In the Realm of the Wolf (17 page)

“No.”

“It’s not made of stone, Belash.”

“Tomorrow I will be strong,” promised the Nadir. In the
dying light of the sun his face was gray, with dark streaks coloring 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 a 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 411 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. This is why the Guild hunts 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 proposed; the gaiety of the wedding and the dance that followed it. He saw her smiling face, the twin of Miriel’s, 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 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 Drenan. 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.

7

M
IRIEL’S HEAD WAS
aching, but the acute pain of the night before had faded to a dull ache as she rose and dressed, making her way through the cabin to the clearing where Angel was chopping logs. Stripped to the waist, he was swinging the long-handled ax with practiced ease, splitting the wood expertly.

He stopped as he saw her and thudded the ax into a log, then took up his shirt and strolled toward her. “How are you feeling today?” he asked.

“I’m ready,” she told him.

He shook his head. “I think you should rest this morning. Your color is not good.”

There was a chill in the air, and she shivered. “They will come back,” she said.

He shrugged. “There’s not a blessed thing we can do about that, Miriel.”

“Except wait?”

“Exactly.”

“You don’t seem concerned.”

“Oh, but I am. It is just that I learned long ago that there is little point worrying about matters over which you have no control. We could flee, I suppose, but to where? We don’t know where they are and could run straight into them. At least here we have the advantage of home ground. And this is where your father expects to find us. Therefore, we wait.”

“I could track them,” she offered.

He shook his head. “Morak wasn’t with them, nor was Belash. I wouldn’t want to track either of them. They would have sentries watching from the high hills or trees. They would see us coming. No, we wait for Waylander.”

“I don’t like the thought of just sitting,” she said.

“I know,” he told her, stepping forward and laying his hand on her shoulder. “It is always the hardest part. I was the same when I was waiting for the call into the arena. I could hear the clash of swords outside, smell the sand and the sawdust. I always felt ill.”

Miriel’s eyes narrowed. “There’s someone coming,” she said.

He swung, but there was no one in sight. “Where?” She pointed to the south, where a flock of doves had flown up from a tall pine. “It could be your father.”

“It could,” she agreed, spinning on her heel and walking back into the cabin. Angel stood where he was, one hand on the porch rail, the other resting on the leather-bound hilt of his short sword. Miriel rejoined him, a sword belted to her waist and a baldric of throwing knives hanging from her shoulder.

A tall man appeared at the edge of the clearing, saw them, and walked down the slope, sunlight glinting in the gold of his hair. He moved with animal grace, arrogantly, like a lord in his domain, thought Miriel, anger flaring. The newcomer was dressed in expensive buckskin that was heavily fringed at the shoulders. He wore two short sabers in black leather scabbards adorned with silver. His leggings were dark brown and were tucked into thigh-length tan cavalry boots that had been folded down, exposing the lining of cream-colored silk.

Coming closer, he bowed to Miriel, his arm sweeping out in courtly style. “Good morning, Miriel.”

“Do I know you?”

“Not yet, and the loss is entirely mine.” He smiled as he spoke, and Miriel found herself blushing. “Ah, Angel,” said the newcomer, as if noticing the gladiator for the first time. “The princess and the troll … I feel as if I had stepped into a fable.”

“Really?” countered Angel. “Seeing you makes me feel I have stepped into something altogether less pleasant.”

The man chuckled with genuine humor. “I have missed you, old man. Nothing was the same once you left the arena. How is your … shop?”

“Gone, but then, you knew that.”

“Yes, come to think of it, someone did mention that to me. I
was distressed to hear of it, of course. Well, is no one going to offer breakfast? It’s a long walk from Kasyra.”

“Who is this … this popinjay?” asked Miriel.

“Oh, yes, do introduce us, Angel, there’s a good fellow.”

“This is Senta, one of the hired killers sent to murder your father.”

“Delicately put,” said Senta. “But it should be pointed out that I am not a bowman, nor am I the kind of assassin who kills from hiding. I am a swordsman, lady, probably the best in the land.”

Miriel’s fingers closed around the hilt of her sword, but Angel caught her arm. “He may be conceited and self-obsessed, but he is quite right,” he said, his eyes holding to Senta’s gaze. “He
is
a fine bladesman. So let us stay calm, eh? Prepare some food, Miriel.”

“For him? No!”

“Trust me,” he said softly, “and do as I say.”

Miriel looked into his flint-colored eyes. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes,” he said simply.

Her hands were trembling as she carved the cold meat. She felt confused, uncertain. Angel’s strength was prodigious, and she knew he was no coward. So why was he pandering to this man? Was he frightened?

The two men were sitting at the table when she returned. Senta stood as she entered. “You really are a vision!” he said. Her reply was short and obscene. Senta’s eyes widened. “Such language from a lady.”

Furious and embarrassed, Miriel laid down the tray of food and bit back an angry retort.

“Seen anything of Morak?” asked Angel, breaking the bread and passing a section to Senta.

“Not yet, but I sent him a message. He’s got Belash with him, did you know?”

“It doesn’t surprise me. What does is that you and Morak do not travel together,” said Angel. “You are two of a kind—the same easy smiles, the same sly wit.”