The Legend Of Deathwalker By David Gemmell

Still, he reasoned, it could have been worse. Had he not reacted when he did, all the wagons would have been lost. But the thought did not cheer him. Had he left a guard force with them in the first place, the Nadir attack would have failed.

His thinking was interrupted by the sound of savage laughter and the hacking of sword-blades. The white-scarfed Nadir leader had been beheaded and dismembered. Furious, Premian ran into the jeering group. ‘Stand to attention!’ he bellowed, and the men shuffled nervously into a line. ‘How dare you?’ stormed Premian. ‘How dare you behave like savages? Can you have any idea what you look like at this moment? Would any of you wish to be seen by your loved ones, prancing about and waving the limbs of a dead warrior above your heads. You are Gothir! We leave this . . . barbarity to lesser races.’

‘Permission to speak, sir?’ asked a lean soldier.

‘Spit it out.’

‘Well, the Lord Gargan said all Nadir were to have their hands cut off, didn’t he, sir?’

‘That was a threat made to frighten the Nadir, who believe that if they lose a limb they will be devoid of that limb throughout eternity. It was not a threat, I believe, that the Lord Gargan intends to carry out in reality. I may be wrong in this. But here and now, I am in command. You will dig a grave for that man, and place his limbs alongside him. He was my enemy, but he was brave and he gave his life for a cause he believed in. He will be buried whole. Am I understood?’

The men nodded. ‘Then get to it.’

Jomil approached Premian and the two walked away from the surly group. ‘That wasn’t wise, sir,’ said Jomil, keeping his voice low. ‘You’ll get the name of a Nadir-lover. Word’ll spread that you’re soft on the enemy.’

‘It doesn’t matter a damn, my friend. I shall be resigning my commission the moment this battle is , over.’

‘That’s as maybe, sir – but, if you’ll pardon my bluntness, I don’t think the Lord Gargan was making an idle threat. And I don’t want to see him putting you on trial for disobedience.’

Premian smiled and looked into the old soldier’s grizzled face. ‘You are a fine friend, Jomil. I value you highly. But my father told me never to be a part of anything that lacked honour. He once said to me that there was no greater satisfaction for a man than to be able to look in a mirror while shaving, and be proud of what he saw. At this moment I am not proud.’

‘I think you ought to be,’ said Jomil softly.

It was three hours after noon and still the enemy had not attacked. The foot soldiers were sitting in the camp, many of them using their cloaks and swords to form screens against the harsh heat of the blazing sun. The horses of the Lancers were picketed to the west. Most stood forlornly with heads down, others had sunk to the ground for want of water.

Shading his eyes, Druss saw the five water wagons returning and gave a low curse under his breath. Gothir soldiers ran to the wagons, surrounding them.

Talisman climbed to the ramparts and stood beside Druss. ‘I should have sent more men with Kzun,’ he said.

Druss shrugged. ‘As I recall, they set out last night with fourteen wagons. Your man did well. There’ll be scarce enough water in those wagons and they’ll not last a day. The horses alone need more than those wagons will supply.’

‘You’ve been in sieges before?’ asked Talisman.

‘Aye, laddie. Too many.’

‘Then what is your appraisal?’

‘I think they’ll throw everything at us. They can’t play a waiting game. They have no engineers to mine the walls; they have no battering ram to smash the gates. I think they’ll send in every man they have, Lancers and foot. They’ll storm this wall by sheer weight of numbers.’

‘I think not,’ said Talisman. ‘It is my belief that they will try a three-pronged attack. This western wall will take the brunt, but I think they will also try to breach the gates, and one other wall. They will try to stretch us. Only if that fails will they risk the final assault.’