David Gemmell - Waylander II - In The Realm of the Wolf

'The Sathuli are fine fighters, and they don't like strangers,' Senta pointed out.

'I've been through before. To kill me they have to catch me.'

'You intend going alone?' asked Miriel softly.

'It is best,' he replied. 'You and the others make for Delnoch. I will find you beyond the mountains.'

'No. We should be together. My Talents can keep us safe.'

"There's truth in that,' Angel observed.

'Perhaps there is,' agreed Waylander, 'but against that, five riders raise more dust than one. Five horses make more noise than one. The high passes exaggerate every sound. A falling stone can sometimes be heard half a mile away. No. I go alone.' Miriel started to speak, but he touched a finger to her lips. 'No more argument, Miriel,' he said with a smile. 'I have hunted alone for more than half my life. I am at my strongest alone. Go to Delnoch, and once through the fortress head due north. I will find you.'

'I will be with you,' she whispered, leaning in close and kissing his cheek.

'Always,' he agreed.

Moving to his mount, Waylander swung into the saddle and touched heels to the gelding's side. The hound loped alongside as the black-garbed rider crested the hill. The lancers were tiny dots in the distance now and Waylander gave them not a moment of thought as he angled towards the rearing Delnoch peaks.

Alone.

His spirits soared. Much as he loved Miriel he felt a great release, a sense of freedom from the burdens of company. Glancing down at the hound he chuckled. 'Not entirely alone, eh Scar?' The dog cocked its head to one side and ran on, sniffing at the ground, seeking rabbit spoor. Waylander drew in a deep breath. The air was fresh and cold, blowing down from the snow-topped peaks. The Sathuli would be building their winter stores now, their thoughts far from raiding and war. With skill, and a little luck, he should be able to ride the high passes and the echo-haunted canyons without their knowledge.

A little luck? He thought of the route ahead – the narrow, ice-covered trails, the treacherous slopes, the frozen streams, the realms of the wolf, the bear and the mountain lion.

Fear touched him – and he laughed aloud. For with the onset of fear he felt the pounding of his heart, the rushing of blood in vein and muscle, the strength in his arms and torso. Right or wrong he knew this was what he had been born for, the lonely ride into danger, enemies all around. For what was fear if not the wine of life, and the taste of it thrilled him anew.

I have been dead these last five years, he realised. A walking corpse, though I did not know it. He thought of Danyal, and found himself remembering the joys of their life, without the sharp, jagged bitterness at her passing. The mountains loomed, grey and threatening.

And the man rode on.

Miriel sat silently in the garden of the tavern staring down over the colossal walls of Dros Delnoch. The journey to the fortress had passed without incident, save for the bicker­ing between Angel and Belash. At first Miriel found it hard to understand the hatred festering within the gladiator, then she used her Talent. She shivered at the memory, and switched her line of thought. Her father would now be travelling through the lands of the Sathuli. A fiercely independent people, they had crossed the sea from the deserts of Ventria three hundred years before, settling in the Delnoch mountains. She knew little of their history, save that they believed in the words of an ancient prophet, and were persecuted for their beliefs in their home country. They were a solitary race, hardy and ferocious in battle, and permanently at war with the Drenai.

She sighed. Waylander would not cross their lands without a fight, she knew, and she prayed he would come through safely.

Behind the three tavern buildings, the ancient keep reared between the narrows of the Delnoch Pass. Impres­sive and strong, the keep was dwarfed by the new fortress which now filled the valley. Miriel scanned the immense structure, with its crenellated battlements of reinforced granite, its massive gate-towers and turrets.

'They call it Egel's Folly,' said Angel, moving alongside her and handing her a goblet of watered wine. Senta and Belash followed him from the tavern and sat on the grass with Miriel. 'Each of the walls is more than sixty feet high, and the barracks can accommodate thirty thousand men. Some of them have never been used. Never will be.'

'I have never seen anything like it,' she whispered. The sentries on the first wall seem as small as insects from here.'

'A magnificent waste of money,' said Senta. 'Twenty thousand labourers, a thousand stone-masons, fifty architects, hundreds of carpenters. And all built for a dream.'

'A dream?' inquired Miriel.

Senta chuckled and turned to Belash. 'Yes. Egel said he saw a vision of Belash and a few of his brothers – a veritable ocean of warriors gathering against the Drenai. Hence this monstrosity.'

'It was built to keep out the Nadir?' asked Miriel, disbelieving.

'Indeed it was, Miriel,' said Senta. 'Six walls and a keep. The largest fortress in the world, to thwart the smallest enemy. For not one Nadir tribe numbers more than a thousand warriors.'

'But there are more than a thousand tribes,' pointed out Belash. 'The Uniter will bring them all together. One people. One king.'

'Such are the dreams of all poor peoples,' said Senta. 'The Nadir will never unite. They hate each other as much – if not more – than they hate us. They are always at war. And they take no prisoners.'

'That's not true,' hissed Angel. 'They do take prisoners – and then they torture them to death. Men, women and children. They are the most despicable race.'

'No true Nadir would torture children,' said Belash, his dark eyes angry. 'They are killed swiftly.'

'I know what I saw!' snapped Angel. 'And do not think to call me a liar!'

Belash's hand moved to his knife. Angel's fingers curled around the hilt of his sword. Miriel stepped between them. 'We will not fight amongst ourselves,' she said, laying her hand on Angel's arm. 'There is evil in all races, but only a foolish man condemns an entire people.'

'You did not see what I saw!' he told her.

'But I have seen it,' she said softly. 'The overturned wagons, the looting and the deaths. And I can see your father with his arm around you, holding his cloak before your eyes. It was an evil day, Angel, but you must let it go. The memory is poisoning you.'

'Stay out of my head!' he roared suddenly, pulling back from her and striding towards the tavern.

'He carries demons in his soul,' said Belash.

'We all carry them,' added Senta.

Miriel sighed. 'He was only nine years old when he saw the attack, and the screams have been with him ever since. But he no longer sees the truth – perhaps he never did. His father's cloak blocked the most savage of the sights, and he does not remember that there were others in the attack who were not Nadir. They wore dark cloaks, and their weapons were of blackened steel.'

'Knights of Blood,' said Belash.

Miriel nodded. 'I believe so.'

Belash rose. 'I shall stroll and look at this fortress. I wish to see these walls my people inspired.'

He wandered away and Senta moved alongside Miriel. 'It is nice to be alone,' he said.

'You are picturing me on a bed covered with sheets of satin. It does not please me.'

He grinned. 'It is not courteous to read a man's thoughts.'

'It does not concern you that I know what you are thinking?'

'Not at all. There is nothing to shame me. You are a beautiful woman. No man could sit with you for long without thinking of satin sheets, or soft grass, or summer hay.'

'There is more to life than rutting!' she told him, aware that she was blushing.