David Gemmell - Waylander III - Hero In The Shadows

Inside the priestess Ustarte lay naked in one corner. Blood from a number of wounds to her flanks, arms and legs was seeping through her striped fur. Waylander knelt beside her. She was unconscious. Stretching her out on her back he examined the wounds. They were deep. Waylander drew the blue crystal from his pocket, slowly moving it over the tears in her flesh. He could see no sign of the flesh-eating maggots. Finding his medicine bag he took from it a curved needle and began to stitch the largest of the jagged rips in her side. Her golden eyes opened and locked to his gaze. Then they closed once more. Way-lander continued his work. Her fur was not soft, like that of a cat. It was wiry and thick, the muscles beneath supple and immensely strong. Indeed she was far stronger than the slim form suggested. There was further evidence of this when he tried to lift her, to carry her to his bed. She weighed at least as much as two tall men. Unable to move her, Waylander fetched a pillow and some blankets and laid them on a chair close by. Then, using old cloths, he mopped up the blood around her. Wiping his hands clean, he lifted her head and slipped the pillow under it. Then he covered her with the blankets.

Having done all he could, Waylander left the building, pulled shut the door and walked to the waterfall. Stripping off his clothes he stood beneath the cold water.

Refreshed, he returned to his rooms. He found a fresh shirt and leggings, dressed and returned to the priestess. Her breathing was shallow, her face ashen. Her eyes opened and she tried to speak, the effort causing her to wince. 'Don't talk,' he said softly. 'Rest now. I will fetch you some water.' He filled a goblet, raised her head and held it to her lips. She drank a little then sank back. 'Sleep,' he said. 'Nothing will harm you.' He was aware even as he said it that he could, in truth, make no such guarantees, but the words were out before he could stop them.

He walked to the door and sat down on the step. The fishermen were out in the bay, the white sails of their boats bright in the sunlight. Waylander leaned back against the door frame.

Eldicar Manushan had been torn apart battling the demons in the ruins. He could not, surely, at the same time, have summoned more monsters to attack the palace. Waylander considered the attack. There had been three targets, Mendyr Syn, Yu Yu Liang and Ustarte. Since Yu Yu and the Rajnee sword had been in the hospital building, the death of the surgeon may have been merely a tragic coincidence. Anger flickered in his weary frame. Life was full of such meaningless tragedies.

His first wife Tanya and his three children had died because a group of raiders had decided to head south-east rather than south-west. Coincidentally he had chosen that day to hunt venison, rather than stay and rebuild the south pasture fence. 'You have no time for self-pity,' he said, aloud, pushing the awful scenes from his mind.

He truly did not care whether Kydor stood or fell. War was a grisly fact of life, and one that he was powerless to alter. But the enemy had brought death to his house, and that he did care about. Demons had been unleashed within the palace. Omri had been a gentle, kind man. Talons had torn his chest open. Mendyr Syn had devoted his life to the care of others. His last moments had been to witness his patients ripped apart.

Until now this had not been Waylander's war.

Now it was.

Leaning his head back against the door frame he closed his eyes. Sunlight was warm upon his face. A soft breeze whispered against his skin. He was almost asleep when he heard soft footfalls on the steps. His dark eyes flicked open and he drew a diamond-shaped knife from its sheath.

Keeva appeared, carrying a tray of food. Waylander pushed himself to his feet, and stood blocking the doorway. 'Emrin asked me to bring you some breakfast,' she said.

'Was it you who hurled the carving knife at the beast?' he asked.

'Yes. How did you know?'

'I saw it upon the floor. Where did you aim for?'

'The eye.'

'Did you hit it?'

'Yes. It went in to the hilt.'

'Excellent.' He looked at her closely. 'I want you to do something for me,' he said.

'Of course.'

'I want it done quietly. No one must know. No one at all.'

'You can trust me, Grey Man. I owe you my life.'

'Go to the North Tower and the rooms of the priestess Ustarte. Let no one see you. Gather some of her clothes and gloves. Do not forget the gloves. Put them in a sack and bring them here.'

'She is still alive?'

Waylander stepped back into the apartments, beckoning her to follow him. Keeva paused in the doorway and gazed down on the sleeping priestess. One arm was outside the blankets. Keeva moved closer and stared down at the exposed, fur-covered limb and the sharp claws extending from the short, stubby fingers. She recoiled instantly. 'Sweet Heaven! What is she?'

'Someone who has been badly wounded,' he said softly. 'No one must know she has survived the attack. You understand?'

'Is she a demon?'

'I do not know what she is, Keeva, but I believe there is no evil in her. Will you trust me on this?'

'I trust you, Grey Man. Will she live?'

'I have no way of knowing. The wounds are deep, and there may be internal bleeding. But I will do what I can.'

Ustarte opened her eyes. Her vision swam, then focused on the rough wrought ceiling above her. Her mouth was dry, and she became aware of pain. It grew from a dull, throbbing ache to needles of fire in her side and back. She groaned.

Instantly a figure appeared above her. Lifting her head he held a goblet of water to her lips. She drank sparingly at first, allowing the cool liquid to ease its way down her parched throat. The swirling began in her belly and she quelled it. Must not Change now, she thought, an edge of panic seeping into her mind. Looking up into the Grey Man's face she read his thoughts instinctively. He was concerned for her. 'I will live,' she whispered. 'If I do not . . . become the beast.' She caught an image in his mind of a golden wolf, dying on the stairs of the library. Sorrow flowed over her and tears welled in her eyes. 'They died for me,' she whispered.

'Aye, they did,' he said. The tears flowed on to her cheeks and she began sobbing. She felt his hands upon her shoulders. 'Be calm, Ustarte! You will tear the stitches. There will be time for grief later.'

'They trusted me,' she said. 'I betrayed them.'

'You betrayed no one. You did not summon the demons.'

'I could have opened a portal and taken them to safety.'

'Now you are making me angry,' he said, but the hand stroking her head was still gentle. 'There is no one living who would not change some aspect of the past if they could, to avoid a hurt or a tragedy. We make mistakes. It is just the grim game of life. Your people followed you because they loved and believed in you. You were seeking to prevent a great evil. Yes, they died to protect you. And they did it willingly. It is for you to make that sacrifice worthwhile by surviving, as they wanted you to survive. You hear me?'

'I hear you, Grey Man. But we have lost. The gateway will open, and the evil of Kuan-Hador will return.'

'Maybe so – maybe not. We still live. I have had many enemies, Ustarte, powerful enemies. Some commanded nations, others armies, others demons. They are all dead and I still live. And while I live I will not accept defeat.'

Closing her eyes, she tried to flow with the pain. Ustarte felt the blanket being lifted from her. The Grey Man was studying her wounds. 'They are healing well,' he said.

'Why will this Change be dangerous for you?'

'I become larger. The stitches will tear open. If this begins to happen you must. . . kill me. I will no longer be Ustarte. And what I become will . . . slaughter you in its agony. You understand?'