Waylander II:In The Realm Of The Wolf (9 page)

‘You think he killed her?’

‘Sure of it.’

‘And now he lives fat off her wealth?’

‘No. Curiously he fell from the same window two nights later. His neck was broken in the fall.’

‘And you wouldn’t have had anything to do with that?’

‘Me? How could you think it? And now let’s work, if you please. Swords, I think.’

But just as Miriel was drawing her sword she saw movement in the undergrowth to the north of the cabin. At first she thought it was her father returning, for the first man who came into sight was dressed all in black. But he carried a longbow and was darkly bearded. He was followed by a shorter, stockier man in a tan leather jerkin.

‘Follow my lead,’ whispered Angel. ‘And say nothing, even if they speak to you.’

He turned and waited as the men approached. ‘Good day,’ said the black-garbed bowman.

‘And to you, friend. Hunting?’

‘Aye. Thought we might find a stag.’

‘Plenty south of here. Boar too, if you like the meat.’

‘Nice cabin. Yours?’

‘Yes,’ said Angel. The man nodded.

‘You’d be Dakeyras then?’

That’s right. This is my daughter, Moriae. How do you know of us?’

‘Met some people in the mountains. They said you had a cabin here.’

‘So you came to visit?’

‘Not exactly. Thought you might be an old friend of

mine. His name was Dakeyras, but he was taller than you and darker.’

‘It’s not an uncommon name,’ said Angel. ‘If you kill a stag I’ll buy some of the meat. Game will be pretty scarce once winter comes.’

Til bear that in mind,’ said the bowman.

The two men walked off towards the south. Angel watched them until they were out of sight.

‘Assassins?’ asked Miriel.

‘Trackers, huntsmen. They’ll be in the employ of Senta or Morak.’

‘You took a risk claiming to be Dakeyras.’

‘Not really,’ he said. ‘They were likely to have been given a description of Waylander - and I certainly don’t fit it.’

‘But what if they hadn’t? What if they had merely attacked you?’

‘I’d have killed them. Now, let’s work.’

Kesa Khan stared gloomily into the green flames, his jet-black eyes unblinking. He hawked and spat into the fire, his expression impassive, his heart beating wildly.

‘What do you see, shaman?’ asked Anshi Chen. The wizened shaman waved a hand, demanding silence, and the stocky chieftain obeyed. Three hundred swords he could call upon, but he feared the little man as he feared nothing else in life, not even the prospect of death.

Kesa Khan had seen all he needed to, but still his slanted eyes remained locked to the dancing flames. Reaching a skeletal hand into one of the four clay pots before him he took a pinch of yellow powder and flicked it into the fire. The blaze flared up, orange and red, shadows leaping to the cave wall and cavorting like demons. Anshi Chen cleared his throat and sniffed loudly, his dark Nadir eyes flickering nervously left and right.

Kesa gave a thin smile. ‘I have seen the dragon in the dream,’ he said, his voice a sibilant whisper.

The colour fled from Anshi’s face. ‘Is it over, then? We are all dead?’

‘Perhaps,’ agreed Kesa, enjoying the fear he felt emanating from the warrior.

‘What can we do?’

‘What the Nadir have always done. We will fight.’

‘The Gothir have thousands of warriors, fine armour, swords of steel that do not dull. Archers. Lancers. How can we fight them?’

Kesa shook his head. ‘I am not the Warlord of the Wolves, you are.’

‘But you can read the hearts of our enemies! You could send demons to rip open their bellies. Or is Zhu Chao mightier than Kesa Khan?’ For a moment there was silence then Anshi Chen leaned forward, bowing his head. ‘Forgive me, Kesa. I spoke in anger.’

The shaman nodded sagely. ‘I know. But there is truth in your fear. Zhu Chao is mightier. He can call upon the blood of many souls. The Emperor has a thousand slaves and many hearts have been laid upon the altar of the Dark God. And what do I have?’ The little man twisted his body and pointed at the three dead chickens. He gave a dry laugh. ‘I command few demons with those, Anshi Chen.’

‘We could raid the Green Monkeys, steal some children,’ offered Anshi.

‘No! I will not sacrifice Nadir young.’

‘But they are the enemy.’

‘This day they are the enemy, but one day all Nadir will unite - this is written. This is the message Zhu Chao has carried to the Emperor. This is why the dragon is in the dream.’

‘You cannot help us, then?’

‘Do not be a fool, Anshi Chen. I am helping you now! Soon the Gothir will come against us. We must prepare for that day. Our winter camp must be close to the Mountains of the Moon, and we must be ready to flee there.’

“The Mountains?’ whispered Anshi. ‘But the demons

‘It is that, or die. Your wives and your children, and the children of your children.’

‘Why not flee south? We could ride hundreds of leagues

from Gulgothir. We could merge with other tribes. How would they find us?’

‘Zhu Chao would find you,’ said Kesa. ‘Be strong, warlord. From one among us will come the leader the Nadir have longed for. Can you understand that? The Uniter! He will end Gothir rule. He will give us the world.’

‘I will live to see this?’

Kesa shook his head. ‘But neither will I,’ he told the chieftain.

‘It will be as you say,’ pledged Anshi. ‘We will move our camp.’

‘And send for Belash.’

‘I don’t know where he is.’

‘South of the new Drenai fortress, in the mountains they call Skein. Send Shia to bring him.’

‘Belash has no love for me, shaman. You know this.’

‘I know many things, Anshi. I know that in the coming days we will rely on your steady judgement, and your calm skills. You are known and respected, as the Wily Fox. But I know we will need the power of Belash, the White Tiger in the Night. And he will bring another: he will give us the Dragon Shadow.’

Ekodas paused outside the Abbot’s study, composing his thoughts. He loved life at the temple, its calm and camaraderie, the hours of study and meditation, even the physical exercises, running, archery and sword skills. In every way he felt a part of The Thirty.

Bar one.

He tapped at the door then pushed the latch. The room was lit by the golden light of three glass-sided lanterns and he saw Dardalion sitting at his desk, poring over a goatskin map. The Abbot looked up. In this gentle light he seemed younger, the silver highlights in his hair gleaming gold.

‘Welcome, my boy. Come in and sit.’ Ekodas bowed then strode to a chair. ‘Shall we share thoughts, or would you like to speak out loud?’ asked Dardalion.

‘To speak, sir.’

‘Very well. Vishna and Magnic tell me you are still troubled.’

‘I am not troubled, Father. I know what I know.’

‘You do not see this as arrogance?’

‘No. My beliefs are only those that you enjoyed before your adventures with the killer, Waylander. Were you wrong then?’

‘I do not believe that I was,’ replied Dardalion. ‘But then I no longer believe that there is only one road to the Source. Egel was a man of vision, and a believer. Three times a day he prayed for guidance. Yet he was also a soldier, and through him - aye, and Karnak - the lands of the Drenai were saved from the foe. He is dead now. Do you think the Source refused to take his soul to paradise?’

‘I do not know the answer to that question,’ said the young man, ‘but what I do know is that I have been taught, by you and others, that love is the greatest gift of the Source. Love for all life, for all His Creation. Now you are saying that you expect me to lift a sword and take life. That cannot be right.’

Dardalion leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desktop, his hands clasped together as if in prayer. ‘Do you accept that the Source created the lion?’

‘Of course.’

‘And the deer?’

‘Yes - and the lion slays the deer. I know this. I do not understand it, but I accept it.’

‘I feel the need of flight,’ said Dardalion. ‘Join me.’

The Abbot closed his eyes. Ekodas settled himself more comfortably in the chair, resting his arms upon the padded wings then took a deep breath. The release of spirit seemed effortless to Dardalion, but Ekodas mostly found it extraordinarily difficult, as if his soul had many hooks into the flesh. He followed the lessons he had learned for the last ten years, repeating the mantras, cleansing the mind.

The dove in the temple, the opening door, the circle of gold upon the field of blue, the spreading of wings in a gilded cage, the loosing of chains on the temple floor.

He felt the first loosening of his hold upon his body, as if he was floating in the warm waters of the womb. He was safe here, content. Feeling drifted back to him, his spine against the hard wood of the chair, his sandalled feet on the cold floor. No, no, he chided himself. You are losing it! His concentration deepened once more. But he could not soar.

Dardalion’s voice whispered into his mind, ‘Take my hand, Ekodas.’

A light shone golden and warming and Ekodas accepted the merging. The release was instant and his spirit broke clear of the temple of his body, soaring up through the second temple of stone to float high in the night sky above the land of Drenai.

‘Why is it so difficult for me?’ he asked the Abbot.

Dardalion, young again, his face unlined, reached out and touched his pupil’s shoulder. ‘Doubts are fears, my boy. And dreams of the flesh. Small guilts, meaningless but worrisome.’

‘Where are we going, Father?’

‘Follow and observe.’ East they flew, across the glittering, star-dappled Ventrian Sea. A storm raged here, and far below a tiny trireme battled the elements, great waves washing over her flat decks. Ekodas saw a sailor swept overboard, watched him fall below the waves, saw the gleaming spark of his soul float up and vanish.

The land appeared dark below them, the mountains and plains of Ventria stretching to the east, while here on the coast, brightly-lit towns and ports shone like jewels on a cloak of black. Dardalion flew down, down . . . The two priests hovered some hundred feet in the air and Ekodas saw the scores of ships harboured here, heard the pounding of the armourers’ hammers in the town.

“The Ventrian battle fleet,’ said Dardalion. ‘It will sail within the week. They will attack Purdol, Erekban and Lentrum, landing armies to invade Drenai. War and devastation.’

He flew on, crossing the high mountains and swooping down over a city of marble, its houses laid out in a grid pattern of wide avenues and cluttered streets. There was a

palace upon the highest hill, surrounded by high walls manned by many sentries in gold-embossed armour of white and silver. Dardalion flew into the palace, through the walls and drapes of silk and velvet, coming at last to a bedchamber where a dark-bearded man lay sleeping. Above the man hovered his spirit, formless and vague, unaware and unknowing.

‘We could stop the war now,’ lid Dardalion, a silver sword appearing in his hand. ‘I could slay this man’s soul. Then thousands of Drenai farmers and soldiers, women and children, would be safe.’

‘No!’ exclaimed Ekodas, swiftly moving between the Abbot and the formless spirit of the Ventrian king.

‘Did you think I would?’ asked Dardalion, sadly.

‘I … I am sorry, Father. I saw the sword and . . .’his voice tailed away.

‘I am no murderer, Ekodas. And I do not know the complete Will of the Source. No man does. No man ever will, though there are many who claim such knowledge. Take my hand, my son.’ The walls of the palace vanished and with bewildering speed the two spirits crossed the sea once more, this time heading north-east. Colours flashed before Ekodas’ eyes and, if not for the firm grip of Dardalion’s hand, he would have been lost in the swirling lights. Their speed slowed and Ekodas blinked, trying to adjust his mind.

Below him was another city with more palaces of marble. A huge amphitheatre to the west and a massive stadium for chariot races at the centre marked it as Gulgothir, the capital of the Gothir empire.

‘What are we here to see, Father?’ asked Ekodas.

‘Two men,’ answered Dardalion. ‘We have crossed the gates of time to be here. The scene you are about to witness happened five days ago.’

Still holding to the young priest’s hand Dardalion floated down over the high palace walls and into a narrow room behind the throne hall. The Gothir Emperor was seated on a silk-covered divan. He was a young man, no more than twenty, with large protruding eyes and a receding chin,

which was partly hidden by a wispy beard. Before him, seated on a low stool, was a second man, dressed in long dark robes of shining silk, embroidered with silver. His hair was dark and waxed flat to his skull, the sideburns unnaturally long and braided, hanging to his shoulders. His eyes were slanted beneath high flared brows, his mouth a thin line.

‘You say the empire is in danger, Zhu Chao,’ spoke the Emperor, his voice deep, resonant and strong, belying the weakness of his appearance.

‘It is, sire. Unless you take action your descendants will be overthrown, your cities vanquished. I have read the omens. The Nadir wait only for the day of the Uniter. And he is coming, from among the Wolfshead.’

‘And how can I change this?’

‘If wolves are killing one’s sheep, one kills the wolves.’

‘You are talking of an entire tribe among the Nadir.’

‘Indeed, sire. Eight hundred and forty-four savages. They are not people as you and I understand the term. Their lives are meaningless, but their future sons could see an end to Gothir civilisation.’

The Emperor nodded. ‘It will take time to gather sufficient men for the task. As you know, the Ventrians are about to invade the lands of the Drenai and I have plans of my own.’

‘I understand that, sire. You will wish to reclaim the Sentran Plain as part of Gothir, which is only just and right, but that will take no more than ten thousand men. You have ten times that many under your command.’

‘And I need them, wizard. There are always those who seek the overthrow of monarchs. I can spare you five thousand for this small task. In one month you will have the massacre you desire.’