Waylander 3 – Hero in the Shadows By David Gemmell

Waylander 3 – Hero in the Shadows By David Gemmell

Waylander 3 – Hero in the Shadows By David Gemmell

The Drenai books

Legend

The King Beyond the Gate

Waylander

Quest for Lost Heroes

Waylander II: In the Realm of the Wolf

The First Chronicles of Druss the Legend

The Legend of Deathwalker

Winter Warriors

Hero in the Shadows

The Jon Shannow books

Wolf in Shadow

The Last Guardian

Bloodstone

The Stones of Power books

Ghost King

Last Sword of Power

Lion of Macedon

Dark Prince

The Hawk Queen books

Ironhand’s Daughter

The Hawk Eternal

The Rigante books

Sword in the Storm

Midnight Falcon

Individual titles

Knights of Dark Renown

Drenai Tales

Morning Star

Dark Moon

Echoes of the Great Song

HERO IN THE SHADOWS

David A. Gemmell

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Prologue

Mercenary captain Camran Osir reined in his mount at the crest of the hill and swung in the saddle to stare back down the forest trail. The twelve men under his command rode from the trees in single file, and paused while he scanned the horizon. Removing his iron helm, Camran ran his fingers through his long blond hair, enjoying, momentarily, the warm breeze evaporating the sweat on his scalp. He glanced at the captive girl on the horse beside him. Her hands were tied, her dark eyes defiant. He smiled at her, and saw her blanch. She knew he was going to kill her, and that her passing would be painful. He felt the warmth of blood pulsing in his loins. Then the feeling passed. His blue eyes narrowed as he gazed over the valley, seeking sign of pursuit.

Satisfied that no one was following, Camran tried to relax. He was still angry, of course, but calmed himself with the thought that his riders were ill-educated brutes, with little understanding of civilized behaviour.

The raid had gone well. There were only five men in the little farming settlement, and these had been killed quickly, with no wounds or losses among his own men. Some of the women and children had managed to escape into the woods, but three young women had been taken. Enough, at least, to satisfy the carnal urges of his riders. Camran himself had captured the fourth, the dark-haired girl on the sway-backed horse beside him. She had tried to run, but he had ridden her down, leaping from his horse and bearing her to the ground. She had fought silently, without panic, but one blow to the chin had rendered her unconscious, and he had thrown her over his saddle. There was blood now upon her pale cheek, and a purple bruise was showing on the side of her neck. Her faded yellow dress was torn at the shoulder and had flapped down, almost exposing her breast. Camran jerked his thoughts from her soft skin, turning his mind to more urgent concerns.

Yes, the raid had gone well. Until that idiot Polian had incited the others to set fire to the old farmhouse. Wanton destruction of property was anathema to a man of breeding like Camran. It was criminally wasteful. Peasants could always be replaced, but good buildings should be treated with respect. And the farmhouse was a good building, soundly constructed by a man who cared about quality work. Camran had been furious – not only with them, but with himself. For instead of merely killing the captured women he had allowed his needs to override his common sense. He had taken his time, enjoying the screams of the first, luxuriating in the desperate pleading of the second, and the subsequent cries of agony of the third. With each of them dead he had turned his attentions to the dark-haired girl. She had not pleaded, or made a sound after returning to consciousness to find her hands and ankles bound. She was to be the richest harvest; her cries, when they came, would be the purest and sweetest.

The smoke had billowed over him just as he was unwrapping his ivory-handled skinning knives. Swinging round, he saw the fires. Leaving the bound girl where she lay, he ran back to the scene. Polian was grinning as Camran came alongside him. He was still grinning as he died, Camran’s dagger plunging between his ribs, skewering his heart.