Waylander 3 – Hero in the Shadows By David Gemmell

The girl moved alongside him, stroking his hair from his sweat-drenched brow.

Waylander closed his eyes and slept again, floating in a sea of dreams. A giant creature with the face of a wolf bore down upon him. He shot two crossbow bolts into its mouth. A second came at him. With no weapons to hand, he leapt at the beast, his hands grasping for its throat. It shifted and changed, becoming a slender woman whose neck snapped as his hands gripped hard. He cried out in agony, then looked around. The first dead beast had also changed. It had become a small boy, lying dead in a meadow of spring flowers. Waylander looked at his hands. They were covered in blood, which flowed up over his arms, covering his chest and neck, streaming over his face and into his mouth, choking him. He spat it out, struggling for breath, and staggered to a nearby stream, hurling himself into it, trying to wash the blood from his face and body.

A man was sitting on the bank. ‘Help me!’ called Waylander.

‘I cannot,’ said the man. He stood and turned away, and Waylander saw two crossbow bolts jutting from his back.

The terrible dreams continued, dreams of blood and death.

When he awoke it was still dark, but he felt stronger. Moving with care to protect the stitches, he rolled to his right and pushed himself to a sitting position. The second wound above his hip flared with pain and he grunted.

‘Are you feeling better?’ the girl asked him.

‘A little. Thank you for helping me.’

She laughed.

‘What is so amusing?’ he asked.

‘You rode after thirteen men and suffered these wounds to come to my rescue. And you thank me? You are a strange man, Lord. Are you hungry?’ He realized that he was. In fact, he was ravenous. She took a stick and rolled three large clay balls from the fire. Cracking open the first with a sharp blow she knelt down and examined the contents. Looking up at him, she smiled.

It was a pretty smile, he thought. ‘What do you have there?’ he asked.

‘Pigeons. I killed them yesterday. They are a little too fresh, but there was no other food. My uncle taught me how to cook them in clay, but I have not tried it in years.’

‘Yesterday? How long have I been sleeping?’

‘On and off for three days.’

Satisfied that the first pigeon was cooked, she cracked open the other two balls. The smell of roasted meat filled the air. Waylander felt almost sick with hunger. They waited impatiently until the meat had cooled, then devoured the birds. The flavour was strong, the texture not unlike aged beef.

‘Who is Tanya?’ she asked.

He looked at her, and his eyes were cold. ‘How do you know that name?’

‘You cried out in your sleep.’

He did not answer at first, and she did not press him. Instead she built up the fire and sat quietly, a blanket around her shoulders. ‘She was my first wife,’ he said at last. ‘She died. Her grave is a long way from here.’

‘Did you love her greatly?’

‘Aye. Greatly. You are very curious.’

‘How else does one find out what one wishes to know?’

‘I cannot argue with that.’ She was about to speak, but he raised his hand. ‘And let that be an end to questions on this matter,’ he said.

‘As you will, Lord.’

‘I am not a lord. I am a landowner.’

‘Are you very old? Your hair is grey, and there are lines on your face. But you move like a young man.’

‘What is your name?’ he asked her.

‘Keeva Taliana.’

‘Yes, I am old, Keeva Taliana. Older than sin.’

‘Then how is it that you could kill all those men? They were young and strong and fierce as devils.’

Suddenly he felt weary again. She was instantly full of concern. ‘You must drink lots of water,’ she said. ‘My uncle told me that. Loss of blood, lots of water.’

‘A wise man, your uncle. Did he also teach you to use your elbow as a weapon?’

‘Yes. He taught me many things. None of which was terribly useful when the raiders came.’