David A. Gemmell's First Novellegend, a Powerful Heroic Fantasy, Was Published in 1984

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html David A. Gemmell's first novelLegend, a powerful heroic fantasy, was published in 1984. Since then he has become a full-time writer and his bestsellers include the Jon Shannow novels,Wolf in Shadow, The Last Guardian andBloodstone, the continuingDrenai series, andThe First Chronicles of Druss the Legend. His most recent bestsellers,Sword in the Storm, Echoes of the Great Song andMidnight Falcon, are also published by Corgi. David Gemmell is married with two teenage children and lives in East Sussex. By David Gemmell The Drenai books Legend The King Beyond the Gate Waylander Quest for Lost Heroes Waylander 2: In the Realm of the Wolf The First Chronicles of Druss the Legend The Legend of Deathwalker Winter Warriors Hero in the Shadows The Jon Shannow books Wolf in Shadow The Last Guardian Bloodstone The Stones of Power books Ghost King Last Sword of Power Lion of Macedon Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html Dark Prince The Hawk Queen books Ironhand's Daughter The Hawk Eternal The Rigante books Sword in the Storm Midnight Falcon Ravenheart Individual titles Knights of Dark Renown Drenai Tales Morning Star Dark Moon Echoes of the Great Song THE LEGEND OF DEATHWALKER David A. Gemmell CORGI BOOKS THE LEGEND OF DEATHWALKER A CORGI BOOK : 0 551 14252 2 Originally published in Great Britain by Bantam Press, Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html a division of Transworld Publishers PRINTING HISTORY Bantam Press edition published 1996 Corgi edition published 1996 7 9 10 8 6 Copyright © David Gemmell 1996 The right of David Gemmell to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988. All the characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Condition of Sale This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. This book is set in 10/11pt Sabon by Phoenix Typesetting, Ilkley, West Yorkshire. Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html Corgi Books are published by Transworld Publishers, 61-63 Oxbridge Road, London W5 5SA, a division of The Random House Group Ltd, in Australia by Random House Australia (Pty) Ltd, 20 Alfred Street, Milsons Point, Sydney, NSW 2061, Australia, and in New Zealand by Random House New Zealand Ltd, 18 Poland Road, Glenfield, Auckland 10, New Zealand and in South Africa by Random House (Pty) Ltd, Endulini, 5a Jubilee Road, Parktown 2193, South Africa. Printed and bound in Great Britain by Cox & Wyman Ltd, Reading, Berkshire. The Legend of Deathwalkeris dedicated with love to the Hotz de Baars: to Big Oz, who walks the vales of dead computers and finds the novels lost in the void - a man who will give freely of his time, his energy, and his brilliance - but never his biscuits; to Young Oz, who taught me thatCivilization was beyond me; to his sister Claire for the barbecue treats she didn't drop; and to Alison for the Upthorpe hospitality. My thanks to my editor, Liza Reeves, test readers Val Gemmell, Edith Graham and her daughter Stella, and to my copy-editor, Jean Maund. Thanks also to the many readers who have written over the years demanding more stories ofDruss. The volume of mail is so great these days that I can no longer answer all the letters. They are all read and I do take note of the points raised. Prologue.9 Chapter One.12 Chapter Two.22 Chapter Three.32 Chapter Four36 Chapter Five.49 Chapter Six.62 Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html Chapter Seven.71 Chapter Eight83 Chapter Nine.95 Chapter Ten.105 Chapter Eleven.121 Chapter Twelve.134 Chapter Thirteen.147 Chapter Fourteen.149 Dros Delnoch.153 Prologue The moon hung like a sickle blade over Dros Delnoch and Pellin stood quietly staring down at the Nadir camp in the lunar light below. Thousands of warriors were gathered there, and tomorrow they would come screaming across the narrow strip of blood-stained ground, hauling their ladders, carrying their grappling irons. They would be baying for battle and death, and just like today the sound would terrify him, seeming to penetrate his skin like needles of ice. Pellin was more frightened than he had ever been in his young life, and he longed to run, to hide, to throw away his ill-fitting armour, and race south to his home. The Nadir kept coming, wave after wave, their raucous battle cries sending their hatred ahead of them. The shallow wound in his upper left arm was both throbbing and itching. Gilad had assured him this meant that it was healing well. But it had been a taste of pain, a bitter promise of worse pain to come. He had watched comrades writhing and screaming, their bellies opened by serrated swords . Pellin fought to push the memories away. A cold wind began to blow from the north, bunching dark rain-clouds before it. He shivered, and remembered his warm farmhouse with its thatched roof and large stone-built fireplace. On cold nights like this one he and Kara would lie in bed, her head resting on his shoulder, her left leg warm on his thighs. They would lie together in the soft red glow of the fading fire, and listen to the wind howling mournfully outside. Pellin sighed. 'Please don't let me die here,' he prayed. Of the twenty-three men who had volunteered from his village, only nine were left. He gazed back at the rows of sleeping defenders, lying on the open ground between Walls Three and Four. Could these few hold the greatest army ever assembled ? Pellin knew they could not. Returning his gaze to the Nadir camp, he scanned the area close to the mountains. The Drenai dead, stripped of armour and weapons, had been thrown there, and burnt. Oily black smoke had drifted over the Dros for hours afterwards, bringing with it the sickly and nauseating smell of roasting flesh. 'It could have been me,' thought Pellin, remembering the slaughter as Wall Two fell. He shivered. Dros Delnoch, the mightiest fortress in all the world: six walls of rearing stone, and a broad keep. Never had she been conquered by an enemy. But then never had she faced an army of such numbers. It seemed to Pellin that there were more Nadir than there were stars in the sky. The defenders had fallen back from Wall One after bitter righting, for it was the longest and therefore the hardest to hold. They had crept back in the night, surrendering the wall without further losses. But Wall Two had Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html been taken at great cost, the enemy breaching the defences and sweeping forward to encircle the defenders. Pellin had barely made it back to Wall Three, and remembered the acid taste of fear in his throat, and the terrible shaking of his limbs as he hauled himself over the battlements and sank to the ramparts. And what was it all for, he wondered ? What difference would it make if the Drenai enjoyed self-rule, or government by the Warlord, Ulric? Would the farm yield any less corn? Would his cattle sicken and die? It had all seemed such an adventure twelve weeks ago, when the Drenai recruiting officers had arrived at the village. A few weeks of patrolling these great walls, and then a return home as heroes. Heroes! Sovil was a hero — until that arrow pierced his eye, ripping it from the socket. Jocan was a hero as he lay screaming, his blood-covered hands seeking to hold his entrails in place. Pellin added a little coal to the iron brazier and waved at the sentry thirty paces to the left. The man was stamping his feet against the cold. He and Pellin had swapped places an hour before, and soon it would be his turn to stand by the brazier. The knowledge of heat soon to be lost gave the fire an even greater significance, and Pellin stretched out his hands, enjoying the warmth. A huge figure moved into sight, stepping carefully over the sleeping defenders and making his way towards the ramparts. Pellin's heart began to beat faster as Druss strode up the steps. Druss the Legend, the Saviour of Skein Pass, the man who had battled his way across the world to rescue his wife. Druss the Axeman, the Silver Slayer. The Nadir called him Deathwalker, and Pellin now knew why. He had watched him fighting on the battlements, his terrible axe cleaving and slaying. He was not mortal; he was a dark god of war. Pellin hoped the old man would stay away from him. What could a novice soldier find to say to a hero like Druss? To Pellin's great relief the Legend stopped by the other sentry, and the two men began to talk; he could see the sentry moving nervously from foot to foot as the old warrior spoke to him. It struck him then that Druss was the human embodiment of this ancient fortress, unbeaten and yet eroded by time; less than he was, but magnificent for all that.

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