Waylander III: Hero In The Shadows ds-9

by David A. Gemmell

  Far ahead he saw the Grey Man still riding away. 'A pox on you, bastard!' he shouted.

  Glancing back, he saw that the wall of mist was closer, moving faster than he could run. Kysumu also glanced back. Yu Yu staggered and almost fell. Kysumu dropped back to take his arm. 'Just a little further,' said Kysumu.

  'We . . . can't . . . outrun it.'

  Kysumu said nothing, and the two men moved on in the darkness. Yu Yu heard hoofbeats and looked up to see the Grey Man riding back towards them, leading the grey mare and the bay gelding. Kysumu helped Yu Yu into the saddle, then ran to his own mount.

  The mist was very close now, and Yu Yu could hear bestial sounds emanating from it.

  The grey mare needed no urging and took off at speed, Yu Yu clinging to the saddle pommel. She was panting heavily by the time they reached the slope, but panic gave her greater strength and she fought her way up the steep incline.

  A little ahead the Grey Man swung the steeldust, gazing back down towards the plain.

  The mist was swirling at the foot of the slope – but not advancing. Yu Yu swayed in the saddle. He felt Kysumu's hand upon his arm, then passed into darkness.

  The tall, blue-garbed surgeon, Mendyr Syn, replaced the poultice on the shoulder of the unconscious man and sighed. 'I have never seen a wound reacting like this,' he told Waylander. 'It is a simple bite, yet the flesh is peeling back rather than sealing itself. It is worse now than when you brought him in.'

  'I can see that,' said Waylander. 'What can you do?' The middle-aged man shrugged, then moved to a washbasin and began to scrub his hands. 'I have bathed it in lorassium, which is usually effective against any infection, but the blood does not clot. In fact, were it not impossible, I would say that whatever is in the wound is eating away at the flesh.'

  'He is dying, then?'

  'I believe he is. His heart is labouring. He is losing body heat. He will not last the night. By rights he should be dead already, but he is a tough man.' Wiping his hands on a clean towel, he glanced down at the grey-faced Yu Yu Liang. 'You say it was a hound that bit him?'

  'Yes.'

  'I hope it was killed.'

  'It was.'

  'I can only assume there was some kind of poison in the bite. Perhaps it had eaten something and some rancid meat was caught between its teeth.' Pinching the bridge of his long nose, the surgeon sat down beside the dying man. 'I can do nothing for him,' he said, exasperation in his voice.

  'I'll sit with him,' said Waylander. 'You should get some rest. You look exhausted.'

  Mendyr Syn nodded. He glanced up at Waylander. 'I am sorry,' he said. 'You have been most kind to me in my research and my one chance to repay you is ending in failure.'

  'You do not need to repay me. You have helped many who needed it.'

  As the surgeon rose the door opened and the shaven-headed priestess, Ustarte, entered the room, followed by Kysumu. She dipped her head towards Waylander, and then to Mendyr Syn. 'Please pardon my intrusion,' she said, looking into the surgeon's pale blue eyes. 'I thought I might be of some assistance. However, I do not wish to offend.'

  'I am not an arrogant man, Lady,' said Mendyr Syn. 'If there is anything you can do for this man I would be grateful.'

  'That is most gracious,' she said, moving past him to the bedside. Her gloved hand lifted the poultice clear and she examined the festering wound. 'I will need a metal dish,' she said, 'and more light.' Mendyr Syn left the room, returning with a copper bowl and a second lantern, which he placed by the bedside. 'It may be too late to save him,' she continued. 'Much will depend on the power of his body and the strength of his spirit.'

  Dipping her hand into a pocket at the front of her red silk robe, Ustarte drew forth a gold-rimmed circle of blue crystal some three inches in diameter. 'Bring a chair and sit beside me,' she told Mendyr Syn. The surgeon did so. Ustarte leant across him, placing her hand over the copper bowl. Flames sprang up within it, burning without fuel. Then she handed the blue crystal to Mendyr Syn. 'Look upon the wound through this,' she said.

  Mendyr Syn held the crystal to his eye – then jerked back. 'By Missael!' he whispered. 'What magic is this?'

  'The worst kind,' she told him. 'He has been bitten by a Kraloth. This is the result.'

  Waylander stepped forward. 'May I see?' he asked. Mendyr Syn gave him the crystal. He leant over the wound, and lifted the crystal. Scores of luminous maggots were devouring the flesh, their bodies swelling as they fed. Ustarte drew a long, sharp pin from the sleeve of her robe, offering it to Mendyr Syn. 'Use this,' she said. 'Pierce the centre of each maggot then drop them into the fire.' With that she rose from her chair and turned to Waylander. 'The merest scratch inflicted by the teeth or talons of a Kraloth is generally fatal. Tiny eggs are deposited in the wound, and these swiftly become the maggots you saw.'

  'And the removal of the maggots will give him a chance?' asked Waylander.

  'It is a beginning,' she said. 'When the wound is clean I will show Mendyr Syn how to prepare a new poultice. This will destroy any eggs still present in the bite. You should know, however, that it is possible that some of the maggots may have moved deeper within his body, devouring his flesh from within. He may awake, or he may not. If he does he may be blind – or insane.'

  'It seems that you know a great deal about the enemy we faced,' he said softly.

  'Too much and too little,' she told him. 'We will speak after I have aided Mendyr Syn.'

  'We will be outside, upon the terrace,' said Waylander. Bowing to the priestess, he spun on his heel and left the room.

  Kysumu followed him and the two men walked along a wide corridor leading to a terraced flower garden overlooking the bay. The night was clear, and the first hint of a new dawn tinged the sky. Waylander wandered to the marble balustrade and stared out over the gleaming water. 'What did you learn from your trance?' he asked Kysumu.

  'Nothing,' admitted the Rajnee.

  'Yet you are convinced a spirit of a dead Rajnee came to your friend?'

  'Yes.'

  'It makes no sense to me,' said Waylander. 'Why would a dead Rajnee contact a labourer yet not appear to one of his own?'

  'That is a question I have pondered upon,' admitted Kysumu.

  Waylander glanced at the little swordsman. 'And this troubles you?'

  'Of course. I also feel great shame for putting Yu Yu in such danger.'

  'He chose to stand his ground,' said Waylander. 'He could have run.'

  'Indeed. It amazes me that he did not.'

  'Would you have run?' asked Waylander, quietly.

  'No. But, then, I am Rajnee.'

  'Tonight I saw a frightened man, with a shining sword, battling demons to protect a friend. What would you call him?'

  Kysumu smiled, then offered a deep bow. 'I would say he has a Rajnee heart,' he said simply.

  The two men sat together in silence for another hour, each lost in his own thoughts. Slowly the sky lightened, and birdsong filled the air. Waylander leant back in his seat, weariness heavy upon him. He closed his eyes and dozed. Immediately he fell into dreams, swirling colours that drew him down.

  He awoke with a start as the red-robed priestess moved out on to the terrace. 'Is he dead?' he asked.

  'No, he will recover, I think.'

  'Then you found all the . . . eggs?'

  'I had help,' she said, seating herself alongside him. 'His soul was being guarded, and power flowed from within him.'

  'Qin Chong,' said Kysumu softly.

  Ustarte glanced across at him. 'I do not know the name of the spirit. I could not commune with him.'

  'It was Qin Chong,' said Kysumu. 'In legend he is named as the first of the Rajnee. He appeared to Yu Yu in the ruins. But not to me,' he added wistfully.

  'Nor me,' she said. 'What can you tell me of him?'

  'Very little. His deeds are lost among fables, oral tales expanded upon or invented. Depending which story you read, he fought dragons, evil gods, giant worms beneath the earth. He had a sword of
fire called Pien'chi, and he was known as the Potter.'

  'Do the legends say how he died?'

  'Yes, in a dozen different ways, by fire, by sword, dragged down into the sea. One story has him walking down into the underworld to rescue his love, and never returning. Another even has him sprouting wings and soaring to the heavens. One has the gods appearing at his death and turning him into a mountain to watch over his people.'

  Ustarte fell silent. 'Perhaps Yu Yu can tell us more when he wakes.'

  'I would like to hear more of these Kraloth,' said Waylander. 'What are they?'

  'They are meld-hounds,' Ustarte told him. 'Artificial creations born of dark magic. They are very powerful, and ordinary weapons cannot harm them . . .' she looked into his eyes and gave a wan smile '. . . unless they pierce the skull or the upper neck. As you know, their bite brings a painful death. They are led by a Bezha – a Houndmaster.'

  'I caught a glimpse of him,' said Kysumu, 'but only the eyes.'

  'He would have been wearing the robe of night,' Ustarte told him. 'It is true-black and reflects no light. The eye, therefore, cannot see it.'

  'Why are they here?' asked Waylander.

  'They are the advance guard of two terrible enemies. My followers and I had hoped to prevent their coming. We failed.'

  'What enemies?' put in Kysumu.

  'Anharat's demons – and the sorcerers of Kuan-Hador.'

  'I have read the legends of Anharat,' said Kysumu. 'The Lord of Demons. I recall he was cast from the world after a war. I believe he had a brother who aided humankind.'

  'The brother was Emsharas,' said Ustarte, 'and it is true that he sided with humanity. Great were the heroes who fought against Anharat. Mighty men, men of principle and courage. These were the men of Kuan-Hador.'

  'I do not understand,' put in Kysumu. 'If these men were heroes, why do we fear their return?'

  'Man never learns lessons from the past,' she said. 'It is his curse. My people and I have been trying to discover some evidence of the Great War. What we have found is that there was not one war but two. The first – let us call it the Demon War – saw great horror and devastation. Only when Emsharas aided the humans did the tide begin to turn. But that aid carried within it the seeds of Kuan-Hador's downfall. In order to defeat the enemy the rebel demon lord, Emsharas, gave the lords of Kuan-Hador instruction in the most arcane secrets of meld-magic. Warriors were enhanced, blended with the power of beasts; panthers, lions, wolves and bears. And they won. Anharat's demon legions were expelled from the world. Kuan-Hador was mankind's saviour.'

  'How then did they become evil?' asked Kysumu.

  'By taking one small step at a time towards the dark,' she answered. 'For a little while the world knew peace and tranquillity, under the city's benevolent rule. The people of Kuan-Hador were proud of what they had achieved. Yet it had cost them greatly. They asked other nations to help bear that cost, and huge amounts of gold and silver were despatched to the city. The following year they asked for more. Several nations refused. The proud lords of Kuan-Hador decided that this refusal was an affront to the world's saviours, and sent their armies to plunder those nations. Kuan-Hador had moved from benevolent rule to tyranny. They had saved mankind, therefore – so they believed – they had earned the right to rule. Nations that rose against them were considered treacherous, and were crushed mercilessly by the Kriaz-nor, the meld-legions.

  This was the beginning of the second war – what is now termed the Great War. At first it was man against man. Kuan-Hador was powerful, yet it was but a city state and its resources were finite. By this time Emsharas was gone from the world, but his descendants aided the rebels. Slowly they began to force back the Kriaz-nor legions. In desperation the rulers of Kuan-Hador allied themselves with Anharat, opening portals to allow his demon warriors to return to the world.' She fell silent and stood staring out over the bay.

  'Yet they were still defeated,' said Kysumu.

  'Yes, they were,' she said softly. 'The rebels created their own legions – the Riaj-nor, men of noble hearts and great courage, wielding weapons of power. The Rajnee are the last embers of that fine order, and it seems, Kysumu, that of them all only you have been drawn here. Where once were legions there is now only a single warrior and a wounded labourer.' She sighed, then continued her tale. 'The Great War ended here, the survivors of Kuan-Hador retreating through a portal to another world. The city was destroyed by fire, and a sorcerer – or, perhaps, a group of sorcerers – laid powerful spells upon the portal, sealing it against the return of the enemy. These spells have endured the passing of the centuries. Now they are fading. The gateway will soon open fully, allowing legions of Kriaz-nor to invade this land. At the moment it is merely flickering, and only a few can cross. The sorcerers who once protected it are long dead, as are the original Riaj-nor. There is now no power in this world to defeat them if they come in force, which is why I had hoped to replicate the original spell and cast it once more. But there are no clues to be found. There are riddles, verses and garbled legends, none of which is helpful. My last hope now rests with Yu Yu and the spirit of Qin Chong.' She swung to Kysumu. 'It seems that the Rajnee swords retain their magic. Why, then, are more of your comrades not here to fight?'

  'Few now hold fully to the old ways,' he said, sadly. 'Most Rajnee are now merely bodyguards, seeking to earn riches. They will not heed the call of the swords, nor journey to foreign lands.'

  'And what of you, Grey Man?' she asked. 'Will you fight the demon lords?'

  'Why should I?' he countered, his voice edged with bitterness. 'It is just another war – just another group of greedy men seeking to take what does not belong to them. And they will hold it for just so long as they are strong enough to resist the next group of greedy men who desire to take it from them.'

  'This one is different,' she said softly. 'If they win, the world will know the nature of true terror. Children dragged from their mothers' arms to be melded into beasts, or have their organs removed in order to prolong the lives of the rulers. Thousands butchered in the name of arcane science. Magic of the most horrific kind will become commonplace.'

  When Waylander spoke his voice was cold. 'During the Vagrian Wars babes were torn from their mothers' arms to have their heads smashed against walls of stone. Children were slaughtered and men slain in their thousands. Women were raped and mutilated. This was done by men. A grieving mother would not care whether her babe was destroyed by magic or by might. No, I have had my fill of wars, Lady.'

  'Then think of it as a battle against evil,' she said.

  'Look at me,' he said. 'Do I have a shining sword? You know my life, Lady. Does it seem to you that I have been a warrior of the light?'

  'No,' she told him, 'you have also walked the path of evil, which gives you greater understanding of its nature. Yet you overcame it. You fought the darkness, and gave the Drenai people hope by recovering the Armour of Bronze. Now a greater evil looms.'

  'How is it that you know so much about this evil?' he asked her.

  'Because I was born of it,' she said. Her gloved hands moved to her high collar, pulling loose the hooks that held it. With a sudden wrench she opened the silken robe, letting it drop to the terrace. The morning sunlight shone upon her slim body, highlighting the striped fur of gold and black that covered her skin. Both men stood very still as she peeled off one of her gloves and raised the hand high. The fur ended at her wrists, but her fingers seemed unnatural and oddly shortened. She flexed the hand and long silver claws emerged from sheaths at her fingertips. 'I am a Joining, Grey Man. A failed experiment. It was intended that I should be a new form of Kraloth – a killing machine of great strength and speed. Instead the magic, which created this monstrosity of a body, also enhanced my mind. You are looking upon the future of mankind. Do you find it beautiful?'

  Waylander said nothing, for there was nothing to say. Her face was human, and indescribably beautiful, but her body was feline, the joints crooked.

  Kysumu stepped
up behind the naked priestess, and raised her robe from the floor. Ustarte smiled her thanks and drew the garment around her. 'My followers and I came through the gateway. Six were killed in the attempt. We came to save this world. Will you help us?'

  'I am not a general, Lady. I am an assassin. I have no armies. You want me to ride out alone against a horde of demons? For what? Honour and a swift death?'

  'You would not be alone,' said Kysumu softly.

  'I am always alone,' said Waylander. With that he strolled from the terrace.

  He stared hard at the armour. It shone brightly in the lantern-light as if crafted from moonlight. The winged helm was gleaming, and he could see his reflection in the closed visor. The chainmail attached to the nape was impossibly delicate, light glittering from it as if from a hundred diamonds. The cuirass was beautifully fashioned, and engraved with runes he could not read.

  'It would look fine upon you, sir,' said the armourer, his voice echoing in the high, domed hall.

  'I do not want it,' said Waylander, swinging away and walking down a long, crooked corridor. He turned left then right, pushing open a door and stepping into another hall.

  'Try it on,' said the armourer, removing the bright helm from its place on the armour tree and offering it to him.

  Waylander did not reply. Angry now, he turned on his heel, moved back through the doorway and stood in the shadowed corridor. Then he walked on. Everywhere there were turnings and soon he lost all sense of direction. He came upon a set of stairs, and climbed and climbed. At the top, exhausted, he sat down. A doorway faced him, but he was reluctant to enter. He knew instinctively what he would find. And yet there was nowhere else to go. With a deep sigh he pushed open the door and gazed upon the armour tree.

  'Why do you not want it?' asked the armourer.

  'Because I am not worthy to wear it,' he told the man.

  'No one is,' said the armourer.

  The scene faded, and Waylander found himself seated beside a fast-flowing stream. The sky was bright and blue, the water fresh and cool. Cupping his hands he drank from the stream then sat back, leaning his shoulders against the trunk of a weeping willow, whose branches trailed all around him. It was peaceful here, and he wished he could stay for ever.