Page 19 of Waylander

  'I am the Soul Stealer,'

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  The Nadir showed no emotion. 'You ride with Ice-eyes?'

  'Yes. We are brothers.'

  'Of the blood?'

  'No. Of the blade.'

  'Ride in peace on this day,' said the Nadir. 'But remember - there will be other days,'

  Lifting his arm, the Nadir leader waved on his men and the group thundered past the two riders.

  'What was that all about?' asked Danyal.

  'He did not want to die,' said Waylander. 'There is a lesson there, if you care to consider it.'

  'I have had enough lessons for one day. What did he mean - many gifts?'

  Waylander shrugged. 'Durmast betrayed the wagon folk. He took their money to lead them to Gulgothir, but he already had a deal with the Nadir. So the Nadir rob the wagons and Durmast takes a percentage. At the moment they still have their wagons, but the Nadir will come agaip before Gulgo­thir and take even those. The people who survive will arrive in Gulgothir as paupers.'

  "That is despicable.'

  'No. It is the way of the world. Only the weak run . . . now they must pay for their weakness.'

  'Are you really that callous?'

  'I am afraid so, Danyal.'

  'That is a shame.'

  'I agree with you.'

  'You are an infuriating man!'

  'And you are a very special woman - but let us think about that this evening. For now, answer me the question of the Nadir rider: Why did he let us live?'

  Danyal smiled. 'Because you isolated him from

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  his men and threatened him as an individual. Gods, will these lessons never cease?' 'All too soon.' said Waylander.

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  Danyal and Waylander made love in a sheltered hollow away from the wagons, and the experience shook Waylander. He could not recall the moment of penetration, nor any sense of passion. He had been filled with a desire to be closer to Danyal, to somehow absorb her body into his own - or perhaps lose his own within hers. And for the first time in many years he had ceased to be aware of movement around him. He had been lost within the lovemaking.

  Now alone, fear tugged at him.

  What if Cadoras had crept upon them?

  What if the Nadir had returned?

  What if the Brotherhood . . . ?

  What if?

  Hewla was right. Love was a greater enemy at this time.

  'You are getting old,' he told himself. 'Old and tired.'

  He knew he was no longer as swift or as strong and the silver hairs were multiplying. Somewhere out in the vast blackness of the world was a young killer more swift, more deadly than the legendary Waylander. Was it Cadoras? Or one of the Brotherhood?

  The moment of drama with the Nadir had been telling. Waylander had survived it on experience and

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  bluff, for with Danyal beside him he had not wanted to die. His greatest strength had always been his lack of fear but now - when he needed all his talents -the fear was returning.

  He rubbed at his eyes, aware of the need for sleep yet reluctant to give in. Sleep is the brother of Death, said the song. But it is gentle and kind. Weariness eased its warmth into his muscles, and the rock against which he sat seemed soft and wel­coming. Too tired to pull his blankets over himself, he laid his head back on the rock and slept. As he fell into darkness he saw the face of Dardalion; the priest was calling to him, but he could not hear the words.

  Durmast was sleeping beneath the lead wagon when the dream came to him. He saw a man in silver armour: a handsome young man, clean-cut and strong. Durmast was dreaming of a woman with hair of shining chestnut brown - and of a child, sturdy and strong. He pushed away the image of the war­rior, but it returned again and again.

  'What do you want?' shouted the giant, as the woman and the child shimmered and disappeared. 'Leave me!'

  'Your profits are dust unless you wake,' said the warrior.

  'Wake? I am awake.'

  'You are dreaming. You are Durmast and you lead the wagons to Gulgothir.'

  'Wagons?'

  'Wake up, man! The hunters of the night are upon you!'

  The giant groaned and rolled over; he sat up, rapping his head sharply against the base of the

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  wagon, and cursed loudly. Rolling clear, he straight­ened - the dream had gone, but a lingering doubt remained.

  Taking up a short double-headed axe, he moved towards the west.

  Danyal awoke with a start. The dream had been -powerful and in it Dardalion had urged her to seek Waylander. Easing herself past the sleeping baker and his family, she slid the sabre clear of its scabbard and leapt forward from the tailboard.

  Durmast swung round as she appeared beside him.

  'Don't do that!' he snapped. 'I might have taken your head off.'

  Then he noticed the sword. 'Where do you think you are going with that?'

  'I had a dream,' answered Danyal lamely.

  'Stay close to me,' he ordered, moving away from the wagons.

  The night was clear, but clouds drifted across the moon and Durmast spat out an oath as he strained to see into the darkness. A hint of movement to the left! His arm swept out, knocking Danyal from her feet. Arrows hissed by him as he dived for the ground. Then a dark shadow lunged at him and the axe swept up to cleave into the man's side, smashing his ribs to shards before exiting in a bloody swathe. Danyal rolled to her feet as the clouds suddenly cleared to show two men in black armour running towards her with swords raised. She dived forward, rolling on her shoulder, and the men cannoned into her and fell headlong into the dust. Danyal came up, fast spearing the point of the sabre into the back of one man's neck; the second man swung round and lunged at her, but Durmast's axe buried itself

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  in his back. His eyes opened wide, but he was dead before a scream could sound.

  'Waylander!' bellowed Durmast as more black shapes came from the darkness.

  At the boulder Waylander stirred, his eyes drifting open but his body heavy with deep sleep. Above him a man crouched, a wickedly curved blade in his hand.

  'Now you die,' said the man and Waylander was powerless to stop him. But suddenly the man froze and his jaw dropped. Sleep fell from the assassin and his hand whipped out to punch his assailant from his feet. As he fell, Waylander saw that a long goose-feathered shaft had pierced the base of his skull.

  Rolling to his left, Waylander lunged upright with knives in his hands as a dark figure leapt at him, He blocked the downward sweep of the sword, catching it on the hilt-guard of his left-hand knife. Dropping his shoulder, he stabbed his attacker low in the groin; the man twisted as he fell, tearing the knife from Waylander's hand.

  The clouds closed in once more and Waylander threw himself to the ground, rolled several yards and lay still.

  There was no movement around him.

  For several minutes he strained to hear, closing his eyes and calming his mind.

  Satisfied that his attackers had fled, he slowly raised himself to his feet. The clouds cleared . . .

  Waylander spun on his heel, his hand whipping out. The black-bladed knife thudded into the shoulder of a kneeling archer. Waylander ran for­ward as the man lunged to his feet, but his opponent side-stepped and ran off into the darkness.

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  Weaponless, Waylander dropped to one knee and waited.

  A scream sounded from the direction the wounded man had taken. Then a voice drifted to the kneeling assassin:

  'You had best be more careful, Waylander.' A dark object sailed into the air to land with a thud beside him. It was his knife.

  'Why did you save me?'

  'Because you are mine,' replied Cadoras.

  'I will be ready.'

  'I hope so.'

  Durmast and Danyal ran to him.

  'Who were you speaking to?' asked the giant.

  'Cadoras. But it doesn't matter - let's go back to the wagons.'

&nbsp
; Together the trio moved back into the relative sanctuary of the camp, where Durmast stoked a dying fire to life and then cleaned the blood from his axe.

  'That is some woman you have there,' he said. 'She killed three of the swine! And you had me thinking she was a casual bedmate! You are a subtle devil, Waylander.'

  'They were Brotherhood warriors,' said the assassin, 'and they used some kind of sorcery to push me into sleep. I should have guessed.'

  'Dardalion saved you,' said Danyal. 'He came to me in a dream.'

  'A silver warrior with fair hair?' asked Durmast.

  Danyal nodded.

  'He came to me also. You have powerful friends - a she-devil and a sorcerer.'

  'And a giant with a battleaxe,' said Danyal.

  'Do not confuse business with friendship,' mut-

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  tered Durmast. 'And now, if you'll excuse me, I have some sleep to catch up on.'

  The old man gazed with weary eyes at the Vagrian warriors seated before him in what had once been the Palace of Purdol. Their faces shone with the arrogance born of victory, and he knew only too well how he appeared to them: old, tired and weak.

  Gan Degas removed his helm and laid it on the table.

  Stone-faced, Kaem sat opposite him.

  'I take it you are ready to surrender,' said Kaem.

  'Yes. If certain conditions are met.'

  'Name them.'

  'My men are not to be harmed - they are to be released to return to their homes.'

  'Agreed . . . once they have laid down their wea­pons and the fortress is ours.'

  'Many citizens fled to the fortress; they also must be allowed to go free and reclaim the homes your men took from them.'

  'Petty bureaucracy,' said Kaem. 'It will cause us no problems.'

  'What guarantees of faith can you give me?' asked Degas.

  Kaem smiled. 'What guarantees can any man give? You have my word - that should be enough between generals. If it is not, you have only to keep the gates barred and fight on.'

  Degas dropped his eyes. 'Very well. I have your word, then?'

  'Of course, Degas.'

  'The gates will be opened at dawn.'

  The old warrior pushed himself to his feet and turned to leave.

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  'Do not forget your helm,' mocked Kaem.

  Laughter echoed in the corridor as Degas was led from the hall, flanked by two men in black cloaks. Out in the night air he walked along the docks and up towards the eastern gate. There a rope was low­ered from the gate tower; Degas looped his wrist around it and was hauled up into the fortress.

  Back at the palace, Kaem silenced his officers and turned to Dalnor.

  'There are some four thousand men in the fortress. Killing them all will take some planning - I don't want a mountain of rotting corpses spreading plague and disease. I suggest you split the prisoners into twenty groups, then take them down to the harbour group by group. There are a score of empty ware­houses. Kill them and cart their bodies into the dis­charged grain ships. Then they can be dumped at sea.

  'Yes, my lord. It will take some time.'

  'We have time. We will leave a thousand men to man the fortress and push west into Skultik. The war is almost over, Dalnor.'

  'Indeed it is - thanks to you, my lord.'

  Kaem swung round to a dark-bearded officer on his right.

  'What news of Waylander?'

  'He still lives, Lord Kaem. Last night he and his friends fought off an attack by my Brothers. But more are on their way.'

  'I must have the Armour.'

  'You will have it, my lord. The Emperor has commissioned the assassin Cadoras to hunt Way­lander. And twenty of my Brothers are closing in. Added to this, we have received word from the

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  robber Durmast; he asks 20,000 silver pieces for the Armour.'

  'Of course you agreed?'

  'No, my lord, we beat him down to 15,000. He would have been suspicious had we met his original request without argument. Now we have his trust.'

  'Be careful of Durmast,' warned Kaem. 'He is like a rogue lion - he will turn on anyone.'

  'Several of his men are in our employ, my lord; we have anticipated all eventualities. The Armour is ours. Waylander is ours - just as the Drenai are ours.'

  'Beware of over-confidence, Nemodes. Do not count the lion's teeth until you see flies on his tongue.'

  'But surely, my lord, the issue is no longer in doubt?'

  'I had a horse once, the fastest beast I ever owned. It could not lose and I wagered a fortune on it. But a bee stung it in the eye just before the start. The issue is always in doubt.'

  'Yet you said the war was almost over,' protested Nemodes.

  'So it is. And until it is, we will remain wary.'

  'Yes, my lord.'

  'There are three men who must die. Karnak is one. Egel is the second. But most of all I want to see Waylander's head on a lance.'

  'Why Karnak?' asked Dalnor. 'One battle is not sufficient to judge him dangerous.'

  'Because he is reckless and ambitious. We cannot plan for him,' answered Kaem.

  'There are some men who are good swordsmen, archers or strategists. There are others, seemingly gifted by the Gods, who are masters of all they

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  touch. Karnak is one of these - I cannot read him and that disturbs me.'

  'He is said to be in Skarta, serving under Egel,' said Dalnor. 'We will have him soon.'

  'Perhaps,' said Kaem doubtfully.

  Kaem fought to control his tension as he stood at the head of the Second Legion in the shadow of the eastern gate. Dawn was now minutes old, but still there was no movement from beyond the gates. He was acutely aware of the hostile stares from the archers on the battlements of the gate tower as he stood in full red and bronze battle gear with the sweat trickling between his shoulder-blades.

  Dalnor stood behind him, flanked by swordsmen: dark-eyed warriors of the First Elite, the most deadly fighting men of the Second Legion of the Hounds of Chaos.

  The sound of tightening ropes and the groaning of rusty ratchets ended Kaem's tension - beyond the gates of oak and iron, the huge bronze reinforced bar was being lifted. Minutes passed and then the gates creaked open. A swelling sense of triumph grew within Kaem, but he swallowed it back, angry at the power of his emotions.

  Behind him men began shuffling their feet, anxi­ous to end the long siege and enter the hated fortress.

  The gates widened.

  Kaem walked into the shadows of the portcullis and out into the bright sunlight of the courtyard . . .

  And there stopped so suddenly that Dalnor walked into him knocking him forward; his helmet tipped over his eyes and he straightened it. The courtyard was ringed with fighting men, swords

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  drawn. At the centre, leaning on a double-headed battleaxe, stood a huge warrior, barbarously ill-clad. The man handed the axe to a companion and strolled forward.

  'Who is that fat clown?' whispered Dalnor.

  'Be silent!' ordered Kaem, his brain working at furious pace.

  'Welcome to Dros Purdol,' said the man, smiling.

  'Who are you, and where is Gan Degas?'

  'The Gan is resting. He asked me to discuss your surrender.'

  'What nonsense is this?'

  'Nonsense, my dear general?' What can you mean?'

  'Gan Degas agreed to surrender to me today after his conditions were met.' Kaem licked his lips ner­vously as the huge warrior grinned down at him.

  'Ah, the conditions,' he said. 'I think there was a misunderstanding. When Gan Degas asked for safety for his men, he didn't quite mean taking them in groups of twenty to the warehouse dock and kill­ing them.' The man's eyes narrowed and the humour vanished from his smile. T opened the gates to you, Kaem, so that you could see me. Know me . . . Understand me. There will be no surrender. I have brought with me three thousand men,' lied Karnak, 'and I command this fortress.'

  'Who are you?'

/>   'Karnak. Bear the name in mind, Vagrian, for it will be the death of you.'