Waylander

Waylander Page 17

by Waylander [lit]

  The Abbot walked away into the darkening dusk

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  where Astila and the other priests waited in silence. They bowed as he passed, but he ignored them.

  The priests gathered in a ring around Dardalion and waited while he concluded his prayers. Then he looked up.

  'Welcome, my friends. Tonight we must aid Lord Karnak, but above this we must learn about our­selves. There is more than a chance that the path we follow is the road to perdition, for it may be that everything we do is against the will of the Source. So we must hold in our hearts the strength of our faith and the belief in our cause. Tonight some of us may die. Let us not travel to the Source with hate in us. We will begin now by joining in prayer. We will pray for our enemies, and we will forgive them in our hearts.'

  'How can we forgive them and then slay them?' asked a young priest.

  'If we do not forgive, then hate will flower. But think on this: if you had a dog that became rabid, you would slay it with regret. You would not hate it. That is what I ask. Let us pray.'

  As darkness closed in around them they concluded

  their communion, and their spirits rose into the night

  sky. ^

  Dardalion glanced about him. All the priests were clothed in silver armour, shining shields upon their arms and swords of fire in their hands. The stars shone like gems in a blaze, and the mountains of the moon cast sharp shadows as The Thirty waited for the Brotherhood. All was silence.

  Dardalion could feel the tension among the priests, for their minds were still linked. Doubts and uncertainties flickered and faded. The night was

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  clear and calm, the forest below them bathed in silver light.

  The hours stretched on, impossibly long, and fear ebbed and flowed among the priests to touch each of them with icy fingers.

  The night grew more menacing and to the west sombre clouds gathered, staining the moonlight.

  'They are coming!' pulsed Astila. 'I can sense it.'

  'Be calm,' urged Dardalion.

  The dark clouds drew nearer and Dardalion's sword flickered into his hand, the blade burning with white fire.

  The clouds loomed and disgorged black-cloaked warriors who swept down on a wave of hatred that engulfed The Thirty. The dark emotion closed over Dardalion, but he shook himself free and soared to meet the attackers. His blade cut and sliced into their mass and his shield rang with returned blows. The Thirty flew to his aid and the battle was joined.

  There were more than fifty black warriors, but they could not match the silver-armoured priests and their fiery swords, and they fell back towards the clouds. The Thirty gave chase.

  Suddenly Astila screamed a mind warning and Dardalion, about to enter the clouds, veered away.

  The cloud bunched in on itself - forming a bloated body, scaled and dark. Huge wings unfurled and a gaping red maw opened at the front of the beast. The Brotherhood were absorbed into its mass and it grew yet more solid.

  'Back!' pulsed Dardalion, and The Thirty fled over the forest.

  The beast pursued them and Dardalion halted in his flight, his mind racing. Somehow the combined

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  forces of the Brotherhood had created this thing. Was it real? Instinctively he knew that it was.

  'To me!' he pulsed. The Thirty gathered around him. 'One warrior. One mind. One mission,' he intoned, and The Thirty merged. Dardalion was swamped and his mind swam as his power multiplied.

  Where there had been Thirty, now there was One whose eyes blazed with fire and whose sword was jagged like frozen lightning.

  With a roar of rage, the One hurled himself at the beast. The creature reared and taloned arms raked out at the warrior, but the One hammered his light­ning blade across its body, severing one limb at a stroke. The beast bellowed in pain and with jaws opened wide it plunged towards its attacker. The One looked up into the giant maw, seeing row upon row of teeth, shaped like the dark swords of the Brotherhood. Hefting his blade, he threw it like a thunderbolt into the cavern of the mouth. As the weapon speared home the One created another and another, hurling them deep into the monster. The beast drew back, its form shifting and changing as the lightning blades lanced its body.

  Small dark shapes fled from its mass and it shrank. Then the One spread his hands and flew like an arrow into the heart of the cloud, tearing at the astral flesh. His mind was full of screams and pain as the Brotherhood died one by one. When the cloud broke up and the surviving warriors fled for the safety of their bodies, the One hurled bolts of light at them as they went, then hovered under the stars, seeing them for the first time.

  How beautiful, he thought. His far-seeing eyes scanned the planets, the shifting of colours, the swirl-

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  ing of distant clouds over dried-out oceans, and far off he spied a comet arcing through the galaxy. So much to see.

  Within the One, Dardalion struggled for identity; his name was a lost thing to him and he fell asleep in the mass. Astila fought on, his thoughts things of mist ebbing and flowing. One. The One. More than One. Numbers. A wave of joy suffused him as he fought, and his vision was blanked by the sight of a meteor shower exploding in rainbow colours through the atmosphere. The One was mightily pleased with the display.

  Astila clung to his task. Numbers. A number. No ... not One. Slowly he forced himself to count, searching what was left of his memory for thoughts that were his alone. Then a name struck him. Darda­lion. Was it his name? No. Another. He called out weakly, but there was no response. A number.

  Thirty. That was the number of power. Thirty. The One shivered and Astila burst clear.

  'Who are you?' asked the One.

  'Astila.'

  'Why have you withdrawn from me? We are One.'

  'I seek Dardalion within you.'

  'Dardalion?' said the One, and deep within him the young priest stirred to life. One by one Astila called the names of The Thirty and the priests came to themselves, drawing away confused and uncertain.

  Dawn was near when Astila led the group home.

  Once more in their bodies, they slept for several hours.

  Dardalion was the first to wake. He roused the others and called Astila to him

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  'Last night you saved us,' said Dardalion. 'You have a gift for seeing through deceptions.'

  'But you created the One,' said Astila. 'Without that we would not have survived.'

  'We almost did not survive. The One was as great a danger to us as the Cloudbeast and you saved us a second time. Yesterday the Abbot gave me a warn­ing and I said I would think on his words. We need form, Astila . . . discipline. I shall be the Abbot of The Thirty. But you must have a senior part. I shall be the Voice and you will be the Eyes. Together we will find the path to the will of the Source.

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  13

  Waylander leaned back in the saddle and stared out over the Delnoch Pass to the Nadir plains beyond. Behind him the wagons had bunched for the night, ready for the perilous descent tomorrow. The pass sloped down for over a mile in a series of treacherous scree-covered ledges, and it took a brave man to drive a wagon over the narrow winding trail. Most of the refugees had paid Durmast's men handsome sums to take over the reins for the descent, while they walked behind in comparative safety.

  A cool breeze was blowing from the north and Waylander allowed himself to relax. There had been no sign of Cadoras or of the Brotherhood, and he had checked the back trails with care. Suddenly he grinned. It was said of Cadoras that when you saw him there was danger - that when you did not see him, there was death. Waylander slid from his horse's back and led the animal to the picket ropes. Stripping off the saddle, he rubbed the horse down, fed it with grain and moved into the centre of the camp where the fires crackled under iron cooking-pots.

  Durmast was sitting with a group of travellers,

  regaling them with tales of Gulgothir. In the red

  firelight his face was less brutal and his smile warmr />
  _ and friendly. Children sat around him, gazing in awe

  It at the giant and relishing his outrageous stories. It

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  was hard to believe that these people were fleeing from a terrible war; that many of them had lost friends, brothers and sons. Their relief at the pro­spect of escape was showing itself in over-loud laugh­ter and jests. Waylander transferred his gaze to Dur­mast's men, sitting in a group apart from the others. Hard men, Durmast had said, and Waylander knew their type. They were not hard, they were murder­ous. In days of peace and plenty, the worthy townsfolk who now laughed and sang would bolt their doors against such as these; you could not have paid them enough to travel with Durmast. Now they laughed like children, unable to see that their danger was just as great.

  Waylander turned to fetch his blankets - and froze. Standing not ten feet away from him, facing a fire, was Danyal. The firelight danced in her red-gold hair, and she was wearing a new dress tunic of wool embroidered and edged with gold thread. Waylander swallowed hard and took a deep breath. Then she lifted a hand to her hair and turned, seeing him for the first time. Her smile was genuine and he hated her for it.

  'So you notice me at last,' she said, moving towards him.

  'I thought you were staying in Skarta with the children?'

  'I left them with the Source priests. I am tired of war, Waylander. I want to go somewhere where I can sleep at night without fearing tomorrow.'

  'There is no such place,' he said bitterly. 'Come, walk with me.'

  'I am preparing some food.'

  'Later,' he said, walking away towards the pass. She followed him to a grassy knoll where they sat

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  on jutting boulders. 'Do you know who is leading this caravan?'

  'Yes,' she answered. 'A man called Durmast.'

  'He is a killer.'

  'So are you.'

  'You don't understand. You are in more danger here than back in Skultik.'

  'But you are here.'

  'What has that to do with it? Durmast and I under­stand one another. I need him to help me find the Armour; he knows the Nadir and I might not get through without him.'

  'Will you allow him to harm us?'

  'Allow, woman? What on earth do you think I could do to stop him? He has twenty men. Damn you, Danyal, why are you dogging my footsteps?'

  'How dare you?' she stormed. 'I didn't know you were travelling with us. Your conceit is colossal.'

  "That's not what I meant,' he said defensively. 'It just seems that whenever I turn round you are there.'

  'How depressing for you!'

  'For pity's sake, woman - can you not hold back from jumping down my throat? I do not want to fight with you.'

  'In that case, let me say that you have a regrettable line in small talk.'

  For a while they sat in silence, watching the moon traverse the Delnoch Pass.

  'I am not going to live very long, Danyal,' he said at last. 'Maybe three weeks, maybe less. I would very much like to end my life successfully . . .'

  'Just the sort of stupid remark I would expect from a man! Who is going to care if you find that Armour of yours? It is not magic, it is just metal. And not even precious metal.'

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  7 will care.'

  'Why?'

  'What sort of question is that?'

  'Stalling for time, Waylander?'

  'No, I meant it. You think men stupid when they lust after glory? So do I. But this is not about glory - it concerns honour. I have lived in shame for many years and I fell to a level I would not have believed possible. I killed a good man . . . ended his life for money. I cannot undo that act. But I can atone. I do believe in Gods who care about humans. I do not seek forgiveness from some higher authority. I want to forgive myself. I want to find the Armour for Egel and the Drenai and fulfil a promise I made Orien.'

  'You do not have to die to do that,' she said softly, placing her hand gently on his.

  'No, I don't - and would prefer to live. But I am a hunted man. Cadoras hunts me. The Brotherhood seek me. And Durmast will sell me when the time is right.'

  'Then why stay here like a tethered goat? Strike out on your own.'

  'No. I need Durmast for the first part of my jour­ney. I have an advantage! I know my enemies and I have no one to rely on.'

  'That makes no sense.'

  'Only because you are a woman and cannot under­stand the simplicity of the words. I am alone, so there is no one to let me down. When I run - if I run - I carry no baggage. I am self-sufficient and very, very deadly.'

  'Which brings us to our first point,' said Danyal. 'You are trying to tell me that I am baggage to weigh you down.'

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  'Yes, Durmast must not realise that we know one another, else he will use you against me.'

  'It is too late for that,' said Danyal, looking away. 'I wondered why he changed his mind about allowing me to ride with the wagons when I had no money. But I thought it was my body he desired.'

  'Explain,' said Waylander wearily.

  'A woman I met directed me to Durmast, but he told me that with no money I was useless to him. Then he asked where I was from, as he had not seen me before in Skarta, and I told him that I came in with you. Then he changed and asked me all about you, after which he said I could come.'

  'You are leaving something out.'

  'Yes. I told him I loved you.'

  'Why? Why would you do that?'

  'Because it's true!' she snapped.

  'And he asked you whether I felt the same?'

  'Yes. I told him no.'

  'But he did not believe you.'

  'How do you know?'

  'Because you are here.' Waylander lapsed into silence, remembering Hewla's words about the red­headed woman and Orien's enigmatic warning con­cerning companions. What was it the old man had said?

  That success or failure would depend on Waylan-der's companions. Or rather on whom he chose to accompany him.

  'What are you thinking?' she asked, seeing him smile, and the tension fade from his face.

  'I was thinking that I am glad you are here. It is very selfish of me. I will die, Danyal. I am a realist and the odds are too great. But knowing you will be with me, for a few days at least, gives me pleasure.'

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  'Even though Durmast will use me against you?'

  'Even so.'

  'Do you have a small copper coin?' she asked.

  He fished in his money-sack, producing a tiny coin carrying the head of Niallad which he handed to her.

  'What do you want it for?'

  'You once said you never took a woman you had not paid for. Now you have paid.'

  Leaning over, she kissed him softly and his arms moved round her waist, pulling her in to him.

  Hidden in the trees, Durmast watched the lovers move to the grass beside the boulders. The big man shook his head and smiled.

  The dawn broke bright and clear, but dark clouds loomed in the north and Durmast cursed loudly. 'Rain,' he spat. 'That's all we damned well need!' The first of the wagons was led to the crest of the Pass. Pulled by six oxen, it was some twenty feet long and heavily laden with boxes and crates. The driver licked his lips, his eyes narrowing as he gauged the dangers of the trail. Then he cracked his whip over the head of the lead oxen and the wagon lurched forward. Waylander walked behind, with Durmast and seven of his men. The first two hundred yards were steep, though relatively simple to travel for the path was wide and firm. But then it narrowed and dipped to the right. The driver hauled back on the reins and jammed the wheel-brake tight against the rim, but the wagon slid slowly sideways towards the yawning drop on the left.

  'Ropes!' bellowed Durmast and the men ran for­ward to hook inch-thick hemp ropes about the axles. The wagon stopped its slide. Waylander, Durmast

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  and the others took up the two ropes and gathered in the slack.

  'Now!' called Durmast and the wagoner gently released the brake. The wag
on inched forward, slith­ering to a stop some twenty paces on. The trail was angled here, and the weight of the wagon caused it to pull towards the edge. But the men on the ropes were strong, and well-used to the perils of the Delnoch Pass.

  For over an hour they toiled, until at last the wagon came to level ground.

 

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