The dark priest of the Brotherhood licked his lips, his sword heavy in his hand. He knew that the odds favoured his force, knew with certainty that Waylander would die if he gave the word to attack. But the double-edged knowledge held a second certainty … that the moment he spoke, he would die.
Danyal could stand the suspense no longer and, twisting round, she saw Waylander. Her movement caused Miriel to open her eyes and the first thing the child saw were the warriors in their helms.
She screamed.
The spell broke …
Waylander’s cloak flickered and the dark priest of the Brotherhood pitched backwards with a black bolt through one eye. For several seconds he writhed and then was still.
The six warriors stood their ground, then the man in the centre slowly sheathed his sword and the others followed suit. With infinite care they backed away into the gathering darkness of the trees.
Waylander did not move.
‘Fetch the horses,’ he said quietly, ‘and gather the blankets.’
An hour later they were camped in high ground in a shallow cave; the children were sleeping and Danyal lay awake beside them as Dardalion and the warrior sat together under the stars.
After a while Dardalion came into the cave and stirred the small fire to life. The smoke drifted up through a crack in the roof of the cave, but still their small shelter smelt of burning pine. It was a comforting scent. The priest moved to where Danyal lay and, seeing she was awake, sat beside her.
‘Are you well?’ he asked.
‘I feel strange,’ she admitted. ‘I was so prepared for death that all fear left me. Yet I am alive. Why did he come back?’
‘I do not know. He does not know.’
‘Why did they go away?’
Dardalion leaned his back against the cave wall, stretching his legs towards the fire.
‘I am not sure. I have given much thought to it and I think perhaps it is the nature of soldiers. They are trained to fight and kill upon a given order – to obey unquestioningly. They do not act as individuals. And when a battle comes it is usually clear-cut: there is a city which must be captured or a force which must be overcome. The order is given, excitement grows – dulling fear – and they attack in a mass, drawing strength from the mob around them.
‘But today there was no order and Waylander, in remaining still, gave them no cause to fire their blood.’
‘But Waylander could not have known they would run away,’ she insisted.
‘No. He didn’t care.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘In truth I am not sure that I do. But I sensed it during those moments. He didn’t care … and they knew it. But they cared, they cared very much. They didn’t want to die and they were not charged up to fight.’
‘But they could have killed him … killed us all.’
‘Could have, yes. But they didn’t – and for that I am thankful. Go to sleep, sister. We have won another night.’
Outside Waylander watched the stars. He was still numbed from the encounter and ran the memories through time and again.
He had found their camp deserted and had followed them, a growing fear eating at him. Dismounting below the woods, he had made his way to the clearing, only to see the Hounds advancing. He had strung his crossbow, and then stopped. To advance was to die and every instinct screamed at him to go back.
Yet he had advanced, throwing aside years of caution, to give away his life for a nonsense.
Why in the name of Hell had they walked away?
No matter how many times he considered it, an answer always eluded him.
A movement to his left jerked him from his reverie and he turned to see one of the children walking from the cave. She looked neither to right nor left. Waylander went to her and touched her lightly on the arm, but she moved on, unaware of him. Stooping, he lifted her. Her eyes were closed and her head drooped to his shoulder. She was very light in his arms as he walked back to the cave, ready to lay her beside her sister. But then he stopped in the cave mouth and sat with his back against the wall, drawing her close with his cloak about her.