Waylander ds-3

by David A. Gemmell

  Even now he knew his pursuers were close. Now, more than ever, he needed to vanish into the out-lands or across the sea to Ventria and the eastern kingdoms.

  'You fool,' he whispered. 'Do you want to die?'

  Yet the priest held him with his uncast spell.

  'You have clipped the eagle's wings, Dardalion,' he said softly.

  There had been a flower-garden at the farm, bright with hyacinths and tulips and ageing daffodils. His son had looked so peaceful lying there and the blood had not seemed out of place among the blooms. The pain tore into him; memories jagged like broken glass. Tanya had been tied to the bed and then gutted like a fish. The two girls … babes …

  Waylander wept for the lost years …

  He returned to the camp-site in the hour before dawn and found them all sleeping. He shook his head at their stupidity and stirred the fire to life, preparing a meal of hot oats in a copper pan. Dardalion was the first to wake; he smiled a greeting and stretched.

  'I am glad you came back,' he said, moving to the fire.

  'We will need to find some food,' said Waylander, 'for our supplies are low. I doubt we'll find a village unburned, so it means hunting meat. You may have to forget your principles, priest, if you don't want to collapse from hunger.'

  'May I speak with you?' asked Dardalion.

  'An odd request. I thought we were speaking?'

  Dardalion moved away from the fire and Waylander sighed and removed the copper pot from the heat before joining him.

  'Why so downcast? Are you regretting saddling us with the woman and her get?'

  'No. I … I need to ask a favour of you. I have no right …'

  'Out with it, man. What is wrong with you?'

  'Will you see them safely to Egel?'

  'I thought that was the plan. Are you all right, Dardalion?'

  'Yes … No … I am going to die, you see.' Dardalion turned away from him and walked up the slope to the crest of the hollow. Waylander followed. Once there Dardalion told him of his spirit meeting with the hunter and the other listened in silence. The ways of mystics were closed to him, but he knew of their powers and doubted not that Dardalion was speaking the literal truth. He was not surprised that the hunters were on his heels. After all, he had killed one of their number.

  'So you see,' concluded the priest, 'once I am gone I was hoping you would still guide Danyal and the children to safety.'

  'Are you so well trained in defeat, Dardalion?'

  'I cannot kill – and that is the only way to stop him.'

  'Where was their camp?'

  'To the south, But you cannot go there – there are seven of them.'

  'But only one, you think, with the Power?'

  'As far as I could tell; he said he would kill me just after dark. Please don't go, Waylander. I do not wish to be the cause of anyone's death.'

  'These men are hunting me, priest and I don't have many choices. If I promise to stay with the woman, then they will find me anyway. Better that I find them and fight on my terms. Today you must stay here. Wait for me. If I do not return by morning, set off for the north.'

  Waylander gathered his saddlebags and gear and rode away to the south just as the dawn was breaking. Swinging in the saddle he called out, 'And kill the fire – the smoke can be seen for miles. Don't light it again until dusk.'

  Dardalion stared gloomily after him.

  'Where is he going?' asked Danyal, coming to stand beside the priest.

  'He is going to save my life,' said Dardalion, and once more he told the story of his spirit travels. The woman seemed to understand and he saw the pity in her eyes. He realised in that moment that he was engaged in confession and knew that he had compromised himself badly. In telling Waylander he had forced the man to fight for him.

  'Don't blame yourself,' said Danyal.

  'I should have said nothing.'

  'Would that not have doomed us all? He had to know they were hunting him.'

  'I told him so that he would save me.'

  'I don't doubt it. But he had to know. You had to tell him.'

  'Yes. But there was only selfishness in my mind.'

  'You are a man, Dardalion, as well as a priest. You are too hard on yourself. How old are you?'

  'Twenty-five. And you?'

  'Twenty. How long have you been a priest?'

  'Five years. I was trained as an architect by my father, but my heart was never in it. Always I wanted to serve the Source. And as a child I would often have visions. My parents were embarrassed by them.' Dardalion grinned suddenly and shook his head. 'My father was convinced I was possessed and when I was eight he took me to the Source temple at Sardia to have me exorcised. He was furious when they told him I was merely gifted! From then on I attended the temple school. I should have become an acolyte at fifteen, but father insisted I stay at home and learn about business. By the time I had talked him round, I was twenty.'

  'Is your father still alive?'

  'I don't know. The Vagrians burned Sardia and murdered the priests. I assume they did the same with neighbouring townsfolk.'

  'How did you escape?'

  'I was not there for the horror; the Abbot sent me to Skoda with messages for the Mountain Monastery, but when I arrived that also was burning. I was on my way back when I was captured, then Waylander rescued me.'

  'He does not seem like a man who would bother to rescue anyone.'

  Dardalion chuckled. 'Well, no. He was actually recovering his horse which the mercenaries had stolen and I was, somewhat ignominiously, part of the package.' Dardalion laughed once more, then took Danyal by the hand. 'My thanks to you, sister.'

  'For what?'

  'For taking the time to lead me away from the paths of self-pity. I'm sorry I burdened you.'

  'It was no burden. You are a kind man and you are helping us.'

  'You are very wise and I am glad we met,' said Dardalion, kissing her hand. 'Come, let us wake the children.'

  Throughout the day Dardalion and Danyal played with the children in the woods. The priest told them stories while Danyal led them on a treasure hunt, collecting flowers and threading garlands. The sun shone for most of the morning, but the sky darkened in mid-afternoon and rain drove the group back to the camp-site to shelter beneath a spreading pine. Here they ate the last of the bread and some dried fruit left by Waylander.

  'It's getting dark,' said Danyal. 'Do you think it's safe to light the fire?'

  Dardalion did not reply. His eyes were fixed on the seven men advancing through the trees, swords in hand.

  3

  Wearily Dardalion pushed himself to his feet. The stitches pulled tight against the skin of his chest and the bruises around his ribs made him wince. Even were he a warrior, he could not have stood alone against even one of the men walking slowly towards him.

  Leading them was the man who had filled him with fear the night before, smiling as he approached. Behind him, advancing in a half-circle, were six soldiers with their long blue cloaks fastened over black breastplates. Their helms covered their faces and only their eyes were visible through rectangular slits in the metal.

  Behind Dardalion Danyal had turned away from the warriors and put her arms around the children, pulling them in close to her so that, at the very least, they would be spared the terror of the kill.

  The priest felt a terrible hopelessness seep into him. Only days before, he had been willing to bear torture – torture and death. But now he could feel the children's fear, and he wished he had a sword or bow to defend them.

  The advancing line stopped and the lead warrior swung away from Dardalion, staring across the hollow. Dardalion looked back.

  There in the fading red glow of dusk stood Waylander, his cloak drawn close about him. The sun was setting behind him and the warrior was silhouetted against the blood-red sky – a still figure, yet so powerful that he laid a spell upon the scene. His leather cloak glistened in the dying light and Dardalion's heart leapt at the sight of him. He had seen t
his drama played out once before and knew that beneath his cloak Waylander carried the murderous crossbow, strung and ready.

  But even as hope flared, so it died. For where before there had been five unsuspecting mercenaries, here there were seven warriors in full armour. Trained killers. The Vagrian Hounds of Chaos.

  Waylander could not stand against such as these.

  In those first frozen moments Dardalion found himself wondering just why the warrior had come back on such a hopeless mission. Waylander had no cause to give his life for any of them – he had no beliefs, no strongly-held convictions.

  But there he stood, like a forest statue.

  The silence was unnerving, more so for the Vagrians than for Dardalion. The warriors knew that in scant seconds lives would be lost, death would strike in the clearing and blood seep through the soft loam. For they were men of war who walked with death as a constant companion, holding him at bay with skill or with rage, quelling their fears in blood-lust. But here they were caught cold … and each felt alone.

  The dark priest of the Brotherhood licked his lips, his sword heavy in his hand. He knew that the odds favoured his force, knew with certainty that Waylander would die if he gave the word to attack. But the double-edged knowledge held a second certainty … that the moment he spoke, he would die.

  Danyal could stand the suspense no longer and, twisting round, she saw Waylander. Her movement caused Miriel to open her eyes and the first thing the child saw were the warriors in their helms.

  She screamed.

  The spell broke …

  Waylander's cloak flickered and the dark priest of the Brotherhood pitched backwards with a black bolt through one eye. For several seconds he writhed and then was still.

  The six warriors stood their ground, then the man in the centre slowly sheathed his sword and the others followed suit. With infinite care they backed away into the gathering darkness of the trees.

  Waylander did not move.

  'Fetch the horses,' he said quietly, 'and gather the blankets.'

  An hour later they were camped in high ground in a shallow cave; the children were sleeping and Danyal lay awake beside them as Dardalion and the warrior sat together under the stars.

  After a while Dardalion came into the cave and stirred the small fire to life. The smoke drifted up through a crack in the roof of the cave, but still their small shelter smelt of burning pine. It was a comforting scent. The priest moved to where Danyal lay and, seeing she was awake, sat beside her.

  'Are you well?' he asked.

  'I feel strange,' she admitted. 'I was so prepared for death that all fear left me. Yet I am alive. Why did he come back?'

  'I do not know. He does not know.'

  'Why did they go away?'

  Dardalion leaned his back against the cave wall, stretching his legs towards the fire.

  'I am not sure. I have given much thought to it and I think perhaps it is the nature of soldiers. They are trained to fight and kill upon a given order – to obey unquestioningly. They do not act as individuals. And when a battle comes it is usually clear-cut: there is a city which must be captured or a force which must be overcome. The order is given, excitement grows – dulling fear – and they attack in a mass, drawing strength from the mob around them.

  'But today there was no order and Waylander, in remaining still, gave them no cause to fire their blood.'

  'But Waylander could not have known they would run away,' she insisted.

  'No. He didn't care.'

  'I don't understand.'

  'In truth I am not sure that I do. But I sensed it during those moments. He didn't care … and they knew it. But they cared, they cared very much. They didn't want to die and they were not charged up to fight.'

  'But they could have killed him … killed us all.'

  'Could have, yes. But they didn't – and for that I am thankful. Go to sleep, sister. We have won another night.'

  Outside Waylander watched the stars. He was still numbed from the encounter and ran the memories through time and again.

  He had found their camp deserted and had followed them, a growing fear eating at him. Dismounting below the woods, he had made his way to the clearing, only to see the Hounds advancing. He had strung his crossbow, and then stopped. To advance was to die and every instinct screamed at him to go back.

  Yet he had advanced, throwing aside years of caution, to give away his life for a nonsense.

  Why in the name of Hell had they walked away?

  No matter how many times he considered it, an answer always eluded him.

  A movement to his left jerked him from his reverie and he turned to see one of the children walking from the cave. She looked neither to right nor left. Waylander went to her and touched her lightly on the arm, but she moved on, unaware of him. Stooping, he lifted her. Her eyes were closed and her head drooped to his shoulder. She was very light in his arms as he walked back to the cave, ready to lay her beside her sister. But then he stopped in the cave mouth and sat with his back against the wall, drawing her close with his cloak about her.

  For several hours he stayed quietly, feeling the warmth of her breath against his neck. Twice she woke, then snuggled down once more. As dawn lightened the sky he took her back into the cave and laid her beside her sister.

  Then he returned to the cave mouth …

  Alone.

  Danyal's scream snatched Waylander from sleep, his heart pounding. Rolling to his feet with knife in hand he ran into the cave to find the woman kneeling beside Dardalion's still form. Waylander dropped to his knees and lifted the priest's wrist. The man was dead.

  'How?' whispered Danyal.

  'Damn you, priest!' shouted Waylander. Dardalion's face was white and waxen, his skin cold to the touch. 'He must have had a weak heart,' said Waylander bitterly.

  'He was fighting the man,' said Miriel. Waylander turned to the child, who was sitting at the back of the cave holding hands with her sister.

  'Fighting?' he asked. 'Who was he fighting?' But Miriel looked away.

  'Come along, Miriel,' urged Danyal. 'Who was he fighting?'

  'The man with the arrow in his eye,' she said.

  Danyal turned to Waylander. 'It was just a dream; it means nothing. What are we to do?'

  Waylander did not reply. Throughout the questioning of the child he had held on to Dardalion's wrist and now he felt the weakest of pulses.

  'He is not dead,' he whispered, 'Go and talk to the child. Find out about the dream – quickly, now!'

  For some minutes Danyal sat quietly with the girl, then she returned. 'She says that the man you killed took hold of her and made her cry. Then the priest came and the man shouted at him; he had a sword and was trying to kill the priest. And they were flying – higher than the stars. That is all there is.'

  'He feared this man,' said Waylander, 'believing he had demonic powers. If he was right, then maybe death did not stop him. Perhaps even now he is being hunted.'

  'Can he survive?'

  'How?' snapped Waylander. The man won't fight.' Danyal leaned forward, placing her hand on Waylander's arm. The muscles were tensed and quivering. 'Take your hand from me, woman, or I'll cut it off at the wrist. No one touches me!' Danyal jerked back with green eyes ablaze, but she mastered her anger and moved back to the children.

  'Damn you all!' hissed Waylander. He took a deep breath, quelling the fury boiling inside him. Danyal and the children sat quietly, watching him intently. Danyal knew what was tormenting him: the priest was in danger and the warrior, for all his deadly skill, was powerless. A battle was taking place in another world and Waylander was a useless bystander.

  'How could you be so stupid, Dardalion?' whispered the warrior. 'All life fights to survive. You say the Source made the world? Then he created the tiger and the deer, the eagle and the lamb. You think he made the eagle to eat grass?'

  For some minutes he lapsed into silence, remembering the priest as he had knelt naked by the robbers' clothes.

>   'I cannot wear these, Waylander …'

  He transferred his grip from the priest's arm to his hand and as their fingers touched, there came an almost imperceptible movement. Waylander's eyes narrowed. As he gripped the priest's hand more firmly, Dardalion's arm jerked spasmodically and his face twisted in pain.

  'What is happening to you, priest? Where in Hell's name are you?'

  At the name of Hell Dardalion jerked again, and moaned softly.

  'Wherever he is, he is suffering,' said Danyal, moving forward to kneel beside the priest.

  'It was when our hands touched,' said Waylander. 'Fetch the crossbow, woman – there, by the cave mouth.' Danyal moved to the weapon and carried it to Waylander. 'Put it in his right hand and close his fingers about it.' Danyal opened Dardalion's hand, and curled his fingers around the ebony hilt. The priest screamed; his fingers jerked open and the crossbow clattered to the ground. 'Hold his fingers around it.'

  'But it is causing him pain. Why are you doing this?'

  'Pain is life, Danyal. We must get him back into his body – you understand? The corpse-spirit cannot touch him there. We must draw him back.'

  'But he is a priest, a man of purity.'

  'So?'

  'You will sully his soul.'

  Waylander laughed. 'I may not be a mystic, but I do believe in souls. What you are holding is merely wood and metal. Dardalion will be stung by it, but I do not believe his soul is so fragile that it will kill him. But his enemy will – so you decide!'

  'I believe that I hate you,' said Danyal, opening Dardalion's hand and forcing him to grip the ebony handle once more. The priest twisted and screamed. Waylander pulled a knife from his belt and sliced a cut across the flesh of his forearm. Blood oozed and then gushed from the wound. As Waylander held his arm over Dardalion's face, blood spattered to his skin, flowed over his closed eyes and down – cours­ing over his lips and into his throat.

  A last terrible scream ripped from the priest and his eyes snapped open. Then he smiled, and his eyes closed again. A deep shuddering breath swelled his lungs and he slept. Waylander checked his pulse –it was strong and even.