Waylander III: Hero In The Shadows ds-9

by David A. Gemmell

  Waylander paused and scanned the shelves. More than three thousand documents were stored here, ancient skin-bound volumes, fading parchments, even tablets of clay and stone. Some were beyond deciphering, but still drew scholars from as far afield as Ventria and the distant Angostin homeland.

  His search would have been so much easier had the old librarian, Cashpir, not succumbed to a fever and taken to his bed. His knowledge of the library was phenomenal, and it was through him that Waylander had gathered so many of the precious tomes. He tried to recall the day he had read of the shining swords. There had been a storm raging, the sky black and heavy. He had sat where the priests were now, reading under lantern-light. For three days he had been racking his mind for any bright shard of memory.

  He glanced towards the open window, and the new wooden shutters. Then it came to him.

  The old shutters had been leaking, and water had splashed to the shelves close by, damaging the documents stored there. Waylander and Cashpir had moved some of the scrolls to the table. It was one of these he had been idly scanning. The area of the shelf closest to the window was still empty. Waylander walked across the chamber to the small office used by Cashpir. The place was a mess, scrolls scattered everywhere, and he could hardly see the leather-topped desk beneath the mass of books and parchment. Cashpir had an amazing mind, but no talent whatsoever for organization.

  Waylander walked round the desk and sat down, picking through the parchments that lay there, recalling what had pricked his original interest on the day of the storm. One of the scrolls had told of giant creatures, melded from men and beasts. Waylander himself had been hunted by just such creatures twenty years before – sent to kill him by a Nadir shaman.

  He studied the scrolls, examining each one before laying it on the floor at his feet. Finally he lifted a yellowing parchment and recognized it immediately. The ink had faded badly in places and one section of the parchment had been stained by fungus. Cashpir had treated the rest with a preservative solution of his own design. Waylander took the scroll back into the main library and walked to the window. In the sunlight he read the opening lines.

  Of the glory that was Kuan-Hador there are only ruins now, stark and jagged, testimony to the fruitless arrogance of man. There are no signs of the God-Kings, no shadows of the Mist Warriors cast by the harsh sunlight. The history of the city is gone from the world, as indeed are the stories of its heroes and villains. All that remains are a few contradictory oral legends, garbled tales of creatures of fire and ice, and warriors with swords of shining light who stood against demons shaped from both men and beasts. Having visited the ruins one can understand the birth of such legends. There are fallen statues that appear to have the heads of wolves and the bodies of men. There are the remains of great arches, built, as far as one can ascertain, for no purpose. One arch, named by the Historian Ventaculus as the Hador Folly, is carved from a sheer cliff of granite. It is the most curious piece, for when one examines it one finds that the pictographic carvings upon the inner arch pillars vanish into the rock, almost as if the cliff had grown over it like moss.

  I have copied separately many of the pictographs, and several of my colleagues have spent decades trying to decipher the complex language contained in them. So far complete success has eluded us. What is apparent is that Kuan-Hador was unique in the ancient world. Its methods of architecture, the skill of its artisans, are apparent nowhere else. Many of the stones still standing are blackened by fire, and it is likely that the city was destroyed in a great conflagration, perhaps as the result of a war with neighbouring civilizations. Few artefacts have been recovered from Kuan-Hador, though the King of Symilia has in his possession a mirror of silver that never tarnishes. This, he claims, was recovered from the site.

  Waylander paused in his reading. There followed a series of descriptions of site examinations and a suggested layout of the city. Bored by the scholarly writing Waylander skimmed through the text until he came to the concluding paragraphs.

  As is ever the case when a civilization falls, tales abound that it was evil. Nomads who inhabit the areas that once were the realm of Kuan-Hador talk of human sacrifice and the summoning of demons. There is no doubt that the city boasted great magickers. I suspect, from the statues and those pictographs we have been partly able to decipher, that the rulers of Kuan-Hador did indeed have some understanding of the vile art of meld-magic. It is entirely probable that more recent examples of this abhorrent practice – among the Nadir and other barbaric peoples – are legacies of Kuan-Hador.

  I have listed separately some of the oral legends pertaining to the fall of Kuan-Hador. The one most told concerns the return of the shining swords. Among the nomads of the Varnii – distant relatives of the Chiatze – the shamen speak a succession of doggerel verses at season feasts. The first and last verse read:

  But seek ye not the Men of Clay,

  Who buried lie in crafted night,

  Their shining swords are put away,

  Their eyes are closed against the light.

  Death must await these Men of Clay,

  Who stand in rows of ghostly white,

  And will until that dreadful day,

  When they awake to one last fight.

  A more complete translation can be found in Appendix 5. The Historian Ventaculus produced an appealing essay on the song, claiming it to be a metaphor for the death and resurrection of those of heroic virtue, a faith system not unusual among warrior peoples.

  Waylander put the scroll back in its rightful place on the shelf and strolled from the library. Minutes later he emerged on to the central terrace outside the Banquet Hall. Kysumu was waiting there, standing by the balustrade and staring out over the bay and the sea beyond. As Waylander approached the little swordsman turned. He bowed deeply. Waylander returned the compliment.

  'I have found little,' he told the Rajnee. 'There are stories of an ancient city that once ruled this land. Apparently it was destroyed by warriors with shining swords.'

  'A city of demons,' said Kysumu.

  'So it is said.'

  'They are returning.'

  'That is quite a leap of imagination,' said Waylander. 'The city fell around three thousand years ago. The scroll I examined was written a thousand years ago. One attack on a merchant and his bodyguards is too little to convince me.'

  'I also discovered a scroll,' said Kysumu. 'It talked of nomads avoiding the ruins because their legends say the demons were not all slain, but had escaped through a gateway to another world, one day to return.'

  'Even so, the evidence is small.'

  'Perhaps,' said Kysumu. 'But when I see birds flying south I know winter is coming. They do not need to be large birds, Grey Man.'

  Waylander smiled. 'Let us say you are correct, and the demons of Kuan-Hador are returning. What is your plan?'

  'I have no plan. I will fight them. I am Rajnee.'

  'Matze Chai tells me you believe your sword brought you here.'

  'It is not a belief, Grey Man, it is a fact. And now that I am here I know it is right. How far are the ruins from the palace?'

  'Less than a day's ride.'

  'Will you loan me a horse?'

  'I'll do better than that,' said Waylander. 'I'll take you myself.'

  If one fact of life was incontrovertible for Yu Yu Liang it was that one golden ounce of good luck was invariably followed by several pounds of bad. Usually, in his experience, falling upon him from a great height. Or, as his mother would say, 'When the emperor's parade passes by, the horse-turd collectors are not far behind.'

  The blonde-haired Norda had left his bed only moments before, and Yu Yu was happier than he had been in months. This was despite the initial criticism offered by the woman. 'You are not in a race,' she had whispered to him, as he clung to her.

  He had paused, his heart pounding wildly. 'A race?' he managed to say, between great gulps of air.

  'Be slow. We have plenty of time.'

  If Nashda, the crippled god o
f all labourers, had appeared in his room offering him immortality at that moment it could not have been sweeter. First, there was this beautiful woman lying beneath him, her golden legs around his hips. Second, there was not a queue of impatient ditch-diggers outside the door shouting for him to hurry. Third, as far as he knew, this glorious creature desired no money from him. Which was fortuitous since he had no money. And now to be told he had plenty of time . . . Could Heaven be any sweeter?

  He took her advice. There were many new joys to discover, and some obstacles to overcome. Kissing a woman who still had all her teeth was surprisingly pleasant. Almost as pleasant as the fact that there was no sandglass on the table beside the bed, swiftly trickling his time away.

  If life could get better than this, Yu Yu Liang did not know how.

  The first indications that there was a price to be paid for such pleasure came just after she left, when he pulled on his harsh, woollen shirt. His upper back tingled with pain from the scratches to his skin. She had also bitten his ear, which had been most pleasurable at the time, but now throbbed a little.

  Even so Yu Yu was whistling a merry tune as he stepped from the room – to find himself facing three of the Grey Man's guards.

  The first, a stocky man with tightly curled golden hair, was staring at him malevolently. 'You have made a bad mistake, you slant-eyed pig,' he said. 'You think you can come here and force yourself on our women?'

  In Yu Yu's village there had been a Source temple, and many of the children had attended school there. They had no wish to learn the tongue of the round-eye, but the priests had supplied two meals a day, and for this it was worth putting in a little study. Yu Yu had been a quick learner, but lack of practice since then meant he needed a little time to translate complicated sentences. Apparently he had committed some kind of error and was being accused of stealing a woman's one-eyed pig. He looked into the man's face and saw the hatred there, then flicked his gaze to the man on either side. Both were staring at him through narrowed eyes. 'Well, now you are going to learn a little lesson,' continued the first man. 'We're going to teach you to stick with your own kind. Understand, yellow man?'

  Despite having no knowledge of the pig theft, Yu Yu understood only too well the lesson they were about to deliver.

  'I said, do you understand?'

  The man's hatred turned briefly to shock, and then to blank emptiness as Yu Yu's left fist cannoned into his nose. He was already unconscious as the right cross followed. The guard hit the floor, blood seeping from his nostrils. A second guard lunged forward. Yu Yu butted him full in the face then brought his knee up into the man's groin.

  The guard gave a strangled cry of pain and sagged against the Chiatze. Yu Yu pushed him away and downed him with a left hook to the jaw.

  'You give lessons too?' Yu Yu asked the last guard.

  The man shook his head vehemently. 'I didn't want to be here,' he said. 'It wasn't my idea.'

  'I don't steal pigs,' said Yu Yu, then stalked away down the corridor, his good mood evaporating. There were scores of guards in the Grey Man's palace and when next they came it would be in greater numbers. This meant, at best, a bad beating.

  Yu Yu had suffered such beatings before, blows and kicks raining in on him. The last such attack, just over a year ago, had almost killed him. His left arm had been broken in three places. Several ribs had been snapped, one of which had pierced his lung. It took months to recover, months of hardship and hunger. Unable to work he had been reduced, at first, to begging for rice at the poorhouse. Finally he had journeyed back to the Source temple. Some of the priests still remembered him, and he had been welcomed warmly. They tended his broken bones, and fed him. When his strength returned he journeyed back to the site of his beating and sought out singly each of the eight men involved in the attack. And he thrashed them. The last had been the most difficult. Shi Da was six and a half feet tall, heavily muscled and supremely tough. It had been his kicks that had snapped Yu Yu's ribs. Yu Yu had given a lot of thought to challenging Shi Da. It was a matter of honour that a challenge should be made, but the timing had to be exactly right.

  So Yu Yu had walked up behind him in the Chong tavern and thwacked a heavy iron bar across the back of the man's head. As he slumped forward Yu Yu struck him twice more. Shi Da had fallen to his knees, barely conscious. 'I challenge you to man-to-man combat,' said Yu Yu, in the time-honoured fashion. 'Do you accept?'

  A low garbled grunt of incomprehension came from the giant.

  'I shall take that as a yes,' said Yu Yu. Then he kicked Shi Da in the jaw. Shi Da had hit the floor hard, then slowly rolled to his knees. Amazingly the big man climbed to his feet. Panicked, Yu Yu had dropped the iron bar and rushed in smashing blows left and right into Shi Da's face. Shi Da landed one clumsy punch before pitching sideways to the floor.

  In his relief Yu Yu felt magnanimous and only kicked the unconscious man a few times. It was a mistake. He should have knelt by him and beaten him to death. When Shi Da recovered he put out the word that he would cut Yu Yu Liang's heart from his body and feed it to his dogs.

  That was the day when Yu Yu decided upon an outlaw's life in the mountains.

  Now, in a foreign land, he had made more enemies. And he still did not know why. With a little more time to work on the translation Yu Yu realized that the man had called him a slant-eyed pig, and that the problem was, in fact, not about theft, but about making love to the blonde woman. It seemed peculiar to Yu Yu that the shape of his Chiatze eyes, or the golden colour of his skin, should preclude him from forming friendships with Kydor women. And why would he want to stick with his own kind? It was a mystery. Yu Yu had been a ditch-digger for nine years and had never met another ditch-digger he found remotely attractive.

  Except for Pan Jian.

  She was the only female ditch-digger he had ever known. A monstrous woman with huge arms and a flat round face that boasted several chins, two of which sported large, matching warts. One evening, when drunk and broke, he had propositioned her.

  'Pay me a compliment,' she told him, 'and I'll think about it.'

  Yu Yu stared at her through bleary eyes, searching for some evidence of femininity. 'You have nice ears,' he said at last.

  Pan Jian had laughed. 'That will do,' she told him, and they had rutted in a ditch.

  She had been dismissed two days later for arguing with the foreman. It was a short argument. He pointed out he had seen cows with smaller and more attractive arses than hers, and she had broken his jaw.

  As Yu Yu climbed the stairs to the upper level he found himself remembering her fondly. Although making love to her was like clinging to the back of a greased hippo, the ride had been enjoyable, and he had discovered in Pan Jian an unexpected tenderness. Afterwards she had talked of her life, and her hopes and her dreams. It had been a gentle night, of balmy soft breezes and a bright hunter's moon. Pan Jian had spoken of finding a small place near the Great River and starting a business, cutting rushes and weaving hats and baskets. Her hands were as big as shovels and Yu Yu had great difficulty picturing her creating delicate articles from straw. But he said nothing. 'And I'd like a dog,' she said. 'One of those small dogs that the magistrate has with him. A white one.'

  'They are very expensive,' said Yu Yu.

  'But they are so pretty.' Her voice was wistful, and suddenly in the moonlight her face did not seem ugly to him at all.

  'Have you ever had a dog?' he asked.

  'Yes. It was a mongrel. Very friendly. Followed me everywhere. She was a lovely dog. Big brown eyes.'

  'She died?'

  'Yes. You remember that awful winter four years ago? The famine?'

  Yu Yu had shivered. He remembered, all right. Thousands had died of starvation.

  'I had to eat her,' said Pan Jian.

  Yu Yu nodded sympathetically. 'How did she taste?'

  'Pretty good,' said Pan Jian. 'But a bit stringy.' Lifting one enormous leg, she pointed down at her fur-edged boot. 'This was her,' she said, stroking
the fur. 'I made them so I wouldn't forget her.'

  Yu Yu smiled as he recalled the moment. That was always the way with women, he thought. No matter how tough they seemed they were cursed with sentimentality.

  Emerging into the entrance hallway, Yu Yu saw the Grey Man and Kysumu walking out into the sunshine. He hurried across to join them. 'Are we going somewhere?' he asked.

  'Do you ride?' asked the Grey Man.

  'I am a great rider,' said Yu Yu.

  Kysumu stepped in. 'Have you ever ridden a horse?'

  'No.'

  The Grey Man laughed, but there was no mockery in the sound. 'I have a grey mare famous for her gentle and patient nature. She will teach you how to ride.'

  'Where are we going?' asked Yu Yu.

  'We are hunting demons,' said Kysumu.

  'My day is complete,' said Yu Yu Liang.

  They rode for some hours. Initially Yu Yu felt comfortable in the deep saddle. It was exhilarating being so high above the ground. Until, that is, they reached small inclines or depressions where the horses picked up the pace. Yu Yu was bounced painfully around on the saddle.

  The Grey Man dropped back and dismounted, adjusting Yu Yu's stirrups, which were, he said, a little high. 'It is not easy to find the rhythms of the trot,' he said, 'but it will come.'

  It could not come soon enough for Yu Yu. After two hours of riding his buttocks were bruised and painful.

  Instead of moving directly to the ruins the Grey Man led them along a ridge of high ground overlooking the Eiden Plain. From here an observer could make out the original lines of Kuan-Hador, depressions in the land, showing where mighty walls once stood. From this height the lines of streets could also be seen, linking the edges of ruined buildings. Further to the east, where the city had once abutted the granite cliffs, there were the remains of two round towers, one seeming to have snapped across the middle, huge stones littering the ground for two hundred feet.