Waylander 3 – Hero in the Shadows By David Gemmell

‘Few now hold fully to the old ways,’ he said, sadly. ‘Most Rajnee are now merely bodyguards, seeking to earn riches. They will not heed the call of the swords, nor journey to foreign lands.’

‘And what of you, Grey Man?’ she asked. ‘Will you fight the demon lords?’

‘Why should I?’ he countered, his voice edged with bitterness. ‘It is just another war – just another group of greedy men seeking to take what does not belong to them. And they will hold it for just so long as they are strong enough to resist the next group of greedy men who desire to take it from them.’

‘This one is different,’ she said softly. ‘If they win, the world will know the nature of true terror. Children dragged from their mothers’ arms to be melded into beasts, or have their organs removed in order to prolong the lives of the rulers. Thousands butchered in the name of arcane science. Magic of the most horrific kind will become commonplace.’

When Waylander spoke his voice was cold. ‘During the Vagrian Wars babes were torn from their mothers’ arms to have their heads smashed against walls of stone. Children were slaughtered and men slain in their thousands. Women were raped and mutilated. This was done by men. A grieving mother would not care whether her babe was destroyed by magic or by might. No, I have had my fill of wars, Lady.’

‘Then think of it as a battle against evil,’ she said.

‘Look at me,’ he said. ‘Do I have a shining sword? You know my life, Lady. Does it seem to you that I have been a warrior of the light?’

‘No,’ she told him, ‘you have also walked the path of evil, which gives you greater understanding of its nature. Yet you overcame it. You fought the darkness, and gave the Drenai people hope by recovering the Armour of Bronze. Now a greater evil looms.’

‘How is it that you know so much about this evil?’ he asked her.

‘Because I was born of it,’ she said. Her gloved hands moved to her high collar, pulling loose the hooks that held it. With a sudden wrench she opened the silken robe, letting it drop to the terrace. The morning sunlight shone upon her slim body, highlighting the striped fur of gold and black that covered her skin. Both men stood very still as she peeled off one of her gloves and raised the hand high. The fur ended at her wrists, but her fingers seemed unnatural and oddly shortened. She flexed the hand and long silver claws emerged from sheaths at her fingertips. ‘I am a Joining, Grey Man. A failed experiment. It was intended that I should be a new form of Kraloth – a killing machine of great strength and speed. Instead the magic, which created this monstrosity of a body, also enhanced my mind. You are looking upon the future of mankind. Do you find it beautiful?’

Waylander said nothing, for there was nothing to say. Her face was human, and indescribably beautiful, but her body was feline, the joints crooked.

Kysumu stepped up behind the naked priestess, and raised her robe from the floor. Ustarte smiled her thanks and drew the garment around her. ‘My followers and I came through the gateway. Six were killed in the attempt. We came to save this world. Will you help us?’

‘I am not a general, Lady. I am an assassin. I have no armies. You want me to ride out alone against a horde of demons? For what? Honour and a swift death?’

‘You would not be alone,’ said Kysumu softly.

‘I am always alone,’ said Waylander. With that he strolled from the terrace.

He stared hard at the armour. It shone brightly in the lantern-light as if crafted from moonlight. The winged helm was gleaming, and he could see his reflection in the closed visor. The chainmail attached to the nape was impossibly delicate, light glittering from it as if from a hundred diamonds. The cuirass was beautifully fashioned, and engraved with runes he could not read.

‘It would look fine upon you, sir,’ said the armourer, his voice echoing in the high, domed hall.