Waylander II: In The Realm of the Wolf

From the corner of his eye he saw Angel emerge from the hall, carrying the body of the swordsman, Senta. Dardalion sighed and stood. Miriel came next, a small boy beside her. The Abbot walked across to them, and waited silently as Angel laid down the body of his friend. In the presence of the silver-armoured Abbot the small boy eased back and vanished into the hall.

'Where is Ekodas?' Dardalion asked at last.

'He's alive,' said Angel. 'And the crystal is destroyed.'

'The Source be praised! I was not sure that even Ekodas would have the strength.'

He saw Miriel about to speak, but Angel cut in swiftly. 'It was a creation of great evil,' he said.

Ekodas appeared in the doorway, blinking in the fading light. Dardalion ran to him. 'You did it, my son. I am proud of you.' He reached out to embrace the priest, but Ekodas brushed him away.

'I did nothing – save let a man die,' he whispered. 'Leave me, Dardalion.' The priest stumbled away.

The Abbot swung back to Miriel. 'Tell me all,' he said. Miriel sighed and related the story of the fight with the monster, and the death of Senta. Her voice was low and spiritless, her eyes distant. Dardalion felt her pain and her sorrow.

'I am so sorry, my child. So terribly sorry.'

'People die in wars all the time,' she said tonelessly. As if in a dream she walked away towards the battlements.

Angel covered Senta with his cloak then stood. 'I'd like to kill Kesa Khan,' he hissed.

'It would achieve nothing,' replied Dardalion. 'Go with Miriel. She is fey now, and could come to harm.'

'Not while I live,' said Angel. 'But tell me, Abbot, what is it for? Why did he die down there? Please tell me it was worth something. And I don't want to hear about Uniters.'

'I ca

Angel looked up and saw Miriel bathed in the fiery light of dusk. 'I see a beautiful woman, tough and yet gentle, strong and yet caring. What do you think I should see?'

'What I see,' whispered Dardalion. 'A young woman carrying the seed of future greatness. Even now it is growing within her, tiny, a mere spark of life, created from love. But that spark could one day, if we survive here, give birth to a flame.'

'She is pregnant.'

'Yes. Senta's son.'

'He didn't know,' said Angel, staring down at the cloak-shrouded corpse on the stones.

'But you know, Angel. You know now that she has something to live for. But she will need help. There are few men strong enough to take on the burden of another man's child.'

'That is no worry to me, Abbot. I love her.'

'Then go to her, my son. Sit with her. Share her grief.'

Angel nodded and moved away. Dardalion strode into the hall. The boy was sitting at a bench table, staring down at his hands. Dardalion sat opposite him. Their eyes met and Dardalion smiled. The boy returned it.

Kesa Khan entered the hall from the stairwell leading to the upper floors. He saw Dardalion and crossed to the table. 'I saw her on the battlements,' he said. 'I am … happy that she survived.'

'Her lover did not,' said Dardalion.

The shaman shrugged. 'It is not important.'

Dardalion bit back an angry reply, and shifted his gaze to the boy. 'I have something for you, Kesa Khan,' he said, still staring at the black-eyed child.

'Yes?'

'The young warlord who will wed the daughter of Shia.'

'You know where to find him?'

'You are sitting beside him,' said Dardalion, rising.

'He is a mute. Worthless!'

'By all that's holy, shaman, I do despise you!' roared Dardalion. Fighting for calm he leaned forward. 'He had an infection of the ear that made him deaf. Without being able to hear he never learned to speak. Ekodas healed him. Now all he needs is time, patience, and something that is a little beyond you, I think – love!' Without another word Dardalion spun on his heel and strode from the hall.

Vishna met him in the courtyard. 'They are massing again. We'll be hard pressed to hold them.'

Waylander crouched down on the roof, watching the men gathering round the body below. The guard had almost surprised him, but the man had been slow to bring his sword to bear, and a black-handled throwing-knife had sliced into his throat, ending his indecision – and his life. Swiftly Waylander had stripped the man, then he removed his own jerkin and leggings and dressed the corpse.

The dead man was a little shorter than Waylander, but the black breastplate and full-faced helm fitted well, though the dark woollen leggings rode high on the calf. This discrepancy was covered by the man's knee-length boots. They were tight, but the leather was soft and pliable, and the fit caused Waylander little discomfort.

Leaning out over the parapet he had seen the guards in the courtyard below. Drawing the dead man's sword and holding his own blade in his right hand he shouted. 'He's here! On the roof!' Out of sight of the men below he clashed the two swords together, the discordant noise ringing above the palace. Then he clove his own blade three times into the dead man's face, smashing the bones and disfiguring the features. Laying aside the swords he had then hauled the corpse to the parapet and sent the body plummeting to the ground.

He waited several minutes, and watched as the soldiers below carried the body inside the palace. Then he put on the full-faced helm, gathered his second rope and ran to the rear of the roof, leaning out and sca

Looping his rope over a jutting pillar he climbed to the wall and abseiled down, past two windows, halting by a third. It was open, and no light showed within. Hooking his foot over the sill he climbed inside. It was a sleeping chamber with a narrow bed. There were no blankets or sheets upon it, and he took it to be an unused guest-room. Hiding his loaded crossbow within the folds of the dead man's black cloak he stepped out into the corridor. The stairs were to his right and he made for them. He heard sounds of footfalls on the stairs and kept moving. Two knights rounded a bend and climbed towards him.

'Who was it who killed the assassin?' the first asked him.

Waylander shrugged. 'Not me, more's the pity,' he said, continuing on his way.

'Well, who else is up there?' continued the first man, grabbing Waylander's shoulder. The assassin turned, the crossbow coming up.

'No one,' he said – and loosed a bolt which hammered into the man's open mouth and up into the brain. The second knight tried to run, but Waylander shot again, the bolt plunging into the back of the man's neck. He fell to the stairs and was still.

Reloading the crossbow with his last two bolts the assassin moved on.

As his chains were unlocked Karnak tensed, but a knife-blade touched his throat, and he knew his struggles would be useless. The huge Drenai general glared at the men holding his arms. 'By all the gods I'll remember your faces,' he told his captors.

One of them laughed. 'You won't have long to remember them,' he said.

They dragged him out of the dungeon and along the torch-lit corridor. He saw Zhu Chao standing by a door­way. 'A pox on you, you yellow-faced bastard!' he shouted.

The Chiatze did not reply, but stood aside as Karnak was led into the I