Waylander III: Hero In The Shadows

Chapter Eight

Chardyn, the Source priest, was renowned for his blistering sermons. His charismatic personality and powerful booming voice could fill any hall and bring a host of converts to the Source. As an orator he was without peer, and would, in any just world, have been promoted to abbot many years before. Yet despite his awesome skill one small impediment had stunted his career, one tiny irrelevance used against him by men with small minds.

He didn't believe in the Source.

Once he had, two decades ago, when, full of youth and fire, he had chosen the path of priesthood. Oh, he had believed then. His faith had been strong through war and disease, through poverty and famine. And when his mother had fallen ill he had journeyed home knowing that through his prayers the Source would heal her. He had arrived at the family estate, rushed to her bedside, and called upon the Source to bless His servant and touch his mother with His healing hand. Then he had ordered a celebration feast to be prepared for that night, when they would all give thanks for the coming miracle.

His mother had died just before dusk, in appalling pain and coughing up blood. Chardyn had sat with her, staring at her dead face. Then he had walked downstairs, where the servants were setting fine silver cutlery at the celebration table. In a sudden burst of fury Chardyn had overturned the tables, scattering dishes and plates. The servants had fled his anger.

He had run out into the night, and screamed his rage at the stars.

Chardyn stayed for the funeral, and even made the Soul Journey prayer at the graveside, when his mother's body was laid alongside that of her husband, and the two children who had died in infancy. Then he had journeyed to the Nicolan monastery, where his old teacher, Parali, was the abbot. The old man had welcomed him with a hug, and a kiss upon the cheek.

'I grieve for your loss, my boy,' he said.

'I called upon the Source and He did not answer me.'

'Sometimes He does not. Or if He does He answers in a way we do not like. But, then, we are His servants, not He ours.'

'I no longer believe in Him,' admitted Chardyn.

'You have seen death before,' Parali reminded him. 'You have watched babes die. You have buried children and their parents. How is it that your faith remained strong during these dread times?'

'She was my mother. He should have saved her.'

'We are born, we live a brief time, and then we die,' said Parali. 'That is the way of life. I knew your mother well. She was a fine woman and, it is my belief, she now resides in Paradise. Be grateful for her life, and her love.'

'Grateful?' stormed Chardyn. 'I organized a celebration feast to give thanks to the Source for her recovery. I was made to look like an idiot. Well, I will be an idiot no longer. If the Source exists then I curse Him, and want no more to do with Him.'

'You will leave the priesthood?'

'Yes.'

'Then I pray you will find peace and joy.'

Chardyn had spent a year working on a farm. It was backbreaking toil for little reward, and he came to miss the small luxuries he had taken for granted as a priest, the comfort of life in a temple, the abundance of food, the times of quiet meditation.

One night, after a day of cutting and binding straw for the winter feed, Chardyn had been sitting with the other workers around the Feast Fire, listening to them talk. They were simple folk, and before they ate the roasted meat they gave thanks to the Source for the plentiful harvest. The previous year, following a failed crop, they had given thanks to the Source for their lives. In that moment Chardyn had realized that religion was what crooked gamblers dubbed a 'no lose proposition'. In times of plenty thank the Source, in times of famine thank the Source. When someone survived a plague it was down to divine intervention. When someone died of the plague they had been taken to glory. Praise the Source! Faith, it seemed, regardless of its obvious cosmic stupidity, brought happiness and contentment. Why then should Chardyn labour on a farm when he could be adding to the happiness and contentment of the world by preaching the faith? It would certainly add massively to his own happiness and contentment to be living once more in a fine house and attended by skilled servants.

So he had donned the blue robes and journeyed across Kydor, taking up a position at the small temple in the centre of Carlis. Within weeks his sermons had trebled the congregation. Two years later, the coffers swelled by donations, a new temple had been designed, twice the size of the old. Three years after that even this imposing building struggled to contain the masses who came to hear Chardyn.

The adulation of the congregation was in sharp contrast to the low regard in which the church authorities held him. Parali had seen to that. Yet it did not rankle unduly. Chardyn now lived in a large house, with many servants. He had also managed to put away a sizeable sum to indulge his taste for fine foods, expensive wines and soft women.

Indeed, he was as content as a man could be. Or, rather, he had been until this morning, when riders from the Duke had arrived demanding his presence on an expedition to exorcize demons from the ancient ruins in the valley. Chardyn had no experience of demons. Nor did he wish to acquire any. However, it would not be wise to refuse the Duke's summons, so he had swiftly gathered several scrolls dealing with the subject of exorcism and had joined the riders.

The sun was unbearably hot as the company rode down the hillside towards the valley. Up ahead Chardyn could see the Duke and his aides, riding with Lord Aric and the magicker Eldicar Manushan. Behind them came fifty bowmen, twenty heavily armoured lancers, and fifty cavalrymen armed with long sabres.

Once they reached flat ground Chardyn pulled the first of the scrolls from his saddlebag and began to peruse it, trying to memorize the incantations. It was far too complex and he put it away. The second scroll involved the use of holy water, of which he had none, so this, too, was thrust back into the saddlebag. The third spoke of the laying on of hands to remove demonic possession from someone suffering fits. Chardyn resisted the temptation to swear, screwed up the scroll and threw it to the ground.

He rode on, listening to the talk of the men around him. They were nervous and frightened – emotions he began to share as they spoke of the massacred wagoners, and of the attack upon the Grey Man and his Chiatze companions.

A lancer rode alongside him. 'I am glad you are with us, sir,' he said. 'I have heard you speak. You are blessed by the Source and a true holy man.'

'Thank you, my son,' said Chardyn.

The lancer removed his silver helm and bowed his head. Chardyn leant over, placing his hand on the man's hair. 'May the Source bless you and keep you from all harm.' Other soldiers began bunching around the priest, but he waved them away. 'Come, come, my friends, wait until we have reached our destination.' He smiled at them, exuding a bonhomie and confidence he did not feel.

Chardyn had never before visited the ruins of Kuan-Hador and was surprised by the vast distance they covered. The Duke led the riders deep into the ruins, then dismounted. The soldiers followed his lead. A picket line was set up, the horses tethered. Then the bowmen were ordered to take up positions on the camp's perimeter. Chardyn moved across to where the Duke was conversing with Aric, Eldicar Manushan, and a short, slender Chiatze warrior wearing a long grey robe. 'This is where the last attack took place,' said the Duke, removing his helm and running his fingers through his thick black and grey hair. 'Can you sense any evil here?' he asked Chardyn.

The priest shook his head. 'It seems merely a warm day, my lord.'

'What of you, magicker? Do you sense anything?'

'Sensing evil is not my forte, my lord,' said Eldicar Manushan, glancing at Chardyn, who met his eyes and saw amusement there. Something akin to mockery, he thought. Eldicar Manushan swung to the little Chiatze warrior. 'Does your blade shine?' he asked.

The man half drew his sword, then thrust it back into the black scabbard. 'No. Not yet.'

'Perhaps you should move around the ruins,' said the magicker. 'See if the evil is present elsewhere.'

'Let him stay close for the time being,' said the Duke. 'I do not know how swiftly the mist can appear, but I do know the creatures within it killed the wagoners in a matter of heartbeats.'

Eldicar Manushan bowed. 'As you wish, sire.' The sound of a galloping horse came to them. Chardyn turned and saw the Grey Man riding his mount across the valley. He heard Lord Aric curse softly, and noted that the amused look had vanished from Eldicar Manushan's face. Chardyn felt his own good-humour rise. He had once gone to the Grey Man for a contribution to the new temple, and had received a thousand gold pieces – without even a request for the Grey Man's name to be added to the roll of honour, or the altar table to be named after him. 'The Source will bless you, sir,' Chardyn had told him.

'Let us hope not,' said the Grey Man. 'Those of my friends He has blessed so far are all dead.'

'You are not a believer, sir?'

'The sun will still rise whether I believe or not.'

'Why, then, are you giving us a thousand gold pieces?'

'I like your sermons, priest. They are lively and thought-provoking, and they encourage people to love one another and to be kind and compassionate. Whether the Source exists or not, these are values to be cherished.'

'Indeed so, sir. Then why not make it two thousand?'

The Grey Man had smiled. 'Why not five hundred?'

Chardyn had chuckled then. 'The thousand is ample, sir. I was but jesting.'

The Grey Man dismounted, tethered his horse, and strolled across to the little group. He moved, Chardyn noted, with an easy grace that spoke of confidence and power. He was wearing a dark chainmail shoulder-guard over a black leather shirt, leggings and boots. Two short-swords were strapped to his waist, and over his shoulder was slung a small double-winged crossbow. There was not a glint of shining metal upon him, and even the chainmail had been dyed black. Though Chardyn had chosen the priesthood he had been raised in a military family. No soldier, in his experience, would pay extra to have his armour dulled. Most wanted to stand out, to shine in battle. The Grey Man's garb achieved the exact opposite. Chardyn flicked a glance at the steeldust gelding. The stirrups and bridle, and even the straps on the saddlebags, were dulled. Interesting, he thought.

The Grey Man nodded towards Chardyn, and gave a courteous bow to the Duke.

'Your company was not requested,' said the Duke, 'but I thank you for taking the trouble to join us.'

If the Grey Man registered the mild rebuke he did not show it. He glanced at the screen of archers. 'If the mist appears it will swamp them,' he said. 'They will need to be more closely grouped. They also need to be told to shoot swiftly at first sight of a black hound. Their bite carries vile poison.'

'My men are well trained,' said Lord Aric. 'They can look after themselves.'

The Grey Man shrugged. 'So be it.' Tapping the Chiatze warrior on the arm, he led him deeper into the ruins, where they sat in close conversation.

'He is an arrogant man,' snapped Aric.

'With much to be arrogant about,' put in Chardyn.

'What does that mean?' asked Aric.

'Exactly what it says, my lord. He is a man of power – and not just due to his wealth. You can see it in his every movement and gesture. He is, as my father would have said, a man of dangerous ashes.'

The Duke laughed. 'It is a long time since I heard that phrase. But I tend to agree.'

'I have never heard it at all, sire,' said Aric. 'It sounds meaningless.'

'It's from an old tale,' said the Duke. 'There was an outlaw named Karinal Bezan. A deadly man who killed a great many people, most of them in one-on-one combat. He was arrested and sentenced to be burnt at the stake. When the executioner stepped forward and applied the torch to the tinder Karinal managed to get one hand free. He grabbed the man and dragged him into the flames and they died together, the man screaming and Karinal's laughter ringing above the roar of the blaze. Some time after that the phrase "You can burn him – but walk wide around the ashes" came into use to describe a certain kind of man. Our friend is just such a man. With that in mind, I suggest you move your men closer to the camp and pass on his warnings about the black hounds.'

'Yes, sire,' said Aric, struggling to control his anger.

The Duke rose and stretched. 'And you, sir,' he said to Chardyn, 'should walk among the men and offer them the blessing of the Source. They are far too nervous, and it will stiffen their resolve.'

And who will stiffen mine? thought Chardyn.

Kysumu listened quietly as Waylander told him of his conversation with the priestess. The Rajnee tapped the black hilt of his sword. 'There is no proof that he is the enemy. If there was I would slay him.'

'Ustarte says he cannot be killed.'

'You believe that?'

Waylander shrugged. 'I find it hard to believe he could survive a bolt through his heart, but then he is a magicker, and such powers are beyond my understanding.'

Kysumu glanced round at the archers, taking up fresh positions. 'If the mist comes, many will die here,' he said softly. Waylander nodded, and watched as the priest, Chardyn, strolled among the men, administering blessings. 'You think Eldicar Manushan plans to kill us all?'

'I don't know what he plans,' said Waylander. 'But Ustarte says he is looking for allies, so perhaps not.'

Kysumu looked into Waylander's dark eyes. 'Why are you here, Grey Man?' he asked.

'I have to be somewhere.'

'That is true.'

'And what of you, Rajnee? What makes you desire to fight demons?'

'I have no desire any longer to fight anything,' said Kysumu. 'When I was young I wanted to be a great swordsman. I wanted fame and riches.' He gave a brief smile. 'I was like Yu Yu. I wanted people to bow down before me as I passed.'

'But not now?'

'Such are the thoughts of the young. Pride is everything, status must be fought for. It is all empty and meaningless. It is ephemeral. Like the leaf on the oak tree. "Look at me, I am the greenest leaf, the biggest leaf, the finest leaf. None of the other leaves has my majesty." Yet autumn beckons, and winter mocks all the leaves, the great and the green, the small and the stunted.'

'I understand that,' said Waylander, 'but it is also an argument against waiting here to fight demons. What difference will it make if we fight or we run, if we win or we lose?'

'Fame is fleeting,' said Kysumu, 'but love and hate are eternal. I may be but a small leaf in the wind of history, but I will stand against evil wherever I find it, no matter the cost. The demon I slay will not descend upon the home of a farmer and murder his family. The bandit who falls beneath my sword will never again rape or kill or plunder. If my death saves a single soul from pain and anguish then it is a price worth paying.'

Chardyn clambered across the broken rocks and approached them. 'Would you like a blessing?' he asked. Waylander shook his head, but Kysumu rose and bowed. Chardyn laid his hand upon the Rajnee's head. 'May the Source cherish you and keep you from all harm,' he whispered. Kysumu thanked him, and sat down once more. 'May I join you?' asked Chardyn. Waylander gestured for him to sit. 'You think the demons will come?' the priest enquired.

'Do you have a spell ready if they do?' asked Waylander.

Chardyn leant forward. 'No,' he admitted, with a wry smile. 'My knowledge of demons and exorcism is – shall we say? – severely limited.'

'I admire your honesty,' said Waylander. 'However, if you can't fight them you should leave. If they come it will be no place for an unarmed man.'

'I cannot leave,' said Chardyn, 'though I would dearly love to follow that advice. My presence helps the men.' He smiled, but Waylander saw the fear in his eyes. 'And perhaps – if the demons do come – I can hurl one of my sermons at them.'

'If the mist comes stay close to us, priest,' said Waylander.

'Now that is advice I will take.'

They sat in silence for a while, then Eldicar Manushan strolled over to them. He halted before Waylander. 'Will you walk with me?' he asked.

'Why not?' replied Waylander, rising smoothly. The magicker picked his way through the broken rocks until they were a little way from the others.

'I think you have misread me,' said Eldicar Manushan. 'I am not evil, nor do I seek to do you harm.'

'I am glad you have told me,' said Waylander. 'It will save me so many sleepless nights of worry.'

Eldicar Manushan laughed with genuine good humour. 'I like you, Grey Man. Truly. And there is no need for us to be enemies. I can offer you your deepest desires. It is within my power.'

'I think not,' said Waylander. 'I have no desire to be young again.'

The magicker seemed momentarily puzzled. 'Normally I would find that hard to believe,' he said at last. 'Though not in this instance. Are you so unhappy with life that you yearn to see an end to it?'

'Why do you desire my friendship?' countered Waylander.

'Look about you,' said Eldicar, gesturing towards the soldiers. 'Frightened men, small men, malleable men, the world is made up of such men as these. They live to be conquered and ruled. Look at them cowering behind ancient stones, praying that their insignificant lives will be allowed to continue past this night. If they were animals they would be sheep. You, on the other hand, are a predator, a superior being.'

'Like yourself?' asked Waylander.

'I have always loathed false modesty, so, yes, like myself. You are rich, and therefore powerful in this world. You could be useful to Kuan-Hador.'

Waylander laughed softly, and gazed around at the broken stones. 'This,' he said, 'is Kuan-Hador.'

'It was destroyed here,' said Eldicar Manushan. 'This is merely one reality. Kuan-Hador is eternal. And she will prevail. This world was once ours. It will be again. When that happens it would be preferable for you to be our friend, Dakeyras.'

'If that happens,' said Waylander.

'It will happen. It will be bloody and many will die. But it will happen.'

'I think this is the point where you tell me what happens if I decide not to be your friend,' observed Waylander.

Eldicar Manushan shook his head. 'You do not need to hear threats from me, Grey Man. As I said, you are a predator. You are also highly intelligent. I merely ask you to consider my offer of friendship.'

Clasping his hands behind his back, Eldicar Manushan walked back to the Duke and his officers.

The afternoon was hot and clammy, heavy rainclouds obscuring the sun. Elphons, Duke of Kydor, struggled to appear relaxed. A little way to the west the Grey Man was stretched out on the ground, apparently asleep. The little Chiatze swordsman was sitting cross-legged nearby, eyes closed. The priest Chardyn was restlessly pacing back and forth, occasionally stopping to peer out over the ruins.

The men seemed a little more at ease, though Elphons knew their mood was fragile at best. Like himself, they had never fought demons.

'Will our swords cut demon flesh?' he had asked Eldicar Manushan.

The magicker spread his hands. 'It is said that the skin of a demon is like toughened leather, my lord. But, then, there are many kinds of demon.'

'You think they will come?'

'If they do it will be after dusk,' said Eldicar Manushan.

The Duke pushed himself to his feet and approached the priest, Chardyn, who was pacing to and fro. The man looked frightened, he thought, which was not an encouraging sign. Priests should always be serene. 'I hear you have filled the new temple with worshippers,' said the Duke. 'I must attend one of your services.'

'Most kind, my lord. But, yes, the faithful grow ever more powerful in Carlis.'

'Religion is a good thing,' said the Duke. 'It keeps the poor content.'

Chardyn smiled. 'You believe that is its only purpose?'

The Duke shrugged. 'Who can say? For myself I have never witnessed a miracle, nor has the Source ever spoken to me. But I am a soldier, first and foremost. I tend to believe what I can see and touch. I have little time for faith.'

'You have never prayed?'

The Duke chuckled. 'Once I was surrounded by Zharn tribesmen and my sword broke. I said a prayer then, I can tell you.'

'It was obviously answered, for here you stand.'

'I leapt at them and rammed the broken blade through the throat of the first man. As the others closed in, my men regrouped and scattered them. So tell me of your faith. From where does it spring?'

Chardyn looked away. 'I realized the truth about the Source many years ago,' he said softly. 'Nothing I have learnt since has changed my mind.'

'It must be comforting to have faith at times like this,' said the Duke. He glanced down and saw that the Grey Man was awake. 'Only an old soldier would be able to sleep before a battle,' he said, with a smile.

The Grey Man moved to his feet. 'If they come it won't be a long battle,' he said.

The Duke nodded. 'You mean the ice? I saw the dead birds in the woods. Frozen to death. I am hoping our archers will strike many down before they reach us. Then – if the Source is with us,' he added, with a glance at Chardyn, 'we can finish the rest with swords.'

'Always good to have a plan,' said the Grey Man.

'You disagree?'

The Grey Man shrugged. 'The tracks I saw were of creatures far bigger than bears. Forget demons, my lord. If twenty bears were to rush this camp how many would be brought down by your archers? And how many would be killed by your swordsmen?'

'I take your point, sir, but you must understand mine. I am the lord of these lands. It is my duty to protect its citizens. I have no choice but to face this evil, and hope that strength and courage will hold the day.'

The Grey Man turned towards the western peaks. 'We'll know soon enough,' he said, as the sun began to sink below the mountain-tops.

As darkness fell upon the valley a small bright spark flickered behind a half-shattered column of stone. Dust swirled around it, and moisture from the air was drawn to it. Slowly it took shape, as the molecules of earth, air and water melded to the spark of fire. A form began to materialize, tall and thin, naked under the new moonlight. The skin, at first speckled, became scaled and grey. Arms stretched from the form, and a flowing hooded robe of darkness cloaked it. The thin lipless mouth opened, dragging in air, filling the new lungs.

Niaharzz became aware, aware of the warm air around him, the soft earth beneath his feet, the silken robe upon the naked grey skin of his shoulders. The membrane over his eyes slid back and he blinked. For a moment he could not move, for the exquisite joy of material existence was strong upon him, causing his limbs to tremble.

When at last he felt confident of movement he stretched his legs and stepped to the edge of the stone column, peering round it. Some thirty paces to the east he could see the humans. Lifting his head, he tasted the air in his nostrils. The scent of flesh caused his belly to tighten, but the heady aroma of fear among these pale, pink creatures made him shudder with desire. Instinctively his mouth opened, exposing pointed fangs. Memories of a glorious past flooded him, trembling females exuding the dizzying perfume of terror, younglings, their soft bones yielding sweet marrow.

Niaharzz quelled his hunger and leant back against the stone.

Once he had been a god, stalking the earth and feeding where he chose. Now he was a servant, fed only when his masters allowed it. And as long as they controlled the gateways he would remain a slave to their ambitions.

Still, food was food. . . .

Niaharzz flipped his hood of darkness over his head, drawing it like a veil over his face. Then he moved to the far side of the rock and sought out the warrior with the bright sword of death. He was sitting on a stone, the vile weapon in his hands. Another human stood close by, tall and garbed in black. Niaharzz watched him. This one was dangerous too. He could feel it – though he sensed no magic emanating from him.

Take no risks, he told himself. In spirit form Niaharzz was immortal, but clothed in flesh he could die like any of these primitive creatures. Stay away from the sword, he warned himself. Do not let them see you.

Crouching down, he extended his hand. Seven sparks leapt from his fingers, and began to dance and swirl in the shadows of the column, forming into huge Kraloth hounds, their massive jaws dripping venom.

Niaharzz toyed with directing them at the swordsman, but he had already seen the man destroy several of his beauties the night before. No, the Ice Giants could rend and tear the man. His Kraloth would sacrifice their lives to kill the humans carrying the weapons of far-death. He gestured to the hounds, and they slunk away, keeping to the shadows, moving silently ever closer to the archers.

The sword in Kysumu's lap began to glow. The Rajnee climbed to a rock and held the blade aloft. 'The enemy is close!' he shouted.

Men scrambled to their feet, soldiers drawing their swords and hefting their shields, archers notching arrows to bowstrings. Chardyn peered out among the shadow-haunted ruins. 'There!' he bellowed, pointing to the west.

The first of the giant black hounds charged at the archers. Shafts flew at it, most hissing by its hurtling black form. One struck it high on the back and glanced clear without marking the skin.

'Neck or head!' shouted Waylander. Six more hounds came in sight, moving at great speed. The first beast reached the broken wall behind which the archers crouched. It leapt, clearing the barrier in one bound, its curved fangs closing upon the face of a bowman. The crunching of bone that followed made Chardyn feel sick.

All was pandemonium now as the Kraloth leapt among the archers.

'Kill the hounds,' Waylander ordered Kysumu. 'I'll find the Houndmaster.'

Kysumu sprinted across the ruins, his sword blazing. The Grey Man vanished into the shadows.

Chardyn stood alone.

In the distance he saw a wall of mist seeping across the valley.

The smell of blood in the air caused Niaharzz to tremble with hunger. Now is not the time to feed, he told himself. Later, when the Ice Giants had finished the slaughter. Though he hoped to be able to drag at least one live victim clear of the mist before the flesh froze. Meat should slide around the mouth, its juices rich and savoury, not break into icy pieces as fangs closed upon it.

Niaharzz moved silently to the edge of the broken column and risked a glance. The small warrior with the shining sword was among the archers now, but he was hampered by the crush of bodies; men panicking and attempting to flee. Even so, he had killed two of the hounds, curse him! Offset against this more than a dozen of the archers were down, most of them dead, but two were screaming.

The sound was delicious. It was almost as good as feeding. Niaharzz filtered the raw emotions, various degrees of terror, ranging from stomach-tightening fear to bowel-loosening panic. He blinked, a sense of shock touching his soul. Amid all the fear there was an emotion subtly different. Powerful, yes, but not sweet to the senses . . . He knew he had sensed it before, thousands of years ago, when last he had walked these night-dark lands. Niaharzz focused on the emotion, separating it from those flowing from the carnage.

Then it came to him.

It was rage. But not the boiling, extravagant rage of the fighting man. No, this was cold, controlled – and close.

Niaharzz did not move.

There was a man close by. Very close! He guessed it to be the tall man he had seen standing with the swordsman. Fear touched Niaharzz. It was not an entirely unpleasant feeling, for it made him more aware of the joys of physical reality. Very, very slowly he turned his head.

The man was some twenty paces to the right. He was searching the shadows, and facing away from Niaharzz.

It was so long since Niaharzz had felt his fangs close upon living flesh, the warm blood running down his throat.

Keeping his night-cloak around him he drew on his power, then raised his feet from the ground, floating silently in the shadows. The man took several steps towards a jagged wall, then turned again. Now his back was towards Niaharzz.

The Bezha floated towards the man, his arms extending, talons sliding from his fingers.

'Time to die,' said the man softly.

Niaharzz barely had time to register the words before the man spun on his heel, right hand extended. Something dark leapt from the small weapon in his hand.

There was no time to flee the prison of flesh, no time even to cry out against the cruel injustice of such a fate.

The bolt smashed through his skull, skewering the brain . . .

The body disappeared instantly, the black cloak floating for a moment on the wind, seeming no heavier than a grass seed. Waylander reached out and grabbed it.

Back among the ruins the remaining four Kraloth burst into flames, their bodies dwindling until they became little more than dancing sparks above the stones. They flickered for a few heartbeats and then were gone.

The cloak in Waylander's hands felt insubstantial. It seemed to roll under his fingers like liquid. More peculiar was the weird sensation as he tried to examine it. His gaze slid away from it, focusing on the rocks, or on his wrists, but never able to fasten to the garment itself.

'The mist is coming!' shouted Chardyn.

Waylander glanced towards the west and saw the white wall rolling towards him. Swiftly he rolled the cloak, wedged it into his belt before loping back to where the frightened soldiers were bunching together.

'Archers, stand firm!' bellowed the Duke, drawing his longsword and moving among the men.

Eldicar Manushan strode out from the group and climbed to a jutting rock. The mist swept on. The magicker raised his right arm and held it aloft, palm extended towards the mist. Then he began to chant, his voice ringing out. The mist slowed. Kysumu stepped alongside Way-lander, his shining sword extended. Waylander glanced down at him. The man seemed utterly calm. The priest Chardyn eased himself behind the two men.

'Shouldn't you be praying?' asked Waylander.

Chardyn forced a smile. 'Somehow this does not feel like a day for hypocrites,' he said.

The temperature began to drop as the mist came closer. Eldicar Manushan continued to chant, his voice ringing with confidence and great power. Lord Aric had also drawn his sword now and was standing alongside the Duke and his swordsmen. The surviving archers had notched arrows to their bows and were waiting tensely.

The mist slowed to a halt immediately before the magicker, but flowed on past him on both sides. Still his voice continued to chant. Then he jerked suddenly and almost lost his balance on the stone. The chant died away. Instantly the mist swept over him. Just as it did so Waylander saw a massive form descend on the magicker, a taloned arm sweeping out, ripping through Eldicar Manushan's chest. Waylander saw the magicker's right arm slashed in two and ripped from his body, just as the mist closed over him.

'So much for magic,' he said.

Kysumu leapt towards the mist. His gleaming blade touched it, and blue lightning crackled and flashed. A huge white form towered over the little Rajnee, Waylander sent a bolt into its eye. The massive head jerked backwards. Kysumu slashed a vicious cut through the beast's chest, then spun on his heel to flash a reverse slice through its neck as it fell.

Ice was forming on the stones now. The mist swept on. Waylander and Chardyn moved in behind Kysumu. The sounds of screaming men and crunching bone came from all around now as the ice beasts fell upon the soldiers of Kydor.

A white serpent reared up from the ground at Waylander's feet. His sword slashed down, barely breaking the skin above the flat skull. Kysumu's blade sliced through the neck. As it did so it glanced from the blade of Waylander's weapon. Instantly blue fire flowed along Waylander's sword, and the mist retreated. For a moment only, Waylander stood staring at the shining blade. 'The magic can be transferred,' he said. 'Now we have a chance!' He glanced at Kysumu. 'We must get to the Duke!' Kysumu understood instantly and the two men, followed by the priest, charged into the mist towards the sounds of battle. Kysumu cut down another of the huge creatures, then clambered over a low rock wall. The Duke and several heavily armoured swordsmen were battling bravely. Kysumu leapt in, touching his blade to the Duke's longsword. Instantly the Duke's sword blazed bright. The mist fell back a little, and the Chiatze moved from warrior to warrior, charging their blades with blue magic.

The voice of Eldicar Manushan came faintly through the mist, once more chanting. Louder and louder came the chant. The mist began to shrink, pulling back from the survivors, growing smaller and smaller until it was no more than the size of a large stone.

Eldicar Manushan strode from the rocks, still maintaining his chant. He held out his right hand and the small globe of mist floated up to it. He tossed it into the air. There was a sudden clap of thunder and a brilliant white light.

And the mist was gone.

Waylander sheathed his blade and looked hard at the magicker. There was no sign of a serious wound upon him, though his right sleeve was shorn away and his tunic slashed open. There was no blood upon the ruined cloth.

The Duke stepped forward, pulling his ice-covered helm from his head and dropping it to the ground. 'Well done, magicker,' he said. 'I thought you had been killed.'

'Merely knocked from my feet, my lord.'

'Are they destroyed?'

'They will not return to this place. I have closed the portal.'

'We owe you a great debt, Eldicar,' said the Duke, clapping the man on the shoulder. He gazed around at the sprawled bodies. Thirty men had been killed, twelve others wounded. 'Damn, but it was close,' he said. The shining sword in his hands began to fade until it gleamed only as steel in the moonlight. 'My thanks to you, Chiatze,' he told Kysumu, 'though it would have been good to have known about this trick a little earlier.'

'I did not know myself,' said Kysumu.

The Duke swung away and moved among the wounded, organizing aid for them.

Waylander approached Eldicar Manushan. 'For a moment there I thought you had been killed,' he said.

'Yes, it seemed likely.'

'I thought your arm had been torn from your body, but I see it was only your sleeve.'

'I was lucky,' said Eldicar. 'As indeed were you. You killed a Bezha. That is no mean feat, Grey Man. How were you able to do that?'

Waylander gave a cold smile. 'One day I might show you,' he said.

Eldicar Manushan chuckled. 'Let us hope not,' he said. The smile faded. 'Perhaps we can talk later.' With a courteous bow he moved away, and began to assist Chardyn with the wounded.

Waylander stood for a moment. The temperature was rising again, but there was still ice upon the ground. He shivered and strode across to where Kysumu was standing. The little Chiatze sheathed his sword. 'Do you believe they have gone for good?' asked the Rajnee.

Waylander shrugged. 'They have or they haven't.'

'Did you see the magicker fall?'

'Yes.'

'He was all but torn in half.'

'I know.'

'The priestess was right then. He cannot be killed.'

'It would appear so,' agreed Waylander. Suddenly weary, he sat down on a broken wall. Lord Aric, divested now of his armour, walked over to join them. He offered Waylander a canteen of water. Waylander accepted it and drank deeply, then passed it to Kysumu, who declined it.

'I have never seen the like,' said Aric. 'I thought we were finished for certain. Without that sword of yours we would have been. My thanks to you, Rajnee.' Kysumu bowed. A little way to the left a man screamed in pain, the sound ebbing away and ending abruptly. Aric looked back. 'Victory has a high price,' he said.

'It usually does,' agreed Waylander, pushing himself to his feet. 'I am riding home. I shall send wagons for the wounded. Those injured by the hounds will need swift attention. Any who can ride should follow on and I will see that Mendyr Syn is waiting for them.' With that he strode across the killing ground to where the horses were tethered. Kysumu followed and they rode from the ruins.

Clouds drifted across the moon as the two riders reached the slope, and they made the climb carefully and in silence. By the time they reached higher ground the sky had cleared, but still they rode on without speaking. Waylander was lost in thought. If the demons had been summoned by Eldicar Manushan why, then, did he defeat them? And if the demons were his creatures why did they attack him? Something was missing here, and it galled Waylander that he could not fasten to it. He replayed the events in his mind: Eldicar standing on the rock, his voice booming and confident, the mist slowing and even beginning to recede. Then Eldicar had faltered, his confidence draining away, the spell evaporating. Talons had ripped into him. Only the accidental discovery of the true power of Kysumu's blade had saved the Duke and his men.

Two hours later, still having reached no conclusions, Waylander rode his horse through the last of the trees and on to the long path leading to the upper palace. It was close to dawn, and he saw more than a hundred people milling outside the double doors. Many torches and lanterns had been lit, and his guards, led by Emrin, had placed themselves between the palace and the crowd. Many of the soldiers had swords drawn.

Emrin came running from the group as the riders approached. 'What is happening?' asked Waylander.

'Demons attacked the palace, sir,' said Emrin. 'Two men are dead, but nineteen more people are missing, including the surgeon, the foreign priestess and her followers – and your friend Matze Chai. The demons came at us in the Long Kitchens, killing Omri and one of the Duke's bodyguards – Naren, I think he was called.'

'And the Duke's son?' asked Waylander.

'He is fine, sir. We killed one demon – Yu Yu and I. Then the mist withdrew into the palace. We stayed where we were for a long while. We heard many screams.' Emrin took a deep breath and looked away. 'I did not investigate.' He looked back at Waylander, awaiting censure.

'When did you leave the kitchens?'

'About an hour ago. Yu Yu's sword was not shining, so we crept up the stairs and along to the banquet hall. We saw nothing – save that there was ice upon the walls of the outer corridor. Then we made our way to the lawns here. We found what you see, most of the servants and guests had fled. There are more down on the beach – about forty.'

'You went there – through the palace?' asked Waylander.

'Yes, sir.'

'That took courage, Emrin. Did you see any sign of the mist?'

'No, sir. But I didn't stop to investigate. I ran back through the banquet hall and out on to the terrace. I didn't stop running until I reached the beach.'

'How many of Matze Chai's servants are among the missing?'

'Ten, sir, according to the captain of his guard.'

'Fetch him.'

Emrin bowed, then turned and moved back through the crowd. Waylander saw Keeva sitting close to the trees. The page-boy was asleep, his blond head resting against her shoulder.

Moments later Emrin led the Chiatze captain to Waylander. The man bowed deeply to both Waylander and Kysumu.

'Tell me of the attack,' said Waylander.

The man glanced at Kysumu and spoke rapidly in Chiatze. The Rajnee turned to Waylander. 'The captain regrets that his command of the Kydor language is not sufficient to describe in detail the events. He asks if you would permit me to translate for him.'

'You may tell me in your own tongue,' said Waylander in excellent Chiatze.

The captain bowed even more deeply. 'I am Liu, noble sir. It is my honour to be captain of Matze Chai's troops. It is also my great shame that I could not reach my master in his time of peril. I was sleeping, noble sir, when a scream awoke me. I rose, pulled on my robe, and opened the door to seek out the cause of the cry. At first I could see nothing, but I felt the cold immediately. I knew what it was, sir, for it attacked our camp. I buckled on my breastplate, took up my sword and tried to reach the suite of my master. But the mist was already there, filling the corridor. It came for me – and I ran, noble sir. I heard other doors opening behind me, and I heard … I heard …" He fell silent. 'I heard people being killed,' he said. 'I did not look back. I could not have saved them.'

Waylander thanked the man then undipped the crossbow from his belt and loaded two bolts. Without a word to the others he walked towards the double doors. Emrin swore softly then followed, sword in hand. Waylander paused in the doorway and looked back at Emrin. 'Do not follow me. You are needed here,' he said. 'Send ten wagons to the old ruins, and ensure there are plenty of bandages and a good amount of fresh water. The Duke's men have also suffered losses against the demons.'

Waylander pushed open the doors and walked into the darkness beyond. Kysumu strolled after him.

For almost an hour the Grey Man stalked the deserted corridors, pushing open doors, striding down stairwells, through halls and storage areas. He made no attempt to move stealthily, and it seemed to Kysumu that his companion was disappointed that they found no monsters. His anger, though controlled, was apparent in every movement.

Finally they reached the Long Kitchens. The body of Omri lay in a pool of congealing blood alongside that of the bodyguard Naren. The Grey Man knelt beside the old retainer. 'You deserved better than this,' he said. Omri's face was frozen in a mask of terror, and his eyes were wide open. For a little while the Grey Man remained beside the body, then he rose. 'He was a frightened man,' he told Kysumu. 'He abhorred violence. It terrified him. But he was a deep well when it came to kindness and compassion. You'd have to ride far to find any who would speak ill of him.'

'Such men are rare,' observed Kysumu. 'You valued him. That is good.'

'Of course I valued him. There would be no civilization without men like Omri. They care, and in caring they create all that is good. It was Omri who urged me to allow Mendyr Syn to create his hospital here. Before that Omri was raising funds for two schools in Carlis. He spent his life working for the good of others. And this was his reward – to be ripped apart by some mindless beast.'

The Grey Man swore softly, then moved away to examine the room. On the panelled floor close by there was a large stain, as if oil had seeped into the wood. Around eight feet long, it was all that remained of the creature who had killed Omri. A long-bladed carving knife lay beside the stain. The blade was pitted with rust, the bone handle singed as if from fire.

The two men left the scene and climbed to the first level of the South Tower. Here were the hospital wards of Mendyr Syn. Several of the twenty beds in the first ward had been upturned, and there was blood upon the floor. The room was still cold and there were no bodies. Moving to the second level, they found even greater chaos. Blood had sprayed to the walls and ceiling. Many of the beds were smashed.

Kysumu pointed to a bed by the far window. A body was lying within it, untouched. The Grey Man moved across the panelled floor and stood by the bedside. The occupant, an elderly woman, was dead, her hands folded across her chest. Waylander examined her. Rigor mortis was well under way.

'She has been dead for more than just a few hours,' said Kysumu. 'Probably late yesterday afternoon.'

'Yes,' agreed the Grey Man, gazing around at the smashed beds and blood-smeared walls.

'I once went into the ruins of a house destroyed by an earthquake,' said Kysumu. 'Everything was smashed. But a perfect egg was sitting in a broken plate.'

'These demons are obviously not interested in the dead,' said the Grey Man, 'unless they have killed them themselves. There were more than thirty people here,' he continued, 'not counting Mendyr Syn and his three helpers. Thirty souls sent screaming to the Void.'

The third level, the medical library, showed no sign of ice damage. The door to the office of Mendyr Syn was open, many of his papers scattered upon the two desks. The Grey Man searched the room, finding Ustarte's gold-ringed blue crystal below a pile of papers. Tucking it into his pocket, he left the office and continued up the stairs to the guest suites. Here the corridor carpets were wet, the walls cold.

Opening the door to Matze Chai's suite, the Grey Man moved across the silk Chiatze rugs and through into the bedroom. The first of the dawn light was filtering through the pale blinds. For the first time since the search had begun Kysumu saw the Grey Man relax. A low chuckle sounded from him.

Matze Chai opened his eyes and yawned. He glanced at the bedside table. 'Where is my tisane?' he asked.

'It will be a little late this morning,' said the Grey Man.

'Dakeyras? What is happening?' Matze Chai sat up, his pale blue nightcap falling from his head, revealing the carefully tied net that held his lacquered hair in place.

'I am sorry to disturb your rest, my dear friend,' said the Grey Man softly, 'but we feared you were dead. The demons came to the palace last night. Many people were killed. I shall leave you now and send your servants to you.'

'Most kind,' said Matze Chai.

The Grey Man left the room.

Kysumu bowed to Matze Chai and followed him. 'His life is charmed,' observed Kysumu.

'It is a great relief to me,' said the Grey Man. 'Matze Chai is a good friend – perhaps my only friend. He is incorruptible and loyal. It would have hurt me deeply had he been among the slain.'

'Why did he survive, do you think?' asked Kysumu.

The Grey Man shrugged. 'Who can say? Matze always takes a sleeping draught. Perhaps it lowered his heart rate and they did not sense him. Or maybe, since the creatures feed on flesh, they sought out younger meat. Matze may be a fine man, but there's precious little fat on those old bones.'

'I am glad to see your mood has lifted a little,' said Kysumu.

'Not by much,' said the Grey Man. 'You go back to the lawns. Tell Emrin to fetch Matze's servants.'

'Where will you go?'

'To the North Tower.'

'We have not searched that yet. You think it safe?'

'The demons have gone. I can feel it.'

The Grey Man slipped the bolts from his crossbow, returning them to the quiver by his side. Without another word he strode off.