She rose and wandered out into the night. Senta was asleep when she reached the small cave, but Angel was sitting under the stars, listening to the distant sounds of battle coming from the pass. A small boy was close by him. Miriel smiled. The two figures were in an identical position some twenty feet apart, Angel and the child both sitting cross-legged. The gladiator was sharpening his sword with a whetstone, the boy, holding a piece of wood, copying him.
'I see you have made a friend,' said Miriel. Angel grunted something inaudible. Miriel sat beside him. 'Who is he?'
'How should I know? He never speaks. He just mimics.'
Miriel's Talent reached out, then drew back. 'He's totally deaf,' she said. 'An orphan.'
Angel sighed. 'I didn't need to know that,' he said, sheathing his sword. The ragged child slid his stick into his belt.
Miriel reached out and stroked the gladiator's face. 'You are a good man, Angel. It means you have no real skill when it comes to harbouring hate.'
He caught her wrist and held to it. 'You shouldn't be touching me,' he said softly. 'The man for you is in there. Young. Handsome. With a disgusting lack of scars.'
'I will choose my own man when the time comes,' she told him. 'I am not some Drenai noblewoman whose marriage brings an alliance between warring factions. Nor do I have to concern myself with a dowry. I will marry a man I like, a man I respect.'
'You didn't mention love,' he pointed out.
'I have heard great talk of it, Angel, but I don't know what it is. I love my father. I love you. I loved my sister and my mother. One word. Different feelings. Are we talking of lust?'
'Partly,' he agreed. 'And there's nothing wrong with that, though many would have us believe otherwise. But it is more than that. I had an affair with a dark-haired woman once. Unbelievable. In bed she could raise more passion in me than any of my wives. But I didn't stay with her. I didn't love her, you see. I adored her. But I didn't love her.'
'There's that word again!' chided Miriel.
He chuckled. 'I know. It's just a short way of describing someone who is your friend, bed-mate, sister, aye even mother sometimes. Someone who will arouse your passion and your admiration and your respect. Someone, who when the whole world turns against you, is still standing by your side. You look for someone like that, Miriel.' He released her hand and looked away.
She leaned in close. 'What about you, Angel? Would you be a friend, a lover, a brother and a father?'
He turned his scarred features towards her. 'Aye, I would.' He hesitated and she sensed his indecision. At last he smiled and, taking her hand, kissed it. 'My boots are older than you, Miriel. And you may think it makes no difference now, but it does. You need a man who can grow with you, not grow senile on you.' He took a deep breath. 'It's hard to admit this, you know.'
'You are not old,' she admonished him.
'Don't you like Senta?' he countered.
She looked away. 'I find him . . . exciting . . . frightening.'
'That's good,' he said. 'That's how life should be. Me, I'm like an old armchair. Comfortable. A girl like you needs more than that. Give him a chance. There's a lot of good in him.'
'Why do you like him so much?'
He grinned. 'I knew his mother,' he said. 'A long time ago. Before he was born.'
'You mean. . . ?'
'I have no idea, but he could be. He certainly doesn't take after the husband. But that's between you and me now! Understand?'
'And yet you would have fought him back at the cabin?'
He nodded, his face solemn. 'I wouldn't have won. He's very good. The best I've ever seen.' Suddenly she laughed. 'What's so amusing?' he asked.
'He wasn't going to try to kill you. I read that in his thoughts. He was looking to disarm or wound you.'
'That would have been a bad mistake.'
She looked into his eyes and her smile faded. 'But you might have been killing your own son!'
'I know. Not very uplifting, is it? But I am a warrior, Miriel, and when swords are drawn there is no emotion. Merely survival or death.' He glanced at the Nadir boy, who was sleeping now against a rock, his head resting on his stick-thin arms, his knees drawn up to his belly. Rising silently, Angel moved across to the lad, covering him with his cloak. Then he returned to Miriel. 'What is the old man planning?'
'I don't know, but we will be moving – tomorrow. To an old fortress in the mountains.'
"That is good news. We cannot hold here for much longer. You should get some sleep.'
'I can't. He will need me soon.'
'For what?'
'For when the dead walk,' she answered.
* * *
Kesa Khan sat by his fire, his ancient body shivering as the night winds fanned the flames. He was beyond tiredness now, a mortal weariness settling on him. It was all so complex, so many lines of destiny to be drawn together. Why, he wondered idly, had this not come to pass when he was young and in full strength? Why now, when he was old and weary and ready for the grave? The gods were indeed capricious at best.
Plans, ideas, strategies flowed through his mind. And each was dependent upon another for success. The journey of a thousand leagues begins with a single step, he told himself. Concentrate only on the step before you.
The demons would come, and with them the souls of the dead. How best to combat them? The Drenai woman was strong, stronger than she knew, but she alone could not guarantee success. Closing his eyes he mentally summoned Miriel. The time was close.
He reached for the clay pot and the grey powder, but his hand drew back. He had taken too much already. Ah, but the gods do love a reckless man! Dipping his finger into the powder he scooped a small amount to his mouth. His heart began to beat erratically, and he felt strength flowing into his limbs. The fire burned yellow, then gold, then purple, and the shadows on the walls became dancers, spinning and turning.
The Drenai woman entered the cave. My, but she was ugly, he thought. Too tall and stringy. Even in his youth he could not have found her attractive. The Drenai warrior with the scarred face moved in behind her. Kesa Khan's dark eyes focused on the man. 'This is no place for those with no power,' he said.
'I told him that,' said Miriel, seating herself opposite the shaman, 'but he came anyway.'
'She said there would be demons and the undead. Can they be slain with a sword?' asked Angel.
'No,' answered the shaman.
'With bare hands, then?'
'No.'
'How then will Miriel fight them?'
'With her courage and her Talent.'
'Then I shall stand beside her. No one has yet doubted my courage.'
'You are needed here, to man the wall, to stop the human enemy. It would be the worst folly to allow you to enter the Void. It would be a waste.'
'You do not control my life,' roared Angel. 'I am here because of her. If she dies I leave. I care nothing for you lice-infested barbarians. You understand? So if she is in danger – I go with her.'
Kesa Khan's eyes became hooded and wary as he gazed on the towering Drenai. How I hate them, he thought. Their casual arrogance, their monumental condescension. Lifting his eyes he met Angel's pale gaze, and Kesa Khan allowed his hatred to transmit to the warrior. Angel smiled and nodded slowly. Kesa Khan rose. 'As you wish, Hard-to-Kill. You will journey with the woman.'
'Good,' said the gladiator, sitting beside Miriel.
'No,' she said. 'This is not wise. If I am to fight then I cannot look after Angel.'
'I need no looking after!' he protested.
'Be quiet!' she snapped. 'You have no conception of the journey – or the perils, or what is needed even to protect yourself. You will be like a babe in arms. And I will have no time to suckle you!'
He reddened and pushed himself to his feet. Kesa Khan stepped forward. 'No, no!' he said. 'I think you misjudge the situation, Miriel, as did I at first. The Void is a deadly place, but a man with courage is not to be lightly dismissed. I will send you both. And I will arm Hard-to-Kil
l with weapons he understands.'
'Where will you be?'
'Here. Waiting. But I will be linked to you.'
'But this is where the demons will come, surely?'
'No. They will not be hunting me. Did you not realise? That is why I needed you. They will be seeking out your father. Zhu Chao knows he is a terrible danger to him. He has tried to kill him in this world, and failed. Now he will seek to lure his soul into the Void. He must be protected.'
'He also has no Talent,' said Miriel, fear rising.
'There you are wrong,' whispered Kesa Khan. 'He has the greatest talent of all. He knows how to survive.'
15
Kasai and his men had been hunting for more than three hours when they saw the southerner on the giant red stallion. Kasai reined in his hill pony. It was a fine beast, fourteen hands tall, but the southerner's horse was sixteen hands, maybe more. Kasai's cousin Chulai reined in alongside him. 'Do we kill him?' he asked.
'Wait,' ordered Kasai, studying the approaching rider. The man was dressed in black, a dark fur-lined cloak slung across his shoulders. There was dried blood on his face. The rider saw them and angled his horse towards the waiting group. Kasai saw no sign of fear in the man.
'Fine horse,' said Kasai, as the man pulled back on the reins.
'Better than the man I killed to get him,' said the rider, his dark eyes scanning the group. He seemed amused, which angered Kasai.
'It is a horse worth killing for,' he said pointedly, hand on his sword-hilt.
'True,' agreed the rider. 'But the question you must ask yourself is, whether he is worth dying for.'
'We are five, you are one.'
'Wrong. One and one. You and I. For when the action begins I will kill you within the first heartbeat.' The words were spoken with a quiet certainty that swept over Kasai's confidence like a winter wind.
'You dismiss my brothers so easily?' he said, trying to re-establish the fact that they outnumbered the southerner.
The rider laughed and swung his gaze over the other men. 'I never dismiss any Nadir lightly. I've fought too many in the past. Now it seems you have two choices; you can fight, or we can ride to your camp and eat.'
'Let us kill him,' said Chulai, slipping into the Nadir tongue.
'It will be the last move you make, dung-brain,' said the rider, in perfect Nadir.
Chulai half-drew his sword, but Kasai ordered him back. 'How do you know our tongue?' he enquired.
'Do we eat or fight?' countered the man.
'We eat. We offer you the hospitality of the tent. Now, how do you know our tongue?'
'I have travelled among the Nadir for many years, both as friend and enemy. My name is Waylander, though I have other names among the people of the tents.'
Kasai nodded. 'I have heard of you, Oxskull – you are a mighty warrior. Follow me, and you will have the food you desire.' Kasai wheeled his pony and galloped towards the north. Chulai cast a murderous glance at the Drenai and then followed.
Two hours later they were seated around a burning brazier within a tall, goatskin tent. Waylander was sitting cross-legged upon a rug, Kasai before him. Both men had dined from a communal bowl of curdled cheese and shared a clay goblet of strong spirit.
'What brings you to the steppes, Oxskull?'
'I seek Kesa Khan of the Wolves.'
Kasai nodded. 'His death has been long overdue.'
Waylander chuckled. 'I am not here to kill him, but to help him survive.'
'It cannot be true!'
'I assure you that it is. My daughter and my friends are with him now – or so I hope.'
Kasai was amazed. 'Why? What are the Wolves to you? We still talk of Kesa Khan's magic and the werebeasts he sent to kill you. Why would you help him?'
'The enemy of my enemy is my friend,' answered Waylander. 'There is a man who serves the Emperor. He is the enemy I wish to see slain.'
'Zhu Chao! May the gods curse his soul until the stars burn out! Aye, a good enemy, that one. But you are too late to help the Wolves. The Gothir have already begun their attack upon the mountain stronghold. There is no way through.'
'I will find a way.'
Kasai nodded and drained the last of the spirit, refilling the goblet from a jug beside him. He offered it to Waylander, who drank sparingly. 'My people are the Tall Spears. We are enemies of the Wolves. Lifelong – and before that. But I do not want to see the Gothir destroy them. I wish to be the man who drives a blade into Anshi Chen. I wish to cut the head from Belash. I wish to drag out the heart of Kesa Khan. Such pleasures are not for some round-eyed, stone-dwelling pig to enjoy.'
'How many men do you have here?'
'Fighting men? Six hundred.'
'Perhaps you should consider aiding the Wolves.'
'Pah! My tongue would turn black and all my ancestors turn their backs upon me when I entered the Vale of Rest. No, I shall not aid them, but I will aid you. I will give you food and, if you wish, a guide. There are other routes into the Mountains.'
'I thank you, Kasai.'
'It is nothing. If you do find Kesa Khan, tell him why I helped you.'
'I'll do that. Tell me, do you dream of the day the Uniter will come?'
'Of course, what Nadir does not?'
'How do you see him?'
'He will be of the Tall Spears, that is certain.'
'And how will he unite the Nadir?'
Kasai smiled. 'Well, first he will obliterate the Wolves, and all other treacherous tribes.'
'Suppose the Uniter is not of the Tall Spears. Suppose he is of the Wolves?'
'Impossible.'
'He'll need to be a rare man,' said Waylander.
'Let's drink to that,' said Kasai, passing the goblet.
* * *
Wrapped in his cloak, his head resting on his saddle, Waylander lay on the rug, listening to the night winds howling outside the tent. On the far side of the brazier Kasai was sleeping, his two wives on either side of him, his children close by. Waylander was tired, but sleep would not come. Rolling on to his back he gazed up at the smoke drifting through the hole in the tent roof, watching the wind swirl it away. He could see three stars, high in the night sky. He closed his eyes.
And remembered the day he had fought to protect the Armour of Bronze. The Nadir had come for him, but these he had slain. Then the last of the wolf-beasts had stalked him. Two bolts through the brain had finally ended the terror. Wounded and alone he had dragged himself from the cave – only to face the Knights of the Brotherhood. These he could not defeat, but Durmast the giant, treacherous Durmast, had arrived to save him, giving his life for a man he had planned to betray.
Waylander sighed. So many dead. Durmast, Gellan, Danyal, Krylla . . . And always the wars – conquest and battle, defeat and despair. Where does it end, he thought. With the grave? Or do the battles go on?
Kasai was snoring now. Waylander heard him grunt as one of his wives nudged him. Opening his eyes he gazed across the tent. The brazier was burning low, a soft red glow filling the interior. Kasai had a family. He had made a gift to the future. He was loved.
Waylander turned to his side, facing away from the Nadir leader. Once more he tried for sleep, but this time he saw Dardalion, tied to the tree, his flesh sliced and bleeding, the men around him laughing and mocking.
That was the day Waylander's world had changed. He had rescued the priest, then been drawn into the eternal battle, Light against Dark, Harmony against Chaos. And he had met Danyal. He groaned and rolled again, his body weary, muscles aching.
Stop dwelling on the past, he told himself. Think about tomorrow. Just tomorrow. He would find a way into the Mountains of the Moon. He would stand beside Miriel and Angel and do that which he did best. He would fight.
He would kill.
Sleep took him by surprise, and his soul drifted into darkness.
* * *
The walls were clammy, the corridor dark and claustrophobic. Waylander blinked and tried to remember how he had come he
re. It was so hard to concentrate. Was he looking for something? Someone?
There were no doors or windows, just this endless tunnel. Cold water was soaking through his boots as he waded on.
I am lost, he thought.
There was no source of light, and yet he could see.
Stairs. Must look for stairs. Fear touched him, but he suppressed it ruthlessly. Stay calm! Think! He moved on. Something white caught his eye on the far wall. There was an alcove there. Splashing across the streaming water he saw a skeleton, rusty chains holding it to the wall. The ligaments and tendons had not yet rotted and the thing was intact, save for the left leg, which had parted at the knee. Something moved within the ribcage and Waylander saw two rats had made a nest there.
'Welcome,' said a voice. Waylander stepped back in shock. The head was no longer a skull but a handsome face, framed in golden hair. It smiled at him. Waylander's heart was beating wildly and he reached for his crossbow. Only then did he realise he was weaponless. 'Welcome to my home,' said the handsome head.
'I am dreaming!'
'Perhaps,' agreed the head. A rat pushed its way through the gaping ribcage and sprang to a nearby shelf of stone.
'Where is this place?' asked Waylander.
The head laughed, the sound echoing away into the tunnel. 'Well, let us think . . . Does it look to you like paradise?'
'No.'
'Then it must be somewhere else. But one mustn't complain, must one? It is pleasant to have a visitor after so long. The rats are company, of course, but their conversation is rather limited.'
'How do I get out of here?'
The head smiled, and Waylander saw the pale eyes widen, a gleam of triumph showing there. Waylander spun. A sword lunged for his throat. Swaying aside he slammed his fist into a face out of nightmare. His assailant fell back into the water, but rose swiftly. He looked like a man, save that his skin was scaled, his eyes huge and set, like a fish, on either side of his head. He had no nose, merely slits in the skin of his face, and his mouth was shaped like an inverted V, lipless and rimmed with fangs.
The creature leapt forward. Waylander reached out, his fingers curling around one of the skeletons ribs, and snapping it clear. The sword slashed down. Waylander sidestepped the blow and rammed the broken rib into the creature's chest. Dropping the sword it let out a terrible howl. And disappeared.
Waylander II: In The Realm of the Wolf ds-5 Page 23
