Gemmell, David - Druss 03 - The Legend Of Deathwalker

VIP免费
2024-12-05 0 0 1.1MB 148 页 5.9玖币
侵权投诉
David A. Gemmell's first novel Legend, 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 and Bloodstone, the continuing Drenai series, and The First Chronicles of Druss the Legend. His most
recent bestsellers, Sword in the Storm, Echoes of the Great Song and Midnight 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
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,
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.
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 Deathwalker is 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 that Civilization 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 of Druss. 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 Four..................................................................................................................................... 36
Chapter Five ..................................................................................................................................... 48
Chapter Six....................................................................................................................................... 60
Chapter Seven .................................................................................................................................. 69
Chapter Eight.................................................................................................................................... 80
Chapter Nine .................................................................................................................................... 91
Chapter Ten .................................................................................................................................... 101
Chapter Eleven ............................................................................................................................... 116
Chapter Twelve .............................................................................................................................. 129
Chapter Thirteen............................................................................................................................. 141
Chapter Fourteen ............................................................................................................................ 143
Dros Delnoch.................................................................................................................................. 147
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 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. Pellin smiled as he remembered the Nadir herald giving
Druss the ultimatum of surrender or die. The old hero had laughed. 'In the north,' he said, 'the mountains may
tremble when Ulric breaks wind. But this is Drenai land and to me he is just another pot-bellied savage who
couldn't wipe his arse without a Drenai map tattooed on his thigh.'
Pellin's smile faded as he saw Druss clap the other sentry on the shoulder and move on towards him. The rain
had eased, and the moon shone bright once more. Pellin's hands began to sweat and he wiped the palms on his
cloak. The young sentry stood to attention as the Legend approached him, striding along the ramparts, his axe
shining silver in the bright moonlight. Pellin's mouth was dry as he stood, fist clenched against his breastplate, to
salute him. 'Relax, laddie,' said Druss, laying the mighty axe on the ramparts. The old warrior stretched his huge
hands to the brazier, warming them, then sat with his back to the wall, beckoning the youth to join him. Pellin
had never been this close to Druss, and he saw now the lines of age etched deep into his broad face, giving it the
look of ancient granite. The eyes were bright and pale, though, beneath heavy brows, and Pellin found he could
not stare into them. 'They'll not come tonight,' said Druss. 'Just before first light they'll rush in. No war cries; it
will be a silent assault.'
'How do you know that, sir?'
Druss chuckled. 'I'd like to tell you that my vast knowledge of war leads me to that conclusion, but the
answer is more simple. The Thirty predict it, and they're a canny bunch. Normally I have little time for wizards
and such, but these lads are great fighters.' He lifted his black helm clear of his head and ran his fingers through
his thick white hair. 'Served me well, this helm,' he told Pellin, twirling it so that moonlight shone upon the silver
axe motif on the brow. 'And I don't doubt it will do its job tomorrow.'
At the thought of the battle to come Pellin cast a nervous glance over the wall, to where the Nadir waited.
From here he could see many of them lying in their blankets, close to hundreds of camp-fires. Others were
awake, sharpening weapons or talking in small groups. The young man turned and ran his gaze over the
exhausted Drenai defenders lying on the ground behind the ramparts, wrapped in their blankets, trying to snatch
a few hours of precious, refreshing sleep. 'Sit down, laddie,' said Druss. 'You can't worry them away.'
Resting his spear against the wall the sentry sat. His scabbard clanged against the stone, and clumsily he
swivelled it. 'I cannot get used to wearing all this armour,' said Pellin. 'I trip over the sword all the time. I am not
much of a soldier, I fear.'
'You looked every inch the soldier three days ago on Wall Two,' said Druss. 'I saw you kill two Nadir, then
fight your way back to the ropes on this wall. Even then you helped a comrade who had a wound in his leg - you
climbed below him, supporting him.'
'You saw that? But there was so much confusion -and you were in the midst of the battle yourself!'
'I see many things, boy. What is your name?'
'Pellin . . . Cul Pellin,' he corrected himself. 'Sir,' he added swiftly.
'We can dispense with the formalities, Pellin,' Druss told him amiably. 'Here tonight we are just two veterans
sitting quietly waiting for the dawn. Are you frightened ?'
Pellin nodded and Druss smiled. 'And do you ask yourself, Why me ? Why should I be standing here facing
the might of the Nadir?'
'Yes. Kara didn't want me to go with the others. She told me I was a fool. I mean, what difference will it
make if we win or lose?'
'In a hundred years? None at all,' said Druss. 'But all invading armies carry their own demons with them,
Pellin. If they break through here they will sweep across the Sentran Plain bringing fire and destruction, rape and
slaughter. That's why we must stop them. And why you? Because you are the man for the role.'
'I think I am going to die here,' said Pellin. 'I don't want to die. My Kara is pregnant and I want to see my son
grow, tall and strong. I want. . .' He stumbled to silence as the lump in his throat blocked further speech.
'You want what we all want, laddie,' said Druss softly. 'But you are a man, and men must face what they fear
or be destroyed by it.'
'I don't know if I can. I keep thinking of joining the other deserters. Creeping south in the night. Going home.'
'Then why haven't you?'
Pellin thought for a moment. 'I don't know,' he said lamely.
'I'll tell you why, boy. Because you look around and you see the others who must stay, and fight all the harder
because you are not standing by your post. You are not a man to leave others to do your work for you.'
'I'd like to believe that. Truly I would.'
'Believe it, laddie, for I am a good judge of men.' Suddenly Druss grinned. 'I knew another Pellin once. He
was a spear-thrower. A good one, too. Won the Gold in the Fellowship Games when they were held in
Gulgothir.'
'I thought that was Nicotas,' said Pellin. 'I remember the parade when the team came home. Nicotas carried
the Drenai flag.'
The old man shook his head. 'That feels like yesterday,' said Druss, with a wide grin. 'But I am talking about
the Fifth Games. I would guess they took place around thirty years ago - long before you were a gleam in your
mother's eyes. Pellin was a good man.'
'Were they the Games you took part in, sir? At the court of the Mad King?' asked the sentry.
Druss nodded. 'It was no part of my plan. I was a farmer then, but Abalayn invited me to Gulgothir as part of
the Drenai delegation. My wife, Rowena, urged me to accept the invitation; she thought I was growing bored
with life in the mountains.' He chuckled. 'She was right! We came through Dros Delnoch, I remember. There
were forty-five competitors, and around another hundred hangers-on, whores, servants, trainers. I have forgotten
most of their names now. Pellin I remember - but then he made me laugh, and I enjoyed his company.' The old
man fell silent, lost in memories.
'So how did you become part of the team, sir?'
'Oh, that! The Drenai had a fist-fighter named . . . damned if I can remember. Old age is eating away at my
摘要：

DavidA.Gemmell'sfirstnovelLegend,apowerfulheroicfantasy,waspublishedin1984.Sincethenhehasbecomeafull-timewriterandhisbestsellersincludetheJonShannownovels,WolfinShadow,TheLastGuardianandBloodstone,thecontinuingDrenaiseries,andTheFirstChroniclesofDrusstheLegend.Hismostrecentbestsellers,SwordintheStor...

展开>> 收起<<
Gemmell, David - Druss 03 - The Legend Of Deathwalker.pdf

共148页,预览10页

还剩页未读， 继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

相关推荐

更多
立即下载
分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：148 页 大小：1.1MB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-05

开通VIP享超值会员特权

  • 多端同步记录
  • 高速下载文档
  • 免费文档工具
  • 分享文档赚钱
  • 每日登录抽奖
  • 优质衍生服务

作者详情

相关内容

更多

热门标签

人际关系 动力学连接体 力的合成 配电装置 高考理综 全宋诗作者索引 公务员考试
/ 148
评分 收藏
分享
立即下载 VIP免费下载
客服
关注