David Gemmell - Waylander

An officer stepped out of the darkness.

'Where are you going?' he asked Gellan.

'None of your damned business,' he replied, recognising the rank of the man by the bronze bars on his epaulettes.

'Just a moment,' said the officer in a more conciliatory manner, 'but I have been told no one is to enter the eastern quarter without authorisation.

'Well, since we are due to be guarding the docks, I would appreciate you telling me how we can accomplish that without being there.'

'Third wing are on dock duty,' said the man. 'I have it written down.'

'Fine,' said Gellan. 'In that case I shall ignore the First General's instructions and take my men back for some rest. But in case he asks me why I did so what is your name?'

'Antasy, sixth wing,' replied the officer, snapping to attention, 'But I'm sure it won't be necessary to mention my name. Obviously there's been an error in the orders.'

'Obviously,' agreed Gellan, swinging away from him. 'Forward!'

As the men trooped wearily past the officer and on through the winding streets of the dockside, Jonat moved up alongside Gellan.

'Now comes the difficult part,' he said softly.

'Indeed it does.'

Ahead of them a party of six soldiers was stationed at the front of a wooden warehouse. Two were sitting on empty boxes while the other four were playing dice.

'On your feet!' bellowed Gellan. 'Who is in charge here?'

A red-faced young warrior ran forward, dropping the dice into a pouch at his side.

'I am, sir.'

'What is the meaning of this?'

'I'm sorry, sir. It was just … we were bored, sir.'

'Little chance of worrying about boredom with a hundred stripes on your back, boy!'

'No, sir.'

'You are not from my wing, and I do not intend getting involved with endless bickering and bureacracy. Therefore I shall overlook your negligence. Tell me, are your friends at the back also engaged in dice?'

'I don't know, sir.'

'How many men are there?'

Ten, sir.'

'When are you due for relief?'

The man glanced at the sky. 'Two hours, sir.'

'Very well. Open the warehouse.'

'I beg your pardon, sir?'

'Are you hard of hearing as well as negligent?'

'No, sir. It is just that we have no key.'

'You mean the key has not been sent?'

'What do you mean, sir?'

'The First General,' said Gellan, slowly and with infinite patience, 'has ordered us to transfer certain goods from this warehouse to his quarters. Your second officer … what is his name?'

'Erthold, sir.'

'Yes – Erthold – was due to meet me here, or to leave the key. Where is he?'

'Well...

'Well what?'

'He is asleep, sir.'

'Asleep,' said Gellan. 'Why did I not consider such a possibility? A group of men lounging while on duty. Playing dice, no less, so that a hundred armed men could march up without being seen. Where else would the officer be but asleep? Jonat!'

'Yes, sir.'

'Be so good as to break open the door.'

'Yes, sir,' said Jonat joyously as with two other soldiers he ran forward. Within seconds they had splintered the side door, entered the building, lifted the bar of the main doors and pushed them wide.

Gellan waved his troops forward and the men surged into the warehouse.

'Erthold will be furious, sir,' said the soldier. 'Should I send someone to wake him?'

'As you please,' replied Gellan, smiling. 'But he might ask who gave permission for the man to leave his post. Is that your role?

'You think it would be best not to disturb him?' asked the man.

'I leave that to you.'

'It would probably be best,' said the soldier, looking to Gellan for signs of approval. Gellan walked away from him, but turned as he heard the pounding of running feet. Ten men were sprinting from the rear of the warehouse with swords in hand.

They saw Gellan and halted. Three men saluted nervously and the others followed suit.

'Get back to your posts,' ordered Gellan.

The men glanced at their leader, who shrugged and waveed them away.

'I'm sorry about all this, sir,' he said, 'but I am grateful to you for not taking us to task over the dice.'

'I have played on duty myself from time to time,' said Gellan.

The Drenai, heavily laden, began to leave the warehouse. Jonat supervised the food-gathering, making sure that only dried food was taken: flour, dried fruit, jerked meat, oats and salt.

He had also found a small medical store at the back and had packed three pouches of herbs he felt sure Evris would find useful.

Closing the great doors and replacing the bar, he was the last to leave. The men were standing in marching file, bulging packs upon their shoulders.

Jonat approached the sentry leader.

'I don't want anyone entering the warehouse, despite the broken door. If one drop of that spirit is consumed, there'll be trouble!' He winked broadly.

The man saluted and Gellan led the men back towards the Vagrian camp.

The column wound through deserted streets, on past the tents and the sentries, and out on to the broken ground before the fortress. There, glancing to his right, Gellan saw a sight that froze his blood.

In a dip beyond a row of houses hidden from the fort, three great machines were under construction. He had seen them in use while on a visit to Ventria. They were ballistae, great catapults capable of hurling huge rocks against a castle wall. The carnage would be intolerable once these were completed. The parts must have been sent from Vagria, round the Lentrian Horn, to be assembled here. He tapped Jonat on the shoulder and pointed to the work being undertaken by lantern light.

Jonat swore, then looked into Gellan's face. 'You are not thinking … ?'

'Take the men back to Purdol, Jonat. I'll see you later.'

'You can't...

'No arguments. Get moving!'

Dardalion returned to the fortress and his sleeping body. His eyes flickered open and he swung his legs from the bed. Sadness engulfed him and he covered his face with his hands and wept.

He had watched Waylander's dying body being hauled into the mountain and had sensed the hunger of the mountain dwellers.

Astila entered the room silently and sat beside the weeping priest.

'Waylander is dead,' Dardalion told him.

'He was your friend,' said Astila. 'I am so sorry.'

'I do not know how friendship is judged under such circumstances. We were comrades, I suppose. He gave me new life, new purpose. From his gift of blood came The Thirty.'

'Did he fail in his quest?'

'Not yet. The Armour is safe at present, but a lone woman is carrying it across Nadir lands. I must reach her.'

'It is impossible, Dardalion.'

The warrior priest smiled suddenly. 'Everything we have attempted so far has seemed impossible at the outset.'

Astila closed his eyes. 'The men are coming back with food,' he said. 'Baynha reports there are no losses, but the officer has not yet returned.'

'Good. What of the Brotherhood?'

'There has been no attack tonight.'

'Are they marshalling their forces, or have we beaten them, I wonder?'

'I do not think they are beaten, Dardalion.'

'No,' said Dardalion sadly. That would be too much to hope for.'

Sensing that his leader wished to be alone, Astila left the room and Dardalion wandered to the high window to gaze out at the distant stars.

He felt a sense of calm as he looked into eternity, and Durmast's face loomed in his mind. He shook his head, remembering his own sense of shock as he had sped to Raboas anxious to observe Waylander. He had arrived to see the assassin being tortured and the giant Durmast confronting the Brotherhood.

With all his power, Dardalion had focused a shield over Durmast, blocking the mind spell of the man Tchard. But he could not prevent the terrible swords from plunging into the giant. He had listened as Waylander and Durmast spoke, and a great sorrow touched him as the giant talked.