David Gemmell - Waylander III - Hero In The Shadows

'I… don't know,' admitted Aric. 'I asked Eldicar . . . on the night of the killings. I couldn't understand why I reacted in the way that I did. I felt. . . nothing. I asked if I had lost something when he gave me my – my youth.'

'What did he say?'

'He said I had lost nothing. No, that's not quite right. He said I had lost nothing that would be of value to Kuan-Hador.'

'And now you want to kill Lalitia?'

'Yes. It would amuse me.'

'Think back, Aric. Think of the man sitting with his child by that lake. Would it have amused him to kill Lalitia?'

Aric tore his gaze away from the priest and sat down, staring at the dagger in his hand. 'You are confusing me, Chardyn,' he said, and became aware of a pounding pain in his head. Placing the dagger on the table before him he began to rub his temples.

'What was your daughter's name?'

'Zarea.'

'Where is her mother?'

'She died too.'

'How did she die?'

'I strangled her. She would not stop crying, you see.'

'Did you kill your daughter too?'

'No. Eldicar did that. Her life force was very strong. It gave me greater youth and strength. Surely you can see how good I look.'

'I see far more than that,' said Chardyn.

Aric looked up and saw Lalitia staring at him, an expression of revulsion on her face. Chardyn came closer, sitting alongside Aric on the couch. 'You once told me that Aldania had been kind to you. Do you remember?'

'Yes. My mother had died and she invited me to the castle in Masyn. She sat and hugged me as I wept.'

'Why did you weep?'

'My mother had died.'

'Your daughter died. Did you weep?'

'No.'

'Do you remember how you felt when your mother died?' asked Chardyn.

Aric looked inside himself. He could see the man he had once been, and watch the tears flow. But he no longer had any inkling as to why the man was crying. It was most peculiar.

'You were right, Aric,' said Chardyn softly. 'You did lose something. Or rather Eldicar Manushan stole it from you. You have lost all understanding of humanity, compassion, kindness and love. You are no longer human. You have murdered a woman who loved you, and agreed to the killing of a child you adored. You have taken part in an unholy massacre, which saw the brutal slaying of Aldania, who was kind to you.'

'I – I am immortal now,' said Aric. 'That is what is important.'

'Yes, you are immortal. Immortal and bored. You were not bored that day by the lake. You were laughing. It was a good sound. You were happy. No one had to die to bring you amusement. Can you not see how they have tricked you? They have given you longer life, and yet removed all the emotions you needed to enjoy that greater life.'

Aric's head was bursting. He pressed his hands to his temples. 'Stop this, Chardyn. It is killing me! My head is on fire.'

'I want you to think of Zarea, and that day by the lake,' said Chardyn. 'I want you to hold to it, to feel her tiny arms around your neck, the sound of happy childish laughter ringing in your ears. Can you hear it, Aric? Can you?'

'I can hear it.'

'Just before we all went inside she was cuddling you. She said something to you. You remember?'

'Yes.'

'Say it.'

'I don't want to.'

'Say it, Aric.'

'She said, "I love you, Papa!'"

'And what did you reply?'

'I told her I loved her too.' Aric gave a groan and fell back, his eyes squeezed shut. 'I can't think . . . the pain . . . !'

'It is the spell upon you, Aric. It is fighting to stop you remembering. Do you want to remember how it felt to be human?'

'Yes!'

Chardyn opened his collar and lifted clear the golden necklet he wore. A talisman hung from it, a piece of jade in the shape of a tear-drop. Runes had been cut into the surface. 'This was blessed by the Abbot Dardalion,' said Chardyn. 'It is said to ward off spells and cure disease. I do not know, in truth, if it carries magic or is merely a trinket. But, if you are willing, I will place it around your neck.'

Aric stared at the jade. A part of him wanted to push it away, to ram his dagger into the bearded throat of the priest. Another part wanted to remember how he felt when his daughter told him she loved him. He sat very still, then he looked into Chardyn's eyes. 'Help me!' he said. Chardyn looped the necklet over Aric's head.

Nothing happened. The pain came again, almost blinding him, and he cried out. He felt Chardyn take his hand and lift it to the jade tear-drop. 'Hold to it,' said the priest. 'And think of Zarea.'

l love you, Papa!

From deep below the pain came a rush of emotion, swamping Aric's mind. He felt again his daughter's arms around his neck, her soft hair rubbing on his cheek. For a moment pure joy filled him. Then he saw himself standing by the little girl's bed, revelling in the theft of her life force. He cried out and began to sob. Lalitia and Chardyn sat silently as the nobleman wept. Slowly the sobbing faded away. Aric gave a groan and snatched up the dagger, turning the point towards his own throat.

Chardyn's hand swept up, grabbing Aric's wrist. 'No!' shouted the priest. 'Not this way, Aric! You were weak, yes, to desire such gifts. But you did not kill your woman. Not the real you. You were under a spell. Don't you see? They used you.'

'I stood and laughed as Aldania died,' said Aric, his voice trembling. 'I joyed in the butchery. And I killed Rena and Zarea.'

'Not you, Aric,' repeated Chardyn. 'The magicker is the real evil. Put down the dagger, and help us find a way to destroy him.'

Aric relaxed and Chardyn released his hand. The lord of Kilraith rose slowly to his feet and turned to Lalitia. 'I am so sorry, Red,' he told her. 'At least I can apologize to you. I can never ask forgiveness from the others.' He swung to Chardyn. 'I thank you, priest, for returning to me that which was stolen from me. I cannot help you, though. The guilt is too great.' Chardyn was about to speak, but Aric held up his hand. 'I hear what you say about Eldicar, and there is truth in it. But I made the choice. I allowed him to kill a man to feed my vanity. Had I been stronger my Rena and little Zarea would still be alive. I cannot live like this.'

Moving past them he went to the door and opened it. Without a backward glance he strolled out into the night. Climbing into his carriage he bade the driver take him to Willow Lake.

Once there he dismissed the man and walked past the deserted villa and out to the moonlit shores. He sat down by the jetty, and pictured again the glorious day when he and his daughter had laughed and played in the sunshine.

Then he cut his throat.

Lord Panagyn had always believed himself immune to fear. He had fought battles and faced enemies all his adult life. Fear was for lesser men. Thus it was that he did not at first recognize the trembling in his belly, or the first tugs of panic pulling at his mind.

He ran headlong through the forest, his arms thrashing aside the overhanging vegetation, ignoring the twigs and thin branches that snapped back against his face. He stopped by a gnarled oak to catch his breath. Sweat had soaked his face, and his close-cropped iron-grey hair lay damp against his skull. Looking around he was no longer sure where he was in relation to the trail. But that did not matter now. Staying alive was all that counted. Unused to running, his legs were cramped and painful, and he sank to his haunches. His scabbard caught against a tree root, ramming the hilt of his cavalry sabre against his ribs. Panagyn grunted with pain, and shifted to his left, lifting the scabbard clear.

A cool breeze filtered through the trees. He wondered if any of his men had survived. He had seen some of them run, throwing aside their crossbows and trying to make it back to the cliffs. Surely Waylander could not have killed them all! It was not humanly possible. One man could not slay twelve skilled fighting men!