Waylander II:In The Realm Of The Wolf (25 page)

Behind the tall Drenai came the other eight Brotherhood warriors, grim silent men. The ninth had taken the horses into the mountains, and now all hope of fleeing this sorcerous place was gone from Bodalen.

Down, down they journeyed, through five levels, the humming growing ever more loud. The walls of the castle were no longer of stone, but sleek, shining metal, bulging and cracked in places. Beyond the cracks were wires of copper and iron, gold and silver, wound together, braided.

Bodalen hated the castle, and feared the secrets it might contain. But even through his cowardice his fascination grew. On one level there was a set of steel doors, which Gracus and two other men forced open. Within was a small room. There was no furniture, but one wall carried a small ornament, like a carving table, twelve round stones set in brass, each stone bearing a symbol that Bodalen could not decipher.

There was little of interest save for the ornament and the warriors moved on, seeking stairs.

At last they came to a great hall that was lit as if by sunlight, bright and cheerful. Yet there were no windows, and Bodalen knew they were hundreds of feet below ground. Gracus dropped the spluttering torch to the metal floor and gazed around him. There were tables and chairs, all of metal, and huge iron cabinets, ornately decorated with bright gems that sparkled, the light dancing from them.

Panels of opaque glass were set all around the hall, and these glowed with white light. Gracus drew his sword and struck one of them, which shattered, spilling fragments to the hall floor. Beyond the panel was a long, gleaming cylinder. A second warrior strode forward, thrusting his sword into it. There was a flash and the knight was lifted from his feet and hurled twenty feet across the floor. Half the lights in the hall dimmed and died.

Gracus ran to the fallen man, kneeling beside him. ‘Dead,’ he said, rising and turning to the others. ‘Touch

nothing. We will await the master. The spells are mightier than we can understand.’

Bodalen, the humming so loud it made him nauseous, moved across the hall to an open doorway. Beyond it he saw a huge crystal, some three feet in circumference, floating between two golden bowls. Tiny bolts of lightning flickered and shone all around it as it spun. Bodalen stepped into the room. The walls here were all of gold, save for the far wall, which had been partly stripped, exposing carved blocks of granite, twisted far beyond their original squares.

But it was not the crystal, nor the walls of gold that caused the breath to catch in his throat.

‘Gracus!’ he shouted. The Brotherhood knight entered the room - and gazed down at the immense skeleton stretched out by the far wall.

‘What in the name of Hell is it?’ whispered Bodalen.

Gracus shook his head. ‘Hell is where it came from,’ he answered, kneeling beside the two skulls, his fingers tracing the twin lines of vertebrae leading to the massive shoulders. The beast, whatever it was, had boasted three arms, one of which sprouted from below the enormous ribs. One of the knights tried to lift the thigh bone, but the rotted sinew held it in place.

‘I cannot even get my hands around this bone,’ said the man. ‘The creature must have been twelve feet tall, maybe more.’

Bodalen glanced back at the doorway, which was no more than three feet wide and six feet tall. ‘How did it get in here?’ he asked. Gracus moved to the doorway. There were great tears in the metal around the frame, exposing the stone beneath.

‘I don’t know how it got in,’ said Gracus softly, ‘but it tore its fingers to the bone trying to get out. There must be another entrance. Hidden.’

For some time they searched the walls, seeking a disguised doorway. But there was nothing. Bodalen felt a great weariness settling on him and his headache worsened. He started for the doorway, but his legs gave way and he

slumped to the floor. Fatigue overwhelmed him, and he saw Gracus stumble to his knees before the spinning crystal.

‘We must . . . get out,’ said Bodalen, trying to drag himself across the gleaming golden floor. But his eyes closed and he fell into a deep, and at first dreamless, sleep.

Awareness came to him slowly. He could see a cottage, I built by a stream, a cornfield beyond it, blue mountains, hazy in the distance behind it. There was a man walking behind a team of oxen. He was ploughing a field.

Father.

No, not Father. Father is Karnak. He never ploughed a field in his life.

Father.

Confusion flowed over him like a fog, swirling, unreal. He looked up at the sun, but there was no sun, just a spinning crystal high in the sky, humming like a thousand bees.

The man with the plough turned towards him. ‘Don’t spend your day lazing, Gracus!’ he said.

Gracus? I’m not Gracus. I am dreaming. That’s it! A dream. Wake up!

He felt himself rising from sleep, felt the awareness of flesh and muscle. He tried to move his arm, but it seemed lodged, trapped. He opened his eyes. Gracus was lying beside him. Close beside him. He must be lying on my arm, thought Bodalen. He tried to roll, but Gracus moved with him, his head lolling, his mouth open. Bodalen struggled to rise. He felt an unaccustomed weight on his right side and swung his head. There was another man lying there.

And he had no head.

I am lying on his head, thought Bodalen, panic gripping him. He surged up. The body on the right rose with him. Bodalen screamed. The headless body was part of him, the shoulders bonded to Bodalen’s flesh.

Sweet Heaven! Calm down, he told himself. This is still a dream. Just a dream.

His left arm had disappeared, embedded into and merging with Gracus’ shoulder. He tried to pull it clear, but

the limp body of the Brotherhood knight merely moved closer. Their legs touched - and bonded.

The crystal continued to spin.

Across the room Bodalen saw the bodies of the other knights, melding together, twisting as if involved in some silent, unnatural orgy. And between them, lying still on the golden floor, was the huge skeleton.

Bodalen screamed again.

And passed out.

It awoke with no memory, but stretched its huge muscles and rolled to its belly, its three legs levering it upright, its two heads striking the golden ceiling. Rage suffused the beast, and one of the heads roared in anger. The other remained silent, grey eyes blinking at the light from the crystal.

Two other beasts were still asleep.

The crystal spun, blue lights dancing between the golden bowls.

The beast shuffled towards it, reaching out with its three great arms. A massive finger touched the flickering blue fire. Pain swept along the immense limbs, burning the creature. Both heads roared now. One arm swept out, striking the crystal, dislodging it, sending it hurtling towards the far wall. The blue flames died.

And all the lights dimmed and faded.

The near-darkness was comfortable, reassuring. The beast slumped down to its haunches. It was hungry. The smell of burnt meat came from the hall beyond. It moved to the doorway, and saw a small dead creature lying on the floor. The corpse was part-clothed in hide and metal. The meat was still fresh and the beast’s hunger swelled. It tried to move forward but its great bulk could not pass through the doorway. Rearing up, it began to tear at the exposed blocks above the metal frame. The other beasts joined it, adding their strength.

And slowly the great rocks began to crack and give.

Kesa Khan opened his eyes and smiled. Miriel was watching him, saw the gleam of triumph in his eyes. ‘We can move now,’ he said, with a dry laugh. ‘The way is made smooth.’

‘But you said there was nowhere else!’

“There wasn’t. Now there is. It is a fortress-very old. Itis called Kar-Barzac. Tomorrow we will make the journey.’

‘There is much that you are not telling me,’ pointed out Miriel.

‘There is much you do not need to know. Rest, Miriel, you will need your strength. Go - sit with your friends. Leave me. I will call you when the time comes.’ Miriel wanted to question him further, but the little man had once more closed his eyes and sat, arms folded before the small fire.

She rose and wandered out into the night. Senta was asleep when she reached the small cave, but Angel was sitting under the stars, listening to the distant sounds of battle coming from the pass. A small boy was close by him. Miriel smiled. The two figures were in an identical position some twenty feet apart, Angel and the child both sitting cross-legged. The gladiator was sharpening his sword with a whetstone, the boy, holding a piece of wood, copying him.

‘I see you have made a friend,’ said Miriel. Angel grunted something inaudible. Miriel sat beside him. ‘Who is he?’

‘How should I know? He never speaks. He just mimics.’

Miriel’s Talent reached out, then drew back. ‘He’s totally deaf,’ she said. ‘An orphan.’

Angel sighed. ‘I didn’t need to know that,’ he said, sheathing his sword. The ragged child slid his stick into his belt.

Miriel reached out and stroked the gladiator’s face. ‘You are a good man, Angel. It means you have no real skill when it comes to harbouring hate.’

He caught her wrist and held to it. ‘You shouldn’t be touching me,’ he said softly. ‘The man for you is in there. Young. Handsome. With a disgusting lack of scars.’

‘I will choose my own man when the time comes,’ she told him. ‘I am not some Drenai noblewoman whose marriage brings an alliance between warring factions. Nor do I have to concern myself with a dowry. I will marry a man I like, a man I respect.’

‘You didn’t mention love,’ he pointed out.

‘I have heard great talk of it, Angel, but I don’t know what it is. I love my father. I love you. I loved my sister and my mother. One word. Different feelings. Are we talking of lust?’

‘Partly,’ he agreed. ‘And there’s nothing wrong with that, though many would have us believe otherwise. But it is more than that. I had an affair with a dark-haired woman once. Unbelievable. In bed she could raise more passion in me than any of my wives. But I didn’t stay with her. I didn’t love her, you see. I adored her. But I didn’t love her.’

‘There’s that word again!’ chided Miriel.

He chuckled. ‘I know. It’s just a short way of describing someone who is your friend, bed-mate, sister, aye even mother sometimes. Someone who will arouse your passion and your admiration and your respect. Someone, who when the whole world turns against you, is still standing by your side. You look for someone like that, Miriel.’ He released her hand and looked away.

She leaned in close. ‘What about you, Angel? Would you be a friend, a lover, a brother and a father?’

He turned his scarred features towards her. ‘Aye, I would.’ He hesitated and she sensed his indecision. At last he smiled and, taking her hand, kissed it. ‘My boots are older than you, Miriel. And you may think it makes no difference now, but it does. You need a man who can grow with you, not grow senile on you.’ He took a deep breath. ‘It’s hard to admit this, you know.’

‘You are not old,’ she admonished him.

‘Don’t you like Senta?’ he countered.

She looked away. ‘I find him . . . exciting . . . frightening.’

‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘That’s how life should be. Me,

I’m like an old armchair. Comfortable. A girl like” you needs more than that. Give him a chance. There’s a lot of good in him.’

‘Why do you like him so much?’

He grinned. ‘I knew his mother,’ he said. ‘A long time ago. Before he was born.’

‘You mean. . . ?’

‘I have no idea, but he could be. He certainly doesn’t take after the husband. But that’s between you and me now! Understand?’

‘And yet you would have fought him back at the cabin?’

He nodded, his face solemn. ‘I wouldn’t have won. He’s very good. The best I’ve ever seen.’ Suddenly she laughed. ‘What’s so amusing?’ he asked.

‘He wasn’t going to try to kill you. I read that in his thoughts. He was looking to disarm or wound you.’

‘That would have been a bad mistake.’

She looked into his eyes and her smile faded. ‘But you might have been killing your own son!’

‘I know. Not very uplifting, is it? But I am a warrior, Miriel, and when swords are drawn there is no emotion. Merely survival or death.’ He glanced at the Nadir boy, who was sleeping now against a rock, his head resting on his stick-thin arms, his knees drawn up to his belly. Rising silently, Angel moved across to the lad, covering him with his cloak. Then he returned to Miriel. ‘What is the old man planning?’

‘I don’t know, but we will be moving - tomorrow. To an old fortress in the mountains.’

“That is good news. We cannot hold here for much longer. You should get some sleep.’

‘I can’t. He will need me soon.’

Tor what?’

Tor when the dead walk,’ she answered.

Kesa Khan sat by his fire, his ancient body shivering as the night winds fanned the flames. He was beyond tiredness

now, a mortal weariness settling on him. It was all so complex, so many lines of destiny to be drawn together. Why, he wondered idly, had this not come to pass when he was young and in full strength? Why now, when he was old and weary and ready for the grave? The gods were indeed capricious at best.

Plans, ideas, strategies flowed through his mind. And each was dependent upon another for success. The journey of a thousand leagues begins with a single step, he told himself. Concentrate only on the step before you.

The demons would come, and with them the souls of the dead. How best to combat them? The Drenai woman was strong, stronger than she knew, but she alone could not guarantee success. Closing his eyes he mentally summoned Miriel. The time was close.

He reached for the clay pot and the grey powder, but his hand drew back. He had taken too much already. Ah, but the gods do love a reckless man! Dipping his finger into the powder he scooped a small amount to his mouth. His heart began to beat erratically, and he felt strength flowing into his limbs. The fire burned yellow, then gold, then purple, and the shadows on the walls became dancers, spinning and turning.

The Drenai woman entered the cave. My, but she was ugly, he thought. Too tall and stringy. Even in his youth he could not have found her attractive. The Drenai warrior with the scarred face moved in behind her. Kesa Khan’s dark eyes focused on the man. ‘This is no place for those with no power,’ he said.

‘I told him that,’ said Miriel, seating herself opposite the shaman, ‘but he came anyway.’

‘She said there would be demons and the undead. Can they be slain with a sword?’ asked Angel.

‘No,’ answered the shaman.

‘With bare hands, then?’

‘No.’

‘How then will Miriel fight them?’

‘With her courage and her Talent.’

‘Then I shall stand beside her. No one has yet doubted my courage.’

‘You are needed here, to man the wall, to stop the human enemy. It would be the worst folly to allow you to enter the Void. It would be a waste.’

‘You do not control my life,’ roared Angel. ‘I am here because of her. If she dies I leave. I care nothing for you lice-infested barbarians. You understand? So if she is in danger -1 go with her.’

Kesa Khan’s eyes became hooded and wary as he gazed on the towering Drenai. How I hate them, he thought. Their casual arrogance, their monumental condescension. Lifting his eyes he met Angel’s pale gaze, and Kesa Khan allowed his hatred to transmit to the warrior. Angel smiled and nodded slowly. Kesa Khan rose. ‘As you wish, Hard-to-Kill. You will journey with the woman.’

‘Good,’ said the gladiator, sitting beside Miriel.

‘No,’ she said. ‘This is not wise. If I am to fight then I cannot look after Angel.’

‘I need no looking after!’ he protested.

‘Be quiet!’ she snapped. ‘You have no conception of the journey - or the perils, or what is needed even to protect yourself. You will be like a babe in arms. And I will have no time to suckle you!’

He reddened and pushed himself to his feet. Kesa Khan stepped forward. ‘No, no!’ he said. ‘I think you misjudge the situation, Miriel, as did I at first. The Void is a deadly place, but a man with courage is not to be lightly dismissed. I will send you both. And I will arm Hard-to-Kill with weapons he understands.’

‘Where will you be?’

‘Here. Waiting. But I will be linked to you.’

‘But this is where the demons will come, surely?’

‘No. They will not be hunting me. Did you not realise? That is why I needed you. They will be seeking out your father. Zhu Chao knows he is a terrible danger to him. He has tried to kill him in this world, and failed. Now he will seek to lure his soul into the Void. He must be protected.’

‘He also has no Talent,’ said Miriel, fear rising.

‘There you are wrong,’ whispered Kesa Khan. ‘He has the greatest talent of all. He knows how to survive.’

Kasai and his men had been hunting for more than three hours when they saw the southerner on the giant red stallion. Kasai reined in his hill pony. It was a fine beast, fourteen hands tall, but the southerner’s horse was sixteen hands, maybe more. Kasai’s cousin Chulai reined in alongside him. ‘Do we kill him?’ he asked.

‘Wait,’ ordered Kasai, studying the approaching rider. The man was dressed in black, a dark fur-lined cloak slung across his shoulders. There was dried blood on his face. The rider saw them and angled his horse towards the waiting group. Kasai saw no sign of fear in the man.

‘Fine horse,’ said Kasai, as the man pulled back on the reins.

‘Better than the man I killed to get him,’ said the rider, his dark eyes scanning the group. He seemed amused, which angered Kasai.

‘It is a horse worth killing for,’ he said pointedly, hand on his sword-hilt.

‘True,’ agreed the rider. ‘But the question you must ask yourself is, whether he is worth dying for.’

‘We are five, you are one.’

‘Wrong. One and one. You and I. For when the action begins I will kill you within the first heartbeat.’ The words were spoken with a quiet certainty that swept over Kasai’s confidence like a winter wind.

‘You dismiss my brothers so easily?’ he said, trying to re-establish the fact that they outnumbered the southerner.

The rider laughed and swung his gaze over the other men. ‘I never dismiss any Nadir lightly. I’ve fought too many in the past. Now it seems you have two choices; you can fight, or we can ride to your camp and eat.’

‘Let us kill him,’ said Chulai, slipping into the Nadir tongue.

‘It will be the last move you make, dung-brain,’ said the rider, in perfect Nadir.

Chulai half-drew his sword, but Kasai ordered him back. ‘How do you know our tongue?’ he enquired.

‘Do we eat or fight?’ countered the man.

‘We eat. We offer you the hospitality of the tent. Now, how do you know our tongue?’

‘I have travelled among the Nadir for many years, both as friend and enemy. My name is Waylander, though I have other names among the people of the tents.’

Kasai nodded. ‘I have heard of you, Oxskull - you are a mighty warrior. Follow me, and you will have the food you desire.’ Kasai wheeled his pony and galloped towards the north. Chulai cast a murderous glance at the Drenai and then followed.

Two hours later they were seated around a burning brazier within a tall, goatskin tent. Waylander was sitting cross-legged upon a rug, Kasai before him. Both men had dined from a communal bowl of curdled cheese and shared a clay goblet of strong spirit.

‘What brings you to the steppes, Oxskull?’

‘I seek Kesa Khan of the Wolves.’

Kasai nodded. ‘His death has been long overdue.’

Waylander chuckled. ‘I am not here to kill him, but to help him survive.’

‘It cannot be true!’

‘I assure you that it is. My daughter and my friends are with him now - or so I hope.’

Kasai was amazed. ‘Why? What are the Wolves to you? We still talk of Kesa Khan’s magic and the werebeasts he sent to kill you. Why would you help him?’

‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend,’ answered Waylander. ‘There is a man who serves the Emperor. He is the enemy I wish to see slain.’