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

Altharin sighed. Tomorrow the Brotherhood would arrive, and his every move would be watched and reported back, his actions questioned, his strategies derided. I cannot win here, he thought.

The tent-flap opened and Powis ducked into the interior. 'You called for me, sir?'

Altharin nodded. 'You have gathered the reports?'

'Not quite all of them, sir,' answered the young man. 'Bernas is with the surgeons. He has a nasty wound to his face and shoulder. And Gallis is still on the peak, trying to force a path through from the north.'

'What have you learned from the others?'

'Well, sir, we have found only three routes through to the interior. All are defended by archers and swordsmen. The first is narrow and the men can move only two abreast. This makes them easy targets, not just for arrows, but rocks hurled from above. The second is some three hundred paces north. It is fairly wide, but the Nadir have moved rocks and boulders across it, making a rough, but effective wall. We lost fourteen men there this morning. The last route is the one Gallis is trying to force. He has three hundred men with him. I don't know yet what success he has enjoyed.'

'Numbers?' snapped Altharin.

'Twenty-one killed today, slightly more than forty wounded.'

'Enemy losses?'

'Difficult to say, sir.' The young man shrugged. 'Men tend to exaggerate such matters. They claim to have killed a hundred Nadir. I would guess the figure is less than half, perhaps a quarter of that.'

The manservant, Becca, ducked inside the tent and bowed. 'The Lord Gallis is returning, sir.'

'Send him to me,' ordered Altharin.

Moments later a tall, wide-shouldered man entered. He was around forty years of age, dark-eyed and black-bearded. His face was streaked with sweat and smeared with black, volcanic dust. His grey cloak was slashed and grime-covered, and there were several dents in his em­bossed iron breastplate.

'Make your report, Cousin,' said Altharin.

Gallis cleared his throat, removed his white plumed iron helm, and moved to the folding table on which sat a wine jug and several goblets of copper and silver. 'With your permission?' he croaked.

'Of course.'

The officer filled a goblet and drained it at a single swallow. "The cursed dust is everywhere,' he said. He took a deep breath. 'We lost forty-four men. The pass is narrow at the base, flaring out above. We forced our way some two hundred paces towards their camp.' He rubbed at his eyes, smearing black ash across his brow. 'Resistance was strong, but I thought we would get through.' He shook his head. 'Then, at the narrowest point, the renegades struck.'

'Renegades?' queried Altharin.

'Aye, Cousin. Drenai or Gothir traitors. Two swords­men, unbelievably skilful. Behind them, above and to the right, was a young woman with a bow. She was dressed in black. Every arrow found its mark. Between her and the swordsmen I lost fifteen men in that one place. And high above us, on both sides, the Nadir sent rocks and boulders down upon us. I ordered the men to pull back, to prepare for a second thrust. Then Jarvik lost his temper and ran at the swordsmen, challenging them. I tried to stop him.' Gallis shrugged.

'They killed him?'

'Yes, Cousin. But I wish they had shot him. As it was one of the swordsmen, the ugliest fellow I've ever seen, stepped out and accepted his challenge.'

'You're not telling me he defeated Jarvik in single combat?'

'That's exactly what I am saying, Cousin. Jarvik cut him, but the man was unstoppable.'

'I can't believe it!' said Powis, stepping forward. 'Jarvik won the Silver Sabre contest last spring.'

'Believe it, boy,' snapped Gallis. Turning to Altharin the officer shook his head once more. 'No one was in a mood to continue the attack after that. I left a hundred men to hold the position and brought the rest back.'

Altharin swore, then moved to a second folding table on which maps were spread. 'This is largely unexplored territory,' he said, 'but we do know there are few sources of food within the mountains – especially in winter.

'Normally we would starve them out, but that is not what the Emperor has ordered. Suggestions, gentlemen?'

Gallis shrugged. 'We have the numbers to eventually wear them down. We must just keep attacking on all three fronts. Eventually we must break through.'

'How many will we lose?' asked Altharin.

'Hundreds,' admitted Gallis.

'And how will that look back in Gulgothir? The Emperor sees this as a short, punitive raid. And we all know who arrives tomorrow.'

'Send the Brotherhood in when they get here,' said Gallis. 'Let's see how far their sorcery will carry them.'

'I have no control over the Brotherhood, more's the pity. What I do know, however, is that our reputations and our futures are in the balance here.'

'I agree with that, Cousin. I'll order the attacks to continue throughout the night.'

'Stop grumbling,' said Senta, as the curved needle once more pricked under the flesh of Angel's shoulder, bringing together the flaps of the wound.

'You are enjoying this, you bastard!' retorted Angel.

'How cruel!' Senta chuckled. 'But fancy letting a Gothir farmboy fool you with a riposte counter.'

'He was good, damn you!'

'He moved with all the grace of a sick cow. You should be ashamed of yourself, old man.' Senta completed the last of ten stitches, and bit off the twine. 'There. Better than new.'

Angel glanced down at the puckered wound. 'You should have been a seamstress,' he muttered.

'Just one of my many talents,' replied Senta, rising and moving out of the cave and staring down over the mountainside. From the cave mouth he could hear the distant screams of wounded men, the echoing clash of war. The stars were bright in a clear sky and a cold wind was hissing over the peaks and crags. 'We can't hold this place,' he said, as Angel moved alongside him.

'We're doing well enough so far.'

Senta nodded. 'There are too many of them, Angel. And the Nadir are relying on the wall across the centre pass. Once the soldiers breach that. . .'He spread his hands.

Two Nadir women made their way across the open ground bearing bowls of clotted cheese. They stopped before the Drenai warriors, eyes averted, and laid the bowls on the ground before them, departing as silently as they had come.

'Really welcome here, aren't we?' observed Senta.

Angel shrugged. There were more than a hundred tents dotted around the giant crater and from the high cave the two men could see Nadir children playing in the moonlight, running and sending up clouds of black, volcanic dust. To the left a line of women were moving into the deep caves carrying wooden buckets, gathering water from artesian wells deep below the mountains.

'Where tomorrow?' asked Angel, sitting down with his back to the rocks.

'The wall, I think,' said Senta. 'The other two passes are easily defended. They'll come at the wall.' A shadow moved to the right. Senta chuckled. 'He's back, Angel.'

The gladiator swore and glanced around. A small boy of around nine years of age was squatting on his haunches watching them. 'Go away!' roared Angel, but the child ignored him. 'I hate the way he just stares,' snapped Angel. The boy was thin, almost skeletal, his clothes threadbare. He wore an old goatskin tunic from which most of the hair had long since vanished, and a pair of dark leggings, torn at the knees and frayed at the waist. His eyes were slanted and black, and they stared unblinkingly at the two men. Angel tried to ignore him. Lifting the bowl of cheese he dipped his fingers into the congealed mass and ate. 'Horse droppings would taste better than this,' he said.

'It is an acquired taste,' agreed Senta.

'Damned if I can eat it.' He swung to the boy. 'You want some?' He did not move. Angel offered him the bowl. The child licked his lips, but remained where he was. Angel shook his head. 'What does he want?' he asked, placing the bowl on the ground.