Waylander 3 – Hero in the Shadows By David Gemmell

Ustarte had stretched herself out on the floor and was sleeping.

Keeva walked out into the morning sunlight. The trail outside was rocky scree, and she could see no sign of their passing. She sat back against the cliff-face and watched the branches of nearby oaks rustling in the breeze. A pair of wood pigeons flew by, their wings making a slapping sound. She looked up and smiled, feeling some of the tension drain from her body.

A red hawk swooped down from the skies, its long talons ripping into one of the pigeons. The wings folded and it dropped to the rocks. The hawk landed alongside the still-twitching body. Talons gripped it, the curved beak ripping into the living flesh.

Weariness flowed over Keeva, and she leant back and closed her eyes. She dozed for a while in the sunshine, and dreamt of her uncle. She was nine again, and the townspeople had dragged the old witch to a stake in the marketplace. Keeva had been out buying apples, which her uncle intended to use for a pie. She had watched the crowd baying at the witch, spitting at her and striking her with sticks. There was blood on the woman’s face.

They had hauled her to the stake, tied her securely, then placed bundles of dry kindling all around her. After dousing her with oil they set fire to the kindling. Her screams were terrible.

Keeva had dropped the apples and run all the way home. Her uncle had hugged her, stroking her hair. ‘She was an evil woman,’ he said. ‘She poisoned her entire family to gain an inheritance.’

‘But they were laughing as she burned.’

‘Aye, I expect they were. That’s the nature of evil, Keeva. It breeds. It is born in every hateful thought, every spiteful word, every greedy deed. The crowd hated her, and in hating her they drew just a touch of evil into themselves. In some it will fade away. In others it will find a place to seed.’

The child Keeva had not understood. But she had remembered.

Keeva opened her eyes. The sun was almost at noon, and she rose and stretched.

Inside the cave Ustarte was awake, sitting quietly in the shadows.

‘Are they still following?’ asked Keeva.

‘No, some returned to Carlis with their dead and wounded. Others are waiting at the White Palace to arrest the Grey Man. But they will come again.’

‘Does the Grey Man know they are at the palace?’

‘Yes.’

Keeva sighed. ‘Good. Then he will avoid them.’

‘No, he won’t,’ said Ustarte. ‘He is already there. His anger is very great, but his mind is cool.’ Ustarte closed her golden eyes. ‘The hunters are closing in on the sword-bearers,’ she said.

‘You mean Yu Yu and his friend?’

‘Yes. They are being pursued by two squads of Kriaz-nor, one from the south, one from the north.’

‘What are Kriaz-nor?’ asked Keeva.

‘They are meld-creatures like myself. Faster, stronger and more deadly than almost any human.’

‘Almost?’

Ustarte gave a wan smile. ‘Nothing that walks or breathes is more deadly than the Grey Man.’

Keeva saw tears once more upon the face of the priestess. ‘And that saddens you?’

‘Of course. Within the darkness of the Grey Man’s soul a small light flickers, all that remains of a good and kindly man. I asked him to fight for us, and fight he will. If that light goes out it will be my fault.’

‘It will not go out,’ said Keeva, putting her hand on Ustarte’s shoulder. ‘He is a hero. My uncle told me that heroes have special souls that are blessed by the Source. He was a wise man, my uncle.’

Ustarte smiled. ‘I pray that your uncle was right.’

Chapter Eleven

Niallad sat quietly on the ledge, his back against the cliff-face, the white surf crashing upon the rocks several hundred feet below. The Grey Man was sitting motionless beside him, his face calm, no suggestion of tension in him. They had been sitting here now for two hours. The sun had been up for some time, and Niallad’s clothes were almost dry.

The events of the night before kept replaying in his mind. The death of his parents, the treachery of Gaspir, the rescue by the Grey Man. It all seemed somehow unreal. How could his father be dead? He was the strongest, most vital man in the duchy. Niallad saw again his mother lying sprawled on the floor. A dreadful emptiness assailed him and he felt tears welling. The Grey Man touched his arm. Blinking, Niallad turned his head. The Grey Man lifted a finger to his lips and shook his head. No sound. Niallad nodded and glanced up. Some ten feet above them was an overhang of rock. From beyond that they could hear the guards talking outside the Grey Man’s apartments.