David Gemmell - Druss 01 - Druss the Legend

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David Gemmell's first novel, Legend, was published in

1984. He has written many bestsellers, including the Drenai saga, the Jon

Shannow novels and the Stones of Power sequence. He is now widely acclaimed as

Britain's king of heroic fantasy. David Gemmell lives in East Sussex.

By David Gemmell

LEGEND

THE KING BEYOND THE GATE

WAYLANDER

QUEST FOR LOST HEROES

WAYLANDER II

THE FIRST CHRONICLES OF DRUSS THE LEGEND

WOLF IN SHADOW

THE LAST GUARDIAN

BLOODSTONE

GHOST KING

LAST SWORD OF POWER

LION OF MACEDON

DARK PRINCE

IRONHAND'S DAUGHTER

THE HAWK ETERNAL

KNIGHTS OF DARK RENOWN

MORNINGSTAR

The First Chronicles of

DRUSS THE LEGEND

David A. Gemmell

An Orbit Book

First published in Great Britain by Legend Books

1993

Reprinted by Orbit 1998, 1999, 2000

of the author has been asserted.

All characters in this publication are fictitious

and any

resemblance to real persons, living or dead,

is purely coincidental.

No part of this publication may be reproduced,

stored in a

retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or

by any means,

without the prior permission in writing of the

publisher, nor be

otherwise circulated 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.

A CJP catalogue record for this book is available

from the British Library.

ISBN I 85723 680 1

Printed and bound in Great Britain by Mackays of

Chatham PLC, Chatham, Kent

Orbit

A Division of

Little, Brown and Company (UK) Brettenham House

Lancaster Place London WC2E 7EN

Contents

Dedication 6

Acknowledgments 7

BOOK ONE: Birth of a Legend 8

Prologue 9

Chapter One 11

Chapter Two 19

Chapter Three 25

Chapter Four 33

Chapter Five 41

Chapter Six 51

BOOK TWO: The Demon in the Axe 56

Prologue 57

Chapter One 59

Chapter Two 69

Chapter Three 75

Chapter Four 79

Chapter Five 87

Chapter Six 95

BOOK THREE: The Chaos Warrior 105

Chapter One 106

Chapter Two 115

Chapter Three 121

Chapter Four 127

Chapter Five 135

Chapter Six 142

BOOK FOUR: Druss the Legend 152

Prologue 153

The Battle of Skeln Pass 153

Dedication

Druss the Legend is dedicated with great love and

affection to memory of Mick Jeffrey, a quiet Christian of infinite patience

and kindness. Those privileged to know him were blessed indeed. Goodnight and

God bless, Mick!

Acknowledgments

My thanks to my editor John Jarrold, copy editor Jean

Maund, and test readers Val Gemmell, Stella Graham, Edith Graham, Tom Taylor,

and Vikki Lee France. Thanks also to Stan Nicholls and Chris Baker for

bringing Druss to life in a new way.

BOOK ONE: Birth of a Legend

Prologue

Screened by the undergrowth he knelt by the trail, dark eyes scanning the

boulders ahead of him and the trees beyond. Dressed as he was in a shirt of

fringed buckskin, and brown leather leggings and boots, the tall man was

virtually invisible, kneeling in the shadows of the trees.

The sun was high in a cloudless summer sky, and the

spoor was more than three hours old. Insects had criss-crossed the hoof-marks,

but the edges of the prints were still firm.

Forty horsemen, laden with plunder . . .

Shadak faded back through the undergrowth to where his

horse was tethered. He stroked the beast's long neck and lifted his swordbelt

from the back of the saddle. Strapping it to his waist he drew the two short

swords; they were of the finest Vagrian steel, and double edged. He thought

for a moment, then sheathed the blades and reached for the bow and quiver

strapped to the saddle pommel. The bow was of Vagrian horn, a hunting weapon

capable of launching a two-foot-long arrow across a killing space of sixty

paces. The doeskin quiver held twenty shafts that Shadak had crafted himself:

the flights of goose feather, stained red and yellow, the heads of pointed

iron, not barbed, and easily withdrawn from the bodies of the slain. Swiftly

he strung the bow and notched an arrow to the string. Then looping the quiver

over his shoulder, he made his way carefully back to the trail.

Would they have left a rearguard? It was unlikely, for

there were no Drenai soldiers within fifty miles.

But Shadak was a cautious man. And he knew Collan.

Tension rose in him as he pictured the smiling face and the cruel, mocking

eyes. 'No anger,' he told himself. But it was hard, bitterly hard. Angry men

make mistakes, he reminded himself. The hunter must be cold as iron.

Silently he edged his way forward. A towering boulder

jutted from the earth some twenty paces ahead and to his left; to the right

was a cluster of smaller rocks, no more than four feet high. Shadak took a

deep breath and rose from his hiding-place.

From behind the large boulder a man stepped into

sight, bowstring bent. Shadak dropped to his knee, the attacker's arrow

slashing through the air above his head. The bowman tried to leap back behind

the shelter of the boulder, but even as he was dropping Shadak loosed a shaft

which plunged into the bowman's throat, punching through the skin at the back

of his neck.

Another attacker ran forward, this time from Shadak's

right. With no time to notch a second arrow Shadak swung the bow, lashing it

across the man's face. As the attacker stumbled, Shadak dropped the bow and

drew his two short swords; with one sweeping blow he cut through the neck of

the fallen man. Two more attackers ran into view and he leapt to meet them.

Both men wore iron breastplates, their necks and heads protected by chain

mail, and they carried sabres.

'You'll not die easily, you bastard!' shouted the

first, a tall, wide-shouldered warrior. Then his eyes narrowed as he

recognised the swordsman facing him. Fear replaced battle lust - but he was

too close to Shadak to withdraw and made a clumsy lunge with his sabre. Shadak

parried the blade with ease, his second sword lancing forward into the man's

mouth and through the bones of his neck. As the swordsman died, the second

warrior backed away.

'We didn't know it was you, I swear!' he said, hands

trembling.

'Now you do,' said Shadak softly.

Without a word the man turned and ran back towards the

trees as Shadak sheathed his swords and moved to his bow. Notching an arrow,

he drew back on the string. The shaft flashed through the air to punch home

into the running man's thigh. He screamed and fell. As Shadak loped to where

he lay, the man rolled to his back, dropping his sword.

'For pity's sake don't kill me!' he pleaded.

'You had no pity back in Corialis,' said Shadak. 'But

tell me where Collan is heading and I'll let you live.' A wolf howled in the

distance, a lonely sound. It was answered by another, then another.

'There's a village . . . twenty miles south-east,'

said the man, his eyes fixed on the short sword in Shadak's hand. 'We scouted

it. Plenty of young women. Collan and Harib Ka plan to raid it for slaves,

then take them to Mashrapur.'

Shadak nodded. 'I believe you,' he said, at last.

'You're going to let me live, yes? You promised,' the

wounded man whimpered.

'I always keep my promises,' said Shadak, disgusted at

the man's weakness. Reaching down, he wrenched his shaft clear of the man's

leg. Blood gushed from the wound, and the injured warrior groaned. Shadak

wiped the arrow clean on the man's cloak, then stood and walked to the body of

the first man he had killed. Kneeling beside the corpse, he recovered his

arrow and then strode to where the raiders had tethered their horses. Mounting

the first, he led the others back down the trail to where his gelding waited.

Gathering the reins, he led the four mounts back out on to the trail.

'What about me?' shouted the wounded man.

Shadak turned in the saddle. 'Do your best to keep the

wolves away,' he advised. 'By dark they will have picked up the scent of

blood.'

'Leave me a horse! In the name of Mercy!'

'I am not a merciful man,' said Shadak.

And he rode on towards the south-east, and the distant

mountains.

Chapter One

The axe was four feet long, with a ten-pound head, the blade flared, and sharp

as any sword. The haft was of elm, beautifully curved, and more than forty

years old. For most men it was a heavy tool, unwieldy and imprecise. But in

the hands of the dark-haired young man who stood before the towering beech it

sang through the air, seemingly as light as a sabre. Every long swing saw the

head bite exactly where the woodsman intended, deeper and deeper into the meat

of the trunk.

Druss stepped back, then glanced up. There were

several heavy branches jutting towards the north. He moved around the tree,

gauging the line where it would fall, then returned to his work. This was the

third tree he had tackled today and his muscles ached, sweat gleaming on his

naked back. His short-cropped black hair was soaked with perspiration that

trickled over his brow, stinging his ice-blue eyes. His mouth was dry, but he

was determined to finish the task before allowing himself the reward of a

cooling drink.

Some way to his left the brothers Pilan and Yorath

were sitting on a fallen tree, laughing and talking, their hatchets beside

them. Theirs was the task of stripping the trunks, hacking away smaller

branches and limbs that could be used for winter firewood. But they stopped

often and Druss could hear them discussing the merits and alleged vices of the

village girls. They were handsome youths, blond and tall, sons of the

blacksmith, Tetrin. Both were witty and intelligent, and popular among the

girls.

Druss disliked them. To his right several of the older

boys were sawing through the larger branches of the first tree Druss had

felled, while elsewhere young girls were gathering deadwood, kindling for

winter fires, and loading them to wheelbarrows to be pushed downhill to the

village.

At the edge of the new clearing stood the four

workhorses, hobbled now and grazing, waiting for the trees to be cleaned so

that chain traces could be attached to the trunks for the long haul into the

valley. Autumn was fading fast, and the village elders were determined that

the new perimeter wall would be finished before winter. The frontier mountains

of Skoda boasted only one troop of Drenai cavalry, patrolling an area of a

thousand square miles. Raiders, cattle thieves, slavers, robbers and outlaws

roamed the mountains, and the ruling council in Drenai made it clear they

would accept no responsibility for the new settlements on the Vagrian borders.

But thoughts of the perils of frontier life did not

discourage the men and women who journeyed to Skoda. They sought a new life,

far removed from the more civilised south and east, and built their homes

where land was still free and wild, and where strong men did not need to tug

the forelock nor bow when the nobles rode by.

Freedom was the key word, and no talk of raiders could

deter them.

Druss hefted his axe, then thundered the blade into

the widening notch. Ten times more he struck, deep into the base of the trunk.

Then another ten smooth, powerful strokes. Three more axe-blows and the tree

would groan and give, wrenching and tearing as she fell.

Stepping back he scanned the ground along the line of

the fall. A movement caught his eye, and he saw a small child with golden hair

sitting beneath a bush, a rag doll in her hand. 'Kiris!' bellowed Druss.'If

you are not out of there by the time I count to three I'll tear off your leg

and beat you to death with the wet end! One! Two!'

The child's mouth dropped open, her eyes widening.

Dropping her rag doll she scrambled clear of the bush and ran crying from the

forest. Druss shook his head and walked forward to retrieve the doll, tucking

it into his wide belt. He felt the eyes of the others on him, and guessed what

they were thinking: Druss the Brute, Druss the Cruel - that's how they saw

him. And maybe they were right.

Ignoring them, he walked back to the tree and hefted

his axe.

Only two weeks before he had been felling a tall

beech, and had been called away with the work almost completed. When he

returned it was to find Kiris sitting in the topmost branches with her doll,

as always, beside her.

'Come down,' he had coaxed. The tree is about to

fall.'

'Won't,' said Kiris. 'We like it here. We can see for

ever.'

Druss had looked around, for once hoping that some of

the village girls were close by. But there was no one. He examined the huge

cleft in the trunk, a sudden wind could cause the trunk to topple. 'Come down,

there's a good girl. You'll be hurt if the tree falls.'

'Why should it fall?'

'Because I've been hitting it with my axe. Now come

down.'

'All right,' she said, then started to climb down. The

tree suddenly tilted and Kiris screamed and clung to a branch. Druss's mouth

was dry.

'Quickly now,' he said. Kiris said nothing, nor did

she move. Druss swore and, setting his foot to a low knot, levered himself up

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摘要：

DavidGemmell'sfirstnovel,Legend,waspublishedin1984.Hehaswrittenmanybestsellers,includingtheDrenaisaga,theJonShannownovelsandtheStonesofPowersequence.HeisnowwidelyacclaimedasBritain'skingofheroicfantasy.DavidGemmelllivesinEastSussex.ByDavidGemmellLEGENDTHEKINGBEYONDTHEGATEWAYLANDERQUESTFORLOSTHEROESW...

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