Waylander III: Hero In The Shadows ds-9

by David A. Gemmell

  'Indeed so, sir. Then why not make it two thousand?'

  The Grey Man had smiled. 'Why not five hundred?'

  Chardyn had chuckled then. 'The thousand is ample, sir. I was but jesting.'

  The Grey Man dismounted, tethered his horse, and strolled across to the little group. He moved, Chardyn noted, with an easy grace that spoke of confidence and power. He was wearing a dark chainmail shoulder-guard over a black leather shirt, leggings and boots. Two short-swords were strapped to his waist, and over his shoulder was slung a small double-winged crossbow. There was not a glint of shining metal upon him, and even the chainmail had been dyed black. Though Chardyn had chosen the priesthood he had been raised in a military family. No soldier, in his experience, would pay extra to have his armour dulled. Most wanted to stand out, to shine in battle. The Grey Man's garb achieved the exact opposite. Chardyn flicked a glance at the steeldust gelding. The stirrups and bridle, and even the straps on the saddlebags, were dulled. Interesting, he thought.

  The Grey Man nodded towards Chardyn, and gave a courteous bow to the Duke.

  'Your company was not requested,' said the Duke, 'but I thank you for taking the trouble to join us.'

  If the Grey Man registered the mild rebuke he did not show it. He glanced at the screen of archers. 'If the mist appears it will swamp them,' he said. 'They will need to be more closely grouped. They also need to be told to shoot swiftly at first sight of a black hound. Their bite carries vile poison.'

  'My men are well trained,' said Lord Aric. 'They can look after themselves.'

  The Grey Man shrugged. 'So be it.' Tapping the Chiatze warrior on the arm, he led him deeper into the ruins, where they sat in close conversation.

  'He is an arrogant man,' snapped Aric.

  'With much to be arrogant about,' put in Chardyn.

  'What does that mean?' asked Aric.

  'Exactly what it says, my lord. He is a man of power – and not just due to his wealth. You can see it in his every movement and gesture. He is, as my father would have said, a man of dangerous ashes.'

  The Duke laughed. 'It is a long time since I heard that phrase. But I tend to agree.'

  'I have never heard it at all, sire,' said Aric. 'It sounds meaningless.'

  'It's from an old tale,' said the Duke. 'There was an outlaw named Karinal Bezan. A deadly man who killed a great many people, most of them in one-on-one combat. He was arrested and sentenced to be burnt at the stake. When the executioner stepped forward and applied the torch to the tinder Karinal managed to get one hand free. He grabbed the man and dragged him into the flames and they died together, the man screaming and Karinal's laughter ringing above the roar of the blaze. Some time after that the phrase "You can burn him – but walk wide around the ashes" came into use to describe a certain kind of man. Our friend is just such a man. With that in mind, I suggest you move your men closer to the camp and pass on his warnings about the black hounds.'

  'Yes, sire,' said Aric, struggling to control his anger.

  The Duke rose and stretched. 'And you, sir,' he said to Chardyn, 'should walk among the men and offer them the blessing of the Source. They are far too nervous, and it will stiffen their resolve.'

  And who will stiffen mine? thought Chardyn.

  Kysumu listened quietly as Waylander told him of his conversation with the priestess. The Rajnee tapped the black hilt of his sword. 'There is no proof that he is the enemy. If there was I would slay him.'

  'Ustarte says he cannot be killed.'

  'You believe that?'

  Waylander shrugged. 'I find it hard to believe he could survive a bolt through his heart, but then he is a magicker, and such powers are beyond my understanding.'

  Kysumu glanced round at the archers, taking up fresh positions. 'If the mist comes, many will die here,' he said softly. Waylander nodded, and watched as the priest, Chardyn, strolled among the men, administering blessings. 'You think Eldicar Manushan plans to kill us all?'

  'I don't know what he plans,' said Waylander. 'But Ustarte says he is looking for allies, so perhaps not.'

  Kysumu looked into Waylander's dark eyes. 'Why are you here, Grey Man?' he asked.

  'I have to be somewhere.'

  'That is true.'

  'And what of you, Rajnee? What makes you desire to fight demons?'

  'I have no desire any longer to fight anything,' said Kysumu. 'When I was young I wanted to be a great swordsman. I wanted fame and riches.' He gave a brief smile. 'I was like Yu Yu. I wanted people to bow down before me as I passed.'

  'But not now?'

  'Such are the thoughts of the young. Pride is everything, status must be fought for. It is all empty and meaningless. It is ephemeral. Like the leaf on the oak tree. "Look at me, I am the greenest leaf, the biggest leaf, the finest leaf. None of the other leaves has my majesty." Yet autumn beckons, and winter mocks all the leaves, the great and the green, the small and the stunted.'

  'I understand that,' said Waylander, 'but it is also an argument against waiting here to fight demons. What difference will it make if we fight or we run, if we win or we lose?'

  'Fame is fleeting,' said Kysumu, 'but love and hate are eternal. I may be but a small leaf in the wind of history, but I will stand against evil wherever I find it, no matter the cost. The demon I slay will not descend upon the home of a farmer and murder his family. The bandit who falls beneath my sword will never again rape or kill or plunder. If my death saves a single soul from pain and anguish then it is a price worth paying.'

  Chardyn clambered across the broken rocks and approached them. 'Would you like a blessing?' he asked. Waylander shook his head, but Kysumu rose and bowed. Chardyn laid his hand upon the Rajnee's head. 'May the Source cherish you and keep you from all harm,' he whispered. Kysumu thanked him, and sat down once more. 'May I join you?' asked Chardyn. Waylander gestured for him to sit. 'You think the demons will come?' the priest enquired.

  'Do you have a spell ready if they do?' asked Waylander.

  Chardyn leant forward. 'No,' he admitted, with a wry smile. 'My knowledge of demons and exorcism is – shall we say? – severely limited.'

  'I admire your honesty,' said Waylander. 'However, if you can't fight them you should leave. If they come it will be no place for an unarmed man.'

  'I cannot leave,' said Chardyn, 'though I would dearly love to follow that advice. My presence helps the men.' He smiled, but Waylander saw the fear in his eyes. 'And perhaps – if the demons do come – I can hurl one of my sermons at them.'

  'If the mist comes stay close to us, priest,' said Waylander.

  'Now that is advice I will take.'

  They sat in silence for a while, then Eldicar Manushan strolled over to them. He halted before Waylander. 'Will you walk with me?' he asked.

  'Why not?' replied Waylander, rising smoothly. The magicker picked his way through the broken rocks until they were a little way from the others.

  'I think you have misread me,' said Eldicar Manushan. 'I am not evil, nor do I seek to do you harm.'

  'I am glad you have told me,' said Waylander. 'It will save me so many sleepless nights of worry.'

  Eldicar Manushan laughed with genuine good humour. 'I like you, Grey Man. Truly. And there is no need for us to be enemies. I can offer you your deepest desires. It is within my power.'

  'I think not,' said Waylander. 'I have no desire to be young again.'

  The magicker seemed momentarily puzzled. 'Normally I would find that hard to believe,' he said at last. 'Though not in this instance. Are you so unhappy with life that you yearn to see an end to it?'

  'Why do you desire my friendship?' countered Waylander.

  'Look about you,' said Eldicar, gesturing towards the soldiers. 'Frightened men, small men, malleable men, the world is made up of such men as these. They live to be conquered and ruled. Look at them cowering behind ancient stones, praying that their insignificant lives will be allowed to continue past this night. If they were animals they would be sheep. You, on the other hand,
are a predator, a superior being.'

  'Like yourself?' asked Waylander.

  'I have always loathed false modesty, so, yes, like myself. You are rich, and therefore powerful in this world. You could be useful to Kuan-Hador.'

  Waylander laughed softly, and gazed around at the broken stones. 'This,' he said, 'is Kuan-Hador.'

  'It was destroyed here,' said Eldicar Manushan. 'This is merely one reality. Kuan-Hador is eternal. And she will prevail. This world was once ours. It will be again. When that happens it would be preferable for you to be our friend, Dakeyras.'

  'If that happens,' said Waylander.

  'It will happen. It will be bloody and many will die. But it will happen.'

  'I think this is the point where you tell me what happens if I decide not to be your friend,' observed Waylander.

  Eldicar Manushan shook his head. 'You do not need to hear threats from me, Grey Man. As I said, you are a predator. You are also highly intelligent. I merely ask you to consider my offer of friendship.'

  Clasping his hands behind his back, Eldicar Manushan walked back to the Duke and his officers.

  The afternoon was hot and clammy, heavy rainclouds obscuring the sun. Elphons, Duke of Kydor, struggled to appear relaxed. A little way to the west the Grey Man was stretched out on the ground, apparently asleep. The little Chiatze swordsman was sitting cross-legged nearby, eyes closed. The priest Chardyn was restlessly pacing back and forth, occasionally stopping to peer out over the ruins.

  The men seemed a little more at ease, though Elphons knew their mood was fragile at best. Like himself, they had never fought demons.

  'Will our swords cut demon flesh?' he had asked Eldicar Manushan.

  The magicker spread his hands. 'It is said that the skin of a demon is like toughened leather, my lord. But, then, there are many kinds of demon.'

  'You think they will come?'

  'If they do it will be after dusk,' said Eldicar Manushan.

  The Duke pushed himself to his feet and approached the priest, Chardyn, who was pacing to and fro. The man looked frightened, he thought, which was not an encouraging sign. Priests should always be serene. 'I hear you have filled the new temple with worshippers,' said the Duke. 'I must attend one of your services.'

  'Most kind, my lord. But, yes, the faithful grow ever more powerful in Carlis.'

  'Religion is a good thing,' said the Duke. 'It keeps the poor content.'

  Chardyn smiled. 'You believe that is its only purpose?'

  The Duke shrugged. 'Who can say? For myself I have never witnessed a miracle, nor has the Source ever spoken to me. But I am a soldier, first and foremost. I tend to believe what I can see and touch. I have little time for faith.'

  'You have never prayed?'

  The Duke chuckled. 'Once I was surrounded by Zharn tribesmen and my sword broke. I said a prayer then, I can tell you.'

  'It was obviously answered, for here you stand.'

  'I leapt at them and rammed the broken blade through the throat of the first man. As the others closed in, my men regrouped and scattered them. So tell me of your faith. From where does it spring?'

  Chardyn looked away. 'I realized the truth about the Source many years ago,' he said softly. 'Nothing I have learnt since has changed my mind.'

  'It must be comforting to have faith at times like this,' said the Duke. He glanced down and saw that the Grey Man was awake. 'Only an old soldier would be able to sleep before a battle,' he said, with a smile.

  The Grey Man moved to his feet. 'If they come it won't be a long battle,' he said.

  The Duke nodded. 'You mean the ice? I saw the dead birds in the woods. Frozen to death. I am hoping our archers will strike many down before they reach us. Then – if the Source is with us,' he added, with a glance at Chardyn, 'we can finish the rest with swords.'

  'Always good to have a plan,' said the Grey Man.

  'You disagree?'

  The Grey Man shrugged. 'The tracks I saw were of creatures far bigger than bears. Forget demons, my lord. If twenty bears were to rush this camp how many would be brought down by your archers? And how many would be killed by your swordsmen?'

  'I take your point, sir, but you must understand mine. I am the lord of these lands. It is my duty to protect its citizens. I have no choice but to face this evil, and hope that strength and courage will hold the day.'

  The Grey Man turned towards the western peaks. 'We'll know soon enough,' he said, as the sun began to sink below the mountain-tops.

  As darkness fell upon the valley a small bright spark flickered behind a half-shattered column of stone. Dust swirled around it, and moisture from the air was drawn to it. Slowly it took shape, as the molecules of earth, air and water melded to the spark of fire. A form began to materialize, tall and thin, naked under the new moonlight. The skin, at first speckled, became scaled and grey. Arms stretched from the form, and a flowing hooded robe of darkness cloaked it. The thin lipless mouth opened, dragging in air, filling the new lungs.

  Niaharzz became aware, aware of the warm air around him, the soft earth beneath his feet, the silken robe upon the naked grey skin of his shoulders. The membrane over his eyes slid back and he blinked. For a moment he could not move, for the exquisite joy of material existence was strong upon him, causing his limbs to tremble.

  When at last he felt confident of movement he stretched his legs and stepped to the edge of the stone column, peering round it. Some thirty paces to the east he could see the humans. Lifting his head, he tasted the air in his nostrils. The scent of flesh caused his belly to tighten, but the heady aroma of fear among these pale, pink creatures made him shudder with desire. Instinctively his mouth opened, exposing pointed fangs. Memories of a glorious past flooded him, trembling females exuding the dizzying perfume of terror, younglings, their soft bones yielding sweet marrow.

  Niaharzz quelled his hunger and leant back against the stone.

  Once he had been a god, stalking the earth and feeding where he chose. Now he was a servant, fed only when his masters allowed it. And as long as they controlled the gateways he would remain a slave to their ambitions.

  Still, food was food. . . .

  Niaharzz flipped his hood of darkness over his head, drawing it like a veil over his face. Then he moved to the far side of the rock and sought out the warrior with the bright sword of death. He was sitting on a stone, the vile weapon in his hands. Another human stood close by, tall and garbed in black. Niaharzz watched him. This one was dangerous too. He could feel it – though he sensed no magic emanating from him.

  Take no risks, he told himself. In spirit form Niaharzz was immortal, but clothed in flesh he could die like any of these primitive creatures. Stay away from the sword, he warned himself. Do not let them see you.

  Crouching down, he extended his hand. Seven sparks leapt from his fingers, and began to dance and swirl in the shadows of the column, forming into huge Kraloth hounds, their massive jaws dripping venom.

  Niaharzz toyed with directing them at the swordsman, but he had already seen the man destroy several of his beauties the night before. No, the Ice Giants could rend and tear the man. His Kraloth would sacrifice their lives to kill the humans carrying the weapons of far-death. He gestured to the hounds, and they slunk away, keeping to the shadows, moving silently ever closer to the archers.

  The sword in Kysumu's lap began to glow. The Rajnee climbed to a rock and held the blade aloft. 'The enemy is close!' he shouted.

  Men scrambled to their feet, soldiers drawing their swords and hefting their shields, archers notching arrows to bowstrings. Chardyn peered out among the shadow-haunted ruins. 'There!' he bellowed, pointing to the west.

  The first of the giant black hounds charged at the archers. Shafts flew at it, most hissing by its hurtling black form. One struck it high on the back and glanced clear without marking the skin.

  'Neck or head!' shouted Waylander. Six more hounds came in sight, moving at great speed. The first beast reached the broken wall behind which the
archers crouched. It leapt, clearing the barrier in one bound, its curved fangs closing upon the face of a bowman. The crunching of bone that followed made Chardyn feel sick.

  All was pandemonium now as the Kraloth leapt among the archers.

  'Kill the hounds,' Waylander ordered Kysumu. 'I'll find the Houndmaster.'

  Kysumu sprinted across the ruins, his sword blazing. The Grey Man vanished into the shadows.

  Chardyn stood alone.

  In the distance he saw a wall of mist seeping across the valley.

  The smell of blood in the air caused Niaharzz to tremble with hunger. Now is not the time to feed, he told himself. Later, when the Ice Giants had finished the slaughter. Though he hoped to be able to drag at least one live victim clear of the mist before the flesh froze. Meat should slide around the mouth, its juices rich and savoury, not break into icy pieces as fangs closed upon it.

  Niaharzz moved silently to the edge of the broken column and risked a glance. The small warrior with the shining sword was among the archers now, but he was hampered by the crush of bodies; men panicking and attempting to flee. Even so, he had killed two of the hounds, curse him! Offset against this more than a dozen of the archers were down, most of them dead, but two were screaming.

  The sound was delicious. It was almost as good as feeding. Niaharzz filtered the raw emotions, various degrees of terror, ranging from stomach-tightening fear to bowel-loosening panic. He blinked, a sense of shock touching his soul. Amid all the fear there was an emotion subtly different. Powerful, yes, but not sweet to the senses . . . He knew he had sensed it before, thousands of years ago, when last he had walked these night-dark lands. Niaharzz focused on the emotion, separating it from those flowing from the carnage.

  Then it came to him.

  It was rage. But not the boiling, extravagant rage of the fighting man. No, this was cold, controlled – and close.

  Niaharzz did not move.

  There was a man close by. Very close! He guessed it to be the tall man he had seen standing with the swordsman. Fear touched Niaharzz. It was not an entirely unpleasant feeling, for it made him more aware of the joys of physical reality. Very, very slowly he turned his head.