Waylander II: In The Realm of the Wolf

6

The table was forty feet long and three feet wide, and had once been covered by fine linens and decorated with golden plates and goblets. The finest of foods had graced the plates, and nobles had carved their meats with knives of gold. Now there was no fine linen, and the plates were of pewter, the goblets of clay. Bread and cheese lay upon the plates, cool spring water in the goblets. At the table sat twenty-eight priests in white robes. Behind each priest, glittering in the lantern light, was a suit of armour, a bright silver helm, a shining cuirass and a scabbarded sword. And against each suit of armour rested a long wooden staff.

Ekodas sat at the head of the table, Dardalion beside him.

'Let me present my own arguments,' pleaded Ekodas.

'No, my son. But I will do them justice, I promise you.'

'I did not doubt that, sir. But I cannot do justice to yours.'

'Do your best, Ekodas. No man can ever ask for more than that.' Dardalion lifted a finger to his lips, then closed his eyes. All heads bowed instantly and the union began. Ekodas felt himself floating. There was no sight, no sound, no feeling. Just warmth. He sensed Vishna, and Magnic, Palista, Seres … all the others flowing all around him.

'We are One,' pulsed Dardalion.

'We are One,' echoed the Thirty.

And the prayer-song began, the great hymn to the Source, mind-sung in a tongue unknown to any of them, even Dardalion. The words were unfathomable, but the sensations created by the sounds produced a sweet magic, filling the soul with light.

Ekodas was transported back to his childhood, to see again the tall, gangling dark-haired youth with the violet eyes, working behind his father in the fields, planting the seed, gathering the harvest. Those were good days, though he did not know it at the time. Shunned by the other youths of the village he had no friends, and no one to share his small joys, his discoveries. But now, as he soared within the hymn he saw the love his parents gave him, despite their fears at his Talent. He felt the warm hugs from his mother, and his father's calloused hand ruffling his hair.

And such was the power of the hymn he could even see, without hate, the Vagrian soldiers attacking his home, watch the axe that dashed his father's brains to the floor, the plunging knife that snatched his mother from life. He had been in the barn when the Vagrians rode in. His parents had been slain within the first minute of the raid. Ekodas had leapt from the high hay-stall and run towards the soldiers. One turned and lashed out with a sword. It cut the boy's shoulder and neck, glancing up to slash across his brow.

When he awoke he was the only living Drenai for miles around. The Vagrians had even butchered the farm animals. All the buildings were burning, and a great pall of smoke hung over the land. He walked the two miles to the village on the third day after the raid. Bodies lay every­where, and though the smoke was gone now, great flocks of crows circled in the sky. He gathered what food remained – a half-charred side of ham, a small sack of dried oats –and found a shovel which he carried back to his home, digging a deep grave for his parents.

For a year he had lived alone, gathering grain, edible roots and flowers that could be made into soups. And in that year he saw no one. In the day he would work. At night he would dream, dream of flying through the night sky, of soaring above the mountains in the clean light of the stars. Such dreams!

One night as he circled and soared a dark shape had materialised before him. It was a man's face, black hair waxed close to the skull, high slanted eyes, long braided sideburns that hung far below the chin.

'Where are you from, boy?' asked the man.

Ekodas had been frightened. He backed away, but the face swelled and a body appeared, long arms reaching out for him. The hands were scaled and taloned, and Ekodas fled. Other dark shapes appeared, like the crows above the village, and they called out to him. Far below he saw the little shelter he had created for himself from the unburnt timber of the barn. Down, down he flew, merging with his body and snapping awake, his heart beating wildly. In the heartbeat between dream and awakening he was sure he had heard triumphant laughter.

Two days later a traveller came by, a slender man with a gentle face. He walked slowly, and when he sat he winced with pain, for there was a stitched wound in his back.

'Good morning, Ekodas,' he had said. 'I am Dardalion – and you must leave this place.'

'Why? It is my home.'

'I think you know why. Zhu Chao has seen your spirit soaring. He will send men to bring you to him.'

'Why should I trust you?'

The man smiled and reached out his hand. 'You have the Talent, the gift of the Source. Touch me. Find, if you can, a spark of evil.'

Ekodas gripped the hand, and in an instant Dardalion's memories flowed through him, the great Siege of Purdol, the battles with the Brotherhood, the journey with Waylander, the terrible memories of bloodshed and death.

'I will come with you, sir.'

'You will not be alone, my boy. There are nine like you so far. There will be more.'

'How many more?'

'We will be Thirty.'

The prayer-hymn ended. Ekodas felt the coldness of separation, and the awareness of flesh and sinew, the cold breeze from the open window blowing against his bare legs. He shivered and opened his eyes.

Dardalion stood. Ekodas glanced up at the Abbot's slender, ascetic face.

'My brothers,' said Dardalion, 'behind you stands the armour of the Thirty. Beside it is the staff of the Source priest. Tonight we will decide where our destiny lies. Do we wear the armour and find the Source in a battle to the death against the forces of evil, or do we go our separate ways in peace and harmony? Tonight I speak for the latter. Ekodas will argue the former. At evening's end you will each stand and make your decisions. You will either take up the staff or the sword. May the Source guide us in our deliberations.'

He was silent then for several moments, and then he began to speak of the binding power of love, and the changes it wrought in the hearts of men. He spoke of the evil of hatred and greed and lust, pointing out, with great force, the folly of believing that swords and lances could eradicate evil. He spoke of rage and the demons that lay waiting within every human soul; demons with whips of fire that could impel a good man to rape and murder. Ekodas listened with growing astonishment. All his own arguments, and more, flowed from the Abbot.

'Yes love,' continued Dardalion, 'can heal the wounds of hatred. Love can eradicate lust and greed. Through love a man of evil can come to repentance and find redemption. For the Source abandons no man.

'Each of us here has been blessed by the Source. We have Talents. We can read minds, we can soar. Some can heal wounds with a touch. We are gifted. We could walk from here and spread our message of love throughout the realm.

'Many years ago I found myself in a terrible predica­ment. The Dark Brotherhood were reforming, seeking out gifted children, drawing them into their evil ways. Those who resisted were sacrificed to the forces of dark­ness. I decided then that I too would seek out those with talent, training them, building a new Thirty to stand against evil. While doing so I came upon two sisters, children of tragedy. They lived with a widower, a strong man, fearless and deadly. But they were lost in the soulless grey of the Void, hunted by demonic powers and by two of the Brotherhood. I fought them off and saved the spirits of these children, bringing them to their home. And then I returned to my body and I rode for their cabin. The Brotherhood killers knew where to find them, and I sought to warn their father.

'But when I arrived he was unconscious, having filled his belly with strong wine, trying to erase his grief at the death of his wife. The children were alone. While at the cabin I sensed the imminent arrival of the two men. I could feel their lust for violence and death travelling before them like a red mist. There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

'I did something then that I have always regretted. I took a small double crossbow from the unconscious man, and I loaded it. Then I stepped out to wait for the killers. During the Vagrian Wars I had killed with the sword, but I had sworn never to take another human life. As I waited I prayed they would be turned back by the very threat of the bow.

'But they came on, and they laughed at me, for I was known to them. I was a Source priest, a preacher of love. They mocked me and drew their swords. This bow I held had killed many men and it had power, dread power, in its ebony stock. The men advanced. My arm came up. And the first bolt flew. The first man died. The second man turned to run. Without thinking I shot him through the back of the neck. I felt like leaping into the air with joy. I had saved the children. Then the enormity of the deed came home to me, and I fell to my knees, hurling the crossbow from me.

'At Dros Purdol the first Thirty had fought against demons and the spirits of evil. But none of them – save myself– had ever lifted a sword against a human foe. And they died unresisting when the enemy breached the walls. Yet I, in one moment, had betrayed all we stood for.

'I had not only taken human life, I had robbed two men of any chance of redemption.

'I went back in to the children and I took them in my arms. My spirit went into both of them, closing the doorways to their Talent, robbing them of their Source-given gift so that the Brotherhood would not find them again. I put them in their bed and soothed them to sleep. Then I dragged the bodies from the clearing, burying them in a shallow grave.

'I have been haunted by that day, and not an hour of my life has passed without my thinking of it. I want none of you to face those regrets. And the surest way I know of avoiding such pain would be if each of you takes up the Source staff.' Dardalion sat down and Ekodas saw that the Abbot's hands were trembling.

The young priest took a deep breath and rose. 'Brothers, there is not a word spoken by the Abbot with which I disagree. But that alone does not make his argument true. He spoke of love generating love, and hatred breeding more hatred. We all agree with that – and if that was all there was to discuss, there would be no need for me to speak. But it is infinitely more complex. I have been asked to present an argument with which I fundamentally dis­agree. Is Ekodas right and his argument wrong? Is the argument a good one and Ekodas' judgement flawed? How can I know? How can any of us know? So let us examine a broader picture.

'We sit here safe, within a circle of swords held by other men. Recruits at Delnoch, lancers at the Skein Pass, infantry at Erekban; all preparing to fight and perhaps to die to protect their families, their land and, yes, all of us. Are they evil? Will the Source deny them the gift of eternity? I would hope not. This world was created by the Source, every animal, every insect, plant and tree. But for one to live another usually dies. It is the way of all things. When the rose rises up it blocks the light that feeds the smaller plants, smothering them. For the lion to prosper the deer must die. All the world is in combat.

'Yes we sit safe. And why? Because we allow the responsibility – aye and the sin – to sit with other men.' He paused and stared at the listening priests, proud Vishna, the former Gothir nobleman, the fiery Magnic, whose eyes registered his surprise at the apparent change in the speaker, the slender, witty Palista, who was watching with a look of wry amusement.

Ekodas smiled. 'Ah, my brothers, if the argument were purely that we become warrior priests it would be the more easy to raise moral objections. But that is not the reality. We were gathered here because the Dark Brotherhood is abroad in the world, ready to bring chaos and despair to these and other lands. And we know, through the memories of our Father Abbot, what these men are capable of. We know that ordinary warriors cannot stand against their vile powers.'

He paused again and sipped water from his goblet of clay. 'The Lord Abbot talked of slaying the men who came for the children – but what was the alternative? To allow two innocent babes to be sacrificed? Whose purpose would that have served? As for the men and their redemption, who is to say where their souls travelled, and what hopes of redemption lie there?

'No, the Abbot has cause to regret only one aspect of that terrible day – the joy he felt at the killings. For that is the central point to this argument. As warrior priests we must fight – if fight we must – without hatred. We must be defenders of the Light.

'This Source-made world is in delicate balance, and when the scales of evil outweigh those of the good, what should we do? We were given gifts by the Source, gifts which enable us to stand against the Brotherhood. Do we deny those gifts? Many are the men who could take up the staff. Many are the priests who could – and will – journey the world with their gospels of love.

'But where are the Warriors of Light who can stand against the Brotherhood? Where are the Source Knights who can turn aside the spells of evil?' He spread his hands. 'Where, save for here? Not one of us can say with certainty that the path we choose is the right one. But we judge a rose by its bloom and by its fragrance. The Brotherhood seeks to rule, and by so doing, to usher in a new age of blood. We seek to see men living in peace and harmony, free to love, free to father their sons and daughters, free to sit in the evenings and watch the glory of the sunset, content that evil is far from them.

'We know where evil lies and, with pure hearts, we should stand against it. If it can be turned aside by love, so be it! But if it comes seeking slaughter and pain, then we should meet it with sword and shield. For that is our purpose. For we are the Thirty!' He sat down and closed his eyes, his emotions surging, his thoughts suddenly con­fused.

'Let us pray,' said Dardalion, 'and then let each man choose his path.'

For some minutes there was silence, then Ekodas saw Vishna rise and draw his silver sword, laying it on the table before him. Magnic followed, the grating rasp of steel blade on steel scabbard sawing through the silence. One by one the priests drew the swords, until only Dardalion and Ekodas were left. Dardalion waited and Ekodas smiled thinly. He stood, his eyes locked to the Abbot's level gaze.

'Did you trick me, Father?' pulsed Ekodas.

'No, my son. Did you convince yourself?'

'No, Dardalion. I still believe that to fight evil with its own weapons is folly and will lead merely to more hatred, more death.'

'Then why did you present the argument with such power?'

'Because you asked me to. And I owe you everything.'

'Then take up the staff, my son.'

'It is too late for that, Father.' Ekodas reached out and curled his fingers around the hilt of the silver longsword. The blade hissed into the air, catching the light from the many lanterns.

'We are One!' shouted Vishna.

And thirty swords were raised high, glittering like torches.

Karnak strode through the cheering troops, smiling and waving. Three times he stopped to exchange a few words with individual soldiers whose names he remembered. It was this common touch that endeared him to the men, and he knew it. Behind him walked two officers of his general staff. Gan Asten, a former low-ranking officer promoted by Karnak during the civil war, was now one of the most powerful commanders in the Drenai army. Beside him was Dun Galen, nominally Karnak's aide, but in reality the man whose network of spies kept Karnak's hand on the reins of power.

Karnak reached the end of the line and stooped to enter the tent. Asten and Galen followed him. The two guards extended their lances across the opening, signalling that the Lord Protector was not to be disturbed, and the soldiers drifted back to their campfires.

Inside Karnak's smile vanished. 'Where in the devil's name is he?' he snapped.

The skeletally thin Galen shrugged. 'He was in the palace and reportedly told his guards he would be visiting friends. That was the last they saw of him. Later, when his room was searched they found he had taken several changes of clothing and had also stolen gold from Varachek's vault – some two hundred Raq. Since then there has been no sign.'

'He was living in fear of Waylander,' said Asten. 'Every sound in the night, every banging shutter.'

'Waylander is a dead man!' roared Karnak. 'Could he not trust me with that? By Shemak's balls, he's one man. One!'

'And still alive,' pointed out Asten.

'Don't say it!' stormed Karnak. 'I know you advised me against bringing in the Guild, but how in the name of all that's holy did we arrive at this mess? One girl dies – an accident. And yet it has cost me damn near twenty thousand in gold – money I can ill-afford to lose – and seen my son scurrying away like a frightened rabbit!'

'There is a troop of lancers hunting him even as we speak, sir,' said the black-garbed Galen. 'They will bring him in.'

'I'll believe that, old lad, when I see it,' grunted Karnak.

'The Guild has proved a disappointment,' pointed out Asten, quietly.

Karnak grinned. 'Well, when the war is over I'll close them down and get the money back. One of the advantages of power.' The smile faded. 'Three wives, scores of willing women, and what do I get? Bodalen. What did I do to deserve such a son, eh, Asten?'

Wisely Gan Asten chose not to reply, but Galen stepped in swiftly. 'He has many talents, sir. He is highly thought of. He is just young and headstrong. I'm sure he didn't intend the girl to die. It was just sport, young men chasing a filly.'

'Until she fell and broke her neck,' grunted Asten, his florid face expressionless.

'An accident!' responded Galen, flashing a murderous glance at the general.

'It wasn't an accident when they killed her husband.'

'The man ran at them with a sword. They defended themselves. What else would you expect from Drenai noblemen?'

'I would not know of the ways of noblemen, Galen. My father was a farmer. But I expect you are correct. When drunken young nobles set off on a quest for rape one should not be surprised when they turn to murder.'

'Enough of this,' said Karnak. 'What's past is past. I'd cut off my right arm to bring the girl back – but she's dead. And her former guardian is alive. Neither of you know Waylander. I do. You would not want him hunting you – or your sons.'

'As you said yourself, sir, he is only one man,' said Galen, his voice softening, but still sibilant. 'And Bodalen is not even in the realm.'

Karnak sat down on a canvas-covered stool. 'I liked Waylander, you know,' he said quietly. 'He stood up to me.' He chuckled. 'He went into Nadir lands and fought off tribesmen, demonic beasts and the Vagrian Brotherhood. Amazing!' He glanced up at Galen. 'But he has to die. I can't let him slay my son.'

'You can rely on me, sir,' answered Galen, bowing deeply.

Karnak swung to Asten. 'What happened with the witch woman, Hewla?'

'She would not use her powers against Waylander,' answered the general.

'Why?'

'She didn't tell me, sir. But she did say she would consider raising a storm against the Ventrian fleet. I told her no.'

'No?' raged Karnak, lurching from his seat. 'No? There'd better be a damn good reason, Asten.'

'She wanted a hundred children sacrificed. Something about paying the price for demonic assistance.'

Karnak swore. 'If we lose there'll be a lot more than a hundred children suffering. More like ten thousand.'

'You want me to go back to her?'

'Of course I don't want you to go back to her! Damn it, why does the enemy always have more power at his command? I'll wager the Ventrian King wouldn't think twice about a few scrawny brats.'

'We could use captured Sathuli children,' offered Galen. 'Make a swift raid into the mountains. After all, they have allied with Gothir against us.'

Karnak shook his head. 'Such an action would sully my reputation, turn the people against me. There's no way it could be kept secret. No, my friends, I think we'll have to rely on stout hearts and sharp swords. And luck, let's not forget that! But in the meantime, find Bodalen.'

'He probably believes he's safer in hiding,' said Asten.

'Find him and convince him otherwise,' ordered Karnak.

Waylander banked up the fire and settled back against the boulder, watching the sleeping Nadir. Belash had tried to keep up, but had fallen several times, vomiting beside the trail. The blows to the head had weakened the warrior and Waylander had helped him to a sheltered hollow.

'Your skull may be cracked,' said Waylander, as the man lay shivering beside the fire.

'No.'

'It's not made of stone, Beiash.'

'Tomorrow I will be strong,' promised the Nadir. In the dying light of the sun his face was grey, dark streaks colouring the skin beneath his slanted eyes.

Waylander touched the man's throat. The pulse was strong, but erratic. 'Sleep,' he said, covering the man with his cloak. The flames licked hungrily at the dry wood and Waylander reached out his hands, enjoying the warmth. The hound lay at his side, huge head on massive paws. Idly Waylander stroked the beast's ruined ears. A low rumbling growl came from its throat. 'Quiet,' said Waylander, smiling. 'You know you enjoy it, so stop complaining.'

He gazed at the sleeping Nadir. I should have killed you, he thought idly, but he did not regret allowing the man to live. There was something about Belash that struck a chord in him. A shadow flickered at the edge of his vision. Waylander glanced to his left. Sitting by the fire was a hooded old woman, her face a remarkable picture of ancient decay and ugliness, her teeth rotten, her nose swollen and blue-veined, her eyes rheumy and yellow.

'You move silently, Hewla,' whispered Waylander.

'No, I don't. I move like an old crone with my joints cracking like dry twigs.'

'I did not hear you.'

'That's because I'm not here, child,' she told him, reaching out her hand and thrusting it into the flames, which danced and flickered through suddenly transparent skin and bone. 'I am sitting by my own fire, in my own cabin.'

'What do you require of me?'

Her eyes glinted with amusement, her mouth forming the parody of a smile. 'Not impressed with my magic? How dull. You have no inkling of the concentration needed to produce this image. But do your eyes widen in wonder? Do you sit there jaw agape in amazement? No. You ask what I require. What makes you think I require anything, child? Perhaps I felt in need of company.'

'Unlikely,' he said, with a wry smile. 'But you are welcome whatever. Are you well?'

'When you are four hundred and eleven years old the question is irrelevant. I haven't been well since the old King's grandfather was a child. I'm just too stubborn to die.' She glanced at the sleeping Nadir. 'He dreams of killing you,' she said.

He shrugged. 'His dreams are his own affair.'

'You are a strange man, Waylander. Still, the dog likes you.'

He chuckled. 'He'll make a better friend than most men.'

'Aye.' The old woman fell silent, but her gaze remained on the black-garbed warrior. 'I always liked you, child,' she said softly. 'You never feared me. I was sorry to hear of the death of your lady.'

He looked away. 'Life moves on,' he said.

'Indeed it does. Morak will come again. He is no coward, but he likes to be sure. And Senta is even now approaching your cabin. What will you do?'

'What do you think?' he countered.

'You'll fight them until they kill you. Not the most subtle of plans, is it?'

'I never was a man suited to subtlety.'

'Nonsense. It's just that you have always been a little in love with death. Perhaps it would help to know why they are hunting you?'

'Does it matter?'

'You won't know unless I tell you!' she snapped.

'Then tell me.'

'Karnak has a son, Bodalen. He is allied to the Brother­hood. He and some friends were riding near a village, south of Drenan. They saw a young woman gathering herbs. The men had been drinking, and she aroused their lust. They chased her. She turned and fought, breaking one man's jaw. Then she ran. Bodalen followed her. As she fled she glanced back, lost her footing, and fell. She tumbled over the edge of a rock-face. Her neck was broken in the fall. Her husband came upon the scene. He was unarmed. The men killed him, leaving him by her body. You hear what I am saying?'

'I hear, but I don't know what it has to do with me,' he answered.

"They were seen riding from the area and Bodalen was brought to trial. He was sentenced to a year in exile, and Karnak paid a fortune in blood-geld to the dead man's father.'

Waylander's mouth was dry. 'Where was the village?'

'Adderbridge.'

'Are you saying he killed my Krylla!' hissed Waylander.

'Yes. Karnak found out that you were her guardian. He fears you will seek Bodalen. That is why the Guild hunt you.'

Waylander's mind was reeling and his unfocused eyes stared into the darkness, memories flooding him with echoes of the past, Krylla and Miriel splashing in the stream by the cabin, laughing and squealing in the sunshine, Krylla's tears when the pet goose died, her happiness when Nualin had proposed, the gaiety of the wedding and the dance that followed it. He saw her smiling face, the twin of Miriel, but with a mouth that smiled more easily and a manner that won over every heart. With great effort he forced the memories back and turned his now cold eyes on the witch woman's image.

'Why did you come here, Hewla?' he asked icily.

'I told you. I like you. Always have.'

'That may or may not be true. But I ask again, why did you come?'

'Hmm, I do so admire you, child. There is no fooling you, is there?' Her malevolent eyes gleamed in the firelight. 'Yes, there is more to this than just Bodalen.'

'I did not doubt it.'

'Have you heard of Zhu Chao?'

Waylander shook his head. 'Nadir?'

'No. Chiatze. He is a practitioner of the Dark Arts. No more than that, though he would no doubt describe himself as a wizard. He is young – not yet sixty, and still has the strength to summon demons to his bidding. He has rebuilt the Brotherhood, and – nominally, mark you! – serves the Gothir Emperor.'

'And Bodalen?'

'Karnak's son reveres him. The Brotherhood is behind the coming wars. They have infiltrated many of the noble houses of Ventria, Gothir and Drenai. They seek to rule, and perhaps they will succeed – who knows?'

'And you want me to kill Zhu Chao.'

'Very astute. Yes, I want him dead.'

'I am no longer an assassin, Hewla. If the man was threatening you then I would deal with him. But I will not hunt him down for you.'

'But you will hunt Bodalen,' she whispered.

'Oh, yes. I will find him. And he will know justice.'

'Good. You will find him with Zhu Chao,' she said. 'And if the little wizard should happen to step into the path of one of your bolts, so be it.'

'He is in Gulgothir?'

'Indeed he is. I think he feels safer there. Well, I shall leave you now. It is difficult at my age to hold such a spell.' He said nothing. She shook her head. 'Not even a thank you for old Hewla?'

'Why should I thank you?' he answered. 'You have brought me only pain.'

'No, no, child. I have saved your life. Look inside yourself. You no longer wish to wait here and die alongside your lovely Danyal. No. The wolf is back. Waylander lives again.'

Angry words rose in his throat. But Hewla had vanished.