Waylander ds-3

by David A. Gemmell

  Moving forward silently he came up behind the man, slipping the noose over his head and jerking it tight. He fell back, scrabbling at the noose, but Waylander pulled him from his feet and dragged him across the hollow to a tall elm. Swiftly he hurled the rope over a branch some ten feet from the ground and hauled the struggling man to his feet. The attacker's eyes were bulging and his face above the dark beard was purple.

  Waylander had never seen him before.

  Then a whisper of movement from behind caused him to drop the rope and dive to his right. An arrow hissed past him to thud into the bearded attacker. The man grunted and his knees gave way. Waylander bunched his legs under him and came up running, cutting left and right to hinder the aim of the hidden assassin. Once into the trees he dropped low and began to crawl through the bushes, circling the hollow.

  The sound of horse's hooves caused him to curse and he straightened, slipping his dagger into his sheath. Returning to the clearing he found Danyal unconscious. Across her naked breasts someone had laid a goose-feathered arrow. Waylander snapped it in half.

  Cadoras!

  Lifting Danyal, he walked back to the wagons, where he left her with the baker's wife and returned to the grove. The first man who had attacked him lay where he had fallen; Waylander had hoped to question him, but his throat had been cut. Swiftly he searched the body, but there was nothing to identify him. The second man had three gold coins in a belt pouch. Waylander took the coins back to the camp and gave them to Lyda.

  'Hide them about your person,' he told her.

  She nodded and lifted the canvas flap, allowing Waylander to climb into the wagon.

  Danyal was awake, her lip swollen and a bruise on her cheek. Caymal sat beside her. The wagon was cramped and the baker's two young children were sleeping beside Danyal.

  'Thank you,' she said, forcing a smile.

  'They will not trouble you again.'

  Caymal eased himself past Waylander and climbed out over the tailboard. Waylander moved up to sit beside Danyal.

  'Are you hurt?' he asked.

  'No. Not much anyway. Did you kill them?'

  'Yes.'

  'How is it you can do these things?'

  'Practice,' he said.

  'No, that's not what I meant. Caymal tried to stop the man … and Caymal is strong, but he was brushed aside like a child.'

  'It is all about fear, Danyal. Do you want to rest now?'

  'No, I want some air. Let's walk somewhere.'

  He helped her from the wagon and they walked to the cliff face and sat on the rocks.

  'Tell me about fear,' she said.

  He walked away from her and stooped to lift a pebble.

  'Catch this,' he said, flicking the stone towards her. Her hand snaked out and she caught the pebble deftly. 'That was easy, was it not?'

  'Yes,' she admitted.

  'Now if I had Krylla and Miriel here, and two men had knives at their throats and you were told that if you missed the pebble they would die, would it still be easy to catch? Think of those times in your life when you were nervous, and your movements became disjointed.

  'Fear makes fools of us all. So too does anger, rage and excitement. And then we move too fast and there is no control. You follow me?'

  'I think so. When I had to give my first performance before the King in Drenan, I froze. All I had to do was walk across the stage, but my legs felt as if they were carved from wood.'

  'That is it. Exactly! The onset of fear makes the simplest of actions complex and difficult. No more so than when we fight … and I can fight better than most because I can bring all my concentration to bear on the small things. The pebble remains a pebble, no matter what hangs upon success or failure.'

  'Can you teach me?'

  'I don't have time.'

  'You are not obeying your own maxim. This is a small thing. Forget the quest and concentrate on me, Waylander – I need to learn.'

  'How to fight?'

  'No – how to conquer fear. Then you can teach me to fight.'

  'Very well. Start by telling me what is death?'

  'An ending.'

  'Make it worse.'

  'Maggots and grey rotting flesh?'

  'Good. And where are you?'

  'Gone. Finished.'

  'Do you feel anything?'

  'No … perhaps. If there is a paradise.'

  'Forget paradise.'

  'Then I feel nothing. I am no longer alive.'

  'This death, can you avoid it?'

  'Of course not.'

  'But you can delay it?'

  'Yes.'

  'And what will that give you?'

  'The prospect of more happiness.'

  'But at worst?'

  'The prospect of more pain,' she said. 'Old age, wrinkles, decay.'

  'Which is worse? Death or decay?'

  'I am young. At the moment I fear both.'

  'To conquer fear, you must realise that there is no escape from what you dread. You must absorb it. Live with it. Taste it. Understand it. Overcome it.'

  'I understand that,' she said.

  'Good. What do you fear most at this moment?'

  'I fear losing you.'

  He moved away from her and lifted a pebble. Clouds partly obscured the moonlight and she strained to see his hand.

  'I am going to throw this to you,' he said. 'If you catch it, you stay – if you miss it, you return to Skarta.'

  'No, that's not fair! The light is poor.'

  'Life is not fair, Danyal. If you do not agree, I shall ride away from the wagons alone.'

  'Then I agree.'

  Without another word he flicked the stone towards her – a bad throw, moving fast and to her left. Her hand flashed out and the pebble bounced against her palm, but she caught it at the second attempt. Relief swept through her and her eyes were triumphant.

  'Why so pleased?' he asked.

  'I won!'

  'No. Tell me what you did.'

  'I conquered my fear?'

  'No.'

  'Well, what then? I don't understand you.'

  'But you must, if you wish to learn.'

  Suddenly she smiled. 'I understand the mystery. Waylander.'

  'Then tell me what you did.'

  'I caught a pebble in the moonlight.'

  During the first three days of travel Danyal's progress astonished Waylander. He had known she was strong and supple and quick-witted but, as he discovered, her reflexes were staggeringly swift and her ability to assimilate instructions defied belief.

  'You forget,' she told him, 'I performed on the stages of Drenan. I have been trained to dance and to juggle, and I spent three months with a group of acrobats.'

  Every morning they rode away from the wagons out on to the undulating terrain of the Steppes. On the first day he taught her to throw a knife; the ease with which she adapted to the skill caused him to re-think his training methods. He had planned to humour her at first, but now he pushed her in earnest. Her juggling skills gave her a sense of balance which was truly extraordinary. His knives were of different weights and lengths, but in her hands they performed equally. She merely hefted the blade in her fingers, judging the weight, and then let fly at the target. Of her first five throws, only one failed to thud home into the lightning-blasted tree.

  Waylander found a rock with high chalk content and outlined the figure of a man on the tree bole. Handing Danyal a knife he turned her round, facing away from the tree.

  'Without pause I want you to turn and throw, aiming for the neck,' he said. Spinning on her heel, her arm flashed forward and the knife hammered into the tree just above the right shoulder of the chalk figure.

  'Damn!' she said. Waylander smiled and retrieved the knife.

  'I said turn, not spin. You were still moving to your left when you threw – and that carried your arm past the target. But, nevertheless, it was a fine effort.'

  On the second day he borrowed a bow and quiver of arrows. She was less skilled with this weapon, but
her eye was good. For some time Waylander watched her, then he bade her remove her shirt. Taking it by the sleeves, he moved behind her and tied it tightly around her, flattening her breasts against her ribs.

  'That is not very comfortable,' she protested.

  'I know. But you are bending your back as you pull, to avoid the string catching your body – that affects your aim.'

  But the idea was not a success and Waylander moved on to the sword. One of Durmast's men had sold him a slender sabre with an ivory hilt and a filigreed fist-shield. The weapon was well-balanced and light enough to allow Danyal's greater speed to offset her lack of strength.

  'Always remember,' he told her as they sat together after an hour of work, 'that most swords are used as hacking weapons. Your enemy, in the main, will be right-handed. He will lift his sword over his right shoulder and sweep it down from right to left, aiming at your head. But the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. So thrust! Use the point of the sword. Nine times out of ten you will kill your opponent. Most men are untrained, they hack and slash in a frenzy and are easy to despatch.' Taking up two sticks he had whittled to resemble swords, he handed one to Danyal. 'Come, I will play the part of your opponent.'

  On the fourth day he began to teach her the principles of unarmed combat.

  'Hammer this thought into your mind: Think ! Harness your emotions and act on the instincts this training will inspire. Rage is useless, so do not lash out. Think. Your weapons are fists, fingers, feet, elbows, and head. Your targets are eyes, throat, belly and groin. These are the areas in which a well-timed blow will disable an enemy – you have one great advantage in this kind of combat: you are a woman. Your enemies will expect, fear, terror … and ultimately surrender. If you stay cool you will survive – and they will die.'

  On the afternoon of the fifth day, as Waylander and Danyal rode back towards the wagons a group of Nadir warriors galloped into sight whooping and cheering. Waylander reined in his horse as they approached. There were some two hundred riders and they were heavily laden with blankets, trade goods and saddlebags bulging with coins and jewels. Danyal had never seen Nadir tribesmen, but she knew of their reputation as ferocious killers. Squat and powerful men they were, with slanted eyes and flat faces; many wore lacquered breastplates and fur-trimmed helms; most carried two swords and an assortment of knives.

  The Nadir pulled up, spreading across the trail. Meanwhile Waylander sat quietly, trying to pick out the leader.

  After several tense seconds a middle-aged warrior rode from the group; his eyes were dark and malicious, his smile cruel. The eyes flickered to Danyal and Waylander read his thought.

  'Who are you?' asked the leader, leaning forward on the pommel of his saddle.

  'I ride with Ice-eyes,' said Waylander, using the Nadir form of Durmast's name.

  'You say.'

  'Who is there to doubt me?'

  The dark eyes fixed on Waylander and the Nadir nodded.

  'We have come from Ice-eyes' wagons. Many gifts. You have gifts?'

  'Only one,' said Waylander.

  'Then give it to me.'

  'I already have. I gave you the gift of life.'

  'Who are you to give what I already possess?'

  'I am the Soul Stealer,'

  The Nadir showed no emotion. 'You ride with Ice-eyes?'

  'Yes. We are brothers.'

  'Of the blood?'

  'No. Of the blade.'

  'Ride in peace on this day,' said the Nadir. 'But remember – there will be other days,'

  Lifting his arm, the Nadir leader waved on his men and the group thundered past the two riders.

  'What was that all about?' asked Danyal.

  'He did not want to die,' said Waylander. 'There is a lesson there, if you care to consider it.'

  'I have had enough lessons for one day. What did he mean – many gifts?'

  Waylander shrugged. 'Durmast betrayed the wagon folk. He took their money to lead them to Gulgothir, but he already had a deal with the Nadir. So the Nadir rob the wagons and Durmast takes a percentage. At the moment they still have their wagons, but the Nadir will come again before Gulgothir and take even those. The people who survive will arrive in Gulgothir as paupers.'

  "That is despicable.'

  'No. It is the way of the world. Only the weak run … now they must pay for their weakness.'

  'Are you really that callous?'

  'I am afraid so, Danyal.'

  'That is a shame.'

  'I agree with you.'

  'You are an infuriating man!'

  'And you are a very special woman – but let us think about that this evening. For now, answer me the question of the Nadir rider: Why did he let us live?'

  Danyal smiled. 'Because you isolated him from his men and threatened him as an individual. Gods, will these lessons never cease?'

  'All too soon.' said Waylander.

  14

  Danyal and Waylander made love in a sheltered hollow away from the wagons, and the experience shook Waylander. He could not recall the moment of penetration, nor any sense of passion. He had been filled with a desire to be closer to Danyal, to somehow absorb her body into his own – or perhaps lose his own within hers. And for the first time in many years he had ceased to be aware of movement around him. He had been lost within the lovemaking.

  Now alone, fear tugged at him.

  What if Cadoras had crept upon them?

  What if the Nadir had returned?

  What if the Brotherhood … ?

  What if?

  Hewla was right. Love was a greater enemy at this time.

  'You are getting old,' he told himself. 'Old and tired.'

  He knew he was no longer as swift or as strong and the silver hairs were multiplying. Somewhere out in the vast blackness of the world was a young killer more swift, more deadly than the legendary Waylander. Was it Cadoras? Or one of the Brotherhood?

  The moment of drama with the Nadir had been telling. Waylander had survived it on experience and bluff, for with Danyal beside him he had not wanted to die. His greatest strength had always been his lack of fear but now – when he needed all his talents –the fear was returning.

  He rubbed at his eyes, aware of the need for sleep yet reluctant to give in. Sleep is the brother of Death, said the song. But it is gentle and kind. Weariness eased its warmth into his muscles, and the rock against which he sat seemed soft and welcoming. Too tired to pull his blankets over himself, he laid his head back on the rock and slept. As he fell into darkness he saw the face of Dardalion; the priest was calling to him, but he could not hear the words.

  Durmast was sleeping beneath the lead wagon when the dream came to him. He saw a man in silver armour: a handsome young man, clean-cut and strong. Durmast was dreaming of a woman with hair of shining chestnut brown – and of a child, sturdy and strong. He pushed away the image of the warrior, but it returned again and again.

  'What do you want?' shouted the giant, as the woman and the child shimmered and disappeared. 'Leave me!'

  'Your profits are dust unless you wake,' said the warrior.

  'Wake? I am awake.'

  'You are dreaming. You are Durmast and you lead the wagons to Gulgothir.'

  'Wagons?'

  'Wake up, man! The hunters of the night are upon you!'

  The giant groaned and rolled over; he sat up, rapping his head sharply against the base of the wagon, and cursed loudly. Rolling clear, he straightened – the dream had gone, but a lingering doubt remained.

  Taking up a short double-headed axe, he moved towards the west.

  Danyal awoke with a start. The dream had been powerful and in it Dardalion had urged her to seek Waylander. Easing herself past the sleeping baker and his family, she slid the sabre clear of its scabbard and leapt forward from the tailboard.

  Durmast swung round as she appeared beside him.

  'Don't do that!' he snapped. 'I might have taken your head off.'

  Then he noticed the sword. 'Where
do you think you are going with that?'

  'I had a dream,' answered Danyal lamely.

  'Stay close to me,' he ordered, moving away from the wagons.

  The night was clear, but clouds drifted across the moon and Durmast spat out an oath as he strained to see into the darkness. A hint of movement to the left! His arm swept out, knocking Danyal from her feet. Arrows hissed by him as he dived for the ground. Then a dark shadow lunged at him and the axe swept up to cleave into the man's side, smashing his ribs to shards before exiting in a bloody swathe. Danyal rolled to her feet as the clouds suddenly cleared to show two men in black armour running towards her with swords raised. She dived forward, rolling on her shoulder, and the men cannoned into her and fell headlong into the dust. Danyal came up, fast spearing the point of the sabre into the back of one man's neck; the second man swung round and lunged at her, but Durmast's axe buried itself in his back. His eyes opened wide, but he was dead before a scream could sound.

  'Waylander!' bellowed Durmast as more black shapes came from the darkness.

  At the boulder Waylander stirred, his eyes drifting open but his body heavy with deep sleep. Above him a man crouched, a wickedly curved blade in his hand.

  'Now you die,' said the man and Waylander was powerless to stop him. But suddenly the man froze and his jaw dropped. Sleep fell from the assassin and his hand whipped out to punch his assailant from his feet. As he fell, Waylander saw that a long goose-feathered shaft had pierced the base of his skull.

  Rolling to his left, Waylander lunged upright with knives in his hands as a dark figure leapt at him, He blocked the downward sweep of the sword, catching it on the hilt-guard of his left-hand knife. Dropping his shoulder, he stabbed his attacker low in the groin; the man twisted as he fell, tearing the knife from Waylander's hand.

  The clouds closed in once more and Waylander threw himself to the ground, rolled several yards and lay still.