Waylander ds-3

by David A. Gemmell

  He returned to his bed, calmer now. And slept.

  He found himself on a dark mountain, under strange stars, his mind dazed and confused. Before him was an old man in ragged brown robes. His eyes were closed as he spoke:

  'Welcome, general. Do you seek the Armour?'

  'Armour?' asked Kaem. 'What armour?'

  'The Armour of Bronze. Orien's Armour.'

  'He hid it.' said Kaem. 'No man knows where.'

  'I know.'

  Kaem sat down opposite the old man. Like all students of modern history, he had heard of this Armour. Some claimed it had magical properties which ensured victory to the wearer, but these were simple souls, or saga-poets. Kaem had long studied the process of war and knew that Orien was merely a master strategist. And yet the Armour was a symbol and a powerful one.

  'Where is it?' he asked.

  The old man did not open his eyes. 'How badly do you desire it?'

  'I would like it,' said Kaem, 'but it is not important.'

  'How do you define importance?'

  'I will win with it, or without it.'

  'Are you so sure, general? Purdol resists you and Egel has an army within Skultik.'

  'Purdol is mine. It may take a month, but it will fall. And Egel is trapped – he cannot harm me.'

  'He can if he has the Armour.'

  'How so? Is it magic, then?'

  'No, it is merely metal. But it is a symbol and the Drenai will flock to the man who wears it. Even your own soldiers know of its supposed properties and their morale will suffer. You know this is true.'

  'Very well,' said Kaem. 'I accept that it could harm me. Where is it?'

  'In the lands of the Nadir.'

  'That covers a wide area, old man.'

  'It is hidden in the heart of the Mountains of the Moon.'

  'Why do you tell me this? Who are you?'

  'I am a dreamer within a dream – your dream, Kaem. My words are true, and your hopes rest on how you interpret them.'

  'How will I find the Armour?'

  'Follow the man who seeks it.'

  'Who is this man?'

  'Whom do you fear most in the world of flesh?'

  'Waylander?'

  'The same.'

  'Why would he seek the Armour? He has no interest in this war.'

  'He killed the King for you, Kaem. And yet you hunt him. The Drenai would kill him if they knew and the Vagrians will kill him if they find him. Perhaps he seeks to bargain.'

  'How does he know its whereabouts?'

  'I told him.'

  'Why? What game is this?'

  'A game of death, Kaem.'

  The old man's eyes opened and Kaem screamed as tongues of fire flashed about him.

  And he woke.

  For three nights Kaem's dreams were haunted by visions of bronze armour and two fabulous swords. Once he saw the Armour floating above Skultik forest, shining like a second sun. Then it dropped, so slowly, towards the trees and he saw Egel's army bathed in its light. The army grew in number as the trees themselves became men – a vast, invincible force.

  On the second night he saw Waylander coming through the trees bearing one of those terrible swords, and then he realised that the assassin was stalking him. He had run, but his legs were weak and heavy and he had watched in horror as Waylander slowly dismembered him.

  On the third night he saw himself clad in the Armour of Orien, mounting the marble steps to Vagria's throne. The cheering of the crowds filled him with joy, and when he looked into the eyes of his new subjects he saw adoration.

  On the morning of the fourth day, he found his mind wandering as he listened to the reports from his junior generals.

  Kaem forced himself to concentrate through the seemingly endless series of small problems which affect an army at war. Supplies were slow from the west, since wagons had proved more scarce than expected; new wagons were under construction. Six hundred horses had been slaughtered near Drenan after a small number had been found coughing blood; it was thought that the disease had been checked. Some breakdown in discipline among the men had been severely dealt with, but it had to be remembered that they were now on short rations.

  'What about the Lentrians?' asked Kaem.

  Xertes, a young officer distantly related to the Emperor, stepped forward. 'They repulsed our first attack, my lord. But we have now pushed them back.'

  'You promised me that with an army of ten thousand you could take Lentria within a week.'

  'The men lacked courage,' said Xertes.

  'That has never been a Vagrian weakness. What they lacked was leadership.'

  'Not from me,' said Xertes fiercely. 'I ordered Misalas to take the high ground on their right flank so that I could push forward with a wedge through their centre. But he failed – it was not my fault.'

  'Misalas is light cavalry – leather breastplates and sabres. The enemy right flank was dug in and the hill covered with trees. How in the name of the Spirit did you expect light cavalry to take that position? They were cut to pieces by archers.'

  'I will not be humiliated in this way,' shouted Xertes. 'I will write to my uncle.'

  'Noble birth does not exclude you from responsibilities,' stated Kaem. 'You made many promises and have fulfilled not one. Pushed back, you say? My understanding is that the Lentrians gave you a bloody nose and then repositioned themselves ready to give you another. I told you to move into Lentria at speed, giving them no time to dig in. What did you do? You camped on their borders and had your scouts examine the land, making it clear to a blind man where you planned to attack. You have cost me two thousand men.'

  'That is not fair!'

  'Be silent, you worm! You are dismissed from my service. Go home, boy!'

  The colour faded from Xertes' face and his hand moved close to his ornate dagger.

  Kaem smiled …

  Xertes froze, bowed swiftly and marched stiff-legged from the room. Kaem looked around the group: ten officers rigidly at attention, not one set of eyes meeting his own.

  'Dismissed,' he said and when they had gone he summoned Dalnor to him. The young officer entered and Kaem offered him a chair.

  'Xertes is going home,' said Kaem.

  'I heard, my lord.'

  'It is a dangerous journey … much could happen.'

  'Indeed, my lord.'

  'The assassin Waylander, for example?'

  'Yes, my lord.'

  'The Emperor would be appalled if such a man were to kill someone of royal Vagrian blood.'

  'He would indeed, my lord. He would use all his resources to have him tracked down and killed.'

  'Then we must ensure that nothing untoward happens to young Xertes. See that he has an escort.'

  'I will, my lord.'

  'And Dalnor…'

  'Yes, my lord.'

  'Waylander uses a small crossbow with bolts of black iron.'

  7

  The old fort had only three good walls, each twenty feet high, the fourth having been partly stripped by villagers using the stones for foundations. Now the village was deserted and the fort stood like a crippled guard over the remains. The Keep – such as it was – was damp and cold, part of the roof having fallen in some years before, and there was some evidence that the central chamber had been used as a cattle store, the stench remaining long after the animals had been moved.

  Gellan had the carts moved into place against the exposed fourth wall, providing a barrier of sorts against Vagrian attack. And the rain pounded down, lashing the stone of the ancient battlements and making them glisten like marble.

  Lightning blazed across the night sky and thunder rumbled in the east as Gellan drew his cloak about him and stared to the north. Sarvaj climbed the creaking, rotted steps to the battlements and moved alongside the officer.

  'I hope you are right,' he said, but Gellan did not respond. His despair was almost complete.

  On the first day he had been convinced the Vagrians would find them. On the second his worries had grown. On the t
hird he had allowed himself some hope that they would arrive in Skultik to a fanfare of triumph.

  Then the rain had struck, bogging down the wagons in a sea of mud. At that point he should have destroyed the supplies and made a run for the forest – he knew that now. But he had dithered too long, and the Vagrians had circled ahead of him.

  There had been time to cut and run – as Jonat pointed out – but by then Gellan had become obsessed with bringing the supplies to Egel.

  He had hoped there would be fewer than two hundred Vagrians opposing him and had turned the wagons west to the ruined fort at Masin. Fifty men could hold the fort for perhaps three days against a force of two hundred. In the meantime he had sent three riders to Skultik requesting urgent aid.

  But Gellan's luck was running true to form. His scouts reported that the force opposing him was five hundred and the chances were they would be overrun on the first assault.

  The scouts had been sent to Egel and no one at the fort knew of the enemy strength. Gellan felt like a traitor for not informing Sarvaj, but morale was a delicate beast at best.

  'We can hold,' said Gellan at last, 'even if they have more men than we think.'

  "The western wall is rotten. I think an angry child could push it in,' said Sarvaj. 'The wagons don't make much of a barrier.'

  'They'll do.'

  'So you think two hundred?'

  'Maybe three,' admitted Gellan.

  'I hope not.'

  'Remember the manual, Sarvaj – and I quote, "Good fortifications can be held against an enemy ten times the strength of the defending force." '

  'I don't like to argue with a superior officer, but didn't the manual say "five times"?'

  'We'll check it when we reach Skultik.'

  'Jonat is complaining again. But the men are glad to be under cover; they have a fire going in the Keep. Why don't you go inside for a while?'

  'You're getting concerned about my old bones?'

  'I think you should rest. Tomorrow could get a little tense.'

  'Yes, you are right. Keep the sentries alert, Sarvaj.'

  'I'll do my best.'

  Gellan walked to the steps, then returned. 'There are over five hundred Vagrians,' he said.

  'I guessed that,' said Sarvaj. 'Get some sleep. And watch out for those steps – I say a prayer every time I mount them!'

  Gellan made his way gingerly down the steps and across the cobbled courtyard to the Keep. The hinges of the gates had rusted through, but the soldiers had wedged the doors in place. Gellan squeezed through and made his way to the huge hearth. The fire was welcome and he warmed his hands against the blaze. The men had fallen silent as he entered, then one of them – Vanek – approached him.

  'We lit a fire for you, sir. In the eastern room. There's a pallet bed if you wanted to catch some sleep.'

  'Thank you, Vanek. Jonat, will you join me for a moment?'

  The tall, bony Jonat pushed himself to his feet and followed the officer. Sarvaj had been complaining again, he guessed, preparing his arguments. Once inside the small room, Gellan removed his cloak and breastplate and stood before the crackling fire.

  'You know why I promoted you?' Gellan asked.

  'Because you thought I could handle it?' ventured Jonat.

  'More than that. I knew you could. I trust you, Jonat.'

  'Thank you, sir,' said Jonat uneasily.

  'So let me tell you – and I want you to keep it to yourself for tonight – that there are at least five hundred Vagrians ranged against us.'

  'We'll never hold.'

  'I hope that we will, for Egel needs these supplies. Three days is all it will take. I want you to hold the western wall. Pick twenty men – the best archers, the finest swordsmen – but hold it!'

  'We should have cut and run; we still could.'

  'Egel has four thousand men and they are short of equipment, food and medicines; the people of Skarta are going hungry to supply them. But it cannot go on. I checked the wagons tonight. You know there are over twenty thousand shafts, spare bows, swords and spears; also salt meats, dried fruits and more than old hundred thousand silver pieces.'

  'One hundred … it's their pay!'

  'Exactly. But with it Egel can open trade links even with the Nadir.'

  'No wonder they sent five hundred men to recover it. I'm surprised they didn't send a thousand.'

  'We'll make them wish they had,' said Gellan. 'Can you hold the western wall with twenty men?'

  'I can give it a try.'

  'That's all I ask.'

  After Jonat had gone Gellan lay back on the pallet bed. It smelt of dust and decay, but it felt finer than a silk-covered four-poster.

  Gellan fell asleep two hours before dawn. His last waking thought was of the children, on the day he had taken them to play in the mountains.

  If only he had known it was their last day together, he would have made it so different for them. He would have hugged them and told them he loved them …

  The storm passed during the night and the dawn sky was clear of cloud, a brilliant spring blue. Gellan was awoken within the hour when riders were seen to the east. He dressed swiftly and shaved, then made his way to the wall.

  Two horses could be seen in the distance, moving slowly and heavily laden. As they neared, Gellan saw that one horse carried a man and a woman, while the second bore a man and two children.

  When they approached he waved them round to the ruined gates of the western wall and ordered the wagons pulled back so as to allow the horses to enter.

  'Go and question them,' he ordered Sarvaj.

  The young soldier descended to the courtyard as the group were dismounting, and was drawn instantly to the man in the black leather cloak. He was a tall man with dark, grey-streaked hair, and eyes so deep a brown there appeared to be no trace of pupils. His face was set and grim and he moved with care, always balanced. In his hand he held a small black crossbow, and several knives hung on his broad black belt.

  'Good morning,' said Sarvaj. 'Have you travelled far?'

  'Far enough,' answered the man, turning his gaze to the wagons being pulled back in place.

  'It might be safer for you to move on.'

  'No,' said the man quietly. 'Vagrian outriders are everywhere.'

  'They are hunting us,' said Sarvaj. The man nodded and moved towards the battlements, while Sarvaj turned to the other man standing with a young woman and the two children.

  'Welcome to Masin,' he said, extending his hand which Dardalion shook warmly. Sarvaj bowed to Danyal, then squatted down before the children. 'My name is Sarvaj,' he told them, removing his plumed helm. Frightened, the sisters hugged Danyal's skirt and turned their heads away.

  'I've always been good with children,' he said, with a wry smile.

  'They have suffered a great deal,' said Danyal, 'but they will be better in a little while. Do you have any food?'

  'How remiss of me. Come this way.'

  He took them into the keep where the cook was preparing breakfast of hot oats and cold pork and they sat at the makeshift table. The cook served them with plates of oats, but the children, after one taste, pushed the dishes away.

  'It's horrible,' said Miriel.

  One of the men sitting nearby came to the table.

  'What's wrong with it, princess?'

  'It's sour,' she said.

  'You have some sugar hidden in your hair. Why don't you sweeten it?'

  'I haven't any sugar,' she said. The man leaned forward, ruffled her hair and then opened his hand to show a tiny leather sack sitting on his palm. He unfastened it and poured some sugar on the oats.

  'Is there sugar in my hair?' asked Krylla eagerly.

  'No, princess, but I'm sure your sister would not mind you sharing hers.' He added the rest of his small store to Krylla's plate and the sisters began to eat.

  'Thank you,' said Danyal.

  'A pleasure, my lady. I am Vanek.'

  'You are a kind man.'

  'I like children,' he said,
then moved back to his table. Danyal noticed that he walked with a slight limp.

  'A horse fell on him about two years ago,' said Sarvaj. 'Crushed his foot. He's a good man.'

  'Do you have spare weapons here?' asked Dardalion.

  'We captured some Vagrian supplies. There are swords, bows and breastplates.'

  'Must you fight, Dardalion?' asked Danyal.

  Reading the concern in her voice, Sarvaj switched his gaze to the young man. He looked strong enough, though his face was gentle – more of a scholar than a warrior, thought Sarvaj; he reached out and took Danyal's hand, saying nothing.

  'You don't have to fight, sir,' said Sarvaj. 'It's not obligatory.'

  'Thank you, but I have chosen my path. Would you help me choose a weapon? I am not skilled in such matters.'

  'Of course. Tell me about your friend.'

  'What would you like to hear?' asked Dardalion.

  Sarvaj grinned. 'He seems more of a loner,' he said lamely. 'Not someone I would expect to see in the company of a woman and children.'

  'He saved our lives,' said Dardalion, 'and that speaks more highly of him than his looks.'

  'Indeed it does,' admitted Sarvaj. 'What is his name?'

  'Dakeyras,' said Dardalion swiftly. Sarvaj caught the look on Danyal's face and did not press the matter; there were far more important issues at stake than a change of name. It was likely that Dakeyras was an outlaw, which six months ago would have meant something. Now it was immaterial.

  'He spoke of Vagrian outriders. Did you see them?'

  'There are just under five hundred soldiers,' said Dardalion. 'They were camped in a gully to the north-east.'

  'Were?'

  'They moved out an hour before dawn, seeking sign of your wagons.'

  'You know a great deal about their movements.'

  'I am a mystic, once a priest of the Source.'

  'And you want weapons?'

  'I have experienced a change of perspective, Sarvaj.'

  'Can you see where the Vagrians are now?'

  Dardalion closed his eyes, resting his head on his elbows. Seconds later he opened them again.

  "They have found the tracks where you cut to the west. Now they are moving this way.'