Waylander

by David Gemmell

  But they were gifts, the first he had ever received, and the handles were pretty and handsomely carved.

  306

  He had owned a knife once, but within a short time it had turned from shining grey to red-brown and had become brittle and useless.

  He thought of the giver - the short, small man on the horse. Why had he not screamed and attacked? Why had he killed the wolves? Why had he ban­daged the wounds? Why had he given him the knives?

  All were mysteries.

  Goodbye friend. What did it mean?

  Over the years Kai had learned the language of men, piercing the jumble of sounds into linked sen­tences. He could not speak, for there was no one to listen, but he could understand. The man had said that he was hunted. Kai cduld understand that.

  By beasts and men? Kai wondered why he had made the distinction.

  He shrugged and sighed. Strangely he felt more alone today than yesterday.

  He missed the small man.

  I Karnak was asleep on the floor of the great hall, a ; single blanket pulled across his massive frame. The log fire in the wide hearth had shrivelled to glowing cinders as the Drenai general lay on a goatskin rug, lost in dreams of childhood and the birth of ambition.

  Despite their riches Karnak's family retained a puritan streak and early in their lives the children were taught of the necessity for self-sufficiency. Young Karnak had been apprenticed to a shepherd to the north of the family estates and one night, while camped high in the wooded hills, a great grey wolf had stalked the flock. Karnak, at the age of seven, took a stout staff of unshaped wood and

  307

  walked towards the beast. For several seconds it stood its ground, yellow eyes fixed on the advancing child, then it had backed away and run into the darkness.

  When Karnak returned home he told the tale to his father with great pride.

  'I knew of it,' said his father coldly. 'But you have lessened the deed by bragging of it.'

  For some reason he never forgot his father's dis­missal and the scene returned time and time again to haunt his dreams. Sometimes he dreamt he fought off a dozen tigers, and crawled to his father dying of his wounds.

  Always the old man responded with icy indifference.

  'Why are you not dressed for dinner?' he would ask the blood-covered boy.

  'I have been hurt by tigers, father.'

  'Still bragging, Karnak?'

  The sleeping man groaned and opened his eyes. The hall was silent, yet some sound had disturbed his slumber and now a faint drumming noise came to him. Karnak lay down, pressing his ear to the rug. Then he pulled the goatskin aside and pushed his ear to the stone.

  Men were moving below ground . . . a lot of men.

  Karnak swore and ran from the hall, snatching his axe from the great table of oak. In the corridor, several soldiers were rolling dice. And he called them to him and ran on towards the dungeon stairwell. A young warrior with a bandaged arm was just coming up the stairs and Karnak stopped him.

  'Find Cellar and get him to bring a hundred men to the dungeons now. You understand? Now!'

  With that the general hurled the man from him

  308

  and raced down the stairs. Twice he almost slipped on the slime-covered stone and then he was into the narrow prison row. The door at the end of the row led to a wide chamber and from the back of this room Karnak could see the rough-hewed entrance to the mountain tunnel. Wiping his sweating palms on his green tunic, Karnak hefted his axe and ran through the torch-lit chamber and into the tunnel. The air was cold here and water glistened on the dark jagged walls. The tunnel was narrow; only three men could walk abreast. Karnak stopped to listen and a soldier walked into him from behind and cursed.

  'Be silent!' hissed the general.

  From some way ahead they could hear the whispering sound of stealthy footfalls on the rocky floor. Dancing torch shadows leapt from the far walls where the tunnel curved to the left.

  Karnak lifted his axe and slowly, reverently, kissed both blades.

  The Vagrians rounded the corner - to be met by an ear-piercing scream and a flashing axe of silver steel that smashed the ribs of the leading warrior. Torches were dropped as men scrambled for their swords, then more screams filled the tunnel as the axe swept and scythed the milling men. Booted feet trampled the torches to extinction and in the dark­ness terror grew. For Karnak the way was easy - he had fought his way in alone among the enemy, and anything he struck was likely to be hostile flesh. For the Vagrians it was a nightmare in which men stabbed comrades, or felt their swords clattering from stone walls. Confusion became chaos and the invaders fled.

  Suddenly a short blade stabbed into Karnak's face,

  309

  bouncing from his left cheekbone and lancing into his eye. He staggered back. The hurled knife fell to the floor and he clasped his hand to his face, where blood gushed from the eye-socket. With a curse he stumbled on after the Vagrians, screaming and yel­ling, the noise echoing ahead like the rage of an angry giant.

  The pain of his ruined eye was intense and the darkness almost total, but still he ran, his axe held high. Ahead the tunnel widened and the darkness lifted slightly.

  Three Vagrians, left as a rearguard, ran at him. The first died with his skull split in two. the second followed as the blade reversed and clove his ribs. The third dived at the general, who sidestepped and then whipped up his knee into the diving man's face; his head snapped back and he hit the floor uncon­scious. Karnak's axe hammered into his back.

  He ran on, scanning the rocks for the support ropes and praying the Vagrians had not discovered them.

  At the widest part of the tunnel he saw them, looped and partly hidden behind a jutting section of black rock. Moving to his left he lifted the rope and took in the slack. He began to play out the rope as he backed down the tunnel, but the Vagrians had seen at last that only one man faced them and now they came at him with a rush.

  Karnak knew he was finished and a terrible anger welled in him. Dropping his axe, he took the rope in both hands and pulled with all his strength. A creaking sound from above gave evidence that the pulleys and winches were transmitting the power.

  The Vagrians were now only twenty paces from the straining figure, their yells of rage deafening in

  310

  the enclosed tunnel. Karnak pushed his right foot against the tunnel wall and tugged hard. A tortured groan came from the roof and a huge boulder toppled above the running soldiers. Then the entire roof gave way and a great crack sliced along the granite wall.

  Karnak saw the Vagrians buried screaming under tons of rock and earth. Then he turned and began to run.

  Rocks and boulders tumbled about him as he ran on into the dark, then he tripped and fell and some­thing sharp and heavy hit his ribs. He rolled and coughed as swirling dust caught in his throat. It seemed alien and stupid to run into darkness and death, but still he forced himself on. The rock above him exploded and he was swept from his feet, his legs partially buried by rubble. Pulling himself clear, he staggered on until the ground tilted under him and he fell forward.

  'Gellan!' he screamed, as the walls closed in and engulfed him. A rock struck his head . . . more covered his legs and waist. He threw his arms over his face and tried to move. Then something slammed into his forehead and his movements ceased.

  For more than a full day and night Gellan had men toiling at the rocks, moving forward inch by danger­ous inch, while outside on the walls the battle raged endlessly. Many of the officers were now dead and Gellan had promoted Sarvaj and Jonat to commands of 500 men apiece. The number of wounded had swelled to awesome proportions, and now fewer than 2,000 fighting men held the might of the Vagrian army at bay. But Gellan himself remained in the treacherous

  311

  tunnel, angrily shaking off the protest from brother officers.

  'He's dead - what is the point?' argued one.

  'We need him,' said Gellan.

  'The roof has gone, man! Ev
ery foot we move forward only increases the risk of a further fall. It's madness!'

  But he ignored them, refusing to allow their argu­ments to lodge in his mind where he knew he would be forced to accept their logic. It was a kind of madness, he knew. But he would not stop. Nor would the men. They worked tirelessly, pushing their frail bodies into the blackness, ton upon ton of delicately balanced rock above and around them.

  'How the hell will you find him? The men orig­inally with him say he ran ahead. It would take years to dig your way through to the far side - and the ropes were a hundred paces from the first corner.'

  'Get out and leave us alone.'

  'You are insane, Gellan.'

  'Leave or I'll kill you.'

  By the second day even the most tireless of the workers had given up hope, but still they toiled on.

  'We need you on the walls, Gellan. Despair is growing.'

  This time the words got through, lodging where Gellan had no defence.

  'One more hour,' he said, hope draining from him. 'I'll be there with you in one hour.'

  The pain from his eye woke Karnak and he tried to move, panic welling in him as realisation struck home that he was trapped . . . buried alive. Madness surged in him and he struggled maniacally, stopping

  312

  only when he felt the rocks move above him. He breathed slowly and deeply, fighting for calm.

  'Why are you not dressed for dinner, Karnak?'

  'A mountain fell on me, father.'

  Manic laughter bubbled from his throat, but he fought it down and began to weep.

  Stop it! You are Karnak, his strength told him.

  I am a piece of flesh trapped in a tomb of rock, his weakness screamed.

  All his plans were finished now and perhaps it was just as well, he thought. In his arrogance he had believed he could defeat the Vagrians, push them from the lands of the Drenai. His new-found heroic status would have guaranteed him leadership of the people. Egel could never have stood against him. Egel had no way with the mob - no charisma. And there were other ways to dispose of political enemies.

  Waylander, and men like him, were easy to find.

  But now there would be nothing. No purple robes. No public acclaim.

  Why, he wondered, had he taken on the enemy single-handed?

  Because he had not stopped to think. Dundas had seen through him: a hero who pretended to be otherwise.

  Not exactly the death you would have chosen for yourself, Karnak, said his strength. Where was the drama? Where were the adoring crowds?

  If a tree falls in the forest and no one hears, does it make a sound?

  If a man dies unobserved, how will his death be chronicled?

  'Damn you, father,' whispered Karnak. 'Damn you!'

  313

  Laughter shook him. Tears followed. 'Damn you!' he bellowed.

  The rock beside him shifted and Karnak froze, waiting for the crushing death. Light fell on his face and a ragged cheer went up from the men. Karnak squinted against the torchlight, then forced a grin.

  'You took your time, Gellan,' he whispered. 'I thought I'd have to dig myself out!'

  314

  22

  Danyal lay back on the aft deck of the river barge, listening to the gentle lap of the waves against the hull. Some few paces to her left Durmast leaned on the rail, eyes scanning the river bank.

  For some time she watched him, closing her eyes every time his shaggy head turned in her direction. For the last three days he had been either silent or surly, and whenever she glanced at him she found his glittering eyes focused on her. At first she had been irritated, but that had grown into fear, for Durmast was no ordinary man. Everything about him radiated power. In him was raw strength, and an innate savagery held in check by gossamer threads of reason and logic. All his life, she sensed, he had gained everything he desired by strength, or cun­ning, or calculated ruthlessness.

  And he wanted her.

  Danyal knew it- it was in his eyes, his movements, his lack of words.

  There was little she could to to make herself less attractive. She had but the one tunic and that dis­guised her not at all.

  Now he turned from the rail and approached her, looming in the darkness like a giant.

  'What do you want?' she asked, sitting up.

  He squatted beside her. 'I knew you weren't asleep.'

  315

  'You want to talk?'

  'No ... yes.'

  'Then talk. I'm not going anywhere.'

  'What does that mean?'

  'It means I'm a captive listener.'

  'You are not my captive. You can go or stay as you choose.'

  He sat back and scratched his beard. 'Why do you twist everything into confrontation?'

  'You bring out the worst in me, Durmast - put it down to that. How long before we disembark?'

  Tomorrow. We'll buy horses and be camped at Raboas by nightfall.'

  'And then?'

  'We'll wait for Waylander - if he is not already there.'

  'I wish I could believe you,' she said bitterly.

  'Why should you not?'

  She laughed then and his hand shot out to grab her arm, dragging her to him. 'You bitch!' he hissed. In his eyes she saw insanity, the deadly madness of the beserker.

  'Take your hand off me,' she said, fighting for calm.

  'Why? I like to smell your fear.' He crushed her to him, holding her arms tight against her side. His face pushed against hers and she felt his breath against her cheek.

  'I thought you said you were no rapist,' she whispered.

  He groaned as he released her, pushing her from him.

  'You make my head swim, woman. Your every movement, every look, urges me to take you - you want me, I know you do.'

  316

  'You misread me, Durmast. I want nothing to do with you.'

  'Don't give me that! Women like you don't stay long without a man. I know what you need.'

  'You know nothing; you are an animal.'

  'You think Waylander is different? He and I are two sides of the same coin. We are killers. Why should you lust for one and not the other?'

  'Lust?' she sneered. That's what you'll never understand. Lust has little to do with it. I love him as a man and I want to be with him. I want to talk to him, to touch him.'

  'But not me?'

  'Who could love you, Durmast?' she snapped. 'You are obsessed with yourself. You think you fooled me with your talk of helping Waylander? You want the Armour yourself and you'll sell it to the highest bidder.'

  'So sure, are you?'

  'Of course I am sure, I know you - you are phys­ically strong, but morally you're less than a sewer rat.'

  He moved towards her and she froze, realising she had gone too far, said too much. But he laid no hand upon her. Instead he smiled and his eyes cle­ared, humour replacing the malicious glint.

  'Very well, Danyal, I'll admit to you: I do intend to sell the Armour to the highest bidder. And that will be Kaem and the Vagrians. I also intend to kill Waylander and collect the bounty. Now what will you do?'

  Her hand flashed towards his face, the silver steel dagger clenched in her fist, but his arm snaked out to rap her wrist. The knife flew from her fingers.

  'You can't kill me, Danyal,' he whispered. 'Way-

  317

  lander himself would find that difficult - and you are but an able student. You'll have to find another way.'

  'To do what?' she asked, rubbing her numbed wrist.

  'To outbid Kaem.'

  Understanding struck her like a blow. 'You despicable swine. You wretch!'

  He nodded. 'What is your offer?'

  'You want me that badly?'

  'Yes, I want you, woman. I always have, ever since watching you and Waylander make love in the hills above Delnoch.'

  'And what will you give me, Durmast?'

  'I'll let Waylander keep the Armour. And I won't try to kill him.'

  'I agree,' she said softly.
<
br />   'I thought you would,' he replied, reaching for her.

  'Wait!' she commanded and this time he froze, for there was in her eyes a look of triumph. 'I agree to your terms, and I will pay you when Waylander rides away with the Armour. You and I will remain at Raboas.'