David Gemmell - Waylander III - Hero In The Shadows

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.'