Waylander 3 – Hero in the Shadows By David Gemmell

‘There is no need to ride,’ said Ustarte. ‘Come, stand with me, and I shall take you where you wish to go.’

Waylander and Keeva moved alongside her.

Niallad called out. ‘For what it is worth, Grey Man, I do forgive you. And I thank you for all you have done for me.’

Ustarte raised her hands. The air shimmered before her. Then she stepped from sight, Waylander and Keeva disappearing with her.

Chapter Sixteen

The massive nave of the temple was thronged with people; mothers holding fast to their children, husbands staying close to their loved ones. Hundreds of the citizens of Carlis had taken refuge here, workers, merchants, tanners and clerics all huddled together. A few soldiers were with them, men who had been ordered to watch for the renegade priest Chardyn.

Priests moved among the crowds, offering blessings, leading prayers.

The corpse of an elderly man lay by one of the walls, the face covered by a cloak. His heart had failed. The body was a reminder of the perils that awaited them outside. Fear was almost palpable, and conversations were held in hushed whispers. The topic was the same everywhere. Would the hallowed walls keep out the demons? Were they safe within this holy place?

A white-robed figure moved into sight, climbing the steps to the high altar. A cry went up from the crowd as they recognized Chardyn. People began to cheer. Relief swept through the crowd.

Chardyn stood in full sight of them all and spread his arms. ‘My children!’ he bellowed. Several soldiers moved forward. Chardyn looked down at them. ‘Stand where you are!’ he thundered. Such was the power in his voice that the soldiers stopped, and glanced at one another. The crowd would tear to pieces any who tried to harm the priest. The soldiers relaxed.

‘The Duke is dead,” said Chardyn, transferring his gaze to the crowd. ‘He was slain by sorcery. And now demons stalk the land. You know this. You know that a magicker summoned Hell-hounds to kill and to maim. That is why you are here. But let me ask you this: do you think these walls might protect you? These walls were built by men.’ He fell silent, his eyes scanning the silent congregation. Then he pointed at a large man standing at the centre of the throng. ‘I see you, Benae Tarlin! You and your team constructed the south wall. What power do you possess that will hold back demons? What magic did you invest in these stones? What ward-spells did you cast?’ He waited for an answer. The crowd swung to stare at the hulking man, who reddened and said nothing. ‘The answer is none!’ roared Chardyn. ‘They are merely walls of stone. Cold, lifeless stone. And so, you might ask, where is the sanctuary against the evil that is outside? Where can we hide to be safe?’ He paused and allowed the silence to grow.

‘Where is anyone safe from evil?’ he said at last. ‘The answer is nowhere. You cannot run from evil. It will find you. You cannot hide from evil. It will burrow down to the deepest place in your heart and it will discover you.’

‘And what of the Source?’ shouted a man. ‘Why does He not protect us?’

‘Aye, what of the Source?’ responded Chardyn. ‘Where is He in our hour of need? Well, He is here, my friends. He is ready. He waits with a shield of thunder and a spear of lightning. He waits.’

‘What is he waiting for?’ came another shout, this time from the stone-mason Chardyn had picked out earlier.

‘He is waiting for you, Benae Tarlin,’ answered Char-dyn. ‘He is waiting for you, and he is waiting for me. At the palace of the Grey Man there is a magicker, a man who summons demons. He has bewitched the lords Aric and Panagyn, and arranged the massacre of many of our leading citizens. He now rules Carlis, and soon, perhaps, all of Kydor. One man. One vile and evil man. One man who believes that the murder of a group of nobles will cow and terrorize an entire population. Is he right? Of course he is. Here we are, cowering behind walls of stone. And the Source waits. He waits to see if we have the courage to believe. If we have the faith to act. Every week we assemble here and we sing songs of the Source, of His greatness and His power. Do we believe them? We do when times are good. You listen to sermons about the heroes of the Source, of the Abbot Dardalion and the Thirty, his warrior priests. My, but they make great listening, do they not? A few men who, with courage and faith, set themselves against a terrible enemy. Did they cower behind walls and ask the Source to fight for them? No, for the Source was within them. The Source fed their courage, their spirit, their strength. That same Source is within us, my friends.’