Waylander II: In The Realm of the Wolf

'Have you ever had a woman?' she countered.

'No.'

'How does your Source feel about killing?'

He smiled ruefully. 'His priests are pledged to love all living things, and harm none.'

'So you have chosen to break one of His command­ments?'

'I believe that we have.'

'Is lovemaking a greater sin than killing?'

'Of course not.'

'And you still have your Talents?'

'Yes, I do.'

'Think on that, Ekodas,' she said, with a sweet smile. Then, spi

The deaths of Belash and Anshi Chen created a void in the battle leadership of the Nadir, and the mood in the fortress was sullen and fatalistic. Nadir wars were fought on horseback on the open steppes and despite the transient security offered by the warped citadel, they were ill at ease ma

They viewed the silver knights with disquiet, and rarely spoke to Senta or Miriel. But Angel was different. His transparent hostility towards them made him a force they could understand and feel at ease with. No patronising comments, no condescension. Mutual dislike and respect became the twin ties that allowed the remaining warriors to form a bond with the former gladiator.

He organised them into defence groups along the main wall, ordering them to gather rocks and broken masonry for hurling down on an advancing enemy. He chose leaders, issued orders, and lifted their spirits with casual insults and coarse humour. And his open contempt for the Gothir soldiers helped the tribesmen to overcome their own fears.

As the sun rose on the third day of the siege he gathered a small group of leaders around him and squatted down among them on the battlements. 'Now none of you beggars have ever seen a siege, so let me make it plain for you. They will carry forward stripped tree trunks as scaling ladders and lean them against the walls. Then they will climb the broken branches. Do not make the mistake of trying to push the ladders away from the wall. The weight of wood and armed men will make that impossible. Slide them left or right. Use the butt-end of your spears, or loop ropes over the top of the trunks. Unbalance them. Now we have around three hundred men to defend these walls, but we need a reserve force, ready to run and block any gaps that appear in the line. You, Subai!' he said, pointing to a short, wide-shouldered tribesman with a jagged scar on his right cheek. 'Pick forty men and hold back from the battle. Wait in the courtyard, watching the battlements. If our line breaks anywhere, reinforce it.'

'It will be as you order,' grunted the tribesman.

'Make sure it is, or I'll rip out your arm and beat you to death with the wet end.' The warriors smiled. Angel rose. 'Now, follow me to the gate.' The gates themselves had long since rotted, but the Nadir had managed to lower the portcullis, almost two tons of rusted iron, to block the entrance. Carts and wagons had been overturned at the base and thirty bowmen stood by. Angel moved to the archway. 'They will attempt to lift the portcullis. They will fail, for it is wedged above. But it is badly rusted and they will bring up saws and hammers to force an opening. You, what's your name again?'

'How many times must you ask, Ugly One?' countered the Nadir, a hook-nosed, swarthy man, taller than the average tribesman. Angel guessed he was a half-breed.

'All you beggars look alike to me,' said Angel. 'So tell me again.'

'Orsa Khan.'

'Well, Orsa Khan, I want you to command this defence. When they break through – as they will eventually – set fire to the carts. And hold them back to allow the men on the walls to retreat to the keep.'

'They will not break through while I live,' promised Orsa.

'That's the spirit, boy!' said Angel. 'Now, are there any questions?'

'What else do we need to ask?' put in Borsai, a young warrior of sixteen, still beardless. 'They come, we kill them until they go away. Is that not so?'

'Sounds a good strategy to me,' agreed Angel. 'Now, when some of them reach the ramparts – as they will – don't stab for their heads. Slash your blades at their hands as they reach for a hold. They'll be wearing gauntlets, but good iron will cut through those. Then, when they fall, they'll probably take two or three others with them. And that's a fair drop, my boys. They won't get up again.'

Leaving the warriors to their duties, Angel toured the walls. According to the Thirty, the Gothir would attack first by the main gate of the southern wall, a direct frontal assault to overwhelm the defenders. Therefore they had concentrated their manpower here, leaving only fifty warriors spread thin around the other walls. Angel had wanted to arm some of the younger women, but the Nadir would have none of the plan. War was for men, he was told. He did not argue. They would change their minds soon enough.

Striding across the courtyard he saw Senta and Miriel walking out towards him. Anger touched him then, for he could see by their closeness, the way she leaned in to him, that they had become lovers. The knowledge tasted of bile in his mouth, but he forced a smile. 'Going to be a cold day,' he said, indicating the gathering snow clouds above the mountains.

'I dare say the Gothir will warm it up for us,' Senta pointed out, draping his arm around Miriel's shoulder. She smiled, and leaned in to kiss his cheek.

Angel looked at them, the tall mountain girl, her smile radiant, and the handsome swordsman, golden-haired and young, dressed now in a buckskin shirt beneath a breast­plate of glittering iron, and tan leggings of polished leather. Angel felt old as he watched them, the weight of his years and his disappointments hanging upon him like chains of lead. His own leather tunic was ragged and torn, his leggings filthy, and the pain of his wounds was only marginally less than the pain in his heart.

He moved away from them towards the keep, aware that they had not noticed his departure. He saw the mute child sitting on the keep steps, his wooden sword thrust into his belt. Angel gri

'You want some food, boy?' he said, lifting his fingers to his mouth and mimicking the act of chewing. The boy nodded and Angel led the way up to the main hall, where cook fires were burning in the hearths. A fat knight, wearing a leather apron, was stirring soup. He glanced at the child.

'He needs some weight on those bones,' he said, smiling and ruffling the boy's hair.

'Not as much as you're carrying, brother,' said Angel.

'It is a curious fact,' said the knight, 'but I only have to look at a honeycake and I feel the weight pile on.' Sitting the boy at the table he ladled soup into a bowl and watched with undisguised pleasure as the child enjoyed it. 'You should ask Ekodas to look at the boy,' said the knight softly. 'He has a real gift for healing. The child was not always deaf, you know. It faded slowly when he was a baby. And there is little wrong with his vocal chords. It is just that hearing no sound he makes no sound.'

'How do you know all this?' asked Angel.

'It is a talent fat people have, thin man.' He chuckled. 'My name is Merlon.'

'Angel,' responded the former gladiator, extending his hand. He was surprised to feel the strength in Merlon's grip, and he swiftly reappraised the priest. 'I think you're carrying a lot more muscle than fat,' he said.

'I have been blessed with a physique as strong as my appetite,' the other replied.

The child ate three bowls of the soup and half a loaf of bread while Angel sat and talked with the huge warrior priest. Shia approached them and sat on the bench seat alongside Angel.

'I told you they would not let us fight,' she said, anger showing in her eyes.

Angel gri