Drenai Saga 01 - Legend (16 page)

“Just over nine thousand. But six thousand of those are recruits, and only a thousand—the legion—are battle-hardened warriors.”

“Surgeons?”

“Ten, led by Calvar Syn. You remember him?”

“Aye. A point on the credit side.”

For the rest of the hour Druss questioned the earl, and by the end of that time he was visibly weaker. He began to cough blood once more, eyes squeezed shut against the pain that wracked him. Druss lifted him from his chair. “Where is your room?” he asked. But the earl was unconscious.

Druss strode from the hall, bearing the limp form of the Warden of the North. He hailed a passing soldier, gained directions, and ordered Calvar Syn to be summoned.

Druss sat at the foot of the earl’s bed as the elderly surgeon ministered to the dying man. Calvar Syn had changed little; his shaven head still gleamed like polished marble, and his black eye patch looked even more tattered than Druss remembered.

“How is he?” asked Druss.

“How do you think he is, you old fool?” answered the surgeon. “He is dying. He cannot last another two days.”

“I see you have retained your good humor, Doctor,” said Druss, grinning.

“What is there to be good-humored about?” queried the surgeon. “An old friend is dying, and thousands of young men will follow him within the next few weeks.”

“Perhaps. It is good to see you, anyway,” said Druss, rising.

“Well, it’s not good to see you,” said Calvar Syn, a gleam in his eye and a faint smile on his lips. “Where you go, the crows gather. Anyway, how is it that you seem so ridiculously healthy?”

“You’re the doctor. You tell me.”

“Because you are not human! You were carved out of stone on a winter’s night and given life by a demon. Now get out! I have work to do.”

“Where will I find Gan Orrin?”

“Main barracks. Now
go
!” Druss grinned and left the room.

Dun Mendar took a deep breath. “You don’t like him, sir?”

“Like him? Of course I like him!” snapped the surgeon. “He kills men clean, boy. Saves me work. Now you get out, too.”

As Druss walked across the parade ground before the main barracks building, he became aware of the stares of the soldiers and the muted whispers as he passed. He smiled inwardly. It had begun! From now on he would be unable to relax for a moment. Never could he show these men a glimpse of Druss the man. He was the Legend. The invincible Captain of the Ax. Indestructible Druss.

He ignored the salutes until he reached the main entrance, where two guards snapped to attention.

“Where will I find Gan Orrin?” he asked the first.

“Third doorway of the fifth corridor on the right,” answered the soldier, back straight, eyes staring ahead.

Druss marched inside, located the room, and knocked on the door.

“Come!” said a voice from within, and Druss entered. The desk was immaculately tidy, the office Spartanly furnished but smart. The man behind the desk was tubby, with soft doelike dark eyes. He looked out of place in the gold epaulets of a Drenai gan.

“You are Gan Orrin?” asked Druss.

“I am. You must be Druss. Come in, my dear fellow, and have a seat. You have seen the earl? Yes, of course you have. Of course you have. I expect he has told you about our problems here. Not easy. Not easy at all. Have you eaten?” The man was sweating and ill at ease, and Druss felt sorry for him. He had served under countless commanders in his lifetime. Many were fine, but as many were incompetent, foolish, vain, or cowardly. He did not know as yet into which category Orrin fell, but he sympathized with his problems.

On a shelf by the window stood a wooden platter bearing black bread and cheese. “I will have some of that, if I may,” said Druss.

“But of course.” Orrin passed it to him. “How is the earl? A bad business. Such a fine man. A friend of his, weren’t you? At Skeln together. Wonderful story. Inspiring.”

Druss ate slowly, enjoying the gritty bread. The cheese was good, too, mellow and full-flavored. He rethought his original plan to tackle Orrin by pointing out the shambles into which the Dros had fallen, the apathy, and the ramshackle organization. A man must know his limitations, he thought. If he exceeds them, nature has a way of playing cruel tricks. Orrin should never have accepted gan rank, but in peacetime he would be easily absorbed. Now he stood out like a wooden horse in a charge.

“You must be exhausted,” Druss said at last.

“What?”

“Exhausted. The work load here is enough to break a lesser man. Organization of supplies, training, patrols, strategy, planning. You must be completely worn out.”

“Yes, it is tiring,” said Orrin, wiping the sweat from his brow, his relief evident. “Not many people realize the problems of command. It’s a nightmare. Can I offer you a drink?”

“No, thank you. Would it help if I took some of the weight from your shoulders?”

“In what way? You are not asking me to stand down, are you?”

“Great Missael, no,” said Druss with feeling. “I would be lost. No, I meant nothing of that kind.

“But time is short, and no one can expect you to bear this burden alone. I would suggest you turn over to me the training and all the responsibility for preparing the defense. We need to block those tunnels behind the gates and set work parties to razing the buildings from Wall Four to Wall Six.”

“Block the tunnels? Raze the buildings? I don’t understand you, Druss,” said Orrin. “They are all privately owned. There would be an uproar.”

“Exactly!” said the old warrior gently. “And that is why you must appoint an outsider to take the responsibility. Those tunnels behind the gates were built so that a small rear-guard could hold an enemy force long enough to allow the defenders to move back to the next wall. I propose to destroy the buildings between Walls Four and Six and use the rubble to block the tunnels. Ulric will expend a lot of men in order to breach the gates. And it will avail him nothing.”

“But why destroy the buildings?” asked Orrin. “We can bring rubble in from the south of the pass.”

“There is no killing ground,” said the old warrior. “We must get back to the original plan of the Dros. When Ulric’s men breach the first wall, I want every archer in the Dros peppering them. Every yard of open ground will be littered with Nadir dead. We’re outnumbered five hundred to one, and we have to level the odds somehow.”

Orrin bit his lip and rubbed his chin, his mind working furiously. He glanced at the white-bearded warrior seated calmly before him. As soon as he had heard Druss had arrived, he had prepared for the certainty that he would be replaced, sent back to Drenan in disgrace. Now he was being offered a lifeline. He should have thought of razing the buildings and blocking the tunnels; he knew it, just as he knew he was miscast as a gan. It was a hard fact to accept.

Throughout the last five years, since his elevation, he had avoided self-examination. However, only days before he had sent Hogun and two hundred of his legion lancers into the outlands. At first he had held to the belief that it was a sensible military decision. But as the days had passed and no word came, he had agonized over his orders. It had little to do with strategy but everything to do with jealousy. Hogun, he had realized with sick horror, was the best soldier in the Dros. When he had returned and told Orrin that his decision had proved a wise one, far from bolstering Orrin, it had finally opened his eyes to his own inadequacy. He had considered resigning but could not face the disgrace. He had even contemplated suicide but could not bear the thought of the dishonor it would bring to his uncle, Abalayn. All he could do was die on the first wall. And this he was prepared for. He had feared Druss would rob him even of that.

“I have been a fool, Druss,” he said at last.

“Enough of that talk!” snapped the old man. “Listen to me. You are the gan. From this day on no man will speak ill of you. What you fear, keep to yourself, and believe in me. Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone fails at something. The Dros will hold, for I will be damned if I will let it fall. If I had felt you were a coward, Orrin, I would have tied you to a horse and sent you packing. You have never been in a siege or led a troop into battle. Well, now you will do both and do it well, for I will be beside you.

“Get rid of your doubts. Yesterday is dead. Past mistakes are like smoke in the breeze. What counts is tomorrow and every tomorrow until Woundweaver gets here with reinforcements. Make no mistake, Orrin. When we survive and the songs are sung, you will be worth your place in them and no one will sneer. Not a soul. Believe it!

“Now I have talked enough. Give me your seal on parchment and I will start today with my duties.”

“Will you want me with you today?”

“Best not,” said Druss. “I have a few heads to crack.”

Minutes later Druss marched toward the officers’ mess flanked by two legion guards, tall men and well disciplined. The old man’s eyes blazed with anger, and the guards exchanged a glance as they marched. They could hear the sounds of singing coming from the mess and were set to enjoy the sight of Druss the Legend in action.

He opened the door and stepped into the lavishly furnished interior. A trestle bar had been set up against the far wall, stretching out into the center of the room. Druss pushed his way past the revelers, ignoring the complaints, then placed one hand beneath the trestle and hurled it into the air, scattering bottles, goblets, and food to shower on the officers. Stunned silence was followed by an angry surge of oaths and curses. One young officer pushed his way to the front of the crowd; dark-haired, sullen-eyed, and haughty, he confronted the white-bearded warrior.

“Who the hell do you think you are, old man?” he said.

Druss ignored him, his eyes scanning the thirty or so men in the room. A hand grabbed his jerkin.

“I said who—” Druss backhanded the man across the room to crash into the wall and slither to the floor, half-stunned.

“I am Druss. Sometimes called Captain of the Ax. In Ventria they call me Druss the Sender. In Vagria I am merely the Axman. To the Nadir I am Deathwalker. In Lentria I am the Silver Slayer.

“But who are you? You dung-eating lumps of offal! Who the hell are
you
?” The old man drew Snaga from its sheath at his side. “I have a mind to set an example today. I have a mind to cut the fat from this ill-fated fortress. Where is Dun Pinar?”

The young man pushed himself from the back of the crowd, a half smile on his face, a cool look in his dark eyes. “I am here, Druss.”

“Gan Orrin has appointed me to take charge of the training and preparation of the defenses. I want a meeting with all officers on the training ground in an hour. Pinar, you organize it. The rest of you clear up this mess and get yourselves ready. The holiday is over. Any man who fails me will curse the day he was born.” Beckoning Pinar to follow him, he walked outside. “Find Hogun,” he said, “and bring him to me at once in the main hall of the keep.”

“Yes, sir! And sir …”

“Out with it, lad.”

“Welcome to Dros Delnoch.”

The news flashed through the town of Delnoch like a summer storm, from tavern to shop to market stall. Druss was here! Women passed the message to their men; children chanted his name in the alleys. Tales of his exploits were retold, growing by the minute. A large crowd gathered before the barracks, watching the officers milling at the parade ground. Children were lifted high, perched on men’s shoulders to catch a glimpse of the greatest Drenai hero of all time.

When he appeared, a huge roar went up from the crowd and the old man paused and waved.

They could not hear what he told the officers, but the men moved with a purpose as he dismissed them. Then, with a final wave, he returned to the keep.

Within the main hall once more, Druss removed his jerkin and relaxed in a high-backed chair. His knee was throbbing, and his back ached like the devil. And still Hogun had not appeared.

He ordered a servant to prepare him a meal and inquired after the earl. The servant told him the earl was sleeping peacefully. He returned with a huge steak, lightly done, which Druss wolfed down, following it with a bottle of finest Lentrian red. He wiped the grease from his beard and rubbed his knee. After seeing Hogun, he would have a hot bath, ready for tomorrow. He knew his first day would tax him to his limits—and he must not fail.

“Gan Hogun, sir,” announced the servant. “And Dun Elicas.”

The two men who entered lifted Druss’s heart. The first—it had to be Hogun—was broad-shouldered and tall, clear-eyed, with a square jaw.

And Elicas, though slimmer and shorter, had the look of eagles about him. Both men wore the black and silver of the legion without badges of rank. It was a long-standing custom, going back to the days when the Earl of Bronze had formed them for the Vagrian Wars.

“Be seated, gentlemen,” said Druss.

Hogun pulled up a chair, reversing it in order to lean on the back. Elicas perched himself on the edge of the table, arms folded across his chest.

Elicas watched the two men carefully. He had not known what to expect from Druss, but he had begged Hogun to allow him to be present at the meeting. He worshiped Hogun, but the grim old man seated before him had always been his idol.

“Welcome to Delnoch, Druss,” said Hogun. “You have lifted morale already. The men speak of nothing else. I am sorry to have missed you earlier, but I was at the first wall, supervising an archery tourney.”

“I understand you have already met the Nadir,” said Druss.

“Yes. They will be here in less than a month.”

“We shall be ready. But it will need hard work. The men are badly trained—if trained at all. That must change. We have only ten surgeons, no medical orderlies, no stretcher-bearers, and only one hospital—and that is at Wall One, which is no good to us. Comments?”

“An accurate appraisal. All I can add is that, apart from my men, there are only a dozen officers of worth.”

“I have not yet decided the worth of any man here. But let us stay positive for the moment. I need a man of mathematical persuasion to take charge of the food stores and to prepare ration rotas. He will need to shift his equations to match our losses. He must also be responsible for liaison and administration with Gan Orrin.” Druss watched as the two men exchanged glances but said nothing of it.