Waylander

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.'

'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.'

'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. 'Waylander 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.

'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.'

'You are asking for a lot of trust, Danyal.'

'Well, unlike you, Durmast, I can be trusted.'

He nodded. 'I think you can,' he asserted and moved away into the darkness.

Alone at last, the enormity of her promise swept over her.

Dundas, Gellan and Dardalion waited in the outer sitting-room while the surgeon, Evris, tended the now unconscious Karnak. Gellan, still filthy from his days in the tunnel, sat slumped in a wide leather chair, seeming frail without his armour. Dundas paced the room from window to bedchamber door, occasionally stopping to listen as if to hear the surgeon's work. Dardalion sat silently, fighting off the urge to sleep; he could feel the tension in the two men and he relaxed his mind to flow with theirs.

He merged with Gellan, feeling first the man's inner strength – a power stretched to its limits and threatened by doubt. This was a good man, Dardalion knew, and the suffering among the men hurt him cruelly. He was thinking of Karnak and praying for his recovery, fearing some internal injury that would yet rob the Drenai of hope. He was thinking also of the wall and the dreadful toll it took daily.

Then Dardalion withdrew from Gellan and merged with the tall, blond Dundas. He too was praying for Karnak, but not only for friendship. The weight of responsibility towered over Dundas like a mountain. If Karnak should die he would lose not only his greatest friend, but would have to bear the full awesome responsibility for the defence. And here was a terrible quandary. The wall could not be held, but to retreat meant to doom a thousand wounded men. Dundas could picture the scene: the defenders watching from the transient safety of the Keep as the wounded were dragged out and slain before their eyes. Dundas was a soldier, and a good one, but he was also revered by the men for his natural kindness and understanding. As a man, these were qualities to be admired. As a warrior, they were weaknesses to be exploited.

Dardalion fell back on his own thoughts. He was no military man, no planner. What would he do, assuming the choice was laid at his door?

Fall back?

Hold?

He shook his head, as if to push the thoughts from him. He was tired and the effort of holding the shield over Waylander sapped him more by the hour. He closed his eyes and reached out, tasting the despair that permeated the fortress. The Brotherhood were everywhere: four men so far had committed suicide, while two others had been caught trying to open a blocked postern gate high on the north wall.

The bedchamber door opened and Evris came out, wiping his hands on a linen towel. Gellan surged to his feet, but the surgeon lifted his hands and said quietly, 'It's all right. He is resting.'

'What of his injuries?' asked Gellan.

'As far as I can tell, he has lost the sight of his left eye. But nothing more. Heavy bruising, maybe a cracked rib or two. He is passing no blood. His bulk saved him.'

Evris left the room to tend the other wounded and Dundas sank into a chair by an oval writing table.

'One bright ray of hope,' he said. 'Now if Egel were to arrive tomorrow with fifty thousand men, I would believe in miracles.'

'One miracle at a time suits me,' said Gellan. 'But we must make a decision – the wall cannot hold.'

'You think we should pull back?' asked Dundas.

'I think we must.'

'But the wounded …'

'I know.'

Dundas swore bitterly, then chuckled without humour. 'You know, I always wanted to be a general – a First Gan with a cavalry wing under my command. You know why? So that I could have a white horse and a red velvet cloak. Gods, I think I know how poor Degas felt!'

Gellan leaned back and closed his eyes. Dardalion watched the two men for a moment, then spoke. '-Wait for Karnak – let him make the decision,' he advised softly.

Gellan's eyes snapped open. 'Wouldn't that be easy? Hard decisions to make, so load them on the broadest shoulders. We are running short on arrows – if they're not flown already. There is no meat, the bread is maggoty, the cheese green with mould. The men are exhausted and some of them are fighting in a trance.'

'It is almost as hard for the Vagrians, Gellan,' said Dardalion. 'They may have the strength, but they are running short of food and disease is in their camp. They may have stopped Ironlatch in the south, but at great cost. They are stretched thin, and only two months from winter.'

'We do not have two months,' said Dundas. 'Once they take Purdol, they can sweep along the Delnoch range and down through Skoda to circle Ironlatch. Winter won't mean a damn then.'

'I have walked these walls,' said Dardalion, 'but not in the way you have. You see men at war. But I have walked the walls in spirit and I have felt the strength there. Do not be too sure of failure.'

'As you said, Dardalion,' snapped Gellan, 'you have not walked the walls as we have.'

'Forgive me, Gellan, I did not mean to be condescending.'

Gellan shook his head. 'Do not mind me, young priest. I know my men. They are stronger even than they believe and they have already performed miracles. No one could have expected them to last this long. I just wonder how much longer they can stand.'

'I agree with Gellan,' said Dundas. 'The decision is one we may rue for the rest of our lives, but it must be made. We must pull back.'

'You are the military men,' agreed Dardalion, 'and I am not trying to sway you. But the men are righting like demons and there is no give in them. This morning, I am told, a man with his arm hacked off killed three Vagrians before pitching from the battlements. And when he fell, he dragged another enemy soldier with him. That does not sound like the attitude of defeat.'

'I saw that from the gate tower,' said Dundas. 'The man was a farmer, I spoke to him once – he'd lost his entire family to mercenaries.'

'One man doesn't alter the situation,' said Gellan. 'What we are asking of the men is inhuman and sooner or later they must crack.'

The door to the bedchamber swung open and the three men turned to see Karnak looming in the doorway, one huge hand steadying himself on the wooden frame.

'They won't crack, Gellan,' he said. Blood was seeping through the bandage over his eye and his face was ashen, but the power of the man dominated the scene.

'You should be resting, general,' said Dardalion.

'I had a rest in the tunnel. You've no idea what a rest it was, old lad! But I am back now. I've listened to all of you for some time, and there's something to be said for each argument. But my decision is the final one and it is this: We hold the wall. There will be no retreat to the Keep.

'Those men out there have been magnificent they will continue to be so. But if we withdraw them to see their comrades butchered, they will lose that iron edge. Then the Keep would fall within days.'

He moved forward and slumped into a wide chair. 'Dundas, get some clothes for me – garish clothes. And find me a leather patch to wear over this bandage. And fetch me another axe. I'm going out on to the ramparts.'

'That is insane, sir,' said Gellan. 'You are in no condition to fight.'

'Fight? I am not going to fight, Gellan. I'm going to be seen. There's Karnak, they'll say. A mountain fell on him and he's back! Now get me the clothes!' He turned to Dardalion. 'One of your priests told me days ago that your powers to push back the Brotherhood have been cut so that you can hold some sort of magic shield over Waylander. Is that true?'

'It is, sir.'

'Where is Waylander now?'

'Close to the mountain.'

'Then lift the shield.'

'I cannot.'

'Listen to me, Dardalion, you believe in the power of the Source against all the forces of Chaos, and you have fought steadfastly in that belief.

'But now I think you are guilty of arrogance. I don't say that lightly, or even critically. I am an arrogant man myself. But you have decided that Waylander is more important to the Drenai than Purdol. Maybe you are right. But he is now close to the Armour and you have got him there. Let the Source bring him home.'

Dardalion looked up and met Karnak's stare. 'You must understand, sir, that the enemies Waylander faces are not all human. The Nadir and the Brotherhood trail him, yes, but there are others –beasts from the pit. If I lift the shield he will be alone.'

'Understand this: If he is alone it means only that there is no Source. You follow the reasoning?'

'I believe so, though I fear it is specious.'

'And that is your arrogance speaking. The Source existed before you were born and will continue to exist after you are dead. You are not the only weapon he has.'

'But if you are wrong!'

'Then he dies, Dardalion. But trees will grow, streams will run to the seas and the sun will shine. Lift the damned shield!'

The priest pushed himself to his feet and moved towards the door.

'Will you do it?' said Karnak.

'It is done,' said Dardalion.

'Good! Now push the Brotherhood from Purdol!'

It was close to midnight and the last of the Vagrians limped back to their camp-fires. Jonat leapt to the ramparts and bellowed after them: 'Come back, you bastards, we're not finished with you yet.'

Along the wall stretcher-bearers carried away the wounded, while the dead were thrown from the battlements. Jonat sent a dozen men to fetch food and water before patrolling his section, checking casualties. For days now he had felt the burden of his new responsibilities weighing him down, and his own deep well of bitterness had brought him close to despair. The knowledge that the Brotherhood were at work had helped him a little, but tonight he felt free. The stars shone, the breeze from the sea was fresh and clean and the enemy were scurrying to their tents like whipped dogs. Jonat felt stronger than at any time in his life, and his grin was wide as he swapped jests with the soldiers around him. He even waved to Sarvaj at the gate tower, his intense dislike of the man submerged in his new-found good humour.

Suddenly a ragged cheer went up from the right and Jonat turned to see Karnak striding up the battlement steps. Behind him were four soldiers bearing flagons of wine.

'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.