Waylander

8

To free himself from pain and dizziness Dardalion released his spirit and soared, passing through the walls of the Keep and out into the bright midday sunshine.

The battle below raged on. Waylander, back on the battlements, took aim carefully and loosed bolt after bolt into the oncoming Vagrians. Jonat, full of near-maniacal energy, gathered to him twenty warriors and rushed the Vagrians who had cleared the wagons. On the battlements to left and right, Drenai archers picked their targets with care. On the eastern wall the enemy had gained a foothold by climbing the pitted outer ramparts. Here three men fought hard to hold the tide and Dardalion floated towards them.

At the centre of the three stood a middle-aged officer whose swordplay was exquisite. Not for him the wild hacking, the fanatic attack; he fought with subtle grace and style, his sword flickering into play and scarcely seeming to touch his opponents. But down they went, choking on their own blood. His face was calm, even serene, thought Dardalion, and his concentration intense.

Through his spirit eyes the priest could see the flickering auras that marked the mood of each man. Bright red pulsed the colours on all but two of the combatants.

The officer glowed with the blue of harmony, and Waylander with the purple of controlled fury.

More Vagrians cleared the battlements of the eastern wall, while Jonat and his men were being forced back from the breach on the western wall. Waylander, his bolts exhausted, drew his sword and leapt from the ramparts to the wagon below, crashing into several Vagrian soldiers and bowling them from their feet. He came up swinging his sword, killing two before they could recover their balance. A third died even as he swung his sword into play. Waylander blocked the cut and tore open the man's throat with a downward sweep.

Back in the Keep, Danyal took the sisters up the winding stair to the tower and then sat them with their backs to the ramparts. From here the sound of battle was muted, and she took the sisters in her arms.

'You are very frightened, Danyal,' said Krylla.

'Yes, I am. You'll have to look after me,' answered Danyal.

'Will they kill us?' asked Miriel.

'No … I don't know, little one.'

'Waylander will save us; he always does,' stated Krylla.

Danyal closed her eyes and Waylander's face filled her mind: the dark eyes, deep-set under fine brows, the angular face and square chin, the wide mouth with the faintly mocking half-smile.

The scream of a dying man echoed above the clamour of the battle.

Danyal released the children and stood leaning out over the crenellated wall.

Waylander stood with a little knot of men trying to fight their way back to the Keep, but they were almost surrounded. She could look no more and slumped down beside the girls.

Inside the Keep Dardalion roused himself and groped for his swords. He felt less groggy now, awareness of imminent death overriding the pain. He moved to the doors and hauled them open. Outside the sun was so bright it brought tears to his eyes; blinking, he saw four men rush towards him.

Fear swamped him, but instead of forcing it back, he released it, hurling it with terrible power at the four soldiers. The mind blast staggered them. One fell clutching at his heart and died within seconds; another dropped his sword and ran screaming towards the breach. The remaining two – stronger men than most – merely backed away.

Dardalion advanced on the main group, eyes wide and startlingly blue, pupils almost invisible. Growing in strength, he hurled his fear into the blue-cloaked mass of attackers. Men screamed as it hit them and panic swept through the Vagrians like a plague. They swung round, ignoring the swords of the Drenai and faced the silver warrior advancing on them. A man at the front dropped to his knees shaking uncontrollably, then he pitched forward unconscious.

Later, under the most intensive questioning, not one Vagrian soldier could describe the terror he had felt, nor the awful menace that produced it … though most could recall the silver warrior who shone like white fire and whose eyes radiated death and despair.

The Vagrians broke and ran, dropping their weapons behind them.

The Drenai watched in awe as Dardalion followed them to the breach, his swords in his hands.

'Gods of Light,' whispered Jonat. 'Is he a sorcerer?'

'It looks that way,' said Waylander.

The men broke ranks and ran to the priest, pounding him on the back. He staggered and almost fell, but two of the warriors hoisted him to their shoulders and he was carried back to the Keep. Waylander smiled and shook his head.

'Dak?' said a voice. 'Is it you?' And Waylander swung round to face Gellan. The officer looked older, his hair was thinning and his eyes were tired.

'Yes, it is me. How are you, Gellan?'

'You haven't changed a jot.'

'Nor you.'

'What have you been doing with yourself?'

'I've travelled a fair deal. I see you stayed with the Legion – I thought you wanted to be married and gone.'

'I married and stayed,' said Gellan and Waylander read the pain in the man's face, though Gellan fought to disguise it. 'It is good to see you. We will talk later, there is much to do.'

Gellan left him then, but the man who had first spoken to Waylander remained.

'You are old friends?' asked Sarvaj.

'What? Yes.'

'How long since you've seen him?'

'Twenty years.'

'His children died in the plague at Skoda and his wife killed herself soon after.'

'Thank you for telling me.'

'He's a good officer.'

'He always was, better than he knew.'

'He was going to retire this year – he had bought a farm near Drenan.'

Waylander watched Gellan directing the men to aid the wounded and clear away the bodies of the slain. Others he sent to the battlements to watch for the Vagrians.

Leaving Sarvaj in mid-sentence, Waylander strolled back to the western wall ramparts to collect his crossbow. He found a Drenai warrior sitting beside it – the man who had saved him earlier with a well-timed arrow. In no mood for conversation, Waylander stepped past him and picked up the weapon.

'Drink?' asked the man, offering Waylander a canteen.

'No.'

'It's not water,' said the soldier, grinning.

Waylander sipped it and his eyes bulged.

'They call it Lentrian Fire,' commented Vanek.

'I can see why!'

'It makes for sweet dreams,' said Vanek, stretching out and resting his head on his arms. 'Wake me if they come back, will you?'

The Vagrians had retired out of bowshot and were massed together listening to their general. Waylander could not hear his words, but the gestures spoke most powerfully. He sat on a tall grey horse, his white cloak billowing in the afternoon breeze; his fist was being waved about extravagantly, and the men were cowed. Waylander scratched his chin and took a long swallow of Lentrian Fire.

What spell had the priest cast, he wondered, that could so demoralise such excellent fighting men? He glanced at the sky and raised the canteen to the clouds.

'Maybe you have some power after all,' he acknowledged.

He drank deeply and sat down abruptly, his head spinning. Then with great care he replaced the stopper in the canteen and laid it at his side.

Stupid, he told himself. The Vagrians would be back. He chuckled. Let Dardalion handle them! He took a deep breath and leaned his head against the cold stone. The sky was bright and clear, but dark shapes wheeled and dived over the fort.

'You can smell the death, can you?' said Waylander, and the raucous cries of the crows floated back to him on the wind. Waylander shivered. He had seen these birds feast before, tearing eyes from sockets and squabbling over juicy morsels from still-warm corpses. He transferred his gaze to the courtyard.

Men were working to clear away the bodies. The Vagrians were dumped outside the breach, while the Drenai dead were laid side by side against the northern wall with their cloaks over their faces. Twenty-two bodies were laid out. Waylander counted the remaining men. Only nineteen were in view – not enough to hold the fort against another charge. A shadow fell across him and he glanced up to see Jonat carrying a small bundle of his bolts.

'I thought you might need these,' said the under-officer. Waylander accepted them with a lopsided grin.

'Drink?' he asked.

'No. Thank you.'

'It's not water,' said Waylander.

'I know, I recognised Vanek's canteen! Dun Gellan would like to see you.'

'He knows where I am.'

Jonat squatted down and smiled grimly. 'I like you, Dakeyras. It would be unseemly if I had three men drag you into the Keep – unseemly and ridiculous.'

'True. Help me up.'

Waylander's legs were unsteady, but with an effort he walked alongside Jonat, through the main hall to a small room at the rear. Gellan was sitting on a pallet bed with quill in hand, completing his reports.

Jonat saluted and backed out of the door, pulling it closed behind him. For want of a better place, Waylander sat on the floor with his back to the wall.

'I was wrong,' said Gellan. 'You have changed.'

'We all change. It's part of the process of dying.'

'I think you know what I mean.'

'You tell me – it's your fort.'

'You're cold, Dak. We were friends once. Brothers. Yet out there you greeted me like a one-time acquaintance.'

'So?'

'So tell me what's happened to you.'

'If I want confession, I can find a temple. And besides, you have more important problems to consider. Like an army waiting to destroy you.'

'Very well,' said Gellan sadly, 'we might forget our past friendship. Tell me of your friend. What vast powers does he have – and from where does he come by them?'

'Damned if I know,' said Waylander. 'He is a Source priest. I stopped some men from torturing him to death, since when he has been a positive burden to me. But I have not seen any evidence of powers before today.'

'He could be valuable to us.'

'He certainly could. Why don't you talk to him?'

'I shall. Will you be coming to Skultik?'

'Probably. If we survive.'

'Yes, if we survive. Well, if you do, do not carry that crossbow.'

'It is a good weapon,' said Waylander.

'Yes, and very unusual. All officers have been told to watch for a man bearing such a weapon; it is said he killed the King.'

Waylander said nothing, but his dark eyes met Gellan's gaze and the assassin looked away. Gellan nodded. 'Go now, Dakeyras. I wish to speak to your friend.'

'Everything is not always as it seems,' said Waylander.

'I do not want to hear it. Go now.'

As Waylander left, the door opened and Dardalion entered. Gellan stood to receive him, offering his hand. The priest shook it. The clasp was firm, but not strong, thought Gellan.

'Sit down,' said Gellan, offering Dardalion the bed. 'Tell me about your friend.'

'Dakeyras or Danyal?'

'Dakeyras.'

'He rescued me … all of us. He has proved a fine friend.'

'Have you always known him as Dakeyras?'

'Of what concern is that to you, sir?'

'Then you did know him by another name?'

'I shall not divulge it to you.'

'I have already spoken to the children,' said Gellan.

'Then you do not need me to corroborate.'

'No. I knew Dakeyras once – or thought I did. A man of honour.'

'He has shown himself to be such a man over the last few days,' said Dardalion. 'Let that suffice.'

Gellan smiled and nodded. 'Perhaps. Tell me about yourself and the dread powers you showed today.'

'There is little I can tell you. I am … was … a priest of the Source. I have some powers of Travel and communication.'

'But what made the enemy run?'

'Fear,' said Dardalion simply.

'Of what?'

'Merely fear. My fear hurled into their minds.'

'Make me feel fear,' said Gellan.

'Why?'

'So that I may understand?'

'But I feel no fear at this time. I have nothing to use.'

'Will the enemy return? Can you tell me that?'

'I do not think that they will. There is a man among them – his name is Ceoris – who is urging them to attack, but they are afraid. Given time he will convince them, but within the hour your reinforcements will be here.'

'Who is coming?'

'A large man named Karnak. He has four hundred riders with him.'

'That is good news indeed. You are a useful man to know, Dardalion. What are your plans?'

'Plans? I have no plans. I have not thought …'

'We have priests in Skultik – more than two hundred. But they won't fight like you do – if they did, the Drenai could gain much. Using your powers, magnified a hundredfold, we could set entire Vagrian armies fleeing before us.'

'Yes,' said Dardalion wearily, 'but that is not the way of the Source. I became what I am from weakness. Were I as strong as so many of my brother priests I would have resisted – even as they do –such abuses of power. I cannot ask them to become what they loathe. The true power of the Source has always lain in the absence of power. Can you understand that?'

'I am not sure that I can.'

'It is like holding a spear to the chest of an enemy, then laying it aside. Even as he kills you – if such he does – he knows that he does not do it by his strength, but by your choice.'

'But – to continue with your analogy – you are still dead, yes?'

'Death is not important. You see, the Source priests believe that for life to exist there must be harmony created by balance. For every man who lives to steal or kill, there must be another who lives to give and save. Tidal love was the name they gave it at my temple; my Abbot used to teach it often. In a merchant's shop, the merchant gives you too many coins in change. You keep the coins, marvelling at your good fortune. But when you have gone he realises his mistake and is angry, both with himself and with you. So the next man who comes into the shop he cheats, to gain back his money. This man in turn realises later and he is angry, and perhaps takes out his anger on someone else. So the tide goes out, each wave affecting more and more people.

'The Source teaches us to do only kind deeds – to be honest and living, giving good for evil, to bring the tide back in.'

'All very noble,' said Gellan, 'but wondrously impractical. When a wolf raids the fold, you don't make it go away by feeding it lambs! However, this is not the time for theological debate. And you have already proved where your feelings lie.'

'May I ask you something, Dun Gellan?'

'Of course.'

'I watched you fight today, and you were unlike any other warrior. You were calm and at peace. Amid the slaughter and the fear you alone remained calm. How was it done?'

'I had nothing to lose,' said Gellan.

'You had your life.'

'Ah yes, my life. Was there anything else you wished to know?'

'No, but if you will forgive me, let me say this: all children are creatures of joy, and all people are capable of love. You feel you lost everything, but there was a time before your joy when your children did not exist and your wife was unknown to you. Could it not be that there is a woman somewhere who will fill your life with love, and bear you children to bring you joy?'

'Go away, priest,' said Gellan gently.

Waylander returned to the wall and watched the enemy. Their leader had finished his speech and the men were sitting, staring sullenly towards the fort. Waylander rubbed his eyes. He knew how they felt. This morning they had been confident of their skills, arrogant and proud. Now they were demoralised by the realisation of defeat.

His own thoughts echoed their despair. A week ago he had been Waylander the Slayer, secure in his talents and unaware of any guilt.

Now he felt more lonely than at any time in his life. How strange that loneliness should lay him now while he was surrounded by people, he thought. He had never sensed this emotion while living alone in the mountains or the forests. His conversation with Gellan had hurt him deeply and he had withdrawn, as ever, into flippancy. Of all the people who thronged his memories, Gellan alone he regarded with affection.

But what could he have said to him? Well, Gellan my friend, I see you stayed with the army. Me? Oh, I became an assassin. I'll kill anyone for money – I even killed your King. It was so easy; I shot him in the back while he walked in his garden.

Or perhaps he could have mentioned the murder of his family. Would Gellan have understood his despair and what it did to him? Why should he? Had he not lost his own?

It was the damned priest. He should have left him tied to the tree. The priest had power: when he had touched the clothes of the robbers he had sensed their evil through the cloth. Waylander had turned him into a killer by staining his purity. But was such power double-edged? Had the priest returned the unholy gift by touching Waylander with goodness? Waylander smiled.

A Vagrian rider galloped from the north and dragged his mount to a halt before the general. Within minutes the Vagrians were mounted and heading east.

Waylander shook his head and loosened the strings of his crossbow. Drenai soldiers ran to the walls to watch the enemy depart and a ragged cheer went up. Waylander sat down. Vanek yawned and stretched.

'What's happening?' he asked, sitting up and yawning once more.

'The Vagrians have gone.'

'That's good. Gods, I'm hungry.'

'Do you always sleep in the middle of a battle?'

'I don't know, this is the first battle I've been in – unless you count when we captured the wagons, which was more of a massacre. I'll let you know when I've been in a few more. Did you finish my canteen?'

Waylander threw him the half-empty canteen, then rose and wandered to the Keep. A barrel of apples had been opened by the cook and Waylander took two and ate them before making his way to the winding stair and the tower, emerging into the sunlight to see Danyal leaning on the rampart and staring north.

'It's over,' said Waylander. 'You are safe now.'

She turned and smiled. 'For the while.'

'That is all anyone can ask.'

'Stay and talk,' she said. He looked at her, seeing the sunlight glinting from her red-gold hair.

'I have nothing to say.'

'I feared for you in the fighting. I didn't want you to die,' she said hurriedly, as he stepped into the shadows of the doorway. He stopped then, standing with his back to her for several seconds, then he turned.

'I am sorry about the boy,' he said softly. 'But the wound was grievous and he would have been in great pain for hours, perhaps days.'

'I know.'

'I do not enjoy killing boys. I don't know why I said it. I am not good with words … with people.' He wandered to the ramparts and gazed down on the soldiers harnessing the oxen to the wagons and preparing for the long ride to Skultik. Gellan was at the centre of the operation, flanked by Sarvaj and Jonat. 'I used to be an officer. I used to be many things. A husband. A father. He looked so peaceful lying there among the flowers. As if he was asleep in the sunshine. Only the day before I had taught him to ride his pony over the short jumps. I went out hunting … he wanted to come with me.' Waylander stared down at the grey stone. 'He was seven years old. They killed him anyway. There were nineteen of them – renegades and deserters.'

He felt her hands on his shoulders and turned into her arms. Danyal had not understood much of what he said, but she read the anguish in his words. He sat back on the ramparts, pulling her to him, his face against hers, and she felt his tears upon her cheeks.

'He looked so peaceful,' said Waylander.

'Like Culas,' whispered Danyal.

'Yes. I found them all – it took years. There was a price on their heads and I used each bounty to finance my search for the others. When I caught the last, I wanted him to know why he was going to die. And when I told him who I was, he couldn't remember the killings. He died not knowing.'

'How did you feel?'

'Empty. Lost.'

'How do you feel now?'

'I don't know. It is not something I want to think about.'

Her hands came up and cupped his face, turning it towards her own. Tilting her head she kissed him, first on the cheek, then on the mouth. Then she moved back, pulling him to his feet.

'You gave us life, Dakeyras, the children and me. We will always love you for that.'

Before he could answer, another cheer went up from the walls below.

Karnak had arrived with four hundred riders.