White Wolf (33 page)

“I will,” said Rabalyn. He watched the tall warrior stride away up the mountainside, then returned to the tent. Every man inside was sitting silently, entranced by the magic. Garianne was standing on a chair, her arms outstretched, her eyes closed. The song was about a hunter, who stumbled upon a golden goddess bathing in a stream. The goddess fell in love with the hunter, and they lay together under the stars. But in the morning the hunter desired to go. Angry at being rejected, the goddess turned him into a white stag, then took a bow to kill him. The hunter sprang away, leaping high over the treetops, and vanishing among the stars. The goddess gave chase. This was the beginning of day and night over the earth. The white stag became the moon, the goddess the sun. And ever and ever she hunted her lover, throughout time.

When the song finished the silence was total. Then thundrous applause broke out. Garianne stepped down from the chair, and cast her gaze around the tent.

She took a few steps and half staggered. Rabalyn realized she was drunk and stepped forward to assist her. She brushed his hand away.

“Where is he?” she asked, her voice slurring.

“Who?”

“The Damned?”

“He went to the hidden lake to swim.”

“I will find him,” she said.

Rabalyn watched her climb the steep slope, then turned away. As he did so the brothers Jared and Nian emerged from the tent. Nian saw him and walked over. “And who is this?” he asked his brother. “I feel I should know him.”

“That is Rabalyn,” said Jared.

“Rabalyn,” repeated Nian, nodding. Rabalyn was shocked. Gone was the slack-jawed simpleton with the innocent smile. This man was sharp of eye and faintly daunting. He looked at Rabalyn. “You must forgive me, young man. I have not been well. My memory fades in and out. Was that Garianne I saw climbing the slope?”

“Yes . . . sir,” said Rabalyn. He glanced at Jared, who was standing close to his brother.

“Gods, man!” Nian snapped at him. “Give me room to breathe.”

“I am sorry, brother. Perhaps you should rest for a while. Does your head hurt?”

“No, it doesn’t damn well hurt.” He sat down, then looked up at his brother and smiled, apologetically. “I am sorry, Jared. It is frightening when you can’t remember anything. Am I going mad?”

“No, Nian. We’re heading for the temple. They’ll know what to do. I am sure they’ll bring your memory back.”

“Who was that big, old man in the tent? His face looked familiar too.”

“That was Druss. He’s a friend.”

“Well, thank the Source I am all right now. It is a beautiful night, isn’t it?”

“Indeed it is,” agreed Jared.

“I could do with some water. Is there a well close by?”

“I’ll fetch you some. You sit there for a while.” Jared walked back to Khalid Khan’s tent.

Nian looked at Rabalyn. “Are we friends, young man?”

“Yes.”

“Are you interested in the stars?”

“I have never thought about it.”

“Ah, you should. Look up there. You see the three stars in a line? They are called the Sword Belt. They are so far away from us that the light we see has taken a million years to reach us. It could even be that they don’t exist anymore, and all that we are seeing is ancient light.”

“How could we see them if they didn’t exist?” asked Rabalyn.

“It is about distance. When the sun first rises the sky is still dark. Did you know that?”

“That makes no sense.”

“Ah, but it does. The sun is more than ninety million miles from the earth. That is a colossal distance. The light that blazes from it has to travel ninety million miles before it touches our eyes. Only when it touches our eyes are we aware of it. An ancient scholar estimated that it takes a few minutes for the light to travel that distance. In those minutes the sky would still appear dark to our eyes.”

Rabalyn didn’t believe a word of it, but he smiled and nodded. “Oh, I see,” he said, confused and even a little frightened by this strange new man inhabiting Nian’s body.

Nian laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “You think I am mad. Perhaps I am. I have always been curious though, about how things work. What makes the wind blow, and the tides flow? How does rain water get into a cloud? Why does it fall out again?”

“Why does it?” asked Rabalyn.

“You see? Now you are getting curious too. A good trait in the young.” He winced suddenly. “My head is beginning to ache,” he said.

Jared returned with a goblet of water. Nian drunk it swiftly, then rubbed at his eyes. “I think I will sleep,” he said. “I will see you in the morning, Rabalyn.”

The two brothers walked away. Rabalyn sat for a while, staring at the Sword Belt and the glittering stars around it. Then he heard Nian cry out, and saw Jared sitting beside him, his arm around his brother’s shoulder. Nian lay down, and Jared covered him with a blanket. Rabalyn wandered over to them.

“Is he all right?” he asked.

“No, he is dying,” said Jared, with a sigh. Nian was sleeping now, lying on his back, his arm over his face.

“He talked about the stars and clouds.”

“Yes. He is . . . was . . . a man of great intelligence. He was an architect once. A long time ago. When he wakes he will be the Nian you know. Slow witted.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No more do I, boy,” said Jared, sadly. “The Old Woman says it is to do with the pressure inside his head. Sometimes it shifts or subsides, and for a few minutes he is the Nian he always was. The Nian he was meant to be. It doesn’t last. And the moments of clarity are fewer now. The last time he returned was a year ago. The temple will cure him, though. I am sure of it.”

Nian moaned in his sleep. Jared leaned over and stroked his brow.

“I think I’ll get some sleep too,” said Rabalyn. Jared was staring down at his brother’s face and did not hear him.

As the night wore on many of Khalid’s men drifted back to their tents. Others too drunk to move fell asleep on the threadbare rugs. Druss rose from his place, took one look at the sleeping Khalid, then half stumbled as he made his way toward the outside. Diagoras, his mouth dry, his head pounding, followed him out into the night.

Druss stood and stretched out his arms. “Damn, but I’m tired,” he said, as Diagoras came alongside.

“Did you learn anything worthwhile?” asked the Drenai officer.

“Nothing we didn’t know about Ironmask. Khalid has never seen the fortress. Its over a hundred miles from here. He has heard of the temple Skilgannon seeks. Apparently there was a warrior who went there when Khalid was a child. He said the man had lost his right hand in a battle. He went seeking the temple and when he returned his hand had regrown.”

“Impossible,” said Diagoras. “Just a myth.”

“Perhaps,” said Druss. “One interesting detail, though. He said the man’s hand was a different color. It was deeper red, as if scalded. Khalid says he saw it himself, and has never forgotten it.”

“And that makes you believe the story?”

“It tells me there’s at least a grain of truth to it. Perhaps the man did not lose the hand, but had it mutilated. I don’t know, laddie. But Khalid says the temple cannot be found, unless the priestess there wants to be found. He told me he traveled over the area himself and saw no sign of a building. Not until he was leaving. He had climbed toward a high pass leading home, and he glanced back. And there it was, shining in the moonlight. He swears he walked every inch of the valley floor. There was no way he could have missed it.”

“So, did he go back?” asked Diagoras.

“No. He decided he didn’t want to risk entering a building that appeared and disappeared.”

A slender figure moved down the mountainside from the direction of the hidden lake. Diagoras saw that it was Garianne. As she passed them she waved. “Goodnight, Uncle,” she called.

“Goodnight, lass,” he said. “Sleep well.”

“Have I too become invisible?” asked Diagoras. Druss chuckled.

“It must be hard for a ladies’ man like you, boy, to be so disregarded.”

“I’ll admit to that. She never talks to me at all.”

“That’s because she knows you are interested in her. And she wants no friends.”

“I’ll wager she’s just come from Skilgannon,” said Diagoras, sourly.

“I expect so, laddie. That’s because he has no interest in her whatsoever. What they need from each other is simple and primal. It creates no ties, and therefore no dangers.”

Diagoras looked at the older man. “Be careful, Druss. Your image as a simple soldier will be ruined if you continue to display such insights.”

Druss was silent, and Diagoras saw that he was staring up into the shadow-haunted hills. “You see something?” Druss ignored the question and walked across to the wagon. Reaching in, he drew out Snaga.

“Where is the boy?”

Diagoras shrugged. “I think he got bored with the reveling and went off to find somewhere to sleep.”

“Find him. I’m going to have a look up that slope.”

“What did you see?” persisted Diagoras.

“Just a shadow. But I have an uneasy feeling.”

With that Druss walked away. Diagoras gazed around the camp, and the jagged black silhouettes of the rocky hills. The night was quiet and calm. No breeze whispered across the campsite. Bright stars decorated the sky, like diamonds on sable. Diagoras had not felt uneasy before Druss spoke. He did now. The old man had spent most of his life in situations of danger. He had acquired a sixth sense for it.

Diagoras loosened his saber, then began to scout for sign of Rabalyn.

On the mountainside to the west Skilgannon emerged from the lake tunnel, and out into the moonlight. He took a deep breath. His body, released from tensions by the lovemaking with Garianne, was relaxed, his thoughts untroubled. The woman was a mystery, fey and aloof when sober, passionate and vulnerable when drunk. They had not spoken when she came into the lake cavern. She had walked unsteadily toward him, then looped her arms around his neck. The kiss fired his blood. Garianne was not Jianna, but the touch of soft lips upon his own had brought back the memories of that one, unforgettable night in the woods, after his rescue of her. It was the only time he and Jianna had given in to their passion. He remembered every detail—the whisper of the night breeze in the branches above them, the scent of lemongrass in the air, the feel of her skin pressing against his own. And afterward the way she cuddled in close to him, slipping her right thigh across him, her arm draped over his chest, her hand stroking his cheek. The memory was almost unbearably sweet. It filled him with both longing and regret.

With Garianne there was no affection. She did not stroke his face, nor cuddle in close. Her passion exhausted, she pulled away, dressed swiftly, and left without a word. He made no effort to stop her. They had both taken all they needed from each other. There was no point in prolonging the moment.

Skilgannon stepped from the cave entrance and gazed down at the settlement. He was about to walk down toward the tents when he stopped. His relaxed mood evaporated. The night was silent, and there was no threat in sight. Even so he remained where he was, scanning the hillsides. He saw Druss walking purposefully toward the east, ax in hand. Below he spotted Diagoras moving through the tents. A breath of breeze blew across him. There was a slight scent upon it, musky and rank. Reaching up with his right hand, Skilgannon drew one of his swords. Glancing to his left he saw a jumble of boulders, the tallest over ten feet high. He closed his eyes, concentrating his hearing. There was nothing. Yet he did not relax. Reaching back he drew his second sword, and stood, statue still. The breeze blew again, caressing the back of his neck. This time the scent was stronger.

Skilgannon spun.

A massive beast rose up behind him and leapt. Its eyes glittered red, and its jaws spread, showing rows of gleaming fangs.

The Swords of Night and Day flashed out, the first slashing through the huge neck, the second piercing the shaggy chest and cleaving the heart. The weight of the charging beast bore him backward, and they hit the slope together and rolled. Releasing his hold on the Sword of Night, Skilgannon kicked himself clear of the thrashing beast and came to his feet. Screams began from the settlement below. Skilgannon ignored them, fastening his gaze on the cave mouth.

No other creatures came into sight. He glanced back at the beast he had stabbed. It was no longer moving. Warily he approached it. The Joining was lying on its back, dead eyes open to the sky. Grabbing the hilt of the blade jutting from its chest, Skilgannon drew it clear.

From the camp below came the sounds of screaming. Skilgannon could see three beasts. One had torn through a tent wall and emerged back into the settlement, the cloth of the tent clinging to its back like a trailing cloak. It crouched over a fallen tribesman. Fangs crunched down on the man’s skull. A little to the left Diagoras was vainly trying to battle a huge, hunchbacked Joining. The cavalry saber was having little effect. Skilgannon began to run down the slope toward the fight. As he did so he saw Rabalyn emerge behind the Joining, slamming his short sword into the beast’s back.

Other creatures emerged. Jared and Nian came into view, and charged them. Their longswords were more effective than the saber of Diagoras, and they drove the Joinings back. Khalid Khan appeared and began shouting orders to his men. This cut through the panic, and some of the warriors ran to gather bows and spears. Skilgannon saw Diagoras attempt a thrust into the chest of an oncoming Joining. The blade glanced over the powerful breatbone. Diagoras was thrown through the air by a backhanded blow from the creature. Skilgannon ran in. The beast swerved toward him, its fangs lunging for his throat. Skilgannon dropped to one knee and sent the golden Sword of Day ripping through the beast’s neck. Blood sprayed out and the creature staggered to its right. Nian leapt in, bringing his longsword down in a double-handed chop that split the Joining’s skull.

Another beast hurled itself at Skilgannon. A crossbow bolt materialized in its right eye. Its great head jerked, and a terrifying roar burst from its throat. A second bolt thudded into its chest but did not penetrate deeply. Skilgannon ran in, plunging his blade into the beast’s belly, and ripping the blade upward. Diagoras was back on his feet. Skilgannon saw him bending over the limp form of Rabalyn.