The Legend Of Deathwalker By David Gemmell

Her head was dragged back. His hand came up, and she felt the glittering spike push into her eyeball. . .

With a cry of pain, Zhusai woke to find Talisman sitting beside her bed. ‘How did I get here?’ she asked. ‘I carried you. You began speaking in Chiatze. It is not a tongue with which I am familiar; it changed your voice incredibly.’

‘I had the dream again, Talisman. It was so real. A man . . . many men . . . took me to a dark chamber, and there they put out my eyes. It was horrible. They called me a witch and a whore. They had . . . I think . . . murdered my husband.’

‘Rest,’ said Talisman. ‘You are distraught.’

‘I am distraught,’ she agreed, ‘but . . . I have never experienced a dream like this one. The colours were so sharp, and . . .’ Gently he stroked her head and, exhausted, she slept again. And this time there were no dreams.

When she awoke she was alone, and bright sunlight filled the room. There was a jug of water and a basin on a table by the window. Rising from the narrow bed she took off her clothes, filled the basin, added three drops of perfume from a tiny bottle and washed her face and upper body. From her pack she took a long tunic of white silk; it was crumpled, but clean. Once dressed, she washed the clothes she had been wearing the previous day and laid them over the window-sill to dry. Bare-footed she left the room, walked down the narrow wooden stairs and emerged into the courtyard below.

Talisman was sitting alone, eating a breakfast of bread and cheese. Gorkai was grooming the ponies on the other side of the courtyard. Zhusai sat beside Talisman and he poured her a goblet of water. ‘Did you dream again?’ he asked her.

‘No.’ He is bone-tired, she thought, his eyes dull. ‘What will you do now?’ she asked him.

‘I know . . . believe . . . the Eyes are here, but I cannot think where else to look.’

Five men came walking through the open gates. Zhusai’s heart sank as she recognized Nosta Khan, and she stood and moved back into the shadows. Talisman’s face was impassive as the men approached. The first of the men, a shaven-headed warrior with a gold earring, halted before him. ‘I am Kzun of the Lone Wolves,’ he said, his voice deep and cold. His body was lean and hard, and Zhusai felt a flicker of fear as she gazed upon him. His posture was challenging as he stood looming over Talisman. ‘Quing-chin of the Fleet Ponies claims you are a war leader to follow. You do not look like a war leader.’

Talisman rose and stepped past Kzun, ignoring him. He walked to a tall, solemn-faced warrior. ‘It is good to see you, Lin-tse,’ he said.

‘And you, Okai. The Gods of Stone and Water have brought you here at this time.’

A burly, middle-aged man stepped forward. ‘I am Bartsai of the Curved Horn.’ Dropping into a crouch, he extended his right arm with palm upward. ‘Quing-chin of the Fleet Ponies speaks highly of you and we are here to ask of you a service.’

‘Not yet we don’t,’ snapped Kzun. ‘First let him prove himself.’

‘Why do you need a war leader?’ asked Talisman, directing his question at Lin-tse.

‘Gargan is coming with an army. The Gothir seek to destroy the Shrine.’

‘They have already attacked several Nadir camps,’ added Quing-chin.

Talisman walked away from the group, and sat cross-legged on the ground. Three of the others followed and sat around him. Kzun hesitated, then joined them. Gorkai moved across the courtyard and stood, arms folded across his chest, behind Talisman.

‘How many men in the Gothir army?’ Talisman asked.

‘Two thousand,’ said Nosta Khan. ‘Lancers and foot soldiers.’

‘How long before they arrive?’

‘Two days. Perhaps three,’ Bartsai answered.

‘And you intend to fight?’

‘Why else would we need a war leader?’ asked Kzun.

For the first time Talisman looked the man in the eye. ‘Let us be clear, Kzun of the Lone Wolves,’ he said, no anger in his voice, ‘the Shrine is ultimately indefensible. A sustained assault by two thousand men will take it. . . eventually. There is no hope here of victory. At best we could hold for a few days, perhaps a week. Look around you. One wall has already crumbled, and the gates are useless. All the defenders would die.’