‘I did not know myself,’ said Kysumu.
The Duke swung away and moved among the wounded, organizing aid for them.
Waylander approached Eldicar Manushan. ‘For a moment there I thought you had been killed,’ he said.
‘Yes, it seemed likely.’
‘I thought your arm had been torn from your body, but I see it was only your sleeve.’
‘I was lucky,’ said Eldicar. ‘As indeed were you. You killed a Bezha. That is no mean feat, Grey Man. How were you able to do that?’
Waylander gave a cold smile. ‘One day I might show you,’ he said.
Eldicar Manushan chuckled. ‘Let us hope not,’ he said. The smile faded. ‘Perhaps we can talk later.’ With a courteous bow he moved away, and began to assist Chardyn with the wounded.
Waylander stood for a moment. The temperature was rising again, but there was still ice upon the ground. He shivered and strode across to where Kysumu was standing. The little Chiatze sheathed his sword. ‘Do you believe they have gone for good?’ asked the Rajnee.
Waylander shrugged. ‘They have or they haven’t.’
‘Did you see the magicker fall?’
‘Yes.’
‘He was all but torn in half.’
‘I know.’
‘The priestess was right then. He cannot be killed.’
‘It would appear so,’ agreed Waylander. Suddenly weary, he sat down on a broken wall. Lord Aric, divested now of his armour, walked over to join them. He offered Waylander a canteen of water. Waylander accepted it and drank deeply, then passed it to Kysumu, who declined it.
‘I have never seen the like,’ said Aric. ‘I thought we were finished for certain. Without that sword of yours we would have been. My thanks to you, Rajnee.’ Kysumu bowed. A little way to the left a man screamed in pain, the sound ebbing away and ending abruptly. Aric looked back. ‘Victory has a high price,’ he said.
‘It usually does,’ agreed Waylander, pushing himself to his feet. ‘I am riding home. I shall send wagons for the wounded. Those injured by the hounds will need swift attention. Any who can ride should follow on and I will see that Mendyr Syn is waiting for them.’ With that he strode across the killing ground to where the horses were tethered. Kysumu followed and they rode from the ruins.
Clouds drifted across the moon as the two riders reached the slope, and they made the climb carefully and in silence. By the time they reached higher ground the sky had cleared, but still they rode on without speaking. Waylan-der was lost in thought. If the demons had been summoned by Eldicar Manushan why, then, did he defeat them? And if the demons were his creatures why did they attack him? Something was missing here, and it galled Waylander that he could not fasten to it. He replayed the events in his mind: Eldicar standing on the rock, his voice booming and confident, the mist slowing and even beginning to recede. Then Eldicar had faltered, his confidence draining away, the spell evaporating. Talons had ripped into him. Only the accidental discovery of the true power of Kysumu’s blade had saved the Duke and his men.
Two hours later, still having reached no conclusions, Waylander rode his horse through the last of the trees and on to the long path leading to the upper palace. It was close to dawn, and he saw more than a hundred people milling outside the double doors. Many torches and lanterns had been lit, and his guards, led by Emrin, had placed themselves between the palace and the crowd. Many of the soldiers had swords drawn.
Emrin came running from the group as the riders approached. ‘What is happening?’ asked Waylander.
‘Demons attacked the palace, sir,’ said Emrin. ‘Two men are dead, but nineteen more people are missing, including the surgeon, the foreign priestess and her followers – and your friend Matze Chai. The demons came at us in the Long Kitchens, killing Omri and one of the Duke’s bodyguards – Naren, I think he was called.’
‘And the Duke’s son?’ asked Waylander.
‘He is fine, sir. We killed one demon – Yu Yu and I. Then the mist withdrew into the palace. We stayed where we were for a long while. We heard many screams.’ Emrin took a deep breath and looked away. ‘I did not investigate.’ He looked back at Waylander, awaiting censure.