In the Realm of the Wolf (32 page)

“Partly,” he agreed. “And there’s nothing wrong with that, though many would have us believe otherwise. But it is more than that. I had an affair with a dark-haired woman once. Unbelievable. In bed she could raise more passion in me than any of my wives. But I didn’t stay with her. I didn’t love her, you see. I adored her, but I didn’t love her.”

“There’s that word again!” chided Miriel.

He chuckled. “I know. It’s just a short way of describing someone who is your friend, bedmate, sister, aye, even mother sometimes. Someone who will arouse your passion and your
admiration and your respect. Someone who, when the whole world turns against you, is still standing by your side. You look for someone like that, Miriel.” He released her hand and looked away.

She leaned in close. “What about you, Angel? Would you be a friend, a lover, a brother, and a father?”

He turned his scarred features toward her. “Aye, I would.” He hesitated, and she sensed his indecision. At last he smiled and, taking her hand, kissed it. “My boots are older than you, Miriel. And you may think it makes no difference now, but it does. You need a man who can grow with you, not grow senile on you.” He took a deep breath. “It’s hard to admit this, you know.”

“You are not old,” she admonished him.

“Don’t you like Senta?” he countered.

She looked away. “I find him … exciting … frightening.”

“That’s good,” he said. “That’s how life should be. Me, I’m like an old armchair, comfortable. A girl like you needs more than that. Give him a chance. There’s a lot of good in him.”

“Why do you like him so much?”

He grinned. “I knew his mother,” he said. “A long time ago. Before he was born.”

“You mean …?”

“I have no idea, but he could be. He certainly doesn’t take after the husband. But that’s between you and me now! Understand?”

“And yet you would have fought him back at the cabin?”

He nodded, his face solemn. “I wouldn’t have won. He’s very good, the best I’ve ever seen.” Suddenly she laughed. “What’s so amusing?” he asked.

“He wasn’t going to try to kill you. I read that in his thoughts. He was looking to disarm or wound you.”

“That would have been a bad mistake.”

She looked into his eyes, and her smile faded. “But you might have been killing your own son!”.

“I know. Not very uplifting, is it? But I am a warrior, Miriel, and when swords are drawn, there is no emotion. Merely survival or death.” He glanced at the Nadir boy, who was sleeping against a rock, his head resting on his stick-thin arms and his
knees drawn up to his belly. Rising silently, Angel moved across to the lad, covering him with his cloak. Then he returned to Miriel. “What is the old man planning?”

“I don’t know, but we will be moving tomorrow to an old fortress in the mountains.”

“That is good news. We cannot hold here for much longer. You should get some sleep.”

“I can’t. He will need me soon.”

“For what?”

“For when the dead walk,” she answered.

Kesa Khan sat by his fire, his ancient body shivering as the night winds fanned the flames. He was beyond tiredness, a mortal weariness settling on him. It was all so complex, so many lines of destiny to be drawn together. Why, he wondered idly, had this not come to pass when he was young and in full strength? Why now, when he was old and weary and ready for the grave? The gods were indeed capricious at best.

Plans, ideas, strategies flowed through his mind, and each was dependent on another for success. The journey of a thousand leagues begins with a single step, he told himself. Concentrate only on the step before you.

The demons would come, and with them the souls of the dead. How best to combat them? The Drenai woman was stronger than she knew, but she alone could not guarantee success. Closing his eyes, he mentally summoned Miriel. The time was close.

He reached for the clay pot and the gray powder, but his hand drew back. He had taken too much already. Ah, but the gods loved a reckless man! Dipping his finger into the powder, he scooped a small amount into his mouth. His heart began to beat erratically, and he felt strength flowing into his limbs. The fire burned yellow, then gold, then purple, and the shadows on the walls became dancers, spinning and turning.

The Drenai woman entered the cave. My, but she is ugly, he thought. Too tall and stringy. Even in his youth he could not have found her attractive. The Drenai warrior with the scarred face moved in behind her. Kesa Khan’s dark eyes focused on the man. “This is no place for those with no power,” he said.

“I told him that,” said Miriel, seating herself opposite the shaman, “but he came anyway.”

“She said there would be demons and the undead. Can they be slain with a sword?” asked Angel.

“No,” answered the shaman.

“With bare hands, then?”

“No.”

“How, then, will Miriel fight them?”

“With her courage and her talent.”

“Then I shall stand beside her. No one has yet doubted my courage.”

“You are needed here to man the wall, to stop the human enemy. It would be the worst folly to allow you to enter the Void. It would be a waste.”

“You do not control my life,” roared Angel. “I am here because of her. If she dies, I leave. I care nothing for you lice-infested barbarians. You understand? So if she is in danger, I go with her.”

Kesa Khan’s eyes became hooded and wary as he gazed at the towering Drenai. How I hate them, he thought. Their casual arrogance, their monumental condescension. Lifting his eyes, he met Angel’s pale gaze and allowed his hatred to be transmitted to the warrior. Angel smiled and nodded slowly. Kesa Khan rose. “As you wish, Hard-to-Kill. You will journey with the woman.”

“Good,” said the gladiator, sitting beside Miriel.

“No,” she said. “This is not wise. If I am to fight, then I cannot look after Angel.”

“I need no looking after!” he protested.

“Be quiet!” she snapped. “You have no conception of the journey, or the perils, or what is needed even to protect yourself. You will be like a babe in arms. And I will have no time to suckle you!”

He reddened and pushed himself to his feet. Kesa Khan stepped forward. “No, no!” he said. “I think you misjudge the situation, Miriel, as did I at first. The Void is a deadly place, but a man with courage is not to be lightly dismissed. I will send you both. And I will arm Hard-to-Kill with weapons he understands.”

“Where will you be?”

“Here. Waiting. But I will be linked to you.”

“But this is where the demons will come, surely.”

“No. They will not be hunting me. Did you not realize? That is why I needed you. They will be seeking out your father. Zhu Chao knows he is a terrible danger to him. He has tried to kill him in this world and failed. Now he will seek to lure his soul into the Void. He must be protected.”

“He also has no talent,” said Miriel, fear rising.

“There you are wrong,” whispered Kesa Khan. “He has the greatest talent of all. He knows how to survive.”

15

K
ASAI AND HIS
men had been hunting for more than three hours when they saw the southerner on the giant red stallion. Kasai reined in his hill pony. It was a fine beast, fourteen hands tall, but the southerner’s horse was sixteen hands, maybe more. Kasai’s cousin, Chulai, reined in alongside him. “Do we kill him?” he asked.

“Wait,” ordered Kasai, studying the approaching rider. The man was dressed in black, a dark fur-lined cloak slung across his shoulders. There was dried blood on his face. The rider saw them and angled his horse toward the waiting group. Kasai saw no sign of fear in the man.

“Fine horse,” said Kasai as the man pulled back on the reins.

“Better than the man I killed to get him,” said the rider, his dark eyes scanning the group. He seemed amused, which angered Kasai.

“It is a horse worth killing for,” he said pointedly, hand on his sword hilt.

“True,” agreed the rider. “But the question you must ask yourself is whether he is worth dying for.”

“We are five; you are one.”

“Wrong. One and one. You and I. For when the action begins, I will kill you within the first heartbeat.” The words were spoken with a quiet certainty that swept over Kasai’s confidence like a winter wind.

“You dismiss my brothers so easily?” he said, trying to reestablish the fact that they outnumbered the southerner.

The rider laughed and swung his gaze over the other men. “I never dismiss any Nadir lightly. I’ve fought too many in the past. Now it seems you have two choices. You can fight, or we can ride to your camp and eat.”

“Let us kill him,” said Chulai, slipping into the Nadir tongue.

“It will be the last move you make, dung brain,” said the rider in perfect Nadir.

Chulai half drew his sword, but Kasai ordered him back. “How do you know our tongue?” he inquired.

“Do we eat or fight?” countered the man.

“We eat. We offer you the hospitality of the tent. Now, how do you know our tongue?”

“I have traveled among the Nadir for many years, both as friend and as enemy. My name is Waylander, though I have other names among the people of the tents.”

Kasai nodded. “I have heard of you, Oxskull; you are a mighty warrior. Follow me and you will have the food you desire.” Kasai wheeled his pony and galloped toward the north. Chulai cast a murderous glance at the Drenai and then followed.

Two hours later they were seated around a burning brazier within a tall goatskin tent. Waylander was sitting cross-legged on a rug, Kasai before him. Both men had dined from a communal bowl of curdled cheese and had shared a clay goblet of strong spirit.

“What brings you to the steppes, Oxskull?”

“I seek Kesa Khan of the Wolves.”

Kasai nodded. “His death has been long overdue.”

Waylander chuckled. “I am not here to kill him but to help him survive.”

“It cannot be true!”

“I assure you that it is. My daughter and my friends are with him now, or so I hope.”

Kasai was amazed. “Why? What are the Wolves to you? We still talk of Kesa Khan’s magic and the werebeasts he sent to kill you. Why would you help
him?”

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” answered Waylander. “There is a man who serves the emperor. He is the enemy I wish to see slain.”

“Zhu Chao! May the gods curse his soul until the stars burn out! Aye, a good enemy, that one. But you are too late to help the Wolves. The Gothir have already begun their attack on the mountain stronghold. There is no way through.”

“I will find a way.”

Kasai nodded and drained the last of the spirit, refilling the goblet from a jug beside him. He offered it to Waylander, who drank sparingly. “My people are the Tall Spears. We are enemies of the Wolves. Lifelong and before that. But I do not want to see the Gothir destroy them. I wish to be the man who drives a blade into Anshi Chen. I wish to cut the head from Belash. I wish to drag out the heart of Kesa Khan. Such pleasures are not for some round-eyed, stone-dwelling pig to enjoy.”

“How many men do you have here?”

“Fighting men? Six hundred.”

“Perhaps you should consider aiding the Wolves.”

“Pah! My tongue would turn black and all my ancestors turn their backs on me when I entered the Vale of Rest. No, I shall not aid them, but I will aid you. I will give you food and, if you wish, a guide. There are other routes into the mountains.”

“I thank you, Kasai.”

“It is nothing. If you do find Kesa Khan, tell him why I helped you.”

“I’ll do that. Tell me, do you dream of the day the Uniter will come?”

“Of course. What Nadir does not?”

“How do you see him?”

“He will be of the Tall Spears, that is certain.”

“And how will he unite the Nadir?”

Kasai smiled. “Well, first he will obliterate the Wolves and all other treacherous tribes.”

“Suppose the Uniter is not of the Tall Spears. Suppose he is of the Wolves.”

“Impossible.”

“He’ll need to be a rare man,” said Waylander.

“Let’s drink to that,” said Kasai, passing the goblet.