Waylander

by David Gemmell

  Two men rose from the bushes to her left. Rolling to the right she scooped her sword into her hand, hurling aside the scabbard.

  'She's feisty,' said the first man, a short stout war­rior wearing a brown leather jerkin and carrying a curved dagger. As he grinned at her, she saw he had lost his front two teeth; he was unshaven and dirty, as was his companion - a thickset man with a droop­ing moustache.

  'Will you look at her!' said the first man. 'The body of an angel.'

  'I'm looking,' said the second, grinning.

  'You geldings never seen a woman before?' asked Danyal.

  'Geldings? We'll show you who's a gelding,' snarled the gap-toothed warrior.

  'You gutless dung-eater! You'll show me nothing but your entrails.'

  Her sword came up and the men backed away.

  'Take her, Gael!' ordered Gap-tooth. 'Take the sword away.'

  'You take it.'

  'You frightened?'

  'No more than you.'

  As they argued the immense figure of Kai rose behind them, his hands reaching out. His palms slammed their heads together with a sickening crack and both men slid to the ground. Kai leaned over

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  to grab Gap-tooth's belt and with a casual flick of his arm he hurled the unconscious man far out into the river. His companion followed and both sank from sight.

  Kai ambled forward. 'Bad.' he said, shaking his head.

  'Not any more,' said Danyal, 'but I could have handled it.'

  That night as Danyal was carrying wood into the hut, her foot crashed through a rotted floorboard and the flesh of her leg was deeply gashed. Limping into the hut she began to bathe the wound, but Kai knelt by her and covered the place with his hand. Pain lanced her leg and she struggled to pull clear of his grasp. But the pain passed, and when he released her the wound had vanished.

  'Gone!' he said, his head tilting to one side. Care­fully she probed the leg; the skin was unbroken.

  'How did you do that?'

  He lifted his hand and pointed to the palm.

  'Vrend,' he said. Then he tapped his shoulder and hip. 'Aynander.'

  But she could not understand him.

  A troop of Legion riders reached the opposite bank at noon the next day, and Danyal watched as they hauled the ferry across the river. She turned to Kai.

  'You must go,' she said. 'They will not understand you.'

  He reached out and lightly touched her arm. 'Urbye Anyal.'

  'Goodbye, Kai. Thank you.'

  He walked to the edge of the trees and turned as the ferry was docking, pointing north. 'Aynander,'

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  he called and she waved and turned to the officer approaching her.

  'You are Danyal?' he asked.

  'Yes. The Armour is in the hut.'

  'Who was the big man with the mask.'

  'A friend, a good friend.'

  'I wouldn't like anyone that big for an enemy.' He was a handsome young man with an easy smile and she followed him to the ferry. With the Armour aboard she sat back, relaxing for the first time in days. Then a sudden thought struck her and she ran to the rear of the ferry.

  'Kai!' she shouted. 'Kai!'

  But the forest was silent, the giant gone.

  Aynander! Waylander.

  The giant had cured him. That's what he had been trying to tell her.

  Waylander was alive!

  The Keep held the enemy at bay for five days before the bronze-headed battering ram finally cracked the timbers of the gates. Soldiers swarmed forward, tear­ing at the wood with axe and hook, ripping wide a gaping entrance to the Keep itself.

  Beyond the gates, in the portcullis archway, Sarvaj waited with fifty swordsmen and a score of archers. The last of the arrows lay before the kneeling bowmen, and these they loosed as the gates opened and the Vagrians filled the breach. The enemy front line fell as the shafts sliced home, but more warriors pushed forward with shields held high. The bowmen retired and Sarvaj led his swordsmen in a wild charge, blades flashing in the light streaming from the ruined gates.

  The two groups crashed together, shield on shield,

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  and for almost a minute the Vagrians gave way. Then their greater numbers began to push the Drenai back across the blood-covered cobblestones of the archway.

  Sarvaj hacked and thrust his sword into the sea of bodies before him, his senses dulled by the screams and war-cries echoing alongside the clanging crash of sword and shield. A dagger rammed into his thigh and he chopped his sword across the neck of the wielder, watching him fall beneath the booted feet of his comrades. Sarvaj and a dozen others cut their way clear of the skirmish and tried to close the doors of the great Hall. More Drenai warriors ran from the battlements to aid them, but the Vagrians were too powerful and the Drenai were forced back into the Hall itself. There the enemy swarmed around the battling defenders, taunting them with their defeat. The Drenai formed a fighting circle and stood their ground, grim-eyed.

  A Vagrian officer entered the hall and pointed at Sarvaj.

  'Surrender now,' he said. 'It is over.'

  Sarvaj glanced at the men around him. Fewer than twenty remained.

  'Anyone feel like surrendering?' he asked.

  To that rabble?' replied one of the men.

  The Vagrian waved his men forward.

  Sarvaj stepped back as a warrior rushed at him, ducking under the sweeping blade to thrust his own sword into the man's groin, dragging it clear as a second warrior bore down on him. He parried a wild cut, then staggered as a lance clanged against his breastplate. A sword cut into his face and he fell, and rolled. Even then he stabbed upwards and a

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  man screamed. But several warriors surrounded him, stabbing at his face again and again.

  There was no pain, he realised, as his lifeblood rose up and choked him.

  On the battlements above, Jonat - helmet gone, sword dulled - watched helplessly as the Vagrians swept over the ramparts. A warrior ran at him; he parried the blade and sent a dazzling riposte ripping through his throat. Dropping his sword, Jonat swept up the man's sabre and tested the edge. It was still keen and he grinned.

  Drenai warriors backed away from the advancing enemy and fought a steady retreat down the winding stairwell to the next floor. From below Jonat could hear the sounds of battle and knew in that moment that the siege was over. Anger rose in him, and all the bitterness of his twenty-seven years washed over him. No one had ever listened. From the moment when, as a child, he had begged for his father's life, no one had ever really listened. Now was the final humiliation - to die in a lost war a mere five days after his greatest promotion. Had they won, Jonat would have been hailed as a hero and become one of the youngest First Dun officers in the Legion. In ten years he could have been a general

  Now there was nothing ... he would not even make a footnote to history.

  Dros Purdol, they would say - was not a battle once fought there?

  Once out of the stairwell the Drenai formed a fighting wedge in the main corridor, but the Vagrians were now coming from above and below. Karnak and Dundas emerged from the left with a score of warriors and linked with Jonat's group.

  'Sorry about this, old lad,' said Karnak. Jonat said

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  nothing as the enemy charged from the left and Karnak met them with an insane counter-charge, his axe cleaving into their ranks. Dundas - beside him as always - fell with a spear through the heart, but Karnak's furious assault left him unmarked. Jonat cut and thrust at the advancing warriors, screaming his rage and despair. An axe hit his breastplate, careering up to crack sideways on against his head. Jonat went down, blood streaming from a shallow cut to his temple; he tried to rise but a Drenai war­rior, his Head cloven by an axe blow, fell across him. The sounds of battle receded and Jonat passed into darkness.

  One by one the Drenai were cut down until only Karnak remained. He backed away, holding the great axe high as the Vagrians advanced with sword-points extended,
shields raised. Karnak was breath­ing hard and blood ran from wounds in his arms and legs.

  Take him alive!' called an officer. The general wants him alive.'

  The Vagrians rushed forward and the axe swept down. Fists rained upon the Drenai general and he slipped on the blood-covered floor. Booted feet thundered into his face and body and his head snapped back, striking the wall. His fist lashed out weakly, then finally he was still.

  On the second floor the surviving priests of The Thirty had barricaded themselves within the Keep library. Dardalion listened to the hammering on the door, then called the priests to him. None of them was armed, save himself.

  'It is over, my brothers,' he said.

  Astila stepped forward. 'I will not fight them. But

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  I want you to know, Dardalion, that I regret not an action, not a single deed.'

  'Thank you, my friend.'

  The young Baynha approached and took Darda-lion's hand. 'I regret the use of the rats against common soldiers, but I feel no shame at our battles with the Brotherhood.'

  'I think we should pray, my brothers, for time is short.'

  Together in the centre of the library the small group knelt, and their minds swam together. They did not hear the final splintering of the door, nor the crash of the barricade, but they all felt the first sword-blade that pierced Astila's heart, that cut Bay-nah's head from his shoulders, and the other sharp swords which plunged into unresisting flesh. Darda­lion was stabbed in the back and pain swept through him . . .

  Beyond the dying fortress, Kaem stood on the balcony of his quarters watching with barely conce­aled glee as the battle moved into its final stages.

  The bald Vagrian general was already planning the next move in his campaign. Leave a powerful force to hold Purdol and move his troops through Skultik forest to root out Egel, before turning south to deal with Ironlatch and the Lentrians.

  Something bright and dazzling caught his eye and he glanced to the left where a low line of hills edged with trees heralded the entrance to Skultik. There, on a splendid black horse, sat a warrior with armour blazing in the noonday sun.

  Bronze Armour! Kaem squinted against the glare, his mouth suddenly dry. The warrior raised his arm and suddenly the hill seemed to move as thousands of riders streamed towards the fortress. There was

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  no time to organise a flank defence - Kaem watched in horror as rank after rank of fighting men swept over the hill.

  Five thousand? Ten? Twenty?

  On they came. The first Vagrian soldiers watched them approach and stood transfixed. Realisation hit them and they drew their swords, only to be swal­lowed up by the charging mass.

  All was lost, Kaem knew. Numbers meant nothing now. The enemy would drive a wedge through his ranks and his army would be sundered and dispersed.

  The Bronze Warrior sat atop the hill, his eyes fixed on the fortress. Kaem saw his head turn towards the harbour and knew with a sudden chill that the war­rior was seeking him.

  Kaem backed from the window, thinking rapidly. His ships were still docked nearby - he could escape the destruction at Purdol and join his southern forces. From there he could plot a holding action until winter, with a new offensive in the spring.

  He turned . . .

  Standing in the doorway was a hooded figure, tall and lean, a black cloak over his shoulders, in his hand a small, black crossbow.

  Kaem £ould not see the face under the hood, but he knew. He knew.

  'Don't kill me,' he begged. 'Don't!'

  He backed away to the balcony, stepping out into the bright sunshine.

  The silent figure followed him.

  Kaem turned and climbed the balcony wall, leap­ing for the cobbles thirty feet below. He landed on his feet, both legs snapping under the impact and his left thigh driving up through his hip into his

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  stomach. He fell on his back and found himself star­ing up at the empty balcony. Agony seared him and he died screaming.

  The hooded figure walked to the harbour and climbed down a rope ladder to a tiny sailboat. The wind was picking up and the craft skimmed over the waves and out of the harbour.

  Inside the Keep, the Vagrians dragged Karnak along the blood-drenched corridors. His remaining eye was swollen and his lips were cut and bleeding. Down the steps they took him and through the car­nage of the great Hall. Karnak struggled to walk, but his left leg was swollen and his ankle would take no weight.

  Out in the sunshine the men stopped and blinked in surprise.

  The courtyard was packed with Drenai soldiers and at the centre stood a man in the shining Bronze Armour carrying two swords.

  'Release him,' ordered the warrior, his voice muffled and almost metallic.

  The Vagrians stepped back.

  Karnak staggered and almost fell, but the warrior in bronze moved forward to support him.

  The Vagrians are routed,' said Egel. 'The war has swung.'

  'We did it?' whispered Karnak.

  'By all the Gods, I swear it,' Egel told him.

  'Kaem?'

  'He killed himself.'

  Karnak struggled to open his eyes, but tears swam in them.

  'Take me away from here,' he said. 'Don't let anyone see me.'

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  Epilogue

  With Kaem dead and the major Vagrian army sur­rendered, the war was over on the last day of autumn, when Egel and Karnak led the Drenai army to link with the Lentrian general Ironlatch on the outskirts of Drenan.

  The following year, Karnak led the invasion of Vagria which saw the Emperor toppled.

  The Drenai ruling houses refused all talk of mon­archy and a republic was instituted, with Egel nomi­nated to lead a government. The general refused, but took the title of the Earl of Bronze and returned to Delnoch, where he organised the construction of a mighty six-walled fortress across the Pass.

  His adviser was a priest named Dardalion, who had been found seriously wounded in the library room at Purdol. Egel was much criticised for the expense of constructing Dros Delnoch, but main­tained his faith in Dardalion's vision.

  Five years after the success of Purdol, Egel was assassinated in his rooms at the fortress. In the civil war that followed, Karnak rose to rule the Drenai.

  Jonat survived the siege of Purdol and became a general in the Legion. He died six years after the battle, leading a rebel force against Karnak in the civil war.

  Danyal, with the gold Egel gave her for returning the Armour, bought a house in Skarta where she

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  lived with Krylla and Minel. But she was often seen riding in the Delnoch Pass and scanning the northern horizon.

  Six months after the Vagrian defeat, she and the children vanished from home.

  Two neighbours discussed the disappearance with the South Gate sentry.

  'I watched her leave,' he said. 'She was riding with a companion. A man.'

  'Did you recognise him?'

  'No, he was a stranger. A waylander.'