Waylander

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 tree. 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.'

'You take her and run,' said Durmast. 'I have had enough of her company.'

'Listen to me, my friend. The Brotherhood are seeking me with all their powers. Wherever I run, they will follow. If I stay here I'll draw them to me like a beacon, which will give you a chance to get the Armour to Egel. Now go – before it's too late.'

Durmast swore, then backed away to Danyal.

'Saddle your horse,' he said. 'We're leaving.'

'No.'

'It's his idea – and it's a damn good one. Go and say goodbye; I'll saddle your damned horse.'

Danyal ran to Waylander.

'Is it true?' she asked, tears in her eyes.

'Yes, you must go. I am sorry, Danyal – sorry that we never had a chance at life together. But I am the better man for knowing you. Whether I run or stay, I am doomed … so I'll stay. But it will make it easier knowing I am helping you to succeed.'

'Durmast will betray you.'

'If he does, so be it. I have played my part and I can do no more. Please go.'

She reached for him, but at that moment a Nadir warrior ran forward. Waylander brushed her aside and loosed a bolt which took the man high in the shoulder; he fell and scrambled back under cover.

'I love you, Dakeyras,' whispered Danyal.

'I know. Go now.'

Waylander listened as the horses rode away, but he neither turned to watch them leave, nor saw Danyal straining for one last glimpse of him.

The Nadir came in a rush and two went down instantly. Two more fell as Waylander swept up Durmast's bow. Then they were on him and with a terrifying scream he leapt forward, his sword cleaving among them. The path was narrow and they could not circle him. The sword scythed among them and they backed away from his rage.

Six were now dead.

Waylander staggered back to his crossbow and loaded it, blood running freely now from a wound in his leg. He wiped the sweat from his eyes and listened.

The faintest sound of cloth on rock came to him and he glanced up as a Nadir warrior leapt from the boulder with knife raised. Waylander threw himself back, his finger jerking on the bronze triggers of the crossbow. Both bolts hammered into the diving warrior, but as he landed on top of the assassin his knife buried itself in Waylander's shoulder. Waylander pushed the corpse clear and rolled to his feet. The Nadir knife jutted from his flesh, but he left it where it was – to tear it loose would be to bleed to death. With difficulty he strung the crossbow.

The sun was dropping in the sky and the shadows lengthened.

The Nadir would wait for night …

And Waylander could not stop them.

The fingers of his left hand felt numb and he clenched them into a weak fist. Pain swept up and around the Nadir knife in his shoulder and Waylander swore. As best he could, he bound the wound in his thigh, but it continued to ooze blood.

He felt cold and began to shiver. As he lifted his hand to wipe the sweat from his eyes a Nadir bowman leapt into view and an arrow flashed from his bow. Waylander lurched left and fired and the archer vanished from sight. As Waylander sank back against the wall of the path he glanced down and saw that the black-feathered shaft had struck him above the left hip and punched its way through the flesh and muscle. Gingerly he reached behind him. The point of the arrow had exited high under his ribs and with a groan he snapped the shaft.

The Nadir charged …

Two bolts punched home and the enemy dropped behind the rocks.

But they were closer now and knew he was badly wounded. He struggled to re-string the crossbow, but his fingers were slippery with sweat and the effort tore at his wounded side.

How many more of them were there?

He found he could not remember how many he had slain.

Licking his lips with a dry tongue, he leaned against the wall. About twelve paces ahead of him was a round boulder and behind it, he knew, crouched a Nadir warrior. The wall beyond had a curving jut. Waylander aimed the crossbow and loosed the bolt, which struck the wall and ricocheted right. A piercing scream rent the air and a warrior loomed into sight with blood streaming from a wound at his temple. Waylander's second bolt plunged between his shoulder-blades and he fell without a sound.

Once more the assassin strung the bow. His left arm was now all but useless.

A sudden terrible cry froze Waylander's blood. He risked a glance down the path and saw the last of the werewolves surrounded by Nadir warriors. They hacked and cut at the beast, but its talons flashed among them and its great jaws tore at their flesh.

Six were down, with at least three for sure – and two men only remained to fight the beast. It leapt upon the first, who bravely tried to thrust his sword into its belly; the blade entered the fur-covered flesh just as the beast's fangs closed over the head of the warrior and his face disappeared in a crimson spray. The last Nadir fled down the slope.

And the werebeast advanced on Waylander.

The assassin pushed himself to his feet, staggered and regained balance.

The beast came on, slowly, painfully, blood pouring from countless wounds. It looked pitifully thin and its tongue was swollen and black. The Nadir sword jutted from its belly.

Waylander lifted his crossbow and waited.

The beast loomed above him, red eyes glittering.

Waylander squeezed the triggers and two black bolts flew into the beast's mouth, skewering its brain. It arched back and rolled over as Waylander fell to his knees.

The beast reared up once more, its taloned claw raking at the sky.

Then its eyes glazed and it pitched back down the path.

'And now you will rot in Hell,' said a voice.

Waylander turned.

The nine warriors of the Brotherhood emerged from the left-hand path with dark swords in their hands, their black armour seemingly ablaze in the fading light of the dying day as they moved forward. Waylander struggled to rise, but fell back against the cold stone, groaning as the arrow-head gouged back into his flesh. The Brotherhood warriors loomed closer, black helms covering their faces, black cloaks billowing behind them as the breeze picked up. Waylander tugged a throwing knife from its baldric sheath and hurled it, but the blade was contemptuously batted aside by a black-gauntleted hand.

Fear struck the assassin, overwhelming even his pain.

He did not want to die. The peace he had felt earlier evaporated, leaving him lost and as frightened as a child in the dark.

He prayed for strength. For deliverance. For bolts of lightning from the heavens …

And the Brotherhood laughed.

A booted foot cracked against Waylander's face and he was hurled to the ground.

'Pestilential vermin, you have caused us great trouble.'

A warrior knelt before him and grasped the broken shaft of the arrow in Waylander's side, twisting it viciously. Despite himself the assassin screamed. A bronze-studded leather gauntlet cracked against his face and he heard his nose break. His eyes filled with tears of pain and he felt himself hauled into a sitting position. Then as his vision cleared, he found himself gazing into the dark eyes of madness beyond the slit on the face of the black helm.

'Yours is the madness,' said the man, 'for believing you could stand against the power of the Spirit. What has it cost you, Waylander? Your life certainly. Durmast has the Armour – and your woman. And he will use both. Abuse both.'

The man took hold of the knife-hilt jutting from Waylander's shoulder.

'Do you like pain, assassin?' Waylander groaned as the man slowly exerted pressure on the knife. 'I like pain.'

He lost consciousness, drifting back into a dark sea of tranquility. But they found him even there and his soul fled across a jet-black sky, pursued by beasts with tongues of fire. He awoke to their laughter and saw that the moon had climbed high above Raboas.

'Now you understand what pain is,' said the leader. 'While you live you will suffer, and when you die you will suffer. What will you give me to end your pain?'

Waylander said nothing.

'Now you are wondering if you have the strength to draw a knife and kill me. Try it, Waylander! Please try. Here, I will help you.' He pulled a throwing knife from the assassin's baldric sheath and pushed it into his hand. Try to kill me.'

Waylander could not move his hand, though he strained until blood bubbled from the wound in his shoulder. He sagged back, his face ashen.

'There is worse to come, Waylander,' promised the leader. 'Now stab yourself in the leg.'

Waylander watched his hand lift and turn … and he screamed as the blade plunged down into his thigh.

'You are mine, assassin. Body and soul.'

Another man knelt beside the leader and spoke. 'Shall we pursue Durmast and the girl?'

'No. Durmast is ours. He will take the Armour to Kaem.'

'Then if you permit, I would enjoy a conversation with the assassin.'

'Of course, Enson. How selfish of me. Pray continue.'

The man knelt over Waylander. 'Pull the knife from your leg,' he ordered. Waylander felt himself on the verge of begging, but gritted his teeth. His hand came down and wrenched the blade cruelly, but it would not come loose.

'Keep calm, Enson,' said the leader. 'Your excitement is lessening your power.'

'My apologies, Tchard. May I try again?'

'Of course.'

Once more Waylander's hand pulled at the blade, and this time the knife tore free of the wound.

'Very good,' said Tchard. 'Now try something a little more delicate. Get him to slowly put out one of his eyes.'

'Gods, no!' whispered Waylander. But the knife rose slowly, its blood-covered point inching inexorably towards the assassin's face.

'You stinking whoresons!' bellowed Durmast, and Tchard twisted to see the bearded giant standing by the path with a double-headed battleaxe in his hands. Enson turned also, and Waylander felt the spell that held him fall away. He stared at the knife blade only inches from his eye, and anger rose in him, blanketing the pain.

'Enson!' he said softly. As the man's helm turned back towards him, Waylander stabbed the knife through the the eye-slit until the hilt slammed against the helm.

Tchard hammered a fist against Waylander's head and the assassin slumped to the ground beside the dead Enson.

Then the Brotherhood leader rose to his feet and faced Durmast.

'Why are you here?' he asked.

'I came for him.'

'There is no need, we have him. But if you are worried about the bounty, we will see that you get it.'

'I don't want the bounty. I want him … alive.'

'What is the matter with you, Durmast? This display is more than a little out of character.'

'Don't tell me about my character, you lump of chicken dung! Just move away from him.'

'Or else what?' snarled Tchard.

'Or else you die,' said Durmast.

'You think to kill eight members of the Brotherhood? Your wits are addled.'

'Try me,' urged Durmast, moving forward with axe raised.

Tchard moved to meet him, while the other seven warriors spread out in a semi-circle with swords drawn.

Suddenly Tchard pointed at Durmast. 'You cannot move!' he shouted and Durmast staggered and froze. Grim laughter came from Tchard as slowly he drew his sword and advanced.

'You great plodding fool! Of all the people unsuited to the part of hero, you take pride of place. You are like a great child among your elders and betters – and like all unruly children, you must be punished. I will listen to your song of pain for many, many hours.'

'You don't say,' said Durmast as his axe smashed down through Tchard's shoulder, exploding his ribs and exiting through his smashed hip.

'Any other speeches?' asked Durmast. 'Any more mind games? No? Then let's start killing one another!'

With a terrible cry he ran at the warriors, the axe swinging in a murderous arc of flashing silver. They leapt back, one falling to roll clear but another going down as the axe-blade tore into his skull. Waylander fought his way to his knees, but could not rise.

Taking a throwing knife he waited, praying for the strength to aid the giant.

A sword slid into Durmast's back and he twisted, tearing the blade loose from the assailant's hand and backhanding the axe across his neck. Another sword lanced his chest, the wielder dying as Durmast hit him in the throat with his fist. The warriors closed in around the giant then, swords burying themselves deep in his huge body. But still the axe scythed into them. Only two of the Brotherhood were left now and these moved away from the wounded Durmast.

Waylander waited as they backed towards him. Wiping his fingers on his jerkin to free them of sweat and blood, he took the throwing knife in his fingers and hurled it. It thudded home under the helm of the warrior on the left, slicing down through the jugular. Blood pumped from the wound and the man lurched to the left, his hand clasped to his throat, seeking vainly to stem the red tide.

Durmast charged the only remaining warrior, who ducked under the sweeping axe to bury his blade in Durmast's belly. The giant dropped the axe and grabbed the warrior by the throat, snapping his neck with a surging twist of the wrists. Then he fell to his knees.

Waylander crawled agonisingly across the rocks to where the dying man knelt, his great hands closed around the sword-hilt protruding from his body.

'Durmast!'

The giant slid sideways to the ground beside Waylander. He smiled through bloody lips.

'Why?' whispered Durmast.

'What, my friend?'

'Why was I chosen?'

Waylander shook his head. Reaching out he took Durmast's hand, gripping it firmly. The giant's body was seeping blood from a score of wounds.

Durmast swore softly, then he smiled. 'It's a beautiful night.'

'Yes.'

'I bet the bastard was surprised when I cut him in half.'

'How did you do it?'

'Damned if I know!' Durmast winced and his head sagged back.

'Durmast?'

'I'm here … for a while. Gods, the pain is terrible! You think his power could not work against me because I am the Chosen One?'

'I don't know. Probably.'

'It would be nice.'

'Why did you come back?'

Durmast chuckled, but a coughing spasm struck him and blood bubbled from his mouth. He choked and spat. 'I came to kill you for the bounty,' he said at last.

'I don't believe you.'

'I don't believe myself sometimes!'

For a while they lay in silence.

'You think this counts as a decent deed?' asked Durmast, his voice little more than a whisper.

'I would think so,' said Waylander, smiling.

'Don't tell anybody,' said Durmast. His head rolled and a grating whisper of breath rattled in his throat.

A scraping sound caused Waylander to turn.

From the cave came a score of beasts, twisted and deformed. They ran to the bodies of the slain, cackling their delight. Waylander watched the corpses being dragged into the blackness of the inner mountain.

'I won't tell anybody,' he whispered to the dead Durmast.

And the creatures loomed above him.