The Legend Of Deathwalker By David Gemmell

Druss laid Snaga on the floor, and dropped the saddlebags from his shoulder. ‘Died? From a punch to the mouth ? Pah! I don’t believe it. He was alive when I left him.’

‘You will come with us,’ said a guard, stepping forward.

‘Best that you agree, Druss,’ said Majon soothingly. ‘I am sure we can . . .’

‘Enough talk, Drenai,’ said the guard. ‘This man is wanted for murder, and we’re taking him.’ From his belt the guard produced a set of manacles and Druss’s eyes narrowed.

‘I think you might be making a mistake, officer,’ said Sieben. But his words came too late as the guard stepped forward – straight into Druss’s right fist, which cannoned from his jaw. The officer pitched to his right, his head striking the wall, dislodging his white-plumed helm. The other two guards sprang forward. Druss felled the first with a left hook, the second with a right uppercut.

One man groaned, then all was still. Majon spoke, his voice trembling. ‘What have you done? You can’t attack Royal Guards!’

‘I just did. Now, are you ready, poet?’

‘Indeed I am. I shall fetch my bags and then I think it best we quit this city with all due speed.’

Majon slumped to a padded chair. ‘What will I tell them when they . . . wake?’

‘I suggest you give them your discourse on the merits of diplomacy over violence,’ said Sieben. Gently he patted Majon’s shoulder, then ran to his apartments and gathered his gear.

The horses were stabled at the rear. Druss tied his saddle-bags into place, then clumsily hauled himself into the saddle. The mare was sixteen hands and, though sway-backed, was a powerful beast. Sieben’s mount was of similar size but, as he had told Druss, the horse was a thoroughbred, steel-grey and sleek.

Sieben vaulted to the saddle and led the way out into the main street. ‘You must have hit that Shonan awfully hard, old horse.’

‘Not hard enough to kill him,’ said Druss, swaying in the saddle and grabbing the pommel.

‘Grip with your thighs, not your calves,’ advised Sieben.

‘I never liked riding. I feel foolish perched up here.’

There were a number of riders making for the Eastern Gate, and Druss and Sieben found themselves in a long convoy threading through the narrow streets. At the gates soldiers were questioning each rider and Sieben’s nervousness grew. ‘They can’t be looking for you already, surely?’ Druss shrugged.

Slowly they approached the gates. A sentry walked forward. ‘Papers,’ he said.

‘We are Drenai,’ Sieben told him. ‘Just out for a ride.’

‘You need papers signed by the Exit Officer of the Watch,’ said the sentry, and Sieben saw Druss tense. Swiftly he reached into his pouch and produced a small silver coin; leaning over the saddle, he passed it to the soldier.

‘One feels so cooped up in a city,’ said Sieben, with a bright smile. ‘An hour’s ride in open country frees the mind.’

The sentry pocketed the coin. ‘I like to ride myself,’ he said. ‘Enjoy yourselves.’ He waved them through and the two riders kicked their mounts into a canter and set off for the eastern hills.

After two hours in the saddle Sieben drank the last of his water and stared about him. With the exception of the distant mountains, the landscape was featureless and dry.

‘No rivers or streams,’ said the poet. ‘Where will we find water ?’ Druss pointed to a range of rocky hills some miles further on. ‘How can you be sure?’ asked the poet. ‘I don’t want to die of thirst out here.’

‘You won’t.’ He grinned at Sieben. ‘I have fought campaigns in deserts and I know how to find water. But there’s one trick I learned that’s better than all the others.’

‘And that is?’

‘I bought a map of the water-holes! Now let’s walk these horses for a while.’

Druss slid from the saddle and strode on. Sieben dismounted and joined him. For a time they walked on in silence.

‘Why so morose, old horse?’ asked Sieben, as they neared the outcrop of rocks.

‘I’ve been thinking of Klay. How can people just turn on him like that? After all he did for them.’