Drenai Saga 01 - Legend (44 page)

Orrin slipped quietly into the room. He was thinner now, drawn and haggard, yet stronger. An indefinable quality marked his features. Lines of fatigue had aged him, but the change was more subtle; it emanated from the eyes. He had been a soldier longing to be a warrior; now he was a warrior longing to be anything else. He had seen war and cruelty, death and dismemberment. He had watched the sharp beaks of crows at work on dead men’s eyes and the growth of worms in pus-filled sockets. And he had found himself and wondered no longer.

“How is he?” he asked Caessa.

“He will recover. But he will not fight for weeks.”

“Then he will not fight again, for we have only days. Prepare him to be moved.”

“He cannot be moved,” she said, turning to look at him for the first time.

“He must be. We are giving up the wall, and we draw back tonight. We lost over four hundred men today. Wall Four is only a hundred yards long; we can hold that for days. Get him ready.”

She nodded and rose. “You are tired, too, General,” she said. “You should rest.”

“I will soon,” he answered, and smiled. The smile sent a shiver down her back. “We will all rest soon, I think.”

Bearers transferred Druss to a stretcher, lifting him gently and covering him with white blankets against the night cold. With other wounded men they made a convoy to Wall Four, where ropes were lowered and the stretchers were silently raised. No torches were lit, and only the light of the stars bathed the scene. Orrin climbed the last rope and hauled himself over the battlements. A helping hand reached out and pulled him upright; it was Gilad.

“You always seem on hand to help me, Gilad. Not that I’m complaining.”

Gilad smiled. “With the weight you’ve lost, General, you would win that race now.”

“Ah, the race! It seems like a different age. What happened to your friend. The one with the ax?”

“He went home.”

“A wise man. Why did you stay?”

Gilad shrugged. He had grown tired of the question.

“It’s a nice night, the best yet,” said Orrin. “Strange, I used to lie in bed at night and watch the stars. They always made me sleepy. Now I have no need of sleep. I feel I’m throwing away life. Do you feel that?”

“No, sir. I sleep like a baby.”

“Good. Well, I’ll say good night, then.”

“Good night, sir.”

Orrin walked away slowly, then turned. “We didn’t do too badly, did we?” he said.

“No, sir,” replied Gilad. “I think the Nadir will remember us without affection.”

“Yes. Good night.” He had begun the walk down the short rampart steps when Gilad stepped forward.

“Sir!”

“Yes?”

“I … I wanted to say … Well, just that I have been proud to serve under you. That’s all, sir.”

“Thank you, Gilad. But I am the one who should be proud. Good night.”

Togi said nothing as Gilad returned to the wall, but the young officer could feel the rider’s eyes upon him.

“Well, say it,” said Gilad. “Get it over with.”

“Say what?”

Gilad looked at his friend’s blank face and searched his eyes for signs of humor or contempt. Nothing showed. “I thought you would think … I don’t know,” he said lamely.

“The man has shown quality and courage, and you told him so. There is no harm in that, although it wasn’t your place. In peacetime I’d think you were crawling, currying favor with a comment like that. Not here. There is nothing to gain, and he knew that. So it was well said.”

“Thank you,” said Gilad.

“For what?”

“For understanding. You know, I believe he is a great man, greater than Druss, perhaps. For he has neither Druss’s courage nor Hogun’s skill, yet he is still here. Still trying.”

“He’ll not last long.”

“None of us will,” said Gilad.

“No, but he won’t see the last day. He’s too tired—up here he’s too tired.” Togi tapped his temple.

“I think you’re wrong.”

“No, you don’t. That’s why you spoke to him as you did. You sensed it, too.”

Druss floated on an ocean of pain, burning, searing his body. His jaw clamped shut, teeth grinding against the insistent agony creeping like slow acid through his back. Words were almost impossible, hissed through gritted teeth, and the faces of those around his bed shivered and swam, blurring beyond recognition.

He became unconscious, but the pain followed him down into the depths of dreams where gaunt, shadow-haunted landscapes surrounded him and jagged mountains reared black against a gray, brooding sky. Druss lay on the mountain, unable to move against the pain, his eyes focused on a small grove of lightning-blasted trees some twenty paces from where he lay. Standing before them was a man dressed in black. He was lean, and his eyes were dark. He moved forward and sat on a boulder, gazing down at the axman.

“So, it comes to this,” he said. The voice had a hollow ring like wind whistling through a cavern.

“I shall recover,” hissed Druss, blinking away the sweat dripping into his eyes.

“Not from this,” said the man. “You should be dead now.”

“I have been cut before.”

“Ah, but the blade was poisoned—green sap from the northern marshes. Now you are riddled with gangrene.”

“No! I will die with my ax in my hand.”

“Think you so? I have waited for you, Druss, through these many years. I have watched the legions of travelers cross the dark river at your hands. And I have watched you. Your pride is colossal, your conceit immense. You have tasted glory and prized your strength above all else. Now you will die. No ax. No glory. Never to cross the dark river to the Forever Halls. There is satisfaction for me in this; can you understand that? Can you comprehend it?”

“No. Why do you hate me?”

“Why? Because you conquer fear. And because your life mocks me. It is not enough that you die. All men die, peasants and kings—all are mine, come the end. But you, Druss, you are special. Were you to die as you desire, you would mock me still. So for you I have devised this exquisite torture.

“You should by now be dead from your wound. But I have not yet claimed you. And now the pain will grow more intense. You will writhe … You will scream … Finally your mind will snap and you will beg.
Beg
for me. And I shall come and take you by the hand, and you will be mine. Men’s last memories of you will be of a mewling, weeping wreck. They will despise you, and your legend will be tainted at the last.”

Druss forced his massive arms beneath him and struggled to rise. But the pain drove him down once more, forcing a groan through clenched teeth.

“That’s it, axman. Struggle on. Try harder. You should have stayed on your mountain and enjoyed your dotage. Vain man! You could not resist the call of blood. Suffer—and bring me joy.”

In the makeshift hospital Calvar Syn lifted the hot towels from Druss’s bare back, replacing them swiftly as the stench filled the room. Serbitar stepped forward and also examined the wound.

“It is hopeless,” said Calvar Syn, rubbing his hand over the polished dome of his skull. “Why is he still alive?”

“I don’t know,” said the albino softly. “Caessa, has he spoken?”

The girl glanced up from her bedside chair, her eyes dull with fatigue. She shook her head. The door opened, and Rek moved inside silently. He lifted his eyebrows in a question to the surgeon, but Calvar Syn shook his head.

“Why?” asked Rek. “The wound was no worse than he has had before.”

“Gangrene. The wound will not close, and the poison has spread through his body. He cannot be saved. All the experience I have gained in forty years says he should now be dead. His body is putrefying at an amazing rate.”

“He is a tough old man. How long can he last?”

“He will not live to see tomorrow,” answered the surgeon.

“How goes it on the wall?” asked Serbitar. Rek shrugged. His armor was bloody, and his eyes tired.

“We are holding for the moment, but they are in the tunnel beneath us, and the gate will not stand. It’s a damned shame we had no time to fill the gate tunnel. I think they will be through before dusk. They have already burst a postern gate, but Hogun and a few others are holding the stairwell.

“That’s why I came, Doctor. I’m afraid you will have to prepare once more for evacuation. From now on the hospital will be at the keep. How soon can you move?”

“How can I say? Men are being brought in all the time.”

“Begin your preparations, anyway. Those who are too badly hurt to be moved must be dispatched.”

“What?” shouted the surgeon. “Murdered, you mean?”

“Exactly so. Move those who can move. The others … how do you think the Nadir will treat them?”

“I will move everyone, regardless. If they die during the evacuation, it will still be better than knifing them in their beds.”

“Then begin now. We are wasting time,” said Rek.

On the wall Gilad and Togi joined Hogun at the postern stairwell. The stairs were littered with corpses, but more Nadir warriors rounded the bend in the spiral and scrambled over the bodies. Hogun stepped forward, blocking a thrust, and disemboweled the leading man. He fell, tripping the warrior behind him. Togi slashed a two-handed stroke through the second man’s neck as he fell in turn. Two more warriors advanced, holding round oxhide shields before them. Behind, others pushed forward.

“It’s like holding back the sea with a bucket,” yelled Togi.

Above them the Nadir gained a foothold on the ramparts, driving a wedge into the Drenai formation. Orrin saw the danger and raced forward with fifty men of the new Group Karnak. Below them to the right the battering ram thundered against the giant gates of oak and bronze. So far the gates held, but ominous cracks had appeared beneath the crossed center beams, and the wood groaned under the impact.

Orrin battled his way to the Nadir wedge, using his sword two-handed, cutting and slashing with no attempt at defense. Beside him a Drenai warrior fell, his throat gashed. Orrin backhanded a cut to the attacker’s face, then blocked a blow from his left.

It was three hours to dusk.

Bowman knelt on the grass behind the battlements, three quivers of arrows before him on the ground. Coolly he notched shaft to his bow, drew, and let fly. A man to the left of Orrin fell, the arrow piercing his temple. Then a second Nadir fell to Orrin’s sword before another arrow downed a third. The wedge was falling apart as the Drenai hacked their way forward.

At the stairwell Togi was bandaging a long gash in his forearm while a fresh squad of legion warriors held the entrance. Gilad leaned against a boulder, wiping sweat from his brow.

“A long day,” he said.

“It will be longer yet,” muttered Togi. “They can sense how close they are to taking the wall.”

“Yes. How is the arm?”

“All right,” answered Togi. “Where now?”

“Hogun said to fill in where we’re needed.”

“That could be anywhere. I’m for the gate. Coming?”

“Why not?” answered Gilad, smiling.

Rek and Serbitar cleared a section of battlements, then raced to join Orrin and his group. All along the wall the defensive line was bending. But it held.

“If we can hold out until they re-form for another charge, we may yet have time to get everyone back behind Valteri,” yelled Orrin as Rek fought his way alongside.

For another hour the battle raged, then the huge bronze head of the battering ram breached the timbers of the gate. The great beam at the center sagged as a crack appeared; then, with a tearing groan, it slid from its sockets. The ram was withdrawn slowly to clear the way for the fighting men beyond.

Gilad sent a runner to the battlements to inform Rek or either of the gans, then drew his sword and waited with fifty others to hold the entrance.

As he rocked his head from side to side to ease the aching muscles of his shoulders, he glanced at Togi. The man was smiling.

“What is so funny?”

“My own stupidity,” answered Togi. “I suggested the gates to get a bit of rest. Now I’m going to encounter death.”

Gilad said nothing. Death! His friend was right: There would be no escape to Wall Five for the men at the gate. He felt the urge to turn and run and suppressed it. What did it matter, anyway? He had seen enough of death in the last few weeks. And if he survived, what would he do, where would he go? Back to the farm and a dull wife? Grow old somewhere, toothless and senile, telling endlessly boring stories of his youth and courage?

“Great gods!” said Togi suddenly. “Just look at that!”

Gilad turned. Coming slowly toward them across the grass was Druss, leaning on the girl outlaw, Caessa. He staggered and almost fell, but she held him. As they came closer, Gilad swallowed back the horror he felt. The old man’s face had a sunken look; it was pallid and tinged with blue, like a two-day-old corpse. The men stepped aside as Caessa steered Druss to the center of the line, then she drew a short sword and stood with him.

The gates opened, and the Nadir poured through. Druss, with great effort, drew Snaga. He could hardly see through the mists of pain, and each step had been a new agony as the girl had brought him forward. She had dressed him carefully, crying all the while, then helped him to his feet. He himself had begun to weep, for the pain was unbearable.

“I can’t make it,” he had whimpered.

“You can,” she had told him.
“You must.”

“The pain …”

“You have had pain before. Fight through it.”

“I cannot. I’m finished.”

“Listen to me, damn you! You are Druss the Legend, and men are dying out there. One last time, Druss.
Please
. You mustn’t give up like an ordinary man.
You are Druss
. You can do it. Stop them. You must stop them. My mother’s out there!”

His vision cleared momentarily, and he saw her madness. He could not understand it, for he knew nothing of her life, but he sensed her need. With an effort that tore an agonizing scream from him, he bunched his legs beneath himself and stood, clamping a huge hand to a shelf on the wall to hold himself upright. The pain grew, but he was angry now and used the pain to spur himself on.

Druss took a deep breath. “Come on, little Caessa, let’s find your mother,” he said. “But you will have to help me; I’m a little unsteady.”