David Gemmell - Waylander

'Where are you?'

'I am at Dros Purdol, but the situation here is desperate and we are mere days from destruction. There are fewer than six hundred men to hold the fortress and we have barricaded ourselves within the Keep. The food is almost gone and the water is stale.'

'What can I do?

'Wait at the ferry. May the Source bless you, Danyal.'

'And you, priest.'

'Priest no longer. The war has come to me and I have killed.'

'We are all sullied, Dardalion.'

'Yes. But the end is very near – then I shall know.'

'What will you know?'

'Whether I was right. I must go now. Wait at the ferry!'

Danyal and Kai found the crossing at dusk the following day. There was no sign of life and the ferry itself was moored on the far side of the river. Danyal unsaddled her horse and Kai carried the bulging pack containing the Armour into a small hut. She prepared a fire and some food, averting her eyes as Kai ate, spooning the oats into his mouth with his fingers.

She slept in a narrow bed while the monster sat, cross-legged before the fire.

Just after dawn she awoke to find herself alone.

After a breakfast of dried fruit she wandered to the river and washed, removing her tunic and wading naked into the waist-deep water by the bank. The current was swift and she had difficulty in keeping her feet. After several minutes she returned to the shore and washed the tunic as best she could, beating it against a rock to dislodge the grit of travel.

Two men rose from the bushes to her left. Rolling to the right she scooped her sword into her hand, hurling aside the scabbard.

'She's feisty,' said the first man, a short stout warrior wearing a brown leather jerkin and carrying a curved dagger. As he grinned at her, she saw he had lost his front two teeth; he was unshaven and dirty, as was his companion – a thickset man with a drooping moustache.

'Will you look at her!' said the first man. 'The body of an angel.'

'I'm looking,' said the second, grinning.

'You geldings never seen a woman before?' asked Danyal.

'Geldings? We'll show you who's a gelding,' snarled the gap-toothed warrior.

'You gutless dung-eater! You'll show me nothing but your entrails.'

Her sword came up and the men backed away.

'Take her, Gael!' ordered Gap-tooth. 'Take the sword away.'

'You take it.'

'You frightened?'

'No more than you.'

As they argued the immense figure of Kai rose behind them, his hands reaching out. His palms slammed their heads together with a sickening crack and both men slid to the ground. Kai leaned over to grab Gap-tooth's belt and with a casual flick of his arm he hurled the unconscious man far out into the river. His companion followed and both sank from sight.

Kai ambled forward. 'Bad.' he said, shaking his head.

'Not any more,' said Danyal, 'but I could have handled it.'

That night as Danyal was carrying wood into the hut, her foot crashed through a rotted floorboard and the flesh of her leg was deeply gashed. Limping into the hut she began to bathe the wound, but Kai knelt by her and covered the place with his hand. Pain lanced her leg and she struggled to pull clear of his grasp. But the pain passed, and when he released her the wound had vanished.

'Gone!' he said, his head tilting to one side. Carefully she probed the leg; the skin was unbroken.

'How did you do that?'

He lifted his hand and pointed to the palm.

'Vrend,' he said. Then he tapped his shoulder and hip. 'Aynander.'

But she could not understand him.

A troop of Legion riders reached the opposite bank at noon the next day, and Danyal watched as they hauled the ferry across the river. She turned to Kai.

'You must go,' she said. 'They will not understand you.'

He reached out and lightly touched her arm. 'Urbye Anyal.'

'Goodbye, Kai. Thank you.'

He walked to the edge of the trees and turned as the ferry was docking, pointing north. 'Aynander,' he called and she waved and turned to the officer approaching her.

'You are Danyal?' he asked.

'Yes. The Armour is in the hut.'

'Who was the big man with the mask?'

'A friend, a good friend.'

'I wouldn't like anyone that big for an enemy.' He was a handsome young man with an easy smile and she followed him to the ferry. With the Armour aboard she sat back, relaxing for the first time in days. Then a sudden thought struck her and she ran to the rear of the ferry.

'Kai!' she shouted. 'Kai!'

But the forest was silent, the giant gone.

Aynander! Waylander.

The giant had cured him. That's what he had been trying to tell her.

Waylander was alive!

The Keep held the enemy at bay for five days before the bronze-headed battering ram finally cracked the timbers of the gates. Soldiers swarmed forward, tearing at the wood with axe and hook, ripping wide a gaping entrance to the Keep itself.

Beyond the gates, in the portcullis archway, Sarvaj waited with fifty swordsmen and a score of archers. The last of the arrows lay before the kneeling bowmen, and these they loosed as the gates opened and the Vagrians filled the breach. The enemy front line fell as the shafts sliced home, but more warriors pushed forward with shields held high. The bowmen retired and Sarvaj led his swordsmen in a wild charge, blades flashing in the light streaming from the ruined gates.

The two groups crashed together, shield on shield, and for almost a minute the Vagrians gave way. Then their greater numbers began to push the Drenai back across the blood-covered cobblestones of the archway.

Sarvaj hacked and thrust his sword into the sea of bodies before him, his senses dulled by the screams and war-cries echoing alongside the clanging crash of sword and shield. A dagger rammed into his thigh and he chopped his sword across the neck of the wielder, watching him fall beneath the booted feet of his comrades. Sarvaj and a dozen others cut their way clear of the skirmish and tried to close the doors of the great Hall. More Drenai warriors ran from the battlements to aid them, but the Vagrians were too powerful and the Drenai were forced back into the Hall itself. There the enemy swarmed around the battling defenders, taunting them with their defeat. The Drenai formed a fighting circle and stood their ground, grim-eyed.

A Vagrian officer entered the hall and pointed at Sarvaj.

'Surrender now,' he said. 'It is over.'

Sarvaj glanced at the men around him. Fewer than twenty remained.

'Anyone feel like surrendering?' he asked.

'To that rabble?' replied one of the men.

The Vagrian waved his men forward.

Sarvaj stepped back as a warrior rushed at him, ducking under the sweeping blade to thrust his own sword into the man's groin, dragging it clear as a second warrior bore down on him. He parried a wild cut, then staggered as a lance clanged against his breastplate. A sword cut into his face and he fell, and rolled. Even then he stabbed upwards and a man screamed. But several warriors surrounded him, stabbing at his face again and again.

There was no pain, he realised, as his lifeblood rose up and choked him.

On the battlements above, Jonat – helmet gone, sword dulled – watched helplessly as the Vagrians swept over the ramparts. A warrior ran at him; he parried the blade and sent a dazzling riposte ripping through his throat. Dropping his sword, Jonat swept up the man's sabre and tested the edge. It was still keen and he grinned.

Drenai warriors backed away from the advancing enemy and fought a steady retreat down the winding stairwell to the next floor. From below Jonat could hear the sounds of battle and knew in that moment that the siege was over. Anger rose in him, and all the bitterness of his twenty-seven years washed over him. No one had ever listened. From the moment when, as a child, he had begged for his father's life, no one had ever really listened. Now was the final humiliation – to die in a lost war a mere five days after his greatest promotion. Had they won, Jonat would have been hailed as a hero and become one of the youngest First Dun officers in the Legion. In ten years he could have been a general