The Legend Of Deathwalker By David Gemmell

‘My man was a great fighter; he killed three Lancers. But he rutted like a dog on heat. Fast. Then he would sleep. You are not a fighter. What are you?’

‘I am a scholar,” he said, leaning in to her. ‘I study many things – history, poetry, art. But most of all I study women. They fascinate me.’ Lifting his hand he stroked his fingers through her long dark hair, pushing it back from her forehead. ‘I love the smell of a woman’s hair, the touch of skin upon skin, the softness of lips upon lips. And I am not fast.’

The woman smiled and said something in Nadir to her friends. All the women laughed. ‘I am Niobe,’ she told him. ‘Let us see if you rut as well as you talk.’

Sieben smiled. ‘I’ve always appreciated directness. But is this allowed? I mean, what of the . . . ‘ He gestured towards the men at the camp-fires.

‘You come with me,’ she said, rising smoothly. ‘I wish to see if what they say about gajin is true.’ Reaching out, she took his hand and led him to a night-dark tent.

Back at the leader’s fire, Nuang chuckled. ‘Your friend has chosen to mount the tiger. Niobe has fire enough to melt any man’s iron.’

‘I think he will survive,’ said Druss.

‘You want a woman to warm your blankets?’

‘No. I have a woman back home. What happened to your people? It looks as if you’ve been mauled.’

Nuang spat into the fire. ‘Gothir Lancers attacked us, they came from nowhere on their huge horses. Twenty men I lost. You spoke with great truth when you said fortune has not favoured me. I must have done something to displease the Gods of Stone and Water. But it does no good to whine about it. Who are you? You are not Gothir. Where are you from?’

‘The lands of the Drenai, the far blue mountains to the south.’

‘You are far from home, Drenai. Why do you seek the Shrine?’

‘A Nadir shaman told me I might find something there to help a dying friend.’

‘You take a great risk to help this friend; these are not hospitable lands. I considered killing you myself, and I am among the more peaceable of my people.’

‘I am not an easy man to kill.’

‘I knew that when I looked into your eyes, Drenai. You have seen many battles, eh? Behind you there are many graves. Once, a long time ago, another Drenai came among my people. He too was a fighter; they called him Old-Hard-To-Kill and he fought a battle against the Gothir. Years later he came to live among us. I was told these stories when I was a child; they are the only stories I have heard of Drenai. His name was Angel.’

‘I have heard the name,’ said Druss. ‘What more do you know of him?’

‘Only that he was wed to the daughter of Ox-skull, and they had two sons. One was tall and handsome, and did not look like Angel, but the other was a powerful warrior. He married a Nadir maiden, and they left the tribe to journey south. That is all I know.’

Two women came and knelt beside them, offering bowls of meat to the men. A short series of keening cries came from the tent of Niobe, and the women laughed. Druss reddened and ate his meal in silence. The women moved away. ‘Your friend will be a tired man come the dawn,’ said Nuang.

Druss lay quietly looking up at the stars. He rarely found sleep difficult, but tonight he was restless. Sitting up, he threw back his blanket. The camp was silent, the fires faded to glowing ash. -Nuang had offered him the shelter of his own tent, but Druss had refused, preferring to sleep in the open.

Gathering his axe and helm and silver-skinned gauntlets, he stood and stretched. The night was cold, and a chill breeze whispered under the wind-breaks stretching between the tents. Druss was uneasy. Pushing his helm into place and pulling on his gauntlets, he silently strode through the camp, easing himself past a stretched canvas wind-break and out on to the open steppes. A sentry was sitting by a creosote bush, a goatskin cloak drawn about him. As Druss approached him he saw it was the slender boy, Meng, whom Nuang had introduced as his youngest nephew. The youth looked up, but said nothing.