Drenai Series 07 - The Legend of Deathwalker by David Gemmell Page A
Authors: David Gemmell
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past them all.'
'I don't need a secret door,' said Druss patiently. 'I need to borrow your club.'
'One day, lad, you might realize that it is more sensible to avoid trouble. No-one is invincible.' Reaching down, he produced an eighteen-inch truncheon of black metal which he laid on the bar. 'The outer casing is iron,' he said, 'but the inner is lead. Return it when you are done.' Druss hefted the weapon; it was twice as heavy as most short swords. Sliding it up the right sleeve of his shirt he eased himself through the crowd. As he opened the door, he saw several big men standing outside. Dressed in shabby tunics and leggings, they looked like beggars. Switching his gaze to the right he saw a second group gathered close by. They stiffened as he appeared and for a moment no-one moved. 'Well, lads,' said Druss, with a broad grin. 'Who wants to be first?'
'That would be me,' answered a tall man with a shaggy beard. He had wide, powerful shoulders, and despite his grimy clothing was no beggar, Druss knew. The skin of his neck was white and clean, as were his hands. And the knife he carried was of Ventrian steel; weapons like that did not come cheap. 'I can tell by your eyes that you're frightened,' said the knife-man, as he moved in. 'And I can smell your fear.'
Druss stood very still and the man suddenly leapt forward, his knife flashing towards Druss's shoulder. With his left forearm Druss blocked the thrust, and in the same movement sent a left hook exploding against the man's chin; he hit the cobbles face first and did not move. Opening his fingers, Druss allowed the truncheon to slide from his sleeve. Figures darted from the shadows and he charged into them, turning his shoulder into the first and cannoning him from his feet. The truncheon hammered left and right, hurling men from their feet. A knife-blade grazed the top of his shoulder. Grabbing the wielder by his tunic he head-butted the man - smashing his nose and cheekbone - then spun him into the path of two more attackers. The first fell clumsily, landing on his own knife; as the blade tore into his side his screams rent the air. The second backed away. But more men gathered: eight fighters, all with weapons of sharp steel. Druss knew they were no longer thinking of crippling him; he could sense their hatred, and the blood-lust surging within them.
'You're dead meat, Drenai!' he heard one of them shout as the group edged forward.
Suddenly a voice boomed out. 'Hold on, Druss, I'm coming.'
Druss glanced to his left to see Klay charging from the mouth of a nearby alley. As the giant Gothir hurtled into them the men, recognizing him, scattered and ran. Klay walked over to Druss. 'Such an exciting life you lead, my friend,' he said, with a broad grin.
Something bright flashed towards Druss's face and in that one terrifying moment he saw so many things: the moonlight shining on the dagger-blade, the thrower, a look of triumph on his dirty face - and Klay's hand snaking out with impossible speed, catching the hurled knife by the hilt to stop the blade mere inches from Druss's eye.
'I told you, Druss, speed is everything,' said Klay.
Druss let out a long, deep breath. 'I don't know about that, laddie, but you saved my life and I'll not forget it.'
Klay chuckled. 'Come on, my friend, I need to eat.' Throwing his arm around Druss's shoulder, he turned towards the tavern. In that moment a black-feathered crossbow bolt slashed across the open ground to plunge into the back of the Gothir Champion. Klay cried out and collapsed against Druss. The axeman staggered under the weight, then saw the bolt low in the fighter's back. Gently he lowered him to the ground. Scanning the shadows for signs of the attacker, he saw two men running away. One carried a crossbow and Druss longed to give chase, but he could not leave the wounded Klay.
'Lie still - I'll fetch a surgeon.'
'What's happened to me, Druss? Why am I lying down?'
'You've been struck by a crossbow bolt. Lie
'I don't need a secret door,' said Druss patiently. 'I need to borrow your club.'
'One day, lad, you might realize that it is more sensible to avoid trouble. No-one is invincible.' Reaching down, he produced an eighteen-inch truncheon of black metal which he laid on the bar. 'The outer casing is iron,' he said, 'but the inner is lead. Return it when you are done.' Druss hefted the weapon; it was twice as heavy as most short swords. Sliding it up the right sleeve of his shirt he eased himself through the crowd. As he opened the door, he saw several big men standing outside. Dressed in shabby tunics and leggings, they looked like beggars. Switching his gaze to the right he saw a second group gathered close by. They stiffened as he appeared and for a moment no-one moved. 'Well, lads,' said Druss, with a broad grin. 'Who wants to be first?'
'That would be me,' answered a tall man with a shaggy beard. He had wide, powerful shoulders, and despite his grimy clothing was no beggar, Druss knew. The skin of his neck was white and clean, as were his hands. And the knife he carried was of Ventrian steel; weapons like that did not come cheap. 'I can tell by your eyes that you're frightened,' said the knife-man, as he moved in. 'And I can smell your fear.'
Druss stood very still and the man suddenly leapt forward, his knife flashing towards Druss's shoulder. With his left forearm Druss blocked the thrust, and in the same movement sent a left hook exploding against the man's chin; he hit the cobbles face first and did not move. Opening his fingers, Druss allowed the truncheon to slide from his sleeve. Figures darted from the shadows and he charged into them, turning his shoulder into the first and cannoning him from his feet. The truncheon hammered left and right, hurling men from their feet. A knife-blade grazed the top of his shoulder. Grabbing the wielder by his tunic he head-butted the man - smashing his nose and cheekbone - then spun him into the path of two more attackers. The first fell clumsily, landing on his own knife; as the blade tore into his side his screams rent the air. The second backed away. But more men gathered: eight fighters, all with weapons of sharp steel. Druss knew they were no longer thinking of crippling him; he could sense their hatred, and the blood-lust surging within them.
'You're dead meat, Drenai!' he heard one of them shout as the group edged forward.
Suddenly a voice boomed out. 'Hold on, Druss, I'm coming.'
Druss glanced to his left to see Klay charging from the mouth of a nearby alley. As the giant Gothir hurtled into them the men, recognizing him, scattered and ran. Klay walked over to Druss. 'Such an exciting life you lead, my friend,' he said, with a broad grin.
Something bright flashed towards Druss's face and in that one terrifying moment he saw so many things: the moonlight shining on the dagger-blade, the thrower, a look of triumph on his dirty face - and Klay's hand snaking out with impossible speed, catching the hurled knife by the hilt to stop the blade mere inches from Druss's eye.
'I told you, Druss, speed is everything,' said Klay.
Druss let out a long, deep breath. 'I don't know about that, laddie, but you saved my life and I'll not forget it.'
Klay chuckled. 'Come on, my friend, I need to eat.' Throwing his arm around Druss's shoulder, he turned towards the tavern. In that moment a black-feathered crossbow bolt slashed across the open ground to plunge into the back of the Gothir Champion. Klay cried out and collapsed against Druss. The axeman staggered under the weight, then saw the bolt low in the fighter's back. Gently he lowered him to the ground. Scanning the shadows for signs of the attacker, he saw two men running away. One carried a crossbow and Druss longed to give chase, but he could not leave the wounded Klay.
'Lie still - I'll fetch a surgeon.'
'What's happened to me, Druss? Why am I lying down?'
'You've been struck by a crossbow bolt. Lie
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