Waylander - In The Realm Of The Wolf Part 34

'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 a.s.sault 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 grinned and clapped his hands. The boy copied him and rose smiling.

'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 ap.r.o.n, 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 appet.i.te,' 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 grinned. 'That you did. But things will change, if not tomorrow, then the day after - as soon as they try an attack from all four sides. We have not the numbers of men to stop them. Make sure the women gather all the surplus ... weapons.'

'By surplus you mean the weapons of our dead?'

'Exactly,' he admitted. 'And not just weapons, breastplates, helms, arm-guards. Anything to protect.'

At that moment a young woman ran into the hall. 'They are coming! They are coming!' she shouted.

'So it begins,' said Merlon, removing the leather ap.r.o.n and striding across the hall to where his breastplate, helm and sword were laid by the hearth.

Miriel stood to the left of the wall, almost at the corner, a crazily-angled turret leaning out above her. Her mouth was dry as she saw the Gothir line surge forward, and she ceased to notice the biting winter wind.

Twenty trees had been cut down and stripped of branches, and these were carried forward by heavily-armed men. Behind them marched two thousand foot-soldiers, shortswords and shields held at the ready. Miriel glanced to her right. At the centre of the ramparts stood Angel, grim and powerful, his sword still sheathed. Further along was Senta, a wide grin on his face, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of the coming battle. She shivered, but not with the cold.

More than a thousand men carried the tree trunks, and the pounding of their feet on the hard valley floor was like a roll of thunder. Two Nadir beside Miriel hefted large rocks, laying them on the battlement. Archers sent shafts down into the charging ranks, but wounds were few among the armoured men, though Miriel saw a handful of soldiers reel back or fall as iron points lanced into unprotected thighs and arms.

The first trunk was raised and fell against the battlement with a booming thud. A Nadir hurled a rope over the top and began to pull.

'Wait until there are men on it!' bellowed Angel.

More trees crashed against the wall. A section of battlement gave way and a Nadir was hurled screaming to the courtyard forty feet below. Miriel swung and saw the man struggle to rise, but his leg was smashed. Several women ran forward, lifting the injured man and carrying him into the keep.

Notching an arrow to her bow Miriel leaned out over the wall. Thousands of men were swarming up the ladders, using the stubs of sawn-off branches for hand and footholds. Sighting her bow she sent an arrow through the temple of a soldier who had almost reached the top. He sagged back, and fell into the man behind him, dislodging him.

Angel hefted a large boulder and hurled it over the wall. It struck an attacker on his upraised shield, smashing the man's arm and shoulder. Amazingly he managed to hold on to the branch, but the boulder hit the man below on the helm, sweeping him from the tree. Stones and rocks rained down on the attackers, but still they came on, a score of men reaching the battlements.

Senta leapt forward, spearing his blade through the throat of the first man to reach the ramparts.

Miriel dropped her bow and gathered up the trailing rope the Nadir had looped over the first trunk.

'Help me!' she shouted at the nearest warriors. Three men turned at her cry and ran to her aid.

Together they hauled on the rope and, just as the first Gothir appeared, they succeeded in moving the ladder a foot to the right. Top-heavy now, the wood groaned - and slid sideways. A Gothir soldier jumped for the battlement, but lost his footing and fell screaming to the valley floor. The tree collided with a second ladder and, for a moment only, was held. Then both began to move.

'Let go the rope,' shouted Miriel, as the overburdened ladder fell away. The rope hissed and cracked like a whip as it was dragged over the battlements. The falling ladders struck a third, which was also dislodged from the wall. Miriel ran along the battlements to where Senta stood. The scaling ladders are too close together,' she shouted.

'Move that one and you'll bring down three, maybe four more.'

He looked to where she was pointing and nodded. Ropes had been placed along the wall and he lifted one, shaking out the loop. While the Nadir battled to keep the Gothir from the battlements Senta hurled a loop over the closest ladder and started to pull. It would not budge. Miriel joined him - but to no avail. Angel saw them and sent four men to a.s.sist.

Gothir warriors were scrambling over the battlements now, and one of them threw himself at Senta. The swordsman saw the blow almost too late, but let go the rope and lashed out with his foot, kicking the oncoming warrior in the knee. The man fell. Drawing his sword Senta sent a crashing blow to the soldier's helm. The Gothir struggled to rise. Senta ran in and shoulder-charged him, hurling him from the ramparts to the courtyard below.

Miriel and the others were still trying to pull the tree clear, but it was wedged into one of the crenellations of the battlement wall. Angel picked up a fallen axe, ducked under the rope and delivered a thunderous blow to the crumbling stone of the battlement. Twice more he struck. The granite shifted. Dropping to his haunches he lifted his feet and kicked out. The granite blocks fell away. The tree slid clear, struck the next crenellation - and snapped.

The rope-wielders were thrown back - Miriel, still holding the rope, tumbling from the ramparts.

As the tree snapped Angel saw Miriel fall and dived for the snaking rope. The hemp tore the flesh from his fingers and Miriel's falling weight hauled him to the edge of the rampart. But he held on, regardless of pain or the peril of the drop. Just as he was being pulled over the edge a Nadir warrior threw himself across the fallen gladiator. Then Senta grabbed Angel's legs.

Miriel was dangling fifteen feet below the rampart. With the rope now steady she climbed and hooked her foot over the stone. A Nadir hauled her to safety. Angel climbed wearily to his feet, blood dripping from his torn palms.

The dislodged tree had toppled seven more, killing more than a hundred soldiers. Fearful of a similar fate the remaining Gothir warriors scrambled down to safety and retreated out of arrow range. Gleefully the Nadir sent all the trunks crashing to the earth. Subai, leaving the reserve force, climbed to the battlements, turned his back to the Gothir and, dropping his leggings, exposed his b.u.t.tocks to the enemy. The Nadir howled with delight.

Orsa Khan, the tall half-breed, lifted his sword high above his head and shouted a Nadir refrain.

It was picked up along the line until all the defenders were screaming it at the uncomprehending Gothir.

'What are they saying?' asked Angel.

'It is the last verse of the battle song of the Wolves,' said Senta. 'I can't make it rhyme in translation, but it goes like this.

Nadir we, Youth born.

Axe-wielders, Victors still.'

'You don't see too many axes among them,' complained Angel.

'Ever the poet,' said Senta, laughing. 'Now go and get those hands bandaged. You're dripping blood everywhere.'

18

The pa.s.sing of the years, and with them the fading of his powers, was a source of intense irritation to Kesa Khan. As a young man in his physical prime, he had sought to master the arcane arts, to command demons, to walk the paths of mist, scouring the past, exploring the future. But when young, though strong enough, his skills were not honed to the perfection needed for such missions of the spirit. Now that his mind burned with power, his aged frame could not support his desires.

Even while acknowledging the manifest unfairness of life he found himself chuckling at the absurdity of existence.

He banked up his fire, not in the hearth, but in an ancient brazier he had set upon the stone floor at the centre of the small room high in the keep-tower. His precious clay pots were set around it, and from one of them he took a handful of green powder which he sprinkled on to the dancing flames. Instantly an image formed of Waylander entering the great gates of Gulgothir. He was disguised as a Sathuli trader in flowing robes of grey wool and a burnoose, bound with braided black horsehair. His back was bent under a huge pack, and he shuffled like an old man, crippled with the rheumatism. Kesa Khan smiled.

'You will not fool Zhu Chao, but no other will recognise you,' he said. The scene faded before he was ready. Kesa Khan cursed softly, and thought of the crystal lying on the golden floor below the castle. With it you could be young again he told himself. You could bide through the centuries, a.s.sisting the Uniter.

'Pah,' he said aloud. 'Were that the case would I not have seen myself in one of the futures? Do not delude yourself, old man. Death approaches. You have done all that you can for the future of your people. You have no cause to regret. No cause at all.'

'Not many can say that,' came the voice of Dardalion.

'Not many have lived as single-mindedly as I,' answered Kesa Khan. He glanced towards the doorway in which the Abbot was standing. 'Come in, priest. There is a draught, and my bones are not as young as they were.'

There was no furniture in the room and Dardalion sat cross-legged upon the rug. 'To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?' asked the old shaman.

'You are a devious man, Kesa Khan, and I lack your guile. But I do not lack powers of my own.

I, too, have walked the paths of mist since last we spoke. I, too, have seen the Uniter you dream of.'

The shaman's eyes glittered with malice. 'You have seen but one? There are hundreds.'

'No,' said Dardalion. 'There are thousands. A vast spider's web of possible futures. But most of them did not interest me. I followed the path that leads from Kar-Barzac, and the child to be conceived here. A girl. A beautiful girl, who will wed a young warlord. Their son will be mighty, their grandson mightier still.'

Kesa Khan shivered. 'You saw all this in a single day? It has taken me fifty years.'

'I had fifty years less to travel.'

'What else did you see?'

'What is there that you wish to know?' countered the Drenai.

Kesa Khan bit his lip, and said nothing for a moment. 'I know it all,' he lied, shrugging his shoulders. 'There is nothing new. Have you located Waylander?'

'Yes. He has entered Gulgothir in disguise. Two of my priests are watching him, seeking to divert any search spells.'

Kesa Khan nodded. 'It is almost time to retrieve the crystal,' he said, transferring his gaze to the flickering fire.

'It should be destroyed,' advised Dardalion.

'As you wish. You will need to send one of your men - a priest who is unlikely to be corrupted by its power. You have such a man?'

'Corrupted?'

'Aye. Even in its dormant state it exerts great influence, firing the senses like strong drink that removes inhibition. The man you send must have great control over his ... pa.s.sions, shall we say?

Any weakness he has will be multiplied a hundred times. I will send no Nadir on such a quest.'

'As you well know there is one among my priests with the strength to overcome such evil,' said Dardalion. He leaned in close to the wizened shaman. 'But tell me, Kesa Khan, what else is down there?'

'Have you not used your great powers to find out?' countered the wizened Nadir, unable to keep a sneer from disfiguring his face.

'No spirit can penetrate the lower levels. There is a force there many times stronger than I have encountered before. But you know all this, old man, and more. I do not ask for your grat.i.tude -it is meaningless to me. We are not here for you. But I would ask for a little honesty.'

'Ask all you like, Drenai. I owe you nothing! You want the crystal - then seek it out.'

Dardalion sighed. 'Very well, I shall do just that. But I will not send Ekodas into the Pit. I shall go myself.'

"The crystal will destroy you!'

'Perhaps.'

'You are a fool, Dardalion. Ekodas is many times stronger than you. You know this.'

The Abbot smiled. 'Yes, I know.' The smile faded and his eyes hardened. 'And now the time for pretence is over. You need Ekodas. Without him your dreams are dust. I have seen the future, Kesa Khan. I have seen more than you know. Everything here is in a state of delicate balance. One wrong strategy and your hopes will die.'

The shaman relaxed, and added fuel to the flames in the brazier. 'We are not so different, you and I. Very well, I will tell you all that you desire to know. But it must be Ekodas who destroys the evil. You agree?'

'Let us talk, and then I will decide.'

'That is acceptable, Drenai.' Kesa Khan took a deep breath. 'Ask your questions.'

'What perils wait in the lower levels?'

The shaman shrugged. 'How would I know? As you say, no spirit power can enter there.'

'Who would you send with Ekodas?' asked Dardalion softly.

'The Drenai woman and her lover.'

Dardalion caught the gleam in the shaman's eyes. 'You are transparent in your hate, Kesa Khan.