In the Realm of the Wolf

by David Gemmell

  Ducking under a wild cut, Waylander ran to the head, lifting it by the hair. Spinning around, he hurled it toward the doorway. It bounced and rolled through the gap. A serpent lunged, its great mouth snapping shut. The screams stopped instantly.

  The headless body collapsed.

  Waylander whirled, awaiting the next attack.

  “How did you know which door to take?” asked another voice. Waylander searched for the source of the sound but could see no one.

  “It was not difficult,” he answered, holding his blade at the ready.

  “Yes, I can see that. The sunlight and the white robe were a little too obvious. I won’t make that mistake again. I must say Morak was a disappointment. He gave you a much greater battle while alive.”

  “He had more to fight for,” said Waylander. “Who are you? Show yourself!”

  “Of course. How impolite of me.” A figure shimmered into being on the far side of the hall, a tall man wearing purple robes. His hair was waxed flat to his skull except for two braided sideburns that hung to his slender shoulders. “I am Zhu Chao.”

  “I have heard the name.”

  “Of course you have. Now, let us see what we can conjure for our pleasure. Something from your past, perhaps?” Zhu Chao extended his arm, pointing at a spot midway into the hall. Black smoke swirled there, forming into a beast more than eight feet high. It had the head of a wolf and the body of a giant man. “Such a shame you do not have your little bow with you,” said Zhu Chao.

  Waylander backed away as the beast advanced, its blood-red eyes focused on its prey. A silver arrow lanced across the hall, spearing into the creature’s neck. A second followed it, piercing the great chest. The beast slumped to its knees, then fell headfirst to the flagstones.

  Waylander spun. Miriel, bow in hand, with Angel beside her, was standing by the doorway. Angel ran forward.

  “Get back!” ordered Waylander, sword raised.

  “What the hell is the matter with you?” asked Angel.

  “Nothing is as it seems in this place,” Waylander told him. “And I’ll not be fooled by a demon because he looks like a friend.”

  Miriel advanced. “Judge by actions, Father,” she said.

  Waylander’s crossbow materialized in his hand, a full bolt quiver appearing at his belt. “How did you come here?” he asked, still wary.

  “Kesa Khan sent us. Now we must get out of this place.”

  Loading his crossbow, Waylander swung back to where Zhu Chao had been standing.

  But the wizard had gone.

  There were many doors on both sides of the hall. Miriel ran toward the nearest, but Waylander called her back.

  “What is this place?” he asked her.

  “It exists in the Void. The castle was created by Zhu Chao as a trap for you. We must get out, move beyond his power.” Once more she started for the door, but he grabbed her arm, his dark eyes showing his anger.

  “Stop and think!” he snapped. “This is his creation, so none of the doorways will lead to freedom. Beyond them is only more peril.”

  “What do you suggest?” asked Angel. “Do we just wait here?”

  “Exactly. His powers are not inexhaustible. We stand and fight. Whatever comes, we kill.”

  “No,” insisted Miriel. “You have no conception of what exists in the Void. Demons, monsters, spirits—creatures of colossal evil. Kesa Khan warned me about them.”

  “If Zhu Chao had the power to conjure such creatures, I would already be dead,” Waylander said softly. “But whatever surprises he has for us are waiting beyond those doors. There or here. Those are our only choices. And here we have space. Tell me of the Void,” he ordered Miriel.

  “It is a place of spirit,” she told him, “of wandering. It is the great emptiness between what was and what is.”

  “Nothing is real here?”

  “Real and yet not real. Yes.”

  “This crossbow is not ebony and steel?”

  “No. It is a thing of spirit—your spirit. An extension of your will.”

  “Then I need not load it?”

  “I … don’t know.”

  Waylander leveled the bow and loosed the triggers. The bolts flashed across the hall, hammering into a black door. He gazed down at the weapon, the strings hanging slack. Then he raised it again. Instantly two bolts slashed through the air. “Good,” he said. “Now let them come. And I will have my knives.” A baldric appeared on his chest, three knives in sheaths hanging from it. His chain-mail shoulder guard materialized, not black but made of shining silver. “What of you, Angel?” he asked, with a wide grin. “What do you desire?”

  The gladiator smiled. “Two golden swords and armor encrusted with gems.”

  “You shall have them!”

  A golden helm appeared, a white-crested plume arcing back from brow to nape of neck, and a breastplate and greaves, glittering with rubies and diamonds. Two scabbarded swords shimmered into place at his side.

  All the doors in the hall swept open, and a host of shadow shapes swarmed toward the waiting warriors.

  “I’ll have light also!” yelled Waylander. The ceiling disappeared, and sunlight filled the hall, spearing through the dark horde, which vanished like mist in a morning breeze.

  Then a black cloud formed above them, obliterating the light, and a cold voice hissed from all around them. “You learn swiftly, Waylander, but you do not have the skill to oppose me.”

  Even as the echoes died away, nine knights in black armor appeared, long triangular shields on their arms and black-bladed swords in their hands. Waylander spun and sent two bolts at the first. They thudded into the knight’s shield. Miriel loosed a shaft, but that also was turned aside. And the knights advanced.

  “What do we do?” whispered Angel, drawing both of his swords.

  Waylander aimed his crossbow above the advancing warriors and let fly. The bolt swept over the advancing men, then turned, plunging into the back of the closest. “Anything is possible here,” said Waylander. “Let your mind loose!”

  The knights charged, holding their shields before them. A white shield appeared on Waylander’s arm, his crossbow becoming a sword of light. He leapt forward, crashing his shield into the first knight and hurling him back off balance, then moved into the gap, slashing his blade to the left, cleaving the ribs of an advancing warrior.

  Angel took two running steps, then threw himself toward the ground, rolling into the charging knights. Three tumbled over him, their shields clattering to the flagstones. He reared up and killed the first two, one with a disemboweling lunge and the second with a reverse thrust. Miriel slew the third with an arrow through the eye.

  Two knights converged on Miriel. Instantly her bow became a shining saber. Ducking under a wild cut, she leapt high, her foot hammering into the first man’s chin. He was catapulted back. The second slashed his sword toward her face. She swayed and sent her saber in a wicked slash that tore through the chain mail at the knight’s throat. He fell, and she plunged her sword into his unprotected back.

  The three remaining knights backed away. Angel ran at them. “No!” bellowed Waylander. “Let them go!”

  Angel backed to where Waylander and Miriel were standing. “I can’t think of any magic,” he grumbled.

  “You will need none,” said Waylander, pointing to the fading castle walls. “It is over.”

  Within a heartbeat they were standing on a wide gray road, the castle a memory.

  “You risked your life for me, Miriel,” said Waylander, taking his daughter in his arms. “You came into hell for me. I’ll never forget that as long as I live.” Releasing her, he turned to Angel. “And you, too, my friend. How can I thank you?”

  “You could start by letting Miriel take me away from here,” answered Angel, casting nervous glances at the slate-gray sky and the brooding hills.

  Waylander laughed. “So be it. How do we leave, Miriel?”

  She moved alongside him and laid her hands over his eyes. “Think of y
our body and where it sleeps. Then relax, as if drifting to sleep. And we will see you in the mountains very soon.”

  Reaching up, he pulled clear her hands, holding them. “I won’t be coming to the mountains,” he said softly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I will just be another sword there. I must go where my talents can be used at their best.”

  “Not Gulgothir?” she pleaded.

  “Yes. Zhu Chao is the cause of all this. When he is dead, maybe it will be over.”

  “Oh, Father, he is a wizard. And he will be guarded. Worse, he knows you will come; that is why he laid this trap for you. He will be waiting. How can you succeed?”

  “He’s Waylander the Slayer,” said Angel. “How can he not?”

  “What a fool!” cackled Kesa Khan, leaping to his feet and capering about the cave, his weariness forgotten. Miriel looked on in astonishment. Angel merely shook his head. “To think,” continued the shaman, “that he tried to kill Waylander by direct action. It is almost bliss! like trying to choke a lion by forcing your head into its mouth. Bliss!”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Miriel.

  Kesa Khan sighed and settled down by the fire. “You are his daughter, and you do not see it? He is like a fire. Left to his own devices, he burns down to low, glowing embers. But to attack him is to throw twigs and branches onto the flames. Can you understand that? Look!” Kesa Khan waved his hand above the flames, which flattened into a minor of fire. Within it they saw Waylander moving slowly through the Void tunnel, water drenching his boots. “Here he was afraid, for there were no enemies, only darkness. He was lost. No memory. No weapons.” They watched the tiny figure reach the skeleton, saw the golden-haired head materialize. “Now observe!” ordered Kesa Khan.

  The scaled creature reared up behind Waylander, who snatched the rib and rammed it into the beast’s chest. “Now,” said the shaman, “he has a sword. Now he has a purpose. Enemies are all around him. His talents are focused. See how he moves, like a wolf.”

  Silently they sat as the tiny figure destroyed the sphere and battled his way up the staircase of hands. “This I loved,” cackled the shaman as Waylander threw the white-robed priest into the jaws of the serpent. “He knew, do you see? In the dark, surrounded by foes, he knew there was no succor. The doorway he chose was the guarded one. Oh, it is so perfect. He must have Nadir blood! And to summon sunshine into the Void! Beautiful. Perfect! Zhu Chao must be trembling now. By all the gods, I would be.”

  “I do not know if he is trembling,” said Miriel, “but I do know my father is riding for Gulgothir. And there will be no sunshine to summon there. Zhu Chao will surround himself with armed guards: he will be waiting.”

  “As the gods will,” said Kesa Khan with a wave of his hand. The fire flared once more. “Tomorrow we must move the women and children to Kar-Barzac. I have sent a message to Anshi Chen. He will leave a small rear guard to hold the passes. Fifty men will remain here until dark to defend the wall. It should be enough.”

  “What about my father?” insisted Miriel.

  “His fate is in the hands of the gods,” answered Kesa Khan. “He will live or die. There is nothing we can do.”

  “Zhu Chao will use magic to locate him,” said Miriel. “Can you shield him?”

  “No, I do not have the power. There are deadly beasts in the valley of Kar-Barzac. I need all my strength to send them into the mountains, clearing the path for my people to enter the fortress.”

  “Then what chance will my father have?”

  “That we will see. Do not underestimate him.”

  “There must be something we can do!”

  “Yes, yes. We fight on. We make Zhu Chao concentrate his energies on Kar-Barzac. That is what he wants. His dreams lie in that old castle.”

  “Why?” asked Angel.

  “The Elders built it. They cast great spells there, creating living demons known as Joinings to fight their wars. Beasts merged with men: the magic was colossal, so great that it ultimately destroyed them. But in Kar-Barzac the magic lived on, radiating out. You will see. The valley is twisted by it: deformed trees, carnivorous sheep and goats. I even saw a rabbit there with fangs. Nothing could live in that valley without being corrupted, twisted out of shape. Even the castle is now a monstrosity, the granite blocks reshaped as if they were wet clay.”

  “Then how the hell can we go there?” said Angel.

  Kesa Khan smiled, and his dark eyes gleamed. “Someone was kind enough to stop the magic,” he said. He looked away from them, staring into the fire.

  “What is it you are not telling us?” asked Miriel.

  “A great deal,” admitted the shaman. “But there is much you do not need to know. Our enemies reached Kar-Barzac before us. They removed the source of magic—aye, and died for it. Now it is safe. We shall defend its walls, and there the line of the Uniter will be continued.”

  “How long can we hold this fortress?” inquired Angel.

  “We shall see,” answered Kesa Khan, “but for now I need to drive the beasts from the valley. Leave me.”

  16

  ZHU CHAO’S IMAGE floated before Altharin as the general stood in his tent, his aide Powis beside him, the albino Brotherhood captain Innicas to his left.

  “You have failed your emperor,” said Zhu Chao. “He set you a simple task, and you have behaved like an incompetent. A few Nadir to kill and you balk at the test.”

  “Those few Nadir,” said Altharin coldly, “have boxed themselves behind three narrow passes. I have lost more than two hundred men trying to force a way through them, and your famed Brotherhood has enjoyed no more success than I. One old man broke their attack.”

  “You dare to criticize the Brotherhood?” hissed Zhu Chao. “You are worse than incompetent. You are a traitor!”

  “I serve the emperor, not you, you puffed-up—” He groaned and sagged into the arms of Powis, a long-handled knife jutting from his ribs.

  Eyes wide with shock, Powis took the dying general in his arms, lowering him to the floor. He looked up at the white-haired figure of Innicas. “You have killed him!” he whispered.

  Altharin tried to speak, but blood bubbled from his lips and his head sagged back. Innicas leaned down and dragged the knife clear, wiping it clean on the dead general’s tunic of silk. Powis rose, hands trembling.

  “Do nothing rash, boy!” said the image of Zhu Chao. “The order for his death came from the emperor himself. Go and fetch Gallis. Tell him the emperor has promoted him.”

  Powis stepped back, then gazed down at the corpse on the floor. “Do it now!” ordered Innicas.

  Powis stumbled back and ran from the tent.

  “There is another pass, lord, thirty miles to the north,” said Innicas.

  “Take one hundred men, the best we have. The Nadir will try to reach Kar-Barzac. Catch them in the valley. They will be stretched thin, some already at the fortress, others trying to fight a rearguard action. The women and children will be in a column on open ground. Destroy them! We’ll see how well the Nadir fight when there is nothing left to fight for.”

  “As you order it, lord, so will it be,” said Innicas, bowing.

  “Have you reached Gracus and the others?”

  “No, lord, but Zamon is waiting in the mountains with their horses. He said they arrived safely. They are planning to move below ground. Perhaps the magic of Kar-Barzac prevents communication.”

  “They are there; that is what matters,” said Zhu Chao. “All is as we planned it. The Ventrians have landed in the south. The Drenai, without Karnak, have fallen back in disorder. Our own troops are waiting to sweep down onto the Sentran Plain. But much of what we need for future control lies in Kar-Barzac. Do not fail me, Innicas!”

  “You may rely on me, my lord.”

  “Let it be so.”

  The Gothir, dragging and carrying their wounded with them, fell back as the sun drifted low behind the mountains. Senta slumped to the ground, Belash beside him.
“I hate to admit it, but I’m getting tired,” said the swordsman.

  “I also,” admitted Belash. The Nadir leaned his head back against the black rock of the wall. “The attacks were more fierce today.” He rubbed his tired eyes. “We will fall back in two hours.”

  “How far is it to this fortress?”

  “We will be in the valley by dawn,” said Belash glumly.

  “You don’t sound too enthusiastic, my friend.”

  “It is a place of much evil.” Belash opened the pouch at his side and removed the bones, which he held pressed between his palms. He sighed. “I think Belash will die there,” he said.

  “What are those things?” asked Senta, seeking to change the subject.

  “The right hand of my father. He was killed a long time ago now, and still I am no closer to avenging him.”

  “What happened?”

  “He had ponies to sell and rode to the market at Namib. A long way. He went with my brother and Anshi Chen. Only Anshi survived the attack. He was behind the herd, and when the raiders struck, Anshi fled.”

  “That’s why there is such anger between you? Because he was a coward?”

  “He is no coward!” snapped Belash. “There were too many of the raider, and it would have been stupid to fight. No, Anshi and I loved the same woman. She chose him. But he is a fine chieftain, may my tongue turn black for admitting it. I tried to track the raiders. I found my father’s body, took these bones, and buried the rest. But the tracks were too old. Anshi watched as my father was struck down. He saw the man who dealt the deathblow; he described him to me. I have lived since then in the hope of finding him, a white-haired warrior with eyes the color of blood.”

  “There’s still time,” said Senta.