‘Skilgannon returned to this world to fulfil a prophecy. The Armour of Bronze reappeared to aid him. I am here for a little while, to stand once more with Drenai warriors in a cause that is just and noble. Now get on your feet. Up! I want to see you standing like men.’ The Drenai rose and stood before him. Then he raised the axe above his head. ‘What is this?’ he bellowed.
A few men called out: ‘Snaga!’
‘Again! Every man!’
‘Snaga!’ they shouted, the sound echoing around the rocks.
‘And who carries Snaga the Sender, the Blades of No Return?’
‘Druss the Legend!’ came the answering roar.
‘Again!’
The men began to chant the name. For Stavut the moment was hypnotic, and he found himself chanting along with the others. ‘Druss the Legend! Druss the Legend! Druss the Legend!’
The axeman let the chanting go on for a short while. Then he lowered his axe and raised his hand for silence. Obedience was instant. ‘Rest now, Drenai,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow we carve a new legend for your children and their children.’
With that he turned and walked away, his giant frame passing into the shadows of the entrance, and out into the road beyond.
Stavut’s heart was beating fast, and his hands were trembling. There was no way that could have been Harad. Deranged or not. Everywhere there was silence. He glanced at Alahir, who was staring in the direction the axeman had taken.
Then the Earl of Bronze walked away from his men, and followed Druss the Legend out onto the road.
Alahir felt unsteady as he followed the Legend out into the night. The speech had been delivered with such power and confidence that he felt his spirits soar. Yet he knew the chances of actually winning were hundreds to one. The Eternal Guard were damn fine fighters, and they weren’t likely to break. And if they did there were a hundred Jiamads waiting to tear into the defenders.
He saw Druss ahead. The man had walked to the narrow section of the road and was staring down at the camp of the Guards, a quarter of a mile below.
Alahir was nervous as he approached him. ‘Am I disturbing you?’ he asked.
‘No, laddie. I hoped you would come.’
‘Why are you out here? My men would love to sit around and talk to you about the glory days, and hear first hand of your exploits.’
‘I never was much for bragging about the past. However, I can’t sit with the men, and joke and laugh.
I am the Legend. They need to feel in awe of me. I am not comfortable with that — but it is necessary here and now.’
‘They were lifted when you said we could win. Did you mean it, or was it just to raise their morale?’
‘I never lie, laddie.’
‘And you never lose.’
‘Some men are born lucky. A stray arrow could have pierced my eye, or a lancer could have plunged a weapon in my back as I fought someone else. I am not a god, laddie. These Guards are fine fighters, and the odds are all with them. Plus they have made it slightly easier for themselves.’
‘How so?’
‘By sending the surgeon to you.’
‘That was a noble gesture.’
‘Perhaps. It was also good strategy. Men fight better when they are full of passion. I do not like hatred, but it is a vital weapon in war. If a leader can convince his men that the enemy they face is evil, and that their own cause is just or holy, then they will fight harder. If you tell them that the enemy will plunder their homes and rape their women they will fight like tigers. You understand, Alahir? While the Guard were merely tools of the evil Eternal, and the homeland was at risk, the men were fired up. When the surgeons came your riders found a new respect for the enemy. The enemy cares about your wounded. Good men. We could all be friends and brothers, couldn’t we? That single gesture, which will not add one more fighting man to our ranks, leached away the fire from your warriors’ hearts. What do you think will happen if they force a surrender tomorrow?’
Alahir thought about the question. The Guard had fought many battles, and he had heard stories of their ruthlessness. Agrias had told him that when Draspartha was besieged twenty years ago the Guard had put to death every enemy soldier, then lined up the civilians of the city, and butchered one in ten of the men.
‘Judging from their past victories they would kill us all.’
‘And the wounded?’
‘Them too.’
‘No surgeons then to offer assistance, and stitch wounds?’
‘No,’ said Alahir, his voice hardening.
‘No,’ echoed Druss. ‘They will come looking to hack us to death. They are hard, cold murderous men. Even now that surgeon is in his general’s tent, detailing the mood of your men. That is why I did not give my little talk until he had gone. He will report that the enemy has been softened, and is ready for the kill. This will be passed to the fighting men. They will march up here tomorrow with high hopes. What they will find is men who fight twice as hard as yesterday. And I’ll wager you this, Alahir. When we push them back tomorrow there will be no offer of surgeons.’
Alahir sank down to the rock beside the warrior. ‘If I had been a better leader I would have seen that ploy. I am a captain, Druss, and not the brightest of our officers. I cannot understand why the Armour came to me.’
‘Aye, fate does have a sense of humour sometimes. When I went to Dros Delnoch to train the troops there was a general in command there named Orrin. A fat little fellow with the fighting instincts of a startled rabbit. Rek, who became the Earl of Bronze, was a poser, frightened of the dark, who had only come to the Dros because he was in love with the daughter of the dying earl. There were farm boys with no sword skills. One stabbed himself in the leg when he tried to sheathe his blade. By the end Orrin was a hero, and I was proud to fight alongside him, and Rek held them all together after I died. His was the great victory.’ Druss suddenly chuckled. ‘And don’t feel too bad about the surgeons. I didn’t realize it either. Skilgannon told me before he left. So don’t judge yourself yet. Wait until sunset tomorrow.’
Alahir smiled. ‘ Then will you sit with my men and tell us stories?’
‘We’ll see. Now get back to your riders and walk among them. I have put a little passion back, but you need to inspire them.’
‘Are we not going to discuss strategy?’
Druss laughed. ‘Strategy, eh? Very well. I shall take up my axe and stand at the centre of our line.
When the enemy appear I shall wade into them. You and your riders will follow me. Then we keep fighting until the Guard break and run.’
‘No bowmen?’
‘No. That will come later.’
‘Later?’ queried Alahir.
The smile faded from the axeman’s face, and his eyes grew cold. ‘When we have broken the Guard they will not regroup for another attack. They will send the beasts. That is when you will need your arrows.’
‘Good as my riders are, Druss, I have to tell you that one Jiamad can take out three men. They have more than a hundred Jems down there.’
‘One battle at a time, laddie. First we break the Guard. Then we’ll worry about the puppies.’
Even within the pathway of lights Skilgannon could feel the pull of the crater around them. A vague feeling of nausea, accompanied by light-headedness, made balance difficult. His vision swam, and he had to stop several times to adjust his swords and keep the shimmering lights in focus.
Finally they reached the high double doors to the temple. Stepping up to them Skilgannon pressed a handle and pushed. The doors were locked. Sheathing the Sword of Day he inserted the blade of the Sword of Night into the thin gap between the doors, locating the block of wood which sat in brackets beyond, barring entrance. Holding the sword two-handed he slid the blade under the block and tried to lift it. It moved an inch or so, then seemed to catch on something. Askari joined him, sliding her sabre alongside his own. The block lifted further — then fell clattering to the floor beyond the entrance.