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

Retrieving his bolts Waylander stripped the white robes from the first corpse and the burnoose from the second. Within moments he became a Sathuli warrior. Scar padded out and stood before him, head cocked to one side, nostrils quivering. 'It is still me,' said the man, kneeling down and extending his hand. Scar edged cautiously forward, sniffing at the outstretched fingers. Satisfied, the hound sat back on its haunches. Waylander patted its head.

'Time to move,' said the man. Reloading the crossbow he carefully traversed the slope.

By now the other hunters would have found where the tracks stopped, and they would be regrouping, rethinking their strategy. Then it would become apparent that two of their number were missing, and they would know Way­lander was behind them. They would have two choices: wait for him to come to them, or continue the hunt.

Waylander had fought the Sathuli before, both as a soldier leading troops, and as a lone traveller. They were a patient people, yet also ruthless and courageous. But he did not think they would wait for him. Trusting in the advantage of numbers they would set out to find their missing companions and then follow his tracks. Therefore, since he could not disguise his trail, he would have to render it useless to them.

Reaching the top of the slope he moved silently into the snow-shrouded pine wood. There were few sounds here, the gentle sighing of the mountain breeze, the occasional groaning of a branch weighed down with snow. Drawing in a deep breath he let it out slowly then rose, moving back towards the east in a wide circle until he came to the high point of the slope above where he had earlier lain in wait for the two Sathuli. Kneeling behind a boulder he gazed down to where the bodies lay. The corpses were still there, but had been turned to their backs, arms folded across their chest, their tulwars in their hands.

'Wait here, Scar,' he told the dog and moved to the edge of the slope. The hound trotted after him. Twice more he tried to make the dog obey. At last he gave up. 'You need training, you ugly whoreson!'

Carefully Waylander made his way down to the tree wall until he came to the tracks he had made not an hour before. They were overlaid now by the footprints of the hunters. Waylander smiled. The tracks now formed a great ring, with no beginning and no end. Calling the hound to him he knelt and, with a groan, lifted Scar to his shoulder. 'You are a troublesome ally, boy!' he said. Hauling himself to the tree wall he inched his way back along it, clambering down by the base of the largest fallen tree, where the snow-covered roots clawed uselessly at the sky. Here, his tracks hidden by thick bushes, he climbed back to the crest of the slope and settled down to wait.

It was nearing dusk when the first of the trackers came into sight. Waylander hunkered down behind a boulder and waited until he heard the men slithering down the slope. At the bottom, by the bodies, they began to argue among themselves. He could not follow the debate, but at least one of the men used the Sathuli word for circle. They were angry and tired, and one sat down on the tree wall, flinging down his bow.

Waylander watched them dispassionately. Once more they had two choices: either continue to follow the circle towards the south, or retrace their steps back up the slope. If they moved south he would chance the open valleys to Gothir lands.

If north he would have to kill them.

They talked on for almost an hour. The light was beginning to fail. The warrior who had flung down his bow cleared away a section of snow and built a fire. The others hunkered down around it. Once the flames were high they added wet pine needles to the blaze, a thick, oily smoke rising to the darkening sky.

Waylander cursed and eased back from the crest. 'They're calling for more help,' he told the uncomprehending hound. 'But from where – north or south? Or both?' Scar cocked his head and licked at Waylander's hand. 'We'll have to run for it, boy, and take our chances.'

Rising, he moved silently towards the south, the hound beside him.

'It makes no sense,' said Asten, his voice trembling despite his attempts to remain calm. Karnak chuckled and thumped the angry General on the shoulder. 'You worry too much, old lad. Look, the Gothir are ready to invade as soon as the Ventrians land. They are not going to risk attacking Delnoch – they've made a deal with the Sathuli Lord. Well, I can make deals too. And if we stop the Gothir then we can use all our forces against the Ventrians and crush them in a single battle.'

'That's all well and good, Karnak, but why does it have to be you that rides into Sathuli lands? It's madness!'

'Galen assures me we have safe conduct.'

'Pah!' sneered Asten. 'I wouldn't believe that walking snake if he told me the sun shines in the summer-time. Why can't you see it?'

'See what?' countered Karnak. 'See that you and he are not exactly bosom friends? It matters nothing. You are a fine leader of men, while his talent for duplicity and deceit is invaluable. I don't need my officers to like one another, Asten, but you carry your dislike to extremes that affect your judgement.'

Asten reddened, but took a deep breath before he replied. 'As you say, I am a good leader – no false modesty – but I am not, and never will be, a charismatic leader. I cannot raise morale to the heights you can. You are vital to us, and now you are planning to ride into Sathuli lands with a mere twenty men! They hate us, Karnak – you most of all. Before the Vagrian War you led two legions into their territory and crushed their army. Kashti's teeth, man, you killed the present lord's father!'

'Ancient history!' snapped Karnak. They are a warrior race. They understand the nature of battle.'

'The risk is too great,' said Asten wearily, knowing he had lost.

Karnak grinned. 'Risk? Gods, man, that's what I live for! To look into the eye of the beast, to feel its breath upon my face. What are we if we face no dangers? Frail flesh and bone to live and age and die. I'll ride into those mountains with my twenty men, I'll beard the Sathuli lord in his own den, and I'll win him over. The Gothir will not reach the Sentran Plain, and the Drenai will be secure. Isn't that a risk worth taking?'

'Aye,' stormed Asten. 'It's a risk I would willingly take. But then the Drenai can afford to lose old Asten, the farmer's son. There are many capable officers who could take his place. But who will take yours when the Sathuli betray you and nail your head to a palace post?'

Karnak was silent for a moment. 'If I do. . . die,' he said softly, 'you'll win for us, Asten. You're a survivor, old lad. The men know that.'

'Then know this, Karnak. If for any reason Galen comes back without you, I intend to cut his throat.'

Karnak chuckled. 'You do that,' he said, the smile fading. 'You do exactly that!'

Black and grey vultures, their bellies distended, hobbled on the plain. Some still squabbled over the carcasses that lay around the ruined tents. Crows had also gathered, and these darted in among the vultures, their sharp beaks pecking at unresisting flesh. Smoke spiralled lazily from the burning tents, creating a grey pall that hung over the scene of the massacre.

Angel guided his horse down on to the plain. The glutted vultures closest to the horsemen waddled away, the others ignoring the newcomers.

Belash and Shia rode alongside Angel. 'These were Green Monkey tribe,' said Belash. 'Not Wolves.' Vaulting from the saddle he moved among the bodies.

Angel did not dismount. To his left was a small circle of bodies, the men on the outside, women and children within. Obviously the last of the warriors had died defend­ing their families. One woman had covered her baby's body with her own, but the broken lance that jutted from her back had thrust through the infant she shielded.