David Gemmell - Legend

And rose.

Unable to sleep Virae dressed silently, climbed to the deck and wandered to the port rail. The night was cool, the soft breeze soothing. She gazed out over the waves to the distant line of land silhouetted against the bright, moonlit sky.

The view always calmed her, the blending of land and sea. As a child at school in Dros Purdol she had delighted in sailing, especially at night when the land mass appeared to float like a sleeping monster of the deep, dark and mysterious and wonderfully compelling.

Suddenly she narrowed her eyes. Was the land moving? To her left the mountains seemed to be receding, while on the right the shoreline seemed closer. No, not seemed. Was. She glanced at the stars. The ship had veered north west; yet they were days from Purdol.

Puzzled, she walked aft towards the second mate as he stood with hands on the wheel.

"Where are we heading?" she asked him, mounting the four steps to the stern and leaning on the rail.

His head turned towards her. Blank, blood-red eyes locked on hers as his hands left the wheel and reached for her.

Fear entered her soul like a lance, only to be quelled by rising anger. She was not some Drenai milk-maid to be terrified thus — she was Virae, and she carried the blood of warriors in her veins.

Dropping her shoulder, she threw a right-hand punch to his jaw. His head snapped back but still he came on. Stepping inside the groping arms, she grabbed his hair and smashed a head butt into his face. He took it without a sound, his hands curling round her throat. Twisting desperately before the grip tightened, she threw him with a rolling hip lock and he hit the deck hard on his back. Virae staggered. He rose slowly and came for her again.

Running forward, she leapt into the air and twisted, hammering both feet into his face. He fell once more.

And rose.

Panicked now, Virae searched for a weapon but there was nothing. Smoothly she vaulted the wheel rail to land on the deck. He followed her.

"Move away from him!" screamed Serbitar, racing forward with sword drawn. Virae ran to him.

"Give me that!" she said, tearing the sword from his hand. Confidence surged in her as her hand gripped the ebony hilt. "Now, you son of a slut!" she shouted, striding towards the mariner.

He made no effort to avoid her, and the sword flashed in the moonlight slicing into his exposed neck. Twice more she struck, and the grinning head toppled from the body. But the corpse did not fall.

Oily smoke oozed from the severed neck to create a second head, formless and vague. Coal-red eyes glittered within the smoke.

"Get back!" shouted Serbitar. "Get away from him!"

This time she obeyed, backing towards the albino.

"Give me the sword."

Vintar and Rek had joined them.

"What on earth is it?" whispered Rek.

"Nothing on earth," replied Vintar.

The thing stood its ground, arms folded across its chest.

"The ship is heading for the rocks," said Virae and Serbitar nodded.

"It is keeping us from the wheel. What do you think, Father Abbot?"

"The spell was planted in the head, which must be thrown overboard. The beast will follow it," replied Vintar. "Attack it."

Serbitar moved forward, supported by Rek. The corpse bent its body, right hand closing on the hair of the severed head. Holding the head to its chest, it waited for the attack.

Rek leapt forward, slashing a cut at the arm. The corpse staggered. Serbitar ran in, slicing the tendons behind the knee. As it fell, Rek hammered the blade two-handed across its arm. The arm fell clear, the fingers releasing the head which rolled across the deck. Dropping his sword Rek dived at it. Swallowing his revulsion, he lifted it by the hair and hurled it over the side. As it hit the waves the corpse on the deck shuddered. As if torn by a great wind the smoke flowed from the neck to vanish beneath the rail and into the darkness of the deep.

The captain came forward from the shadows by the mast.

"What was it?" he asked.

Vintar joined him, placing a hand gently on the man's shoulder.

"We have many enemies," he said. "They have great powers. But fear not, we are not powerless and no harm will befall the ship again. I promise you."

"And what of his soul?" asked the captain, wandering to the rail. "Have they taken it?"

"It is free," said Vintar. "Believe me."

"We will all be free," said Rek, "if someone doesn't turn the ship away from those rocks."

In the darkened tent of Nosta Khan the acolytes silently backed out, leaving him sitting in the centre of the circle chalked on the dirt floor. Lost in thought, Nosta Khan ignored them — he was drained and angry.

For they had bested him and he was a man unused to defeat. It tasted bitter in his mouth.

He smiled.

There would be another time…

Blessed by a following wind, Wastrel sped north until at last the silver grey towers of Dros Purdol broke the line of the horizon. The ship entered the harbour a little before noon, piloting past the Drenai war triremes and the merchant vessels anchored in the bay.

On the milling docks street traders sold charms, ornaments, weapons and blankets to mariners, while burly dockers carried provisions up swaying gangplanks, stacking cargo and checking loads. All was noise and apparent confusion.

The harbour-side was rich in colour and the hectic pace of city life and Rek felt a pang of regret to be leaving the ship. As Serbitar led The Thirty ashore, Rek and Virae said their goodbyes to the captain.

"With one exception, it has been a more than pleasant voyage," Virae told him. "I thank you for your courtesy."

"I was glad to be of service, my lady. I will forward the marriage papers to Drenan on my return. It was a "first" for me. I have never taken part in the wedding of an earl's daughter — much less conducted one. I wish you well." Bending forward he kissed her hand. He wanted to add, "Long life and happiness," but he knew their destination.

Virae strode down the gangplank as Rek gripped the captain's hand. He was surprised when the man embraced him.

"May your sword arm be strong, your spirit lucky and your horse swift when the time comes," he said.

Rek grinned. "The first two I will need. As to the horse, do you believe that lady will consider flight?"

"No, she's a wonderful lass. Be lucky."

"I will try hard," said Rek.

At the quayside a young red-caped officer eased his way through the crowd to confront Serbitar.

"Your business in Dros Purdol?" he asked.

"We are travelling to Delnoch as soon as we can obtain horses," answered the albino.

"The fortress will soon be under siege, sir. Are you aware of the coming war?"

"We are. We travel with the Lady Virae, daughter of Earl Delnar, and her husband Regnak."

Seeing Virae, the officer bowed: "A pleasure, my lady. We met at your eighteenth birthday celebration last year. You probably won't remember me."

"On the contrary, Dun Degas! We danced and I trod on your foot. You were most kind and took the blame."

Degas smiled and bowed again. How she had changed, he thought! Where was the clumsy girl who had contrived to trip on the hem of her skirt? Who had blushed as red as the wine when, during a heated conversation, she had crushed a crystal goblet, drenching the woman to her right. What had changed? She was the same woman-girl he remembered — her hair mousy blonde, her mouth too wide, her brows thunder-dark over deep set eyes. He saw her smile as Rek stepped forward and his question was answered. She had become desirable.

"What are you thinking, Degas?" she asked. "You look far away."

"My apologies, my lady. I was thinking Earl Pindak will be delighted to receive you."

"You will have to convey my regrets," said Virae, "for we must leave as soon as possible. Where can we purchase mounts?"

"I am sure we can find you good horses," said Degas. "It is a shame you did not arrive sooner, since four days ago we sent three hundred men to Delnoch to aid the defence. You could have travelled with them — it would have been safer. The Sathuli have grown bold since the Nadir threat."

"We shall get there," said the tall man with Virae. Degas's eyes measured him: a soldier, he thought, or has been at some time. Carries himself well. Degas directed the party to a large inn, promising to supply the horses within two hours.

True to his word, he returned with a troop of Drenai cavalrymen riding thirty-two horses. They were not of the pedigree of the mounts left behind in Lentria, being mustangs bred for mountain work, but they were sturdy animals. When the horses had been allocated and the provisions packed, Degas approached Rek.

"There is no charge for these mounts, but I would be obliged if you could deliver these despatches to the Earl. They came by sea from Drenan yesterday and missed our force. The one with the red seal is from Abalayn."

"The Earl will receive them," said Rek. "Thank you for your help."

"It is nothing. Good luck!" The officer moved on to make his farewells to Virae. Pushing the letters into the saddle-bag of his roan mare, Rek mounted and led the party west from Purdol along the line of the Delnoch mountains. Serbitar cantered alongside him as they entered the first of the deep woods beyond the town.

"You look troubled," said Rek.

"Yes. There will be outlaws, renegades, perhaps deserters, and certainly Sathuli tribesmen along our route."

"But that is not what troubles you?"

"You are perceptive," said Serbitar.

"How true. But then I saw the corpse walk."

"Indeed you did," said Serbitar.

"You have hedged about that night for long enough," said Rek. "Now give me the truth of it. Do you know what it was?"

"Vintar believes it to be a demon summoned by Nosta Khan. He is the head shaman to Ulric's Wolfs-head tribe — and therefore Lord of all Nadir shaman. He is old and it is said he first served Ulric's greatgrandfather. He is a man steeped in evil."

"And his powers are greater than yours?"

"Individually, yes. Collectively? I don't think so. We are presently stopping him from entering Delnoch, but he in turn has cast a veil over the fortress and we cannot enter."

"Will he attack us again?" asked Rek.

"Assuredly. The question is what method he will choose."

"I think I will leave you to worry about that," said Rek. "I can only take in so much gloom in one day."

Serbitar did not answer him. Rek reined his mount and waited for Virae.

That night they camped by a mountain stream, but lit no fires. In the early evening Vintar recited poetry, his voice soft and melodious, his words evocative.

"They are his own work," Serbitar whispered to Virae, "though he will not own to them. I know not why. He is a fine poet."

"But they are so sad," she said.

"All beauty is sad," replied the albino. "For it fades."

He left her and retreated to a nearby willow, sitting with his back to the tree, a silver ghost in the moonlight.

Arbedark joined Rek and Virae, handing them honey cakes he had purchased at the port. Rek glanced over at the lonely figure of the albino.

"He travels," said Arbedark. "Alone."

As the dawn bird-song began, Rek groaned and eased his aching body away from the probing tree roots which were denting his side. His eyes opened. Most of The Thirty were still asleep, though tall Antaheim stood sentry by the stream. At the willow Serbitar remained where he had been during the recital.

Rek sat up and stretched, his mouth dry. Pushing back his blanket he walked to the horses, removed his pack, rinsed his mouth with water from his canteen and went to the stream. Taking out a bar of soap, he stripped the shirt from his chest and knelt by the swift rushing water.