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The Legend Of Deathwalker By David Gemmell

The axeman nodded. ‘Probably best,’ he said grimly. ‘You’ll soon have plenty to do there.’

On unsteady legs, Sieben walked from the ramparts. Nuang Xuan approached Druss. ‘I stand with you,’ he said, his face pale, his eyes blinking rapidly.

Around twenty Nadir were standing silently close by. ‘What tribe are you?’ Druss asked the nearest, a young man with nervous eyes.

‘Lone Wolves,’ he answered, licking his lips.

‘Well,’ said Druss good-naturedly, his voice carrying to the other men on the western wall. ‘This old man with me has pledged to kill a hundred Gothir soldiers. I am to keep count. I don’t want any of you Lone Wolves to get in his way. Killing a hundred takes great concentration!’

The young man swung to look at Nuang. Then he grinned. ‘I kill more than him,’ he said.

‘That sounds like a wager in the offing,’ said Druss. ‘What is your name?’

‘I am Chisk.’

‘Well, Chisk, I have a silver piece that says when dusk falls old Nuang will have outscored you.’

The man looked downcast. ‘I have no silver with which to gamble.’

‘What have you got?’ the axeman asked.

The Nadir warrior fished deep into the pocket of his filthy goatskin jacket, coming up with a small round charm inset with lapis lazuli. ‘This wards off evil spirits,’ he said. ‘It is worth many pieces of silver.’

‘I expect it is,’ agreed Druss. ‘You want to pledge it?’

The man nodded. ‘I bet I kill more than you too,’ said the Nadir.

Druss laughed and patted the man’s shoulder. ‘One bet per man is enough, lad. Any of you other Lone Wolves want to wager?’

Warriors pushed forward, offering ornate belts, curved daggers and buttons of carved horn. Druss accepted all offers.

A burly warrior with deep-set eyes tapped him on the arm. ‘Who counts?’ he asked ‘No-one can watch us all.’

Druss smiled. ‘You are all heroes,’ he said, ‘and men to trust. Count for yourselves. Tonight, when the enemy has skulked back to his camp, we’ll get together and see who has won. Now get back to your positions. The hour is almost up.’

Nuang stepped in close. ‘I think you lose a lot of silver, axeman,’ he whispered.

‘It’s only money,’ said Druss.

Talisman joined Druss. ‘What is the commotion here ?’ he asked. Several of the warriors gathered around him, speaking in Nadir. Talisman nodded and gave a weary smile. ‘They think you are a great fool,’ he told Druss.

‘It’s been said before,’ the axeman admitted.

Three riders came from the enemy camp, one of them dragging a prisoner. As they came closer they swerved their horses; the prisoner fell heavily, and struggled to rise.

‘It is Quing-chin,’ said Talisman, his voice flat, his expression unreadable.

The prisoner’s hands had been cut off, the stumps dipped in black pitch. The rider leading him cut free the rope; Quing-chin stumbled on, turning in a half-circle.

‘He has been blinded also,’ whispered Nuang.

Several of the Nadir on the walls cried out to the maimed man. His head came up and he staggered towards the sound. The three riders let him approach, then notched arrows to their bows and galloped towards him. One arrow struck him low in the back, but he did not cry out. A second arrow plunged between his shoulder-blades. Quing-chin fell then, and began to crawl. A horseman drew reins alongside him, sending a third shaft deep into his back.

An arrow flew from the ramparts, falling well short of the riders.

‘No-one shoot!’ bellowed Talisman.

‘A hard way to die,’ whispered Nuang Xuan. ‘That is what the enemy promises for all of us.’

‘This was their moment,’ said Druss, his voice cold and bitter. ‘Let them enjoy it. In a little while we will have our moment. They will not enjoy that!’

A drum sounded in the enemy camp and hundreds of infantrymen began to move towards the western wall, the sun bright upon their silver breastplates and helms. Behind them came two hundred archers, arrows notched to the strings.

Druss swung to Talisman, who had drawn his sabre. ‘No place here for you, general,’ he said softly. ‘I need to fight,’ hissed Talisman. ‘Just what they’d want. You are the leader, you cannot die in the first attack – the blow to morale would be savage. Trust me. Leave the wall. I won’t let it fall.’

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Categories: David Gemmell
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