‘The demons have gone. I can feel it.’
The Grey Man slipped the bolts from his crossbow, returning them to the quiver by his side. Without another word he strode off.
Chapter Nine
Waylander kept moving until he was out of sight of the Rajnee then sat down on a velvet-covered bench seat in the corridor. His relief at the survival of Matze Chai was overwhelming, and he could feel his hands trembling. Leaning back against the wall, he took several deep, calming breaths. The death of Mendyr Syn and Omri saddened him greatly, but he had known them for only a short while. Matze Chai had been part of his life for three decades, a solid anchor he could always rely upon. He had not, however, realized until this day how much he cared for the old man.
But with the relief came a deeper anger, a cold and terrible resentment against the arrogant cruelty of men who were willing to visit such terror on innocent victims. Ultimately, he knew, wars were never about simple issues like right and wrong. They were launched by men who lusted after power. They did not care about the victims like Omri or Mendyr Syn. They lived for fame, and all the empty, fruitless joys it brought. One man like Omri was worth ten thousand of such killers, he thought.
Having recovered his composure Waylander moved on at a lope, scaling the stairs of the North Tower two at a time. He slowed when he reached the first level. Shelves had been torn from the walls, and manuscripts, scrolls and leatherbound volumes were scattered across the floor. Kneeling, he touched his hand to the carpet. It was wet and cold. To the left were two eight-foot stains upon the floor. Dark blood was spattered around them. Ustarte’s followers, it seemed, had fought well.
Treading carefully through the debris he reached the second stairwell and climbed once more. As he turned a corner he saw the body of a huge, golden wolf, its belly ripped open, its golden eyes glazing. The body twitched as he approached and it tried to raise its head. Then it slumped down and died.
Climbing past the dead beast he came across two more bodies, those of the acolytes who had followed Ustarte. Waylander struggled to remember their names. Prial was one. He was lying upon his back, his chest open, ribs splayed. The other lay close by. Huge talon marks were on his back, and the lower part of his spine was jutting from his body.
Waylander stepped over them. The door to Ustarte’s apartments had been torn from its hinges. He moved into the doorway and scanned the room. Furniture had been hurled against the walls, the ornate carpet was ripped in places, and there was blood upon the floor and walls. There was no sign of Ustarte. Waylander moved to the window. Upon the sill was a bloody smear. Leaning out, he looked down. Two floors below was a balcony. A patch of blood showed on the balustrade.
Retracing his steps he returned to the stairs. The body of the golden wolf had vanished. In its place lay the third of Ustarte’s acolytes.
Waylander walked to the front of the palace, where Emrin was anxiously waiting.
‘The palace is clear,’ said Waylander. Tell the servants they can return to their rooms.’
‘Yes, sir. Quite a few have left your service. They have gone to Carlis. Even those who remain are frightened.’
‘I don’t blame them. Send some men to fetch the bodies from the Long Kitchens and the North Tower library. And set the servants tasks to take their minds from their fear. Tell them all there will be an extra month’s salary to compensate for the terror they have endured.’
‘Yes, sir. They will be most grateful. Did you find the priestess?’
‘She and her people are dead.’ Waylander looked into the young man’s eyes. ‘With Omri gone I need someone to manage the household. That role is yours for now. Your salary is doubled.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘No need to thank me. It is an arduous duty and you will earn your pay. Have the wagons left?’