Waylander II:In The Realm Of The Wolf (18 page)

‘Do not be misled,’ warned Kesa Khan. ‘You are gazing upon evil.’

‘Why does he seek to kill my … father?’ She hesitated as she spoke, the image of her real father strong in her mind.

‘Bodalen serves him. He thought it would be a simple matter to hunt down Waylander and slay him. Then he could have returned Bodalen to the Drenai, awaiting the moment the son betrayed the father.’ The old man chuckled, the sound dry and unpleasant. ‘He should have known Waylander as I knew him. Ha! I tried to hunt him down once. I sent six great merged beasts to destroy him, and twenty hunters of rare skill. None survived. He has a gift for death.’

‘You are my father’s enemy?’

‘Not now!’ he assured her. ‘Now I wish him for a friend.’

‘Why?’

‘Because my people are in peril. You can have no conception of what it is to live under the Gothir yoke. We have no rights under their laws. We can be hunted down like vermin. No one will raise a hand to object - that is bad enough. But now Zhu Chao has convinced the Emperor that my tribe - the oldest of the Tent-people - needs to be eradicated. Exterminated! Soon the soldiers will march against us.’

‘How can my father help you? He is only one man.’

‘He is the Dragon Shadow, the hope of my people. And he has with him the White Tiger in the Night and old Hard-to-kill. Also there is Senta. And, more importantly perhaps, there is you.’

“That is still only five. We are not an army.’

‘We shall see. Ask Waylander to come to the Mountains of the Moon. Ask him to help us.’

‘Why should he? You are a man who tried to kill him.’

Tell him we are outnumbered ten to one. Tell him we are doomed. Tell him we have more than two hundred children who will be slaughtered.’

‘You don’t understand . . . these are not his children. You are asking him to risk his life for people he does not know. Why would he even consider it?’

‘I cannot answer that, Miriel. Just tell him what I have said.’

The colours swirled once more and Miriel felt a sickening lurch as her spirit was united with her body. Waylander was beside her, and the sun was high in the sky.

Waylander felt a surge of relief as Miriel opened her eyes. He stroked her hair. ‘What happened?’ he asked.

Taking hold of his arm she eased herself into a sitting position. Her head was throbbing with dull pain, her mouth dry. ‘A little water,’ she croaked. Pulling free the cork, Angel passed her a leather-bound canteen and she drank greedily. ‘We need to speak,’ she told Waylander. ‘Alone.’

Angel, Belash and Senta withdrew and she recounted her meeting with Kesa Khan. Waylander listened in silence until she had finished.

‘You believed him?’

‘Yes. He did not tell me all he knew, but what he said was true. Or at least he believed it to be true. His people face annihilation.’

‘What did he mean by calling me the Dragon Shadow?’

‘I don’t know. Will you go?’

He smiled. ‘You think I should?’

She looked away. ‘When we were young Krylla and I used to love the stories that Mother . . . Danyal. . . told. You know, of heroes crossing seas of fire to rescue princesses.’ She smiled. ‘We felt like princesses because you had rescued us. You were the man who helped save the Drenai. We loved you for that.’

‘It wasn’t for the Drenai,’ he said. ‘It was for me.’

‘I know that now,’ she told him. ‘And I don’t want to sway you. I know you would die for me, as you would have risked all for Mother or Krylla. And I know why you are heading north. You want vengeance.’

‘I am what I am, Miriel.’

‘You were always better than you knew,’ she said, reaching up and stroking his lean face. ‘And whatever choice you make I will not condemn you.’

He nodded. ‘Where do you wish to go?’

‘With you,’ she answered simply.

Tell me what he said again.’ She repeated the words of Kesa Khan. ‘A cunning old man,’ said Waylander.

‘I agree. But what makes you say so?’

The children. He wanted me to know about the children. He knows me too well. By heaven I hate sorcerors!’ Waylander took a long, deep breath. And saw again the flowers in bloom around the dead face of his son. How old would he have been now? A little older than Senta, perhaps?

He thought of Bodalen. And Karnak.

Senta, Belash and Angel were standing by the tethered horses. Summoning them to him he asked Miriel to tell the story for a third time.

‘He must think we are insane,’ said Angel, as Miriel concluded her tale.

‘No,’ said Senta softly, ‘he knows us better than that.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Oh come on, Angel, don’t you just love the thought of impossible odds?’ asked Senta, grinning.

‘No, I don’t. I leave that sort of idiocy for young men like you. Talk sense to him, Dakeyras.’

‘You are free to ride where you please,’ said Waylander. There is nothing holding you here.’

‘But you are not going to go to the Mountains?’

‘Indeed I am,’ said Waylander.

‘How will you stop the killing? Will you ride out on a tall horse and face the Gothir army? Tell them you’re Waylander the Slayer and you’re not going to allow them to butcher a few Nadir?’

‘As I said, you are free to go where you will,’ repeated Waylander.

‘What about Miriel?’ asked Angel.

‘She can speak for herself,’ said Miriel. ‘And I shall ride to the Mountains of the Moon.’

‘Just tell me why,’ pleaded Angel. ‘Why are you all doing this?’

Waylander was silent for a moment. Then he shrugged. ‘I don’t like massacres,’ he said.

Vishna’s voice was calm, but Dardalion could sense the tension in the priest as he spoke. ‘I do not see how we can

be sure that the woman is sent by the Source. We have all agreed to risk our lives in the battle against evil. I have no qualms concerning that decision. To stand upon the walls of Purdol against the Ventrians would help Karnak maintain the defence of the Drenai, as would offering our assistance to the General at Delnoch. But to ride into the steppes and risk our lives for a small Nadir tribe . . .?’ He shook his head. ‘What purpose would it serve, Father?’

Dardalion did not answer, but turned to the others, the blond Magnic, the slender Palista and the silent, reserved Ekodas. ‘What is your view, brother?’ he asked Magnic.

‘I agree with Vishna. What do the Nadir offer the world? Nothing. They have no culture, no philosophy, save that of war. To die for them would be meaningless.’ The young priest shrugged. ‘But I will follow your orders, Father Abbot.’

Dardalion nodded towards Palista. ‘And you, my boy?’

‘It is a difficult question,’ answered Palista, his voice deep, incongruously so, issuing as it did from his small slender frame. ‘It seems to me the answer depends on how we view the arrival of the woman. If the Source directed her to us then our way is clear. If not. . .’he spread his hands.

Ekodas spoke. ‘I agree with Palista. The woman’s arrival is the central issue. For, although I respect Vishna and Magnic, I believe the argument they use is flawed. Who granted us the right to judge the worth or otherwise of the Nadir? If our actions should save a single life, only the Source can know what that life is worth. The saved one could be a future Nadir prophet, or his son may become one, or his grandson. How can we know? But is the woman directed by the Source? She has asked us for nothing. Surely that is the key?’

‘I see,’ said Dardalion. ‘You believe that she should have received wisdom in a dream perhaps, and approached us directly for help?’

‘There are many examples of such happenings,’ said Ekodas.

‘If such was the case here, where would faith begin?’ countered the Abbot.

‘I do not understand, Father.’

‘My dear Ekodas, we are talking about faith. Where is the need for faith, if we have proof?’

‘Surely another flawed argument,’ put in Palista. ‘By this token anyone who came and said they were sent by the Source would have to be disbelieved.’

Dardalion laughed aloud. ‘Excellent, my dear Palista! But this moves us from one extreme to another. What I am saying is that there must always be an element of faith. Not proof, but faith. If she had come and claimed to be Source-directed we would have read her thoughts and known the truth. Then there would have been no faith. We would have acted thereafter in sure knowledge. Instead, we have prayed for a sign. Where should the Thirty ride? And what was our answer? Ekodas rescued a Nadir woman. Why is she here? To find her brother and bring him home to help face a terrible enemy. Who is that enemy? None other than Zhu Chao, the man whose evil led me to gather the Thirty together. Do these facts not speak to you? Can you not feel the threads of destiny drawing together?’

“This is difficult for me,’ said Vishna, with a sigh. ‘I am the only Gothir present among the Thirty. My family and friends are high in the council of the Emperor. It is likely that old friends will be riding against these same Nadir. It does not make me feel comfortable to know that I may have to draw a sword against these men.’

‘I understand that,’ said Dardalion. ‘But it is my belief that Shia is sent to us, and that the Mountains of the Moon beckon. What else can I say?’

‘I think we all need more prayer - and more guidance,’ observed Ekodas. The others nodded in agreement.

‘Faith is essential,’ added Vishna. ‘But there must be another sign.’

‘It is unlikely to come with letters of fire in the sky,’ said Dardalion softly.

‘Even so,’ put in Ekodas, ‘if it is our destiny to die in Nadir lands then the Source will lead us there.’

Dardalion looked to each of the young men before him,

then he rose. ‘Very well, my brothers, we will wait. And we will pray.’

Ekodas slept fitfully, Shia’s words haunting him like a curse. And he did dream of her, and woke often, his body tense with suppressed passion. He tried prayer, and when that failed he repeated the longest, most complex meditation mantras. For a while his concentration held. Then he would picture her ivory skin, tinged with gold, her dark almond-shaped eyes . . .

He rose silently from his bed in the hour before dawn, moving with care so as not to awaken the five brothers who shared the small dormitory. Taking a clean white robe from the chest beneath his bed he dressed swiftly and made his way down to the kitchens.

Fat Merlon was already there, removing the rough linen from several large rounds of cheese. In the far corner Glendrin was supervising the baking, and the smell of fresh bread filled the room.

‘You are awake early,’ said Merlon, as Ekodas entered.

‘I couldn’t sleep,’ he admitted.

‘I would dearly love another hour, brother,’ said Merlon expectantly.

‘Of course,’ Ekodas told him. ‘I will take your duty.’

‘I will say ten blessings for you, Ekodas,’ beamed Merlon, embracing the smaller man and patting his back. Merlon was a large man, balding already at twenty-six, and his strength was prodigious. The other priests gently mocked him for his vast appetite, but in truth there was little fat upon him, save for his belly, and Ekodas felt himself being crushed by the man.

‘Enough, Merlon!’ he gasped.

Til see you at breakfast,’ yawned Merlon, ambling away towards the sleeping area.

Glendrin glanced back. ‘Fetch me the tray and pole, Ekodas,’ he called, flicking the latch on the oven doors. The two-pronged pole was hanging upon hooks on the far wall. Ekodas lifted it clear, attached the prongs to a ridged

metal plate and passed the implement to Glendrin. Using a cloth to protect his hands Glendrin opened wide the oven doors then pushed the pole inside, the plate sliding under three golden crusted loaves. These he withdrew and Ekodas, slipping on gloves of white wool, removed the bread, placing it on the long kitchen table. There were twelve loaves in all and the smell made Ekodas feel as if he had not eaten for a week.

‘Merlon churned the butter,’ said Glendrin, sitting down at the table. ‘But I’ll wager he ate half of it.’

‘You have flour in your beard,’ Ekodas pointed out. ‘It makes you look older than time.’

Glendrin grinned and rubbed his hand across the red trident beard. ‘You think the woman was sent?’ he asked.

Ekodas shrugged. ‘If she was she came to haunt me,’ he answered.

Glendrin chuckled. ‘You’ll need those ten blessings Merlon promised you,’ he said, wagging a finger at his friend. ‘Carnal thoughts are a sin!’

‘How do you deal with them?’ asked Ekodas.

Glendrin’s smile faded. ‘I don’t,’he admitted. ‘Now let us get on.’

Together they prepared the cheese, drew fresh water from the well, and carried the food through to the dining-hall, setting out the plates and cutlery, jugs and goblets.

Then Ekodas prepared a tray of bread and cheese for Shia, feeling his excitement rise at the prospect of seeing her once more. ‘I cannot find the apple juice,’ he told Glendrin.

‘We finished it yesterday.’

‘But I promised her some.’

Glendrin shook his head. ‘Then I would imagine she will despise you for the rest of your life,’ said the red-headed priest.

‘Fool!’ replied Ekodas, placing a jug of water and a clay goblet upon the tray.

‘Do not be too long with her,’ advised Glendrin. Ekodas did not reply.

Leaving the heat of the kitchen he climbed the cold stone stairwell and made his way to Shia’s room. Balancing the

tray on his left arm he opened the door. The Nadir woman was asleep on the floor before the dead fire, her head resting on her elbow, her legs drawn up, her body bathed in the last of the moonlight.

‘Good morning,’ said Ekodas. She gave a low groan, stretched, then sat. Her hair was unbraided now, hanging dark and lustrous to her shoulders. ‘I have some breakfast for you.’

‘Did you dream of me?’ she asked, her voice husky from sleep.

‘There is no apple juice,’ he told her. ‘But the water is fresh and cold.’

“Then you did, prayer-man. Were they good dreams?’

‘You should not speak this way to a priest,’ he admonished her.

She laughed at him, and his face reddened. ‘You kol-isha are a strange people.’ Rising smoothly she walked to the bed, sitting cross-legged upon it. Taking the loaf she tore off a chunk and tasted it. ‘Needs salt,’ she said. He poured her a goblet of water and passed it to her. Her hand reached out, her fingers stroking his skin. ‘Soft hands,’ she whispered. ‘Soft skin. Like a child.’ Then she took the goblet and sipped the water.