David Gemmell: Waylander

'There's a man coming to see you, Waylander,' said Krylla, curing her arms around his neck.

'How do you know?'

'He told me; he said he would join us for supper.'

'When did you see him?'

'A little while ago. I was nearly asleep and Danyal was holding me and I must have drifted. The man said he would see you tonight.'

'Was he a nice man?' asked Waylander.

'His eyes were on fire,' said Krylla.

Waylander lit a small fire in a circle of stones, then walked out on to the plain to see if the glare could be spotted. Satisfied that the campsite was hidden, he made his way slowly through the long grass towards the hollow.

A cloud drifted across the moon and the plain was plunged into darkness. Waylander froze. A whisper of movement to his right saw him drop to the ground, knife in hand.

'Get up, my son,' came a voice from beside him.

Waylander rolled left and came up on one knee, knife extended. 'You will not need your weapon. I am alone and very old.'

Waylander eased his way back along the trail and edged to the right.

'You are a cautious man,' said the voice. 'Very well, I will go on and meet you by your fire.'

The cloud passed and silver light bathed the plain. Waylander straightened. He was alone. Swiftly he scouted the area. Nothing. He returned to the fire.

Sitting beside it with hands outstretched to the warmth was an old man. Krylla and Miriel were sitting beside him, Dardalion and Danyal opposite.

Waylander approached cautiously and the man did not look up. He was bald and beardless and the skin of his face hung in slender folds. Waylander guessed from the width of his shoulders that he had once been very strong. Now he was skeletal and his eyelids were flat against the sockets.

A blind man!

'Why doesn't your face fit?' said Miriel.

'It did once,' said the old man. 'I was considered handsome in my youth, when my hair was golden and my eyes emerald green.'

'You look awful now,' said Krylla.

'I am sure that I do! Thankfully I can no longer see myself and therefore am spared great disappointment. Ah, the Wanderer returns,' said the old man, tilting his head.

'Who are you?' asked Waylander.

'A traveller like yourself.'

'You travel alone?'

'Yes … but not as alone as you.'

'Are you the mystic who spoke to Krylla?'

'I had that honour – and a delightful child she is. Very gifted for one so young. She tells me that you are a saviour, a great hero.'

'She sees with the eye of a child. All is not always as it seems,' said Waylander.

'Children see many things we no longer see. If we did, would we wage war so terribly?'

'Are you a priest, man? I've had my damned fill of priests,' snapped Waylander.

'No. I am merely a student of life. I would like to have been a priest, but I fear my appetites always had the better of me. I could never resist a pretty face or a fine wine. Now that I am old I wish for other delights, but even these are now denied me.'

'How did you find us?'

'Krylla showed me the way.'

'And I suppose you would like to travel with us?'

The man smiled. 'Would that I could! No, I shall bide with you tonight, and then I must embark on another journey.'

'We do not have much food,' said Waylander.

'But you are welcome to what we have,' said Dardalion, moving to sit beside the old man.

'I am not hungry, but thank you. You are the priest?'

'Yes.'

The old man reached out and touched the hilt of Dardalion's dagger. 'An unusual object for a priest to carry?'

'These are unusual days,' answered Dardalion, his face flushing.

'They must be.' He turned his head towards Waylander. 'I cannot see you, but I feel your power. And also your anger. Are you angry with me?'

'Not yet,' said Waylander, 'but I am wondering when you will arrive at the point of your visit.'

'You think I have some ulterior motive?'

'Not at all,' said Waylander drily. 'A blind man invites himself to supper through the mystic talents of a frightened child and finds our fire in the middle of a veritable wilderness. What could be more natural? Who are you and what do you want?'

'Do you always have to be so loathsome?' said Danyal. 'I don't care who he is, he's welcome. Or perhaps you'd like to kill him? After all, you haven't killed anyone for a couple of hours.'

'Gods, woman, your prattle turns my stomach,' snarled the warrior. 'What do you want from me? So the boy died. That's what happens in wars … people die . And before you let fly with your viper responses, remind yourself of this: when I shouted to get down I see you managed to save yourself. Perhaps if you had thought about the boy, he wouldn't have had an arrow in his guts.'

'That's not fair!' she shouted.

'Life is like that.' He swept up his blankets and walked away from the group, his heart pounding as rage threatened to engulf him. He strode to the top of the rise and stared out over the plain. Somewhere out there were riders hunting him. They could not allow him to live. For if they failed in their quest their own lives would be forfeit. And here was Waylander trapped by a priest and a woman – caught like a monkey in a net while the lions moved in.

Folly. Sheer folly.

He should never have accepted a contract from that Vagrian serpent, Kaem. The man's name was a byword for treachery: Kaem the Cruel, Kaem the Killer of Nations – the web-weaver at the centre of the Vagrian army.

All of Waylander's instincts had screamed at him to spurn Kaem's contract, but he had ignored them. Now the Vagrian general would have sent out groups of assassins in every direction; they would know he had not headed south or west, and the ports to the east would be closed to him. Only the north beckoned – and the killers would be watching all paths to Skultik.

Waylander cursed softly. Kaem had offered 24,000 gold pieces for the contract and, as a gesture of faith, had lodged half of the amount in Waylander's name with Cheros, the main banker in Gulgothir. Waylander had completed the contract with his customary skill, though his memory burned with the shame of it. Seeing again the arrow in flight, he squeezed shut his eyes …

The night was cool, the stars gleaming like spear-points. Waylander stretched, forcing his mind to the present, but his victim's face returned again and again … a gentle face, haunted by failure … soft eyes and a kind smile. He had been stooping to pick a flower when Waylander's bolt pierced his back …

'No!' shouted Waylander, sitting upright, his hand lashing out as if to drive the memory from him. Think of something else … anything else!

After the kill he had slipped away to the east, for the journey to Vagria and the promise of Kaem's gold. While on the road he met a merchant travelling from the north who told him in conversation of the death of Cheros the Banker. Three assassins had killed him at his home and made off with a fortune in gold and gems.

Waylander had known then that he was betrayed, but some instinct – some inner compulsion – drove him on. He had arrived at Kaem's palace and scaled a high garden wall. Once inside, he killed two guard dogs and entered the main building. Locating Kaem's room had posed a problem, but he woke a serving girl and forced her at knifepoint to lead him to the general's bedchamber. Kaem was asleep in his apartments on the third floor of the palace. Waylander struck the girl on the neck, catching her as she fell and lowering her to a white fur rug on the floor. Then he went to the bed and touched his knife to Kaem's throat. The general's eyes flared open.

'Could you have not come at a more reasonable hour?' he had asked smoothly.

Waylander's knife pressed forward a fraction of an inch and blood seeped from the cut as Kaem stared into the dark eyes above him.