Waylander

by David Gemmell

  Far behind them a second wagon was making the descent, with seven more of Durmast's men hauling on ropes. The giant sat back and grinned as he watched them strain.

  'They earn their money when they work with me,' he said.

  Waylander nodded, too weary to speak. 'You've gone soft Waylander. A little gentle exercise and you're sweating like a pig in heat!'

  'Pulling wagons is not my usual occupation,' said Waylander.

  'Did you sleep well?' asked Durmast.

  'Yes.'

  'Alone?'

  'What sort of question is that from a man who hid in the bushes and watched?'

  Durmast chuckled and scratched his beard. 'You don't miss much, my friend. Soft you may be, but you eyes have lost nothing in sharpness.'

  'Thank you for allowing her to come,' said Way­lander. 'It will make the first few days of the journey more pleasurable.'

  'The least I could do for an old friend. Are you taken with her?'

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  'She loves me,' replied Waylander with a grin.

  'And you?'

  'I shall say farewell at Gulgothir - with regret.'

  Then you are fond of her?'

  'Durmast, you watched us last night. Did you see what happened before we made love?'

  'I saw you pass her something.'

  'You saw me give her money. Love! You tell me.'

  Durmast leaned back, closing his eyes against the morning sun.

  'You ever wished you had settled down? Raised a family?'

  'I did once, they died,' said Waylander.

  'Me too. Only mine didn't die - she ran off with a Ventrian trader and took my sons with her.'

  'I am surprised you didn't go after her.'

  Durmast sat up and stretched his back. 'I did, Waylander,' he said.

  'And?'

  'I gutted the trader.'

  'And your wife?'

  'She became a whore in the dockside taverns.'

  'What a fine pair we make! I pay for my pleasures because I will never again risk love, while you are haunted by love's betrayal.'

  'Who says I am haunted?' demanded the giant.

  'I do. And don't let yourself get too angry, my friend, for soft though I may be you cannot handle me.'

  For several seconds Durmast's angry glare remained, then it faded from his eyes and he smiled. 'At least some of the old Waylander remains,' he said. 'Come, it's time for the long climb and another wagon.'

  Throughout the day the men toiled and by dusk

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  all the wagons were safely at the foot of the pass. Waylander had rested through the afternoon, his instincts warning him that he would need all his strength over the next few days.

  The rain passed them by and by nightfall the camp-fires were blazing and the smell of cooking meat hung in the air. Waylander made his way to the wagon of the baker, Caymal, who had allowed Danyal to ride with him and his family. On his arrival he found Caymal nursing a bruised eye, his wife Lyda, beside him.

  'Where is Danyal?' asked Waylander.

  Caymal shrugged. His wife, a lean dark-haired woman in her late thirties, looked up.

  'You animals!' she hissed.

  'Where is she?'

  'Wait your turn, ' said Lyda, her lip trembling.

  'Listen to me, woman -1 am a friend of Danyal's. Now where is she?'

  'A man took her. She didn't want to go and my husband tried to stop him but he hit Caymal with a club.'

  'Which way?'

  The woman pointed to a small grove of trees. Waylander lifted a rope from the back of the wagon, coiled it over his shoulder and loped off in that direction. The moon shone bright in a clear sky and he slowed his pace as he neared the grove, closing his eyes and focusing his hearing.

  There! To the left was the sound of coarse cloth against tree bark. And to the right, a muffled cry. Angling towards the left Waylander moved slowly forward, bursting into a sprint just as he reached the trees.

  A knife flashed past his head and he hit the ground

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  on one shoulder and rolled. A dark shadow detached itself from the trees, moonlight shining from a curved sword. Waylander rolled to his feet and leapt, his right foot crashed into the man's head and then - as the stranger staggered - Waylander spun on his heel, his right elbow exploding against the man's ear. He fell without a sound. Waylander crept to the right. There in a shallow hollow lay Danyal, her dress ripped open, her legs spread. A man was kneeling over her as Waylander slid the rope from his shoulder and opened the noose.

  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

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  laid a goose-feathered arrow. Waylandw 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.'

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

  T.ell 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?'

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  '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

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  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

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  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

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  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

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  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 posses
s?'