Waylander ds-3

by David A. Gemmell

  'I see you, Jonat, you rascal,' roared Karnak. Jonat chuckled and caught the bottle Karnak lobbed in his direction. 'I take it you'll drink with me?'

  'Why not, general?'

  Karnak sat down and called the men to him. 'You've probably heard that I had to close the tunnel,' he said, grinning. 'It means the only way out is through the main gates. How do you feel about that?'

  'Just let us know when you're ready to leave, general!' called a man at the back.

  'Well, I would have said tonight, but the enemy seems downhearted enough,' said Karnak. 'After all, we don't want to rub their noses in it.'

  'Is it true you caved in the mountain?' asked another man.

  'I'm afraid so, old lad. My engineers left winches and pulleys in the tunnels and an elaborate set-up by one of the main beams. After all, you can't have an open road into a fortress.'

  'We heard you were dead,' said Jonat.

  'Good Gods, man, you think a mere mountain could kill me? What little faith you have! Anyway, how are you all faring?'

  For some minutes Karnak sat and chatted with them, before moving further down the line. Two hours later he returned to his room, his eye a blistering agony, his strength all but gone. He lowered his body to the bed, rolled on to his back and groaned.

  In the hall below Dardalion opened his eyes and looked about him. Eight priests met his gaze and nine more were stirring, but six lifeless bodies were slumped across the table.

  'The Brotherhood are no longer a threat,' said Astila, 'but the price of victory is high.'

  'The price is always high,' said Dardalion. 'Let us pray.'

  'For what should we pray, Dardalion?' asked the young priest named Baynha. 'That we kill more enemies? More than sixty of the Brotherhood died tonight. I cannot take much more of this endless slaying.'

  'You think we are wrong, Baynha?' questioned Dardalion gently.

  'It is more a question of not knowing if we are right.'

  'May I speak, Dardalion?' asked Astila and Dardalion nodded.

  'I am not as intellectually gifted as some of our Order,' Astila began, 'but bear with me, brothers. I recall a phrase the Abbot used when I was a novitiate. He said: "When a fool sees himself as he is, then he is a fool no longer; and when a wise man learns of his own wisdom, then he becomes a fool." This caused me great trouble, for it seemed mere word play. But after many years I have come to this conclusion: that only in certainty is there moral danger. Doubt is the gift we must cherish, for it forces us to question our motives constantly. It guides us to truth. I do not know if we chose wisely the path we now walk. I do not know if we are right in what we do. But we walk it in faith.

  'I despise the slaying, but I will continue to fight the Brotherhood with all the powers the Source has allowed me. But if you, Baynha, believe it is wrong, you should fight no longer.'

  Baynha bowed his head briefly, then smiled.

  'I am not wise, Astila. Does knowing this make me wise?'

  'It makes you human, my brother, and I for one am glad of it. My biggest fear was that we would grow to love the battle.'

  'I will fight on,' said Baynha, 'and on your advice will cherish my doubts. Yet I wonder what the future holds for us all. What happens if we win? Do we form a temple of warrior priests? Do we return to our former lives? We have begun something here which is new to the world. What is our purpose?'

  Dardalion lifted his hand and they turned to him.

  'My friends, these are great questions. But we should not attempt to answer them now. Those of us who survive must decide our future. Yet I must say now that I have had many dreams these past days, terror-filled dreams. But each has ended in the same way. I see a desert of broken souls and undead beasts. At the centre of this desert is an oasis – and beside it a tree. Beneath its branches men gather for shade, and rest, and peace. Not one of the undead beasts can gather near the tree, nor any creature of evil approach it.'

  'And what does it mean, do you think?' asked Astila.

  'The tree has Thirty branches,' said Dardalion.

  23

  Waylander slept and in his dreams he found himself once more upon the lonely hillside with the blind King Orien. He opened his eyes and gazed at the sky and the unfamiliar stars.

  'Welcome!' said Orien.

  Waylander sat up and the old man took his hand and patted it paternally.

  'You have pleased me, Waylander. Restored my faith to full vigour. Your courage is great and you have proved to be a man of honour.'

  'I am uncomfortable with compliments,' said Waylander, turning away and pulling free his hand.

  Orien nodded. 'Then ask that which you fear.'

  'Where is the Armour?'

  'You will find it. Tomorrow, if the Source blesses you, you will ride upon the flanks of Raboas. There you will find a narrow path which winds to a cave. The cave is on a ledge, and there you will find a second path. These two roads are the only route to the mountain's heart. Enter the cave and you will see three tunnels. Take the right-hand entrance and journey on until you come to a wide, arching chamber. There is the Armour for all to see.'

  'It is an image which cannot be taken,' said Waylander.

  'It is real, but only the Chosen One can lift it.'

  'And I am the Chosen One?'

  'That you will know tomorrow.'

  'Is Danyal safe?'

  'I cannot say, for I do not know. I am not a God, Waylander.'

  'Then what are you?'

  'I am nothing but an image in your dreams.'

  'You must be more than that.'

  'Then think of me as the spirit of Orien, the last flickering evidence of the once-King. When you take the Armour I shall be gone, never to return.'

  'Where will you go? Is paradise a reality? Does the Source exist?'

  'I cannot answer your questions. Only you can decide. But you must go now, for your danger is great. Dardalion no longer shields you from the Brotherhood. Go now!'

  Waylander opened his eyes a second time and jerked upright. He was back in his blankets at the foot of Raboas.

  And his horse was gone.

  He rolled to his feet and saw that the bush where his mount had been tethered had been uprooted. The beast must have been terrified. But by what?

  Waylander strung his crossbow and scanned the undergrowth.

  He could see nothing untoward, but closed his eyes and listened. From the right he heard a faint rustling.

  He spun and loosed both bolts as the werewolf rose and charged. The bolts thudded home, but the corded muscles of the beast's great chest prevented them reaching the heart and lungs and its advance continued unchecked.

  Waylander dived to his right, and a second beast reared above him. He rolled to his feet, his sword slicing out and bouncing from the creature's head.

  He backed away as the four beasts advanced, their great jaws open, tongues lolling and red eyes fixed upon him. Gripping his sword two-handed, he raised it over his right shoulder, ready to take at least one of them with him.

  A dark shadow reared up behind them and Waylander blinked as a massive hand grabbed a furry neck and squeezed. A terrible howl began and was cut short as the werewolf was lifted from the ground. A silver knife plunged between its ribs and the corpse was hurled ten feet into the bushes. The other beasts swung on the attacker, but with one bound he was among them and a second knife thudded home, disembowelling the creature which had been Lenlai the possessed. Fangs fastened on Kai's shoulder as a third beast leapt at him. He tore it loose, curling his huge hands around its throat and dangling it before him. Waylander winced as he heard the neck creak and snap, then Kai tossed the corpse aside.

  The fourth werebeast had fled.

  Waylander sheathed his sword and watched in grim fascination as the monster placed his hand over the gushing wound in his shoulder. Minutes later, when the hand was removed from the place, the wound had gone. Kai moved to the corpses, pulling clear the knives. His legs weak, Waylander sat down with his back to a tre
e. Kai approached him and squatted down, offering the knives hilt first. Waylander accepted them without comment.

  Kai watched him for some seconds, then lifted his hand and tapped his enormous chest.

  'Vrend,' he said.

  'Friends,' agreed Waylander.

  After a while Waylander moved to his pack, sharing out some jerked meat and dried fruit. The food disappeared swiftly, then Kai belched and tapped his chest once more.

  'Kai,' he said, his head tilting with the effort of speech.

  'Waylander.'

  Kai nodded, then stretched himself out with head on arm and closed his great eye.

  A noise in the undergrowth startled the assassin and he started to rise.

  'Orsh,' said Kai, without moving.

  Waylander's horse moved into the clearing. He patted its neck and fed it the last of the grain, before tethering it to a stout branch.

  Taking his blanket, he lay down beside the man-monster and slept until dawn. When he awoke, he was alone. The bodies of the wolf-beasts had gone and so had Kai.

  Waylander finished the last of his food, then saddled his horse. Moving from the clearing, he gazed up at the rearing bulk of Raboas.

  The Sacred Giant.

  A strange yet perfect sense of calm settled over Waylander as he guided his horse up the slopes of Raboas. The sun was shining through a latticework of cloud which gave incredible depth to the beauty of the sky, while overhead gulls swooped and dived like tiny living shrews of cloud. Waylander pulled on the reins and scanned the land about him. There was a beauty here he had never seen before: a savage elemental magnificence which spoke of the arrogance of eternity.

  To his right a stream whispered across white rocks, gushing from a crack in the mountain. He dismounted and stripped his clothing; then he washed and shaved and combed his hair, tying it at the nape of the neck. The water was cold on his skin and he dressed again swiftly after shaking the dust of travel from his clothes. From his pack he took a shawl of black silk which he looped over his shoulders and head in the style of the Sathuli burnoose. Then he placed his mail-ringed shoulder-guard in place. From his pack he took two wrist-guards of silver which he buckled over his forearms, then a baldric carrying six sheathed throwing-knives. He sharpened his knives and his sword-blade and stood, facing the mountain.

  Today he would die.

  Today he would find peace.

  In the distance he saw a dust-cloud heading towards Raboas. Many riders were galloping towards the mountain, but Waylander did not care.

  This was his day. This glorious hour of beauty was his hour.

  He stepped into the saddle and located the narrow path between the rocks, urging the horse onward.

  All his life he had been heading for this path, he knew. Every experience of his existence had conspired to bring him here at this time.

  From the moment he killed Niallad he had felt as if he had reached the peak of a mountain from which there was no return. All the paths had been closed to him, his only choice to step from the peak and fly!

  Suddenly it did not matter whether he found the Armour, or indeed whether the Drenai won or died.

  This was Waylander's hour.

  For the first time in two decades he saw without anguish his beloved Tanya standing in the doorway of the farm and waving him home. He saw his son and his two daughters playing by the flower garden. He had loved them so much.

  But to the raiders they had been no more than playthings. His wife they had raped and murdered; his children they had killed without thought or remorse. Their gain had been an hour of sated lust, several bags of grain and a handful of silver coin.

  Their punishment had been death, hideous and vengeful – not one of them had died in less than an hour. For Dakeyras the farmer had died with his family. The raiders had created Waylander the Slayer.

  But now the hatred was gone … vanished like smoke in the breeze. Waylander smiled as he remembered his first conversation with Dardalion.

  'Once I was a lamb playing in a green field. Then the wolves came. Now I am an eagle and I fly in a different universe.'

  'And now you kill the lambs?' Dardalion had accused.

  'No, priest. No one pays for lambs.'

  The path wound on and up, over jagged rocks between towering boulders.

  Orien had said that werebeasts guarded the Armour, but Waylander did not care.

  He would dismount and walk into the cave, fetch the Armour and wait for the enemy he could not slay.

  His horse was breathing hard as they reached level ground. Ahead of him was a wide cave and before that a fire at which sat Durmast and Danyal.

  'You took your time,' said the giant, grinning.

  Waylander dismounted as Danyal ran to him, folding his arms around her he kissed her hair, closing his eyes to stem the tears. Durmast looked away.

  'I love you,' said Waylander softly, his fingers touching the skin of her face. His words carried such overwhelming regret that Danyal pulled away from his arms.

  'What is the matter?'

  He shook his head. 'Nothing. You are well?'

  'Yes. You?'

  'Never better.' Taking her by the hand, he walked back to Durmast. The giant pushed himself to his feet, eyes flicking from one to the other.

  'It is good to see you,' said Waylander. 'But I knew you would make it.'

  'You too. Is everything all right with you?'

  'Of course.'

  'You seem strangely distant.'

  'It has been a long journey and I am tired. You saw the dust-cloud?'

  'Yes. We have less than an hour.'

  Waylander nodded agreement.

  Hobbling the horses, the trio prepared torches and entered the cave. It was dark and foul-smelling and, as Orien had promised, split into three tunnels. Waylander led the way and they moved deeper into the gloom.

  Shadows leapt and swayed on the damp granite walls and Danyal, sword in hand, stayed close to the warriors. At one point they walked into a deep chamber where the flickering torchlight failed to pierce the darkness. Danyal pulled at Waylander's cloak and turned.

  'What is it?'

  At the furthest edges of the torchlight were scores of glittering, feral eyes.

  'Ignore them,' said Waylander.

  Durmast swallowed hard and drew his battleaxe from its sheath.

  They walked on and the eyes closed in around them.

  At last they reached the chamber Orien had described.

  Inside, along the walls, were placed torch brackets containing sticks soaked with pitch. One by one Waylander lit them all until the chamber was bathed in light.

  At the far end, on a wooden frame, stood the Armour of Bronze: winged helm, ornate breastplate bearing an eagle with wings spread, bronze gauntlets and two swords of rare beauty.

  The three travellers stood silently before the Armour.

  'It makes you believe in magic,' whispered Durmast.

  'Who could lose, wearing such as that?' asked Danyal.

  Waylander walked forward and reached out his hands.

  They passed through the armour and he reached again.

  But the image remained.

  'Well, get it, man!' said Durmast.

  'I cannot. I am not the Chosen One.'

  'What? ' hissed Durmast. 'What are you talking about?'

  Waylander chuckled, then sat down before the Armour.

  'There is a spell on it, Durmast. The old King, Orien, told me of it. Only the Chosen One can remove the Armour. It is a safeguard, I suppose – it is so vital to the Drenai that they could not risk it being taken by an enemy. But it does not matter.'

  'Doesn't matter?' stormed Durmast. 'We've risked our lives to get this damned tin suit! Even now the Nadir are gathering – and I'm not too damned sure about those eyes out there. Of course it matters.'

  'All that matters is that we tried,' said Waylander.

  Durmast's response was short, vulgar and explosive. 'Horse dung! The world is full of sorry triers and I
'll have no part of it. What do we do now? Wait for some golden-haired grinning Drenai hero who's been blessed in some magic fountain?'

  Danyal approached the Armour and tried to touch it, but it remained ethereal.

  'What do you think you're doing?' snapped Durmast.

  'You try,' she said.

  'What's the point? Do I look like a Drenai hero to you?'

  'I know what you are, Durmast. Try anyway. What can you lose?'

  The giant pushed himself upright and stalked to the Armour.

  It looked so damned solid. He shrugged and his fingers snapped out …

  And struck metal.

  Danyal's jaw dropped. 'Gods! It is him!'

  Durmast stood transfixed, then he swallowed hard and reached out once more. This time he lifted the helm and placed it reverently before Waylander. Then he stared at his hands – Waylander saw they were shaking uncontrollably. Piece by piece Durmast lifted the Armour from the stand. Then he sat beside Waylander, saying nothing.

  The torches were guttering now and Danyal tapped Waylander's arm. 'We should go.'

  Waylander and Durmast gathered up the Armour and followed Danyal to the doorway. Outside a sea of eyes gazed in at them. Danyal froze, then she lifted her torch and the eyes withdrew into the shadows.

  'It's going to be a long walk,' muttered Durmast.

  He stepped forward and the torchlight fell on the Armour of Bronze. A sibilant whispering rose up from all around them, then subsided into silence. But the eyes fell back and Danyal led the way out into the light.

  Once in the open, Durmast and Waylander strapped the Armour to the back of Durmast's pack pony and covered the shining metal with a grey blanket.

  The sound of hooves on stone brought a curse from Durmast and sweeping up his bow, he ran to the sloping path. Waylander joined him, crossbow in hand.

  Two Nadir warriors rode into sight, lances in their hands. They catapulted from the saddle, one with a bolt through the eye, the other with a long shaft through the ribs.

  'They are merely the vanguard; I think we are in trouble,' said Durmast, pulling a second arrow from his quiver. 'Unfortunately, I think we're trapped up here.'

  'The second path may be clear,' said Waylander. 'Take Danyal and run. I'll hold them here and join you later.'