In the Realm of the Wolf

by David Gemmell

  Dardalion unbuckled his silver breastplate, pulling it clear. Removing his helm, he sat down on the rug by the glowing brazier.

  Kesa Khan joined him. “You are tired, priest.”

  “I am,” admitted Dardalion. “The paths of the future drained me.”

  “As they have me on many occasions. But it was worth it to see the days of Ulric.”

  “Ulric?”

  “The Uniter,” said Kesa Khan.

  “Ah, yes, the first Uniter. I am afraid I spent little time observing him. I was more interested in the second. An unusual man, don’t you think? Despite his mixed blood and his torn loyalties, he still drew the Nadir together and accomplished all that Ulric failed to do.”

  Kesa Khan said nothing for a moment. “Can you show me this man?”

  Dardalion’s eyes narrowed. “But you have seen him, surely. He is the Uniter you spoke of.”

  “No, he is not.”

  Dardalion sighed. “Take my hand, Kesa Khan, and share my memories.” The shaman reached out, gripping Dardalion’s palm. He shuddered, and his mind swam. Dardalion summoned his concentration, and together they witnessed the rise of Ulric Khan, the merging of the tribes, the great hordes sweeping across the steppes, the sacking of Gulgothir, and the first siege of Dros Delnoch.

  They watched the Earl of Bronze turn back the Nadir host and saw the signing of the peace treaty and the honoring of the terms, the marriage between the earl’s son and one of Ulric’s daughters, and the birth of the child Tenaka Khan, the Prince of Shadows, the King beyond the Gate.

  Dardalion felt Kesa Khan’s pride swell, followed immediately by a sense of despair. The separation was swift and brought a groan from the Drenai. He opened his eyes and saw the fear in Kesa Khan’s face. “What is it? What is wrong?”

  “The woman Miriel. From her will come the line of men leading to this Earl of Bronze?”

  “Yes. I thought you understood that. You knew that a child would be conceived here.”

  “But not to her, Drenai! I did not know about her! The line of Ulric begins here also.”

  “So?”

  Kesa Khan’s breathing was shallow, his face distorted. “I … I believed that Ulric was the Uniter and that Miriel’s descendants would seek to thwart him. I … she …”

  “Out with it, man!”

  “There are beasts guarding the crystal. There were three, but their hunger was great and they turned on one another. Now there is only one. They were men sent by Zhu Chao to kill me. Karnak’s son, Bodalen, was one of them. The crystal merged them.”

  “You could breach the power all along! What treachery is this?” stormed Dardalion.

  “The girl will die down there. It is written!” The shaman’s face was pale and stricken. “I have destroyed the line of the Uniter.”

  “Not yet,” said Dardalion, surging to his feet.

  Kesa Khan lunged out, grabbing the priest’s arm. “You don’t understand! I have made a pact with Shemak. She will die. Nothing can alter it now.”

  Dardalion tore himself clear of Kesa Khan’s grip. “Nothing is inalterable. And no demon will hold sway over me!”

  “If I could change it, I would,” wailed Kesa Khan. “The Uniter is everything to me! But there must be a death. You cannot stop it!”

  Dardalion ran from the room, down the winding stair to the hall, and on to the deep stairwell leading to the subterranean chambers. Just as he was entering the darkness, Vishna pulsed to him from the ramparts. “The Brotherhood is attacking, Brother. We need you!”

  “I cannot!”

  “Without you we are lost! The castle will fall!”

  Dardalion reeled back from the doorway, his mind whirling. Hundreds of women and children would be slain if he deserted his post. Yet if he did not, Miriel was doomed. He fell to his knees in the doorway, desperately seeking the path of prayer, but his mind was lost in thoughts of the coming chaos. A hand touched his shoulder. He looked up. It was the scarred, ugly gladiator.

  “Are you ill?” asked the man. Dardalion rose and took a deep breath. Then he told all to Angel. The man’s face was grim as he listened. “A death, you say? But not necessarily Miriel’s?”

  “I don’t know. But I am needed on the wall. I cannot go to her.”

  “I can,” said Angel, drawing his sword.

  19

  ZHU CHAO STOOD on the balcony, leaning on the gilded rail and staring at the battlements of his palace. There were no vulgar crenellations there but sweeping flutes and curves as befitted a Chiatze nobleman. The gardens below were filled with fragrant flowers and trees, with elaborate walkways curving around ponds and artificial streams. It was a place of quiet, tranquil beauty.

  Yet it was still strong. Twenty men, armed with bows and swords, walked the four walls, while four others, keen-eyed and watchful, manned the towers at each corner. The gates were barred, and six savage hounds patrolled the gardens. He could see one of them, lying on all fours beside an ornate path. Its black fur made it almost invisible.

  I am safe, thought Zhu Chao. Nothing can harm me.

  Why, then, am I so afraid?

  He shivered and drew his sheepskin-lined robe of purple wool more closely about his slender frame.

  Kar-Barzac was becoming a disaster. Kesa Khan still lived, and the Nadir were defending the walls like men possessed. Innicas was dead, the Brotherhood all but destroyed. And Galen had been inexplicably murdered upon his return to the Drenai forces. He had walked into the tent of General Asten and had told the man about the tragic betrayal that had seen the death of Karnak. Asten had listened quietly, then had stood and approached the Brotherhood warrior. Suddenly he had reached out, grabbing Galen by the hair and wrenching back his head. A knife blade had flashed. Blood had gouted from Galen’s throat. Zhu Chao had seen it all: the dying warrior falling to the floor, the stocky general looming above him.

  Zhu Chao shivered. It was all going wrong.

  And where was Waylander?

  Three times he had cast the search spell. Three times it had failed. But tonight all will be made well, he assured himself. Midwinter’s Eve and the great sacrifice. Power will flow into me; the gift of chaos will be mine. Then I shall demand Kesa Khan’s death. Tomorrow the Ventrian king will be dead. His troops will turn to the Brotherhood for leadership, as will the Drenai soldiers. Galen was not the only loyal knight among them. Asten would die, as the emperor would die.

  Three empires become one.

  Not for me the petty title of king or emperor. With the crystal in my hands I shall be the divine Zhu Chao, Lord of All, King of Kings. The thought pleased him. He glanced at the nearest wall, watching the soldiers marching along the parapet. Strong men, faithful, loyal. I am safe, he told himself once more.

  He glanced up at the mock tower to the left. The soldier there was sitting with his back to the outside. Sleeping! Irritation flared. Zhu Chao pulsed a command to him, but the man did not move. The sorcerer mentally summoned Casta, the captain of the guard.

  “Yes, lord,” came the response.

  “The guard on the eastern tower. Have him brought to the courtyard and flogged. He is sleeping.”

  “At once, lord.”

  Safe? How safe can I be with men such as these guarding me? “And Casta!”

  “Yes, lord.”

  “After he is flogged, cut his throat.” Turning on his heel, Zhu Chao returned to his apartments, his good mood in tatters. He felt the need of wine but held back. That night the sacrifice had to be conducted without error. He thought of Karnak in chains, the curved sacrificial knife slowly slicing into the Drenai’s chest. His mood brightened.

  This is my last day as the servant of others, he thought. From tomorrow’s dawn I shall be the Lord of Three Empires.

  No, not until the crystal is in your power. For only then will you know immortality. Only then will you be whole again. A muscle at his jaw twitched, and he saw again the unholy fire and the sharp little dagger in Kesa Khan’s hand. Hate suffused him, and shame ro
se like acid in his throat.

  “You will watch your people die, Kesa Khan,” he hissed. “Every man, woman, and babe. And you will know who is to blame. That is the price for what you stole from me!”

  His memories echoed the remembered pain and the months of terrible suffering that had followed the mutilation. But the crystal would change everything. The Third Grimoire told of it. An ancient knight had been carried into the chamber, his arm cut away by a weapon of light. They had laid him on a bed and unleashed the power of the crystal. Within two days a new arm had sprouted from the severed limb.

  But better even than that, according to the Fourth Grimoire, leaders of the Elder races had been transformed by the crystal, their aging bodies made young again. Zhu Chao’s throat was dry, and this time he succumbed to a small goblet of wine.

  “Lord! Lord!” pulsed Casta, fear radiating in his spirit voice.

  “What is it?”

  “The sentry is dead, lord! A crossbow bolt through the heart. And there is the mark of a grappling hook on the turret.”

  “He’s here!” screamed Zhu Chao, aloud. “Waylander is here!”

  “I cannot hear you, lord,” pulsed Casta.

  Zhu Chao fought for calm. “Get the men from the walls. Search the gardens. Find the assassin!”

  The oil-dipped torch sent crazy shadows across the rippled walls of the stairwell, and black smoke swirled in Angel’s nostrils as he descended the stairs. There was a fear in him greater than any he had ever experienced. It was a fear of death. Not his own—that he was prepared for. But his terror grew as he considered Miriel and the monster, her young body broken, her dead eyes staring up, seeing nothing.

  Angel swallowed hard and moved on. He could not afford the security of stealth but blundered on down the stairs, ever down. Dardalion had said that the crystal chamber was on the sixth level, but the beast could have been anywhere. Angel hawked and spit, vainly trying to dampen his dry mouth. And he prayed to any god that might be listening, dark or light or any shade in between.

  Let her live!

  Take me instead. I’ve had a life, a good life. He missed a step and stumbled against the wall; sparks showered down from the torch, burning his bare forearm. “Concentrate, you fool!” he told himself, his words echoing along the silent corridors.

  Where now? he wondered as the stairwell joined a long, flat hallway. There was a dim light there, glowing from panels in the walls. He gazed around him. Everything was made of metal—walls, ceiling, floor. Shining and rust-free, the metal everywhere was crumpled and ripped, as if it had no more strength than rotted linen.

  Angel shivered. The corridors were damp and cold, and his muscles ached. Ekodas had pointed out how tired he was, and he felt it now. His limbs seemed leaden, his energy waning. Drawing in a deep breath, he thought of Miriel and pushed on.

  A large arched doorway loomed before him. He entered it, sword raised. A movement sounded from behind him. He swung, his sword arcing down. At the last moment he dragged the blade aside, just missing the child dressed in his own cloak of green. “Shemak’s balls, boy! I could have killed you!”

  The boy shrank back against the doorway, his lip trembling and his eyes wide and frightened. Angel sheathed his sword and forced a smile. “Followed me, did you?” he said, reaching out and drawing the child to him. “Ah, well, no harm done, eh?”

  He knelt down beside the boy. “You take the torch,” he said, holding it out for the lad. In truth he no longer needed its light, for the panels cast an eerie glow over the hall. There were metal beds there and rotted mattresses. Angel stood and drew his sword once more. Signaling to the boy, he moved out into the corridor, seeking stairs.

  Despite the danger, he was pleased that the boy was with him. The silence and the endless corridors were unnerving him. “Stay close,” whispered the man. “Old Angel will look after you.”

  Not understanding, the boy nodded and grinned up at the gladiator.

  “Have you the faintest idea where we are?” Senta asked Ekodas as the silver-armored priest rounded yet another bend in the labyrinth of corridors on the seventh level.

  “I think we are close,” said Ekodas, his face eerily pale in the faint yellow light.

  Senta saw that he was sweating heavily. “Are you all right, priest?”

  “I can feel the crystal. It is making me nauseous.”

  Senta turned to Miriel. “You do take me to some romantic places,” he said, putting his arm around her and kissing her cheek. “Volcanic caves, sorcerous castles, and now a trip in the dark a hundred miles below the earth.”

  “No more than three hundred feet,” said Ekodas.

  “Allow for poetic overstatement,” snapped Senta.

  Miriel laughed. “You needn’t have come,” she chided.

  “And miss this?” he cried in mock astonishment. “What sort of a man refuses a walk in the dark with a beautiful woman?”

  “And a priest,” she pointed out.

  “That is a flaw, I grant you.”

  “Be silent!” hissed Ekodas. Genuinely surprised, Senta was about to fire back an angry reply when he saw that Ekodas was listening intently, his dark eyes narrowing to scan the gloom at the end of the corridor.

  “What is it?” whispered Miriel.

  “I thought I heard something—like breathing. I don’t know; perhaps I imagined it.”

  “It is unlikely there’d be anything living down here,” said Miriel. “There is no food source.”

  “I cannot use my talent here,” said Ekodas, wiping sweat from his face. “I feel so … so limited. Like a man suddenly blind.”

  “Happily you do not need your talent,” said Senta, still irritated by the priest’s outburst. “This is hardly the most—” He halted in midsentence, for now he could also hear stentorian breathing. Silently he drew his sword.

  “It could be a trick of the earth,” whispered Miriel. “You know, like wind whistling through a crack in the rocks.”

  “There’s not usually a great deal of wind at this depth,” said Senta.

  They moved on cautiously, until they came to a long room filled with metal cabinets. Most of the glowing panels had ceased to operate, but two still cast pale light across the iron floor. Miriel saw an object lying beneath an overturned table. “Senta,” she said softly. “Over there!”

  The swordsman crossed the room and knelt. He rose swiftly and backed to where Ekodas and Miriel were standing. “It’s a human leg,” he said. “Or what’s left of it. And believe me, you don’t want to know the size of the bite marks.”

  “Kesa Khan said there was no danger,” put in Miriel.

  “Perhaps he didn’t know,” volunteered Ekodas. “The crystal is through that doorway. Let me find and destroy it, then we’ll leave as fast as we can.”

  “If we disappeared in a flash of magic, it wouldn’t be fast enough,” Senta told him. The priest did not smile but moved on through what was left of the doorway. “Look at that,” Senta told Miriel. “The stone of the wall around the door has been torn out. You know, call me boring if you like, but at this moment I’d like to be sitting in that cabin of yours with my feet out toward the fire, waiting for you to bring me a goblet of mulled wine.” The lightness of tone could not disguise the fear in his voice, and when Ekodas cried out, apparently in pain, Senta almost dropped his sword.

  Miriel was the first to the doorway.

  “Get back!” shouted Ekodas. “Stay beyond the walls. The power is too much for you to bear!”

  Senta caught Miriel by the arm and hauled her back. “You know, beauty, I don’t mind telling you that I am frightened. Not for the first time, but I’ve never known anything like this.”

  “And me,” she agreed.

  A shuffling sound came from the other end of the hall.

  “I have a bad feeling about this,” whispered Senta.

  And the creature moved into sight. It was colossal, almost twelve feet high, and Senta gazed in horror at its two heads. Both were grotesque, wit
h only vestigial traces of humanity; the mouths were wide, almost as long as his forearm, the teeth crooked and sharp. Miriel drew her sword and backed away. “Whatever you have to do, Ekodas, do it now!” she shouted.

  The creature leaned forward, partly supporting its weight on two huge arms, its three legs drawn up beneath its bloated belly. It looked to Senta like a giant white spider crouching before them. One of the heads lolled to the left, eyes opening, fastening on Miriel. A groan came from its grotesque lips, deep and full of torment. The mouth on the other head opened, and a piercing scream echoed in the hall. The creature tensed and shuffled crablike toward them, groaning and screaming.

  Miriel edged to the left, Senta to the right.

  The beast ignored the swordsman and charged at the girl, scattering tables and chairs. The speed was not great, but its huge bulk seemed to fill the room.

  Senta ran at it, hurling himself at its broad back. One of the four arms clubbed at him, smashing his ribs. He staggered and almost fell. The creature was rearing up above Miriel. She slashed her sword across a huge forearm, slicing deep into the flesh. Then Senta attacked again, plunging his blade into the great belly.

  A fist clubbed him again, and he was sent spinning to the floor, his sword torn from his grasp. He saw Miriel dive beneath the creature’s grasp and roll to her feet. Senta tried to rise, but a piercing pain tore into his side, and he knew that several of his ribs were broken.

  “Ekodas! For the sake of all that’s holy, help us!”

  Ekodas knelt in the golden chamber, the crystal held in his hands, his thoughts far away. The doors of his mind were all open now, and the noises from beyond the chamber held no meaning for him. His life unfolded before the eyes of memory, wasted and filled with ridiculous fears. The sanctuary of the temple now seemed like a gray prison holding him from the riches of life. He gazed down at the many facets of the crystal, seeing himself reflected a hundred times, and felt the strength of his soul expanding within the frail flesh of his body.

  In an instant he could see not only the battle in the hall outside but also the grim fighting on the walls far above. And more than that he saw the man Waylander moving silently along the darkened corridors of Zhu Chao’s palace.