Waylander III: Hero In The Shadows ds-9

by David A. Gemmell

  'This is not your Waylander,' he said. 'It is a female.'

  'Well, kill her,' shouted Eldicar.

  The woman drew a dagger from its sheath. Three-swords absently batted it from her hand. 'Stop struggling,' he said. 'It is beginning to annoy me.'

  'What are you waiting for?' said Eldicar. 'Kill her.'

  'I have already killed one woman for you, magicker. I did not relish that task, but I did it. It still sits badly with me. I am a warrior, not a woman-killer.'

  'Then you do it,' Eldicar ordered Iron-arm.

  'That's my captain,' said Iron-arm. 'Where he goes I follow.'

  'You insolent dogs! I'll kill her myself!' Eldicar pulled his dagger from his belt and took one step away from the balcony door. At that moment something dark moved into sight behind him. A hand hooked into the collar of his robe, dragging him back. His hips hit the balcony rail and his body cartwheeled over the edge. Iron-arm sprang towards the balcony. There was no one there. He glanced up.

  Through the lashing rain he saw a dark figure scaling the wall, heading towards the upper balcony of the library tower.

  Iron-arm looked down. Fifty feet below the magicker lay spreadeagled on the stones. Moving back into the room, Iron-arm headed for the upper stairs.

  Three-swords stopped him. 'Trust me, my friend, you do not want to go up there.' He looked down at the woman in his grasp, then released her. She half fell. Three-swords saw a swelling on the side of her face, and her left eye was closing fast. 'Sit down,' he said, 'and drink some water. What is your name?'

  'Keeva Taliana.'

  'Well, Keeva Taliana, have your drink and gather your strength. Then, were I you, I would leave this tower.'

  Eldicar Manushan lay very still. Pain threatened to engulf him, but he concentrated his powers, blocking the agony. Fighting for calm, he sent his spirit flowing through his broken body. He had landed heavily on his back, but, thankfully, his spine was not severed. His right hip was smashed, and his left leg broken in three places, his left wrist fractured. His head had missed the stone of the path, striking the soft earth of a flower-bed beside it. Otherwise his neck might have been broken. There were some internal injuries, but quietly and carefully Eldicar healed them. Occasionally the pain would burst through his defences, but he held it back and continued to direct power to his injuries, accelerating the healing. He could do little about the broken bones in such a short time, but he swelled and stiffened the muscles around them, forcing them back into position.

  The rain pounded down upon him as he lay there. Lightning speared across the sky. By its light he saw Waylander scaling the wall. He had almost reached the upper balcony. Despite his broken bones Eldicar felt a wave of relief sweep over him. He would not now have to be in the room when Anharat was summoned. Even better, the Lord of Demons could not be summoned through him.

  Carefully Eldicar rolled to his stomach and pushed himself to his knees. Sharp pain flared in his ruined hip, but the muscles around it held firm. Rising to his feet, he let out a groan as his broken leg twisted, a jagged shard biting into the cramped muscles of his calf. Bending down he forced the bone back into place with his thumbs, then tightened the muscles once more.

  Taking a deep breath he put weight on the injured limb. It held. Almost all of his talent had been used, and Eldicar knew he had to find a place of safety where he could rest and recoup his power. Slowly he inched his way towards the palace, entering a corridor opposite the Oak Room. It came to him then that he did not want to remain in this place. He wanted to go home. If he could just make it to the stables and saddle a horse he could ride for the gateway and never again be forced to serve monsters like Deresh Karany. Eldicar thought of the family house beside the lake, the cool breezes flowing over the snow-capped mountains.

  He paused as pain swamped him.

  I should never have come, he thought. This venture has ruined me. He saw again the contempt in the Kriaz-nor's eyes as he called for the death of the girl, and remembered the night of horror when the Kraloth had ripped into the nobles of Kydor.

  'I am not an evil man,' he whispered. 'The cause was just.'

  He tried to hold to the teachings of his youth, about the greatness of Kuan-Hador, and its divine purpose to bring peace and civilization to all peoples. Peace and civilization? Desiccated corpses were strewn around Deresh .Karany, who was summoning the Lord of Demons.

  'I am going home,' said Eldicar Manushan.

  He limped towards the main doors and dragged them open, stepping out into the storm-swept night.

  And came face to face with an angry crowd, led by the priest Chardyn.

  There were many conflicting thoughts and emotions within the Source priest Chardyn as he led the townspeople up the hill towards the White Palace. First and foremost was a terrible fear. Righteous anger had led him to make his speech at the temple, allied to an underlying belief that an army of common folk would prove a match for a few score soldiers and a magicker.

  But when the march began many of the townspeople had drifted away. And when the storm came even more hung back. And so it was that Chardyn arrived at the White Palace leading a bedraggled group of around a hundred people, many of them women.

  He had promised them that the Source would show His power. He had pledged a shield of thunder and a spear of lightning. Well, he had the thunder and the lightning – and with it the sheeting rain that had drenched his followers, cooling their ardour.

  Very few of the people with him had weapons. They had not come to fight. They had come to witness the miracle. The stone-mason, Benae Tarlin, was carrying an iron spear, and, to his right, Lalitia was holding her dagger. Benae had asked Chardyn to bless the spear, and the priest had solemnly laid his hands upon it, and in a loud voice had intoned, 'This is a weapon of righteousness. May it blaze with the Light of the Source!' That had been back in Carlis, and the crowd had cheered mightily. What Chardyn had noticed was that the spear was old and dull, the point pitted with rust.

  The small crowd crested the hill and saw the palace. 'When will we see the magic?' asked Benae Tarlin.

  Chardyn did not answer. His white robes were soaked and he felt a great weariness upon him. His own anger had long since been replaced by a feeling of impending doom. All he knew was that he would enter the palace and do his best to wring the throat of Eldicar Manushan. He marched on, Lalitia beside him.

  'I hope you are right about the Source,' she said.

  As they came closer the doors of the palace opened, and Eldicar Manushan stepped out to meet them.

  Chardyn saw him, and hesitated. Thunder rumbled above them, and Chardyn could feel the fear in the crowd swelling. Eldicar Manushan looked at him. 'What do you want here?' he called.

  'I am here, in the name of the Source, to put an end to your evil,' replied Chardyn, aware that his normally powerful voice lacked conviction.

  Eldicar moved out from the doorway. The crowd fell back. 'Leave here now,' boomed the magicker, 'or I shall summon demons to destroy you all!'

  Benae Tarlin backed away from Chardyn. Lailtia swore and stepped in. 'Give me that!' she hissed, snatching the iron spear from the stone-mason's hand. Spinning on her heel Lailtia took two running steps towards Eldicar Man-ushan and launched the weapon.

  The surprised magicker threw up his arm but the spear plunged into his belly. He staggered and almost fell. Then he grabbed the iron haft with both hands, dragging it clear. 'I cannot die!' he shouted.

  Thunder boomed as he spoke – and a blast of lightning tore down from the sky. The iron spear in Eldicar's hand exploded in a tremendous flash of white light. The magicker's body was hurled high into the air. The force of the explosion threw Lailtia from her feet. Chardyn ran to her, helping her up. Then he walked slowly towards the charred body of Eldicar Manushan. One arm was completely gone and a part of the man's chest had been torn open. A blackened section of the iron haft had crashed through Eldicar's face and was jutting from the rear of his skull.

  As Chardyn stood the
re he saw the body twitch. One hand opened and closed. The leg jerked. Eldicar's eyes flared open. Blood bubbled from his ruined chest, but the wound began to close.

  Lailtia dropped to her knees beside the magicker and rammed her dagger into his throat, severing the jugular. Blood pumped out. Eldicar's eyes stayed open for a little while, wide and terrified. Then they closed, and all movement ceased.

  Benae Tarlin moved alongside Chardyn, and then the other townspeople crowded around.

  'All praise to the Source!' someone said.

  'The spear of lightning,' said another.

  Chardyn looked up from the charred corpse and saw people staring at him, their faces awestricken. Benae Tarlin took his hand and kissed it. Chardyn realized that the crowd were waiting for him to say something; some grand words, something memorable to match the occasion. But he had nothing to say.

  He turned away from them and began the long walk back to Carlis.

  Lalitia came alongside him, taking his arm. 'Well, you are a saint now, my friend,' she said. 'A man of miracles.'

  'It was no miracle. He was struck by lightning in a storm,' said Chardyn. 'And I am a fraud.'

  'How can you say that? You promised them the Source would strike him down. He was struck down. Why do you continue to doubt?'

  Chardyn gave a sigh. 'I am a liar and a charlatan. You – though I love you dearly – are a whore and a thief. You think the Source would work his wonders through people like us?'

  'Perhaps that is the real miracle,' she said.

  The fingers of Waylander's left hand were cramping as he eased himself up the wall, reaching for the cracks where the sections of marble dressing joined. The cracks were thin, no more than half an inch wide in places. Rain swept over him, making the handholds slippery. Waylander paused and opened and closed his left fist, trying to keep the fingers supple. Then he pushed on.

  A figure appeared on the balcony just above him. Waylander froze. Lightning flashed over the bay and the assassin saw in its fierce light a nightmare face. Hideously stretched at the temples, the head was triangular, with huge almond-shaped eyes. The texture of the grey skin was scaly, like that of a serpent. Then the creature moved back from the balcony and into the tower beyond. Waylander gripped one of the stone balcony rails and hauled himself up. Lifting the crossbow from the clip at his belt, he vaulted the rail then dived into the room.

  Something bright flashed by his face. He rolled to his right. A second burning missile flew past. Coming to his knees, bow raised, he saw the creature's hand come up. A ball of fire appeared in the palm. Waylander shot swiftly. The bolt slammed through the fiery globe, embedding itself in the shoulder of the creature. It leapt forward, then spun, its huge tail raking out. Waylander threw himself to his left. A sharp claw missed him by inches. He shot again. The bolt sliced through the creature's face. It reared up, then fell heavily. Waylander notched the upper string of his bow and slipped another bolt into place.

  The creature lay still.

  Suddenly Waylander felt immense pity for it, and a powerful yearning to befriend the beast. He knew, in that instant, that it could not be evil, that it desired only love and friendship. He could not believe that he had come here to kill it. The creature rose slowly and turned. Waylander relaxed. Then his eyes fell upon the bodies around the walls. In the corner he saw a dried-out husk. Braided golden hair clung to the skull. He knew the style of the braid. The corpse had once been Norda.

  He looked back at the creature. Never in his life had he known such love as he felt now. From somewhere deep in his mind he recalled Ustarte telling him about the charm-spell used by Deresh Karany. The creature was closer now. Its tail swept round, the claw glinting in the lantern-light.

  'Will you die for me?' asked the creature sweetly.

  'Not tonight,' said Waylander. With a huge effort of will he raised his weapon and touched the trigger. The bolt tore through the creature's neck. Deresh Karany gave a terrible cry. The spell broke.

  Waylander dropped the crossbow and drew a throwing knife, which he hurled into Deresh Karany's chest. The creature screamed and rushed at him. Talons snaked out. Waylander dropped to his knees and flung himself to the right. The tail lashed at him, throwing him against an oak table. Waylander came to his feet and drew his short-sword. The tail swept up. Waylander's blade cut deep into it. A high-pitched scream sounded from Deresh Karany, who backed away, his tail oozing blood to the floor. 'You cannot kill me, mortal,' he said.

  'But I can bring you a world of pain,' answered Waylander. Another knife sliced through the air, plunging deep into the creature's biceps.

  Deresh Karany backed away once more, and began to chant. Waylander had never before heard the language. It was guttural and harsh, yet powerfully rhythmic. The air in the room grew colder as the chanting grew louder. The walls began to vibrate. Shelves came crashing down. Realizing that the creature was summoning a demon, Waylander hurled himself at him. Deresh Karany spun, his blood-smeared tail whiplashing out.

  The assassin was thrown across the room. He landed hard, striking his head against the wall. Groggy now, he struggled to rise. A bright light was forming by the far wall. The stone began to ripple. In desperation Waylander drew another knife and hurled it with all his might. It hammered into Deresh Karany's outstretched hand. Waylander heard him grunt with pain. For a moment only the chanting ceased. Then it began again. The cold intensified. Waylander shivered. Fear swelled within him. Not fear of death, or even fear of failure. But fear itself, undiluted and pure. He felt the unseen presence of something so primal, so powerful, that all his strength and guile were as nothing against it. Like a blade of grass trying to withstand a hurricane.

  His limbs trembled. Deresh Karany screeched with laughter, the sound bizarre and insane. 'You can feel it, can't you?' he shouted. 'Where are your knives now, little man? Here is one for you!' The Ipsissimus pulled the throwing knife from the flesh of his face and tossed it towards Waylander. It clattered on the floor close by. Plucking the other blades from his flesh, he casually threw them down. 'Quick, gather them up,' he said. 'I will enjoy watching you use them against the greatest of demons, the Lord of the Pit. Do you feel honoured? Your soul is to be devoured by Anharat himself!'

  The air around Waylander vibrated. Terror, pure and undiluted, swept through him, and he felt a desperate need to escape this place.

  'Why not run?' mocked Deresh Karany. 'If you are fast enough his wings will not be able to catch you!'

  Waylander hefted his sword, anger coming to his aid. He was still unsteady on his feet, but he prepared himself for one last attack.

  A dark figure appeared in the rippling wall, then ducked down and stepped into the room. Its skin was black and scaled, its head round, its ears long and pointed. As it entered it raised itself up until it stood more than ten feet tall, its head just below the rafters. Black wings stretched out, touching the walls on either side. Fire burned in the demon's eye sockets and flames flickered from its wide mouth. A sickening odour filled the room. Waylander recognized it. It was the stench of decaying flesh.

  'I summoned thee, Anharat,' said Deresh Karany.

  'For what purpose, human?' came the response. As it spoke, fire billowed from the gaping mouth, curling up against the skin of its face. The words hung in the cold air, echoing around the rafters.

  'To kill my enemy.'

  The Demon Lord's burning eyes fastened on Waylander. Ponderously he advanced across the room. As his taloned feet touched the ornate rugs the cloth burst into flame. Smoke rose around the creature.

  Waylander flipped the shortsword, catching it by the blade as he prepared to hurl it into the breast of the demon.

  The beast paused. Its head arched back and it began to laugh. Flames roared from its mouth, the sound causing the room to tremble. Waylander threw the sword. As it left his hand it burst into flame then flew up to plunge into one of the rafters. The Demon Lord swung to face Deresh Karany. 'Ah, but this is a good moment!' he said. 'I have always loathe
d humans, Deresh Karany, but you I hold in utter contempt. Did I not warn you that this gateway would be protected? Did I not tell you that only the death of three kings would open the portals? Did you listen? No. Hundreds of my people have been slain, and now you have the effrontery to call upon Anharat to kill a single human.'

  'You must obey, Demon!' shouted Deresh Karany. 'I have followed all the ancient rituals. To the last detail. Ten deaths I have given you, and the incantations were perfect. You have no choice but to accept my order.'

  'Oh, this is exquisite! You are a skilled sorcerer, Deresh Karany. You know all the laws governing the Summoning. And what, pray, is the prime law?'

  'There must be a death. That is the price! And there he is, Anharat. Kill him, and the ritual is complete.'

  'And how many times can a man be killed?' asked the Demon Lord, moving slowly towards Deresh Karany until he towered over the Ipsissimus. Waylander stood silently by. Deresh Karany tried to back away. The wall stopped him.

  'I don't understand,' he said, his voice shaking. 'Kill him – and go!'

  'I cannot kill him, mortal. For he is already dead. His heart no longer beats. His body stands only because a magicker laid a spell upon it.'

  'No. This cannot be!' shouted Deresh. 'You are trying to trick me!'

  'The prime law,' said Anharat. 'There must be a life.' His huge arm snaked out. Sharp talons crunched through Deresh Karany's body, hauling him into the air. As Waylander watched, the Demon Lord tore open the sorcerer's chest, ripping out his heart. Yet still Deresh struggled. 'Even better,' said Anharat. 'You have mastered the art of regeneration. You will wish you had not. For now it may take a hundred years for you to die.' A blast of flame roared from the demon's mouth, engulfing the beating heart in his hand. Ponderously he turned and moved back to the rippling wall. Deresh Karany was still struggling as Anharat ducked down and stepped through.