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

'The powder is narcotic?' asked Miriel softly.

'Of course. It opens the window of worlds. Now listen to me, Drenai girl. You are brave, of that there is no question. But tomorrow the dead will walk again. Do you have the heart to face them?'

She licked her lips. 'I am here to help you,' she answered.

'Excellent. No false bravado. I will show you how to armour yourself. I will teach you to summon weapons as you need them. But the greatest weapon you possess is the courage in your heart. Let us hope that the Dragon Shadow has taught you well, for if he has not you will bed neither of those fine warriors. Your soul will wander the Grey Paths for eternity.'

'He taught me well,' said Miriel.

'We shall see.'

With the hound loping off ahead Waylander moved on to the boulder-strewn plain. There were few trees here, and the land sloped gently downward towards a white stone village by a river bank. A horse pasture was fenced off at the north of the village and to the south sheep grazed on the last of the autumn grass. It was a small settlement, built without walls, evidence of the longstanding agreement between Gothir and Sathuli. There were no raids here. It struck Waylander as strange that the Gothir could treat the Sathuli so well and the Nadir so badly. Both were nomadic tribes which had moved slowly down from the north and east. Both were warrior races, who worshipped different gods from the Gothir, and yet they were perceived as opposites. The Sathuli, in Gothir tales, were proud, intelligent and honourable. The Nadir, on the other hand, were seen as base, treacherous and cunning. All his adult life Waylander had moved among the tribes and could find no evidence to support the Gothir view.

Save, perhaps, for the sheer numbers of Nadir who roamed the steppes. The Sathuli posed no threat, whereas the Nadir, in their millions, were a future enemy to be feared.

He shrugged away such considerations and looked for the hound. It was nowhere to be seen. He stopped and scanned the slopes. There were many boulders and the dog was probably scratching at a rabbit burrow. Waylander smiled and walked on. It was cold, the weak sunshine unable to counter the biting wind. He pulled his fur-lined cloak more tightly around his shoulders.

The Sathuli would remember the chase as they sang the Songs of Passing over the hunters who would not return. He thought back to the boy who had first tried to ambush him, and was pleased that he had not killed him. As to the others, well, they had made their choices and he regretted their deaths not at all.

He could see people moving in the village below, a shepherd with a long crook striding up the hill, a dog at his side, several women at the main well, drawing buckets of cool water, children playing by the horse pasture fence. It was a peaceful scene.

He strode on, the path winding down between two huge boulders that jutted from the earth of the mountainside. In the distance a horse whinnied. He paused. The sound had come from the east. He turned and gazed up at the thin stand of trees on the slope. There were bushes growing there and he could not see a horse. Flicking back his cloak he lifted his crossbow, stringing it and sliding two bolts into place. There should be nothing to fear now, he chided himself. The Sathuli were unlikely to venture so far north. But he waited.

Where was Scar?

Moving forward more cautiously he approached the boulders. A figure stepped into sight, green cloak fluttering in the breeze, a bent bow in his hands. Waylander threw himself to the right as the arrow leapt from the string, slicing past his face. He struck the ground on his shoulder, the impact making his hand contract, loosing the bolts on the crossbow, which hammered into the soft earth of the slope. Rolling to his feet he drew his sabre.

The man in the green cloak hurled aside his bow, drawing his own blade. 'This is how it should be, sword to sword,' he said, smiling.

Waylander pulled free the thongs that held his cloak in place, allowing it to drop to the earth. 'You would be Morak,' he said softly.

'How gratifying to be recognised,' answered the swords­man, angling himself towards the waiting Waylander. 'I understand you are not at your best with a sabre, therefore I will give you a short lesson before killing you.'

Waylander leapt to the attack. Morak blocked and countered. The ringing of steel on steel echoed on the mountainside, the two sabres shining in the sunlight. Morak, in perfect balance fended off every attack, his blade licking out to open a shallow cut on Waylander's cheek. Waylander swayed back and sent a vicious slashing blow towards Morak's belly. The green-clad swordsman neatly sidestepped.

'I'd say you were better than average,' he told Way­lander. 'Your balance is good, but you are a little stiff in the lower back. It affects the lunge.'

Waylander's hand snapped forward, a black-bladed throwing knife flashing towards Morak's throat. The assassin's sabre swept up, deflecting the knife which clattered against one of the boulders. 'Very good,' said Morak. 'But you are dealing with a master now, Waylander.'

'Where is my dog?'

'Your dog? How touching! You stand at the point of death and you are concerned for a flea-bitten hound? I killed it, of course.'

Waylander said nothing. Backing away to more level ground he watched the swordsman follow. Morak was smiling now, but the smile did not reach the gleaming green eyes. 'I shall kill you with a remarkable lack of speed,' he said. 'A few cuts here and there. As the blood runs so your strength will fail. Do you think you will beg me for life?'

'I would doubt it,' said Waylander.

'All men beg, you know. Even the strongest. It depends only upon where the knife enters.' Morak leapt. Waylander's sabre parried the thrust, the blades clashing again and again. A second small cut appeared on Waylander's forearm. Morak laughed. 'There is no panic in you – not yet. I like that. What happened to that daughter of yours? By Heavens I'll yet enjoy her. Long legs, firm flesh. I'll make her squeal. Then I'll open her up from neck to belly!'

Waylander edged back and said nothing.

'Good! Good! I can't make you angry. That's rare! I shall enjoy finding your breaking point, Waylander. Will it come when I cut off your fingers? Or will it be when your manhood is sizzling on a fire?'

He lunged again, the blade slicing the leather of Waylander's tunic shirt just above the left hip. Waylander hurled himself forward, hammering his shoulder into the assassin's face. Morak fell awkwardly, but rolled to his feet before Waylander could bring his sword to bear. The blades clashed again. Waylander aimed a thrust at Morak's head, but the swordsman swayed aside, blocking the lunge and sending a riposte that flashed past Waylander's neck. Waylander backed away towards the boulders. Morak attacked, forcing his opponent further down the trail. Both men were sweating freely, despite the cold.

'You are game,' said Morak. 'I did not expect you to prove this resilient.'

Waylander lunged. Morak parried, then attacked in a bewildering series of thrusts and cuts that Waylander fought desperately to counter. Twice Morak's sabre pierced the upper chest of Waylander's tunic, the blade being turned aside by the chain-mail shoulder-guard. But the older man was tiring now, and Morak knew it. He stepped back. 'Would you like a little time to get your breath?' he asked, with a mocking grin.

'How did you find me?' said Waylander, grateful for the respite.

'I have friends among the Sathuli. After our . . . unfortunate . . . encounter back in the mountains I came here, seeking more warriors. I was with the Lord Sathuli when news of the hunt came in. The Lord Sathuli is most anxious to see you dead. He feels your journey across his lands is an insult to tribal pride. He would have sent more men – but he has other matters on his mind at the moment. Instead he paid me. By the way, would you like to know who hired the Guild to hunt you?'