wound.’

‘Nothing,’ she said, simply. ‘A deep belly wound is death.’

‘How comforting! I could do with honey. That is good for wounds, especially when mixed with wine; it prevents infection.’

‘No bees, po-et. No bees – no honey. But we have some dried lorassium leaves. Good for pain, and for dreams. And some hakka roots to ward off the blue-skin demons.’