‘His eyes were on fire,’ said Krylla.
Waylander lit a small fire in a circle of stones, then walked out on to the plain to see if the glare could be spotted. Satisfied that the campsite was hidden, he made his way slowly through the long grass towards the hollow.
A cloud drifted across the moon and the plain was plunged into darkness. Waylander froze. A whisper of movement to his right saw him drop to the ground, knife in hand.
‘Get up, my son,’ came a voice from beside him.
Waylander rolled left and came up on one knee, knife extended. ‘You will not need your weapon. I am alone and very old.’
Waylander eased his way back along the trail and edged to the right.
‘You are a cautious man,’ said the voice. ‘Very well, I will go on and meet you by your fire.’
The cloud passed and silver light bathed the plain. Waylander straightened. He was alone. Swiftly he scouted the area. Nothing. He returned to the fire.
Sitting beside it with hands outstretched to the warmth was an old man. Krylla and Miriel were sitting beside him, Dardalion and Danyal opposite.
Waylander approached cautiously and the man did not look up. He was bald and beardless and the skin of his face hung in slender folds. Waylander guessed from the width of his shoulders that he had once been very strong. Now he was skeletal and his eyelids were flat against the sockets.
A blind man!
‘Why doesn’t your face fit?’ said Miriel.
‘It did once,’ said the old man. ‘I was considered handsome in my youth, when my hair was golden and my eyes emerald green.’
‘You look awful now,’ said Krylla.
‘I am sure that I do! Thankfully I can no longer see myself and therefore am spared great disappointment. Ah, the Wanderer returns,’ said the old man, tilting his head.
‘Who are you?’ asked Waylander.
‘A traveller like yourself.’
‘You travel alone?’
‘Yes … but not as alone as you.’
‘Are you the mystic who spoke to Krylla?’
‘I had that honour – and a delightful child she is. Very gifted for one so young. She tells me that you are a saviour, a great hero.’
‘She sees with the eye of a child. All is not always as it seems,’ said Waylander.
‘Children see many things we no longer see. If we did, would we wage war so terribly?’
‘Are you a priest, man? I’ve had my damned fill of priests,’ snapped Waylander.
‘No. I am merely a student of life. I would like to have been a priest, but I fear my appetites always had the better of me. I could never resist a pretty face or a fine wine. Now that I am old I wish for other delights, but even these are now denied me.’
‘How did you find us?’
‘Krylla showed me the way.’
‘And I suppose you would like to travel with us?’
The man smiled. ‘Would that I could! No, I shall bide with you tonight, and then I must embark on another journey.’
‘We do not have much food,’ said Waylander.
‘But you are welcome to what we have,’ said Dardalion, moving to sit beside the old man.
‘I am not hungry, but thank you. You are the priest?’
‘Yes.’
The old man reached out and touched the hilt of Dardalion’s dagger. ‘An unusual object for a priest to carry?’
‘These are unusual days,’ answered Dardalion, his face flushing.
‘They must be.’ He turned his head towards Waylander. ‘I cannot see you, but I feel your power. And also your anger. Are you angry with me?’
‘Not yet,’ said Waylander, ‘but I am wondering when you will arrive at the point of your visit.’
‘You think I have some ulterior motive?’
‘Not at all,’ said Waylander drily. ‘A blind man invites himself to supper through the mystic talents of a frightened child and finds our fire in the middle of a veritable wilderness. What could be more natural? Who are you and what do you want?’
‘Do you always have to be so loathsome?’ said Danyal. ‘I don’t care who he is, he’s welcome. Or perhaps you’d like to kill him? After all, you haven’t killed anyone for a couple of hours.’