A crossbow bolt flashed through its neck, and it slumped to the ground.
Waylander yelled at the top of his voice and spurred the horse into a gallop. The wolves scattered, but not before a second beast died with a bolt through its brain. The man at the tree sagged and fell forward. Way-lander sprang from the saddle and tied the reins to a stout bush. He reloaded the crossbow and scanned the undergrowth. The wolves were gone … for now.
He moved to the man, who was now kneeling, his hand clamped to a badly bleeding wound on his upper arm.
‘You are lucky, my friend,’ said Waylander.
The man looked up … and Waylander blanched.
He was wearing no mask. He had but a single eye at the centre of his forehead, wherein were two pupils each rimmed with gold iris. His nose was missing; two membrane-covered slits stretched beneath his eye. And his mouth was nightmare.
Shaped like an upturned V, it was lined with fangs sharp as arrow points. Once Waylander had seen a huge white fish with a mouth such as this, and he had never forgotten it. It had filled him with fear at the time, and made him vow never to enter the sea.
But this?
His crossbow was ready and he contemplated stepping back and loosing both bolts into the man-creature before it could attack him. But his great round eye closed and he slid to the ground.
It was almost too good an opportunity to miss and Waylander backed to his horse, ready to ride away. But he could not. Some contrariness in his nature made him stop and return to the wounded thing.
As he had with Dardalion so long before, Waylander stitched the wounds to the creature’s arm and leg and then bandaged them as best he could. He was naked, but for a moth-eaten loincloth of old fur, and Waylander wrapped him in a blanket and prepared a fire. After an hour the creature’s eyes opened and he sat up. Waylander offered him some dry meat and he took it without a word. The fangs closed on it and it disappeared.
‘Can you talk?’ asked Waylander.
The great eye merely looked at him. Waylander shrugged and passed more jerked beef which vanished instantly into the cavernous mouth.
‘Can you understand me?’
The creature nodded.
‘I cannot stay to help you. I am being hunted. Beasts and men. You understand?’
The creature lifted his hand and pointed south.
‘That’s right, they are coming from the south. I must go, but I will leave you food.’
Waylander walked to his horse, stood for a moment and then unpacked his blanket roll, removed two long hunting knives which were bone-handled and razor-sharp. He took them back to the fire. ‘Here. You may need these.’ The man-creature reached out. His fingers were incredibly long, the nails curved into dark talons which curled around the bone hilts as he raised the knives to his eye. His reflection came back at him and he blinked and looked away; then he nodded and pushed himself to his feet, towering over Waylander.
The assassin swallowed hard. It was difficult to read the expression on the monster’s face, but Waylander was uncomfortably aware of the two knives in his hands.
‘Goodbye, my friend,’ he said, forcing a smile.
He went to his horse and stepped into the saddle, wrenching the reins clear of the bush. The creature moved forward, its jaws moving and a low grunting noise issuing forth which caused Waylander’s mount to back away. The creature’s head tilted to one side with the effort he was making.
‘Udai rend,’ he said. Not understanding, Waylander nodded and moved away.
‘Urbye vrend.’
Understanding at last, Waylander turned in the saddle and waved.
‘Goodbye, friend,’ he called and rode into the darkness.
21
On the mountain pass east of Purdol, two young men ate a breakfast of cheese and bread while swapping tall stories concerning the legendary whores of Purdol Docks. The sun was shining and the taller of the two – a five-year soldier named Tarvic – stood up and walked to the edge of the cliff path, staring out over the desert to the north. He had been pleased to get this assignment; watching a cliff path was a lot less dangerous than defending a rampart.