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Legend - David Gemmell
- Дата:20.06.2024
- Категория: Разная литература / Прочее
- Название: Legend
- Автор: David Gemmell
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Описание онлайн-книги Legend - David Gemmell:
Druss, Captain of the Axe, was the stuff of legends. But even as the stories grew in the telling, Druss himself grew older. He turned his back on his own legend and retreated to a mountain lair to await his old enemy, death. Meanwhile, barbarian hordes were on the march. Nothing could stand in their way. Druss reluctantly agreed to come out of retirement. But could even Druss live up to his own legends?
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"What do you think, sir?" he asked, as Hogun reined in.
"I think we will need good fortune. It depends how many dog soldiers they have in the vicinity."
The answer was not long in coming. Towards late afternoon they saw the dust-cloud south of them. Hogun glanced over his back trail.
"Lebus!" he called and a young warrior cantered alongside.
"You have eyes like a hawk. Look back there, what do you see?"
The young soldier shielded his eyes from the sun, then squinted at their back trail.
"Dust, sir. From maybe two thousand horses."
"And ahead?"
"Perhaps a thousand."
"Thank you. Rejoin the troop. Elicas!"
"Sir?"
"Cloaks furled. We will take them with lances and sabres."
"Yes, sir." He cantered back down the column. The black cloaks were unpinned and folded to be strapped to saddles. The black and silver armour glinted in the sunlight as man after man began to prepare for the charge. From saddlebags each rider removed a black and silver forearm guard and slipped it in place. Then small round bucklers were lifted from saddle horns to be fitted to the left arm. Straps were adjusted, armour tightened. The approaching Nadir could now be seen as individuals, but the sound of their battle cries was muffled by the pounding of horses' hooves.
"Helms down!" yelled Hogun. "Wedge formation!"
Hogun and Elicas formed the point of the wedge, the other riders slipping expertly into position a hundred on either side.
"Advance!" yelled Elicas. The troop broke into a canter; then, at full gallop, the lances tilted. As the distance narrowed, Hogun felt his blood racing and could hear his pounding heart in time with the rolling thunder of the black horses' iron-shod hooves.
Now he could pick out individual Nadir faces, and hear their screams.
The wedge smashed into the Nadir ranks, the larger black war horses cleaving a path through the mass of smaller hill ponies. Hogun's lance speared a Nadir chest, and snapped as the man catapulted from his pony. Then his sabre slashed into the air; he cut one man from his mount, parried a thrust from the left and back-handed his blade across the throat of the horseman. Elicas screamed a Drenai war cry from his right, his horse rearing, the front hooves caving the chest of a piebald pony who ditched his rider beneath the milling mass of Black Riders.
And then they were through, racing for the distant, fragile safety of Dros Delnoch.
Glancing back, Hogun saw the Nadir reform and canter to the north. There was no pursuit.
"How many men did we lose?" he asked Elicas as the troop slowed to a walk.
"Eleven."
"It could have been worse. Who were they?"
Elicas recounted the names. All good men, survivors of many battles.
"That bastard Orrin will pay for this," said Elicas bitterly.
"Forget it! He was right. More by luck than any judgement, but he was right."
"What do you mean "right"? We've learned nothing and we've lost eleven men," said Elicas.
"We have learned that the Nadir are closer than we believed. Those dog soldiers were Wolfshead tribe. That's Ulric's own, they're his personal guard. He'd never send them that far ahead of his main force. I'd say we now have a month — if we're lucky."
"Damn! I was going to gut the pig and take the consequences."
"Tell the men no fires tonight," said Hogun.
Well, fat man, he thought, this is your first good decision. May it not be the last.
9
The forest had an ageless beauty that touched Druss's warrior soul. Enchantment hung in the air. Gnarled oaks became silent sentinels in the silver moonlight, majestic, immortal, unyielding. What cared they for man's wars? A gentle breeze whispered through the interwoven branches above the old man's head. A shaft of moonlight bathed a fallen log, granting it momentarily an ethereal splendour. A lone badger, caught in the light, shuffled into the undergrowth.
A raucous song began among the men crowded around the blazing camp fire and Druss cursed softly. Once again the forest was merely forest, the oaks outsize plants. Bowman wandered across to him carrying two leather goblets and a winesack.
"Finest Ventrian," he said. "It'll turn your hair black."
"I'm all for that," said Druss. The young man filled Druss's goblet, then his own.
"You look melancholy, Druss. I thought the prospect of another glorious battle would lighten your heart."
"Your men are the worst singers I have heard in twenty years. They're butchering that song," Druss replied, leaning his back against the oak, feeling the wine ease his tension.
"Why are you going to Delnoch,?" asked Bowman.
"The worst were a bunch of captured Sathuli. They just kept chanting the same bloody verse over and over again. We let them go in the end — we thought that if they sang like that when they got home, they'd break the fighting spirit of their tribe in a week."
"Now look here, old horse," said Bowman, "I am a man not easily thrown. Give me an answer — any answer! Lie if you like. But tell me why you travel to Delnoch."
"Why do you want to know?"
"It fascinates me. A man with half an eye could see that Delnoch will fall, and you're a man with enough experience to know the truth when you see it. So why go?"
"Have you any idea, laddie, how many such lost causes I have been involved in during the past forty or so years?"
"Precious few," said Bowman. "Or you would not be here to tell of them."
"Not so. How do you decide a battle is lost? Numbers, strategic advantage, positioning? It's all worth a sparrow's fart. It comes down to men who are willing. The largest army will founder if its men are less willing to die than to win."
"Rhetoric," snorted Bowman. "Use it at the Dros. The fools there will lap it up."
"One man against five, and the one disabled," said Druss, holding his temper. "Where would your money go?"
"I'm ahead of you, ol" man. What if the one was Karnak the One-Eyed. Yes? Well, then my money would be on him. But how many Karnaks are there at Dros Delnoch?"
"Who knows? Even Karnak was unknown once. He made his name on a bloody battlefield. There will be many heroes come the last at Dros Delnoch."
"Then you admit it? The Dros is doomed," said Bowman, grinning in triumph. "At the last, you said."
"Damn you, boy! Don't put words in my mouth," snarled Druss, cursing himself. Where are you now, Sieben, he thought? Now that I need you with your glib words and ready wit.
"Then don't try to treat me like a fool. Admit that the Dros is doomed."
"As you say," admitted Druss, "anyone with half an eye could see it. But I don't give a damn, laddie. Until the actual moment when they cut me down, I shall still be looking to win. And the gods of war are fickle at best. Where do you stand on the matter?"
Bowman smiled and refilled both goblets. For a while he was silent, enjoying the wine and the old man's discomfort.
"Well?" said Druss.
"Now we come to it," answered Bowman.
"Come to what?" said Druss, ill at ease under the young archer's cynical gaze.
"The reason for this visit to my woods," said Bowman, spreading his hands, his smile now open and friendly. "Come now, Druss, I've too much respect for you to fence any longer. You want my men for your insane battle. And the answer is no. But enjoy the wine anyway."
"Am I so transparent?" asked the old warrior.
"When Druss the Legend takes a stroll through Skultik on the eve of the End, he's looking for more than acorns."
"Is this all you want from life?" asked Druss. "You sleep in a wattle hut and eat when you can find game. When you cannot, you starve. In winter you're cold. In summer the ants crawl into your clothes and the lice prosper. You were not made for a life like this."
"We are not made for life at all, old horse. It is made for us. We live it. We leave it. I'll not throw my life away in your bloody madness. I leave such heroics to men like you. All your years have been spent in one squalid war after another. And what has changed? Have you thought that if you had not defeated the Ventrians fifteen years ago at Skeln, we would now be part of a mighty empire and they would have had to worry about the Nadir?"
"Freedom's worth fighting for," said Druss.
"Why? No one can take away the freedom of a man's soul."
"Liberty, then?" offered Druss.
"Liberty is only valued when it is threatened, therefore it is the threat that highlights the value. We should be grateful to the Nadir, since they heighten the value of our liberty."
"You've lost me, damn you, with your pretty words. You're like those politicians in Drenan, as full of wind as a sick cow. Don't tell me my life has been wasted, I won't have that! I loved a good woman and I've always been true to my principles. I never did a shameful thing, nor yet a cruel one."
"Ah, but Druss, not all men are you. I will not criticise your principles if you do not try to graft them on to me. I have no time for them. A pretty hypocrite I would be as a robber outlaw with principles."
"Then why did you not let Jorak shoot me down?"
"As I said, it was unsporting. It lacked a sense of style. But on another day, when I was colder, or more bad-tempered…"
"You are a nobleman, aren't you?" said Druss. "A rich boy playing at robbers. Why do I sit here and argue with you?"
"Because you need my archers."
"No. I have given up on that thought," said Druss, offering his goblet to the green-garbed outlaw. Bowman filled it, a cynical smile once more upon his mouth.
"Given up? Nonsense. I will tell you what you're thinking. You will argue some more, offer me wages and a pardon for my crimes. If I refuse, you will kill me and take your chances with the same offer to my men."
Druss was shaken, but his face showed nothing.
"Do you also read palms?" he asked, sipping his wine.
"You're too honest, Druss. And I like you. That's why I would like to point out that Jorak is behind the bushes there with an arrow notched."
"Then I have lost," said Druss. "You keep your archers."
"Tut, tut, dear man, I didn't expect such defeatism from Druss the Legend. Put your offer."
"I've no time for your games. I had a friend like you, Sieben the Saga Master. He could talk all day and convince you the sea was sand. I never won an argument with him. He talked about having no principles — and like you, he lied."
"He was the poet who wrote the Legend. He made you immortal," said Bowman, softly.
"Yes," said Druss, his mind drifting back over the long years.
"Did you really hunt your woman across the world?"
"That part at least was true. We were wed when we were very young. Then my village was attacked by a slaver called Harib Ka, who sold her to an eastern merchant. I missed the attack, as I was working in the woods. But I followed them. In the end it took me seven years and when I found her, she was with another man."
"What happened to him?" asked Bowman, softly.
"He died."
"And she came back with you to Skoda."
"Aye. She loved me. She really did."
"An interesting addendum to your saga," said Bowman.
Druss chuckled. "I must be getting melancholy in my old age. I don't usually prattle on about the past."
"What happened to Sieben?" asked the outlaw.
"He died at Skeln."
"You were close?"
"We were like brothers."
"I can't think why I remind you of him," said Bowman.
"Maybe it is because you both hide a dark secret," said Druss.
"Perhaps," admitted the outlaw. "However, make your offer."
"A pardon for every man, and five gold Raq a head."
"Not enough."
"It's my best offer, I'll go no further."
"Your offer must be this: A pardon, five gold Raq a head for all 620 men, and an agreement that when Wall Three falls we leave with our money and our pardons stamped with the Earl's seal."
"Why Wall Three?"
"Because that will be the beginning of the end."
"Something of a strategist, are you boy?"
"You could say that. By the way, how do you feel about women warriors?"
"I have known a few. Why do you ask?"
"I shall be bringing one."
"So? What difference does it make as long as she can aim a bow?"
"I didn't say it made a difference. 1 just thought I ought to mention it."
"Is there something about this woman that I should know?" asked Druss.
"Only that she's a killer," said Bowman.
"Then she's perfect and I will welcome her with open arms."
"I wouldn't recommend it," said Bowman, softly.
"Be at Delnoch in fourteen days, and I'll welcome you all with open arms."
* * *Rek awoke to see the new sun breasting the distant mountains. His body adjusted swiftly from dreamless sleep and he stretched and slid from the covers, then walked to the tower window of the bedroom. In the courtyard below The Thirty were assembling their mounts, great beasts with short cropped manes and braided tails. Apart from the sound of steel hooves on cobbles an eerie silence hung over the scene. None of the men spoke. Rek shivered.
Virae moaned in her sleep, her arm stretching across the wide bed.
Rek watched the men below check their armour and tighten saddle girths. Strange, he thought. Where are the jokes, the laughter, all the sounds soldiers usually make as they prepare for war? Jests to ease the fear, curses to ease the tension?
Serbitar appeared, a white cloak over his silver armour, his braided white hair covered by a silver helm. The Thirty saluted him. Rek shook his head. It was uncanny. Identical timing: like the same salute in thirty mirrors.
Virae opened her eyes and yawned. She rolled over and saw Rek's back silhouetted against the morning sun. She smiled.
"Your belly is receding into memory," she said.
"Mock not," he said, smiling. "Unless you are going to appear in front of thirty warriors in your skin, you need to hurry. They are already in the courtyard."
"It's one way to find out if they're human," she said, sitting up. Rek tore his eyes from her body.
"You have the strangest effect on me," he said, gazing into her eyes. "You always make me think of love-making at the wrong times. Now get dressed."
In the courtyard Serbitar led the men in prayer, a silent joining of minds. Vintar watched the young albino fondly, pleased with his swift adjustment to the responsibility of leadership.
Serbitar ended the prayer and returned to the tower. He was uneasy — out of harmony. He mounted the circular stone steps to the tower bedroom, smiling as he remembered his promise to the tall Drenai and his woman. It would have been so much easier to Speak than to mount these stairs to check if they were ready.
He knocked on the iron-studded door. Rek opened it, beckoning him in.
"I see you are ready," he said. "We won't be long."
Serbitar nodded. "The Drenai have met the Nadir," he said.
"They are already at Delnoch?" asked Rek, alarmed.
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