‘You’re getting old, Waylander,’ said Kaem.
The door burst open and a young man ran in, carrying a bow with arrow notched to the string.
Waylander’s arm shot forward and the young man collapsed with a black-bladed knife in his throat. Waylander ran to the door, hurdling the corpse.
‘You’ll die for that!’ screamed Kaem. ‘You hear me? You will die!’
The sound of sobbing .followed Waylander as he ran down the wide stairs, for the dead man was Kaem’s only son…
And now the hunters were searching for his killer.
Wrapped in his blankets with his back against a jutting rock, Waylander heard the old man approach, the coarse cloth of his robes whispering against the long grass. ‘May I join you?’
‘Why not?’
‘It is a glorious night, is it not?’
‘How does a blind man define glorious?’ ‘The air is fresh and cool and the silence a mask – a cloak which hides so much life. To the right there, a hare is sitting, wondering why two men are so close to his burrow. Away to the left is a red fox – a vixen by the smell – and she is hunting the hare. And overhead the bats are out, enjoying the night as am I.’
‘It’s too bright for my liking,’ said Waylander.
‘It is always hard to be hunted.’
‘I had a feeling you knew.’
‘Knew what? The feeling of being hunted, or the fact that the Dark Brotherhood are seeking you?’
‘Either. Both. It does not matter.’
‘You were right, Waylander. I was seeking you and there is an ulterior motive. So shall we stop fencing?’
‘As you wish.’
‘I have a message for you.’
‘From whom?’
‘That is not part of my brief. And also it would take more time than I have to explain it to you. Let me say only that you have been given a chance to redeem yourself.’
‘Nice of you. However, there is nothing to redeem.’
‘If you say so. I do not wish to argue. Soon you will reach the camp of Egel where you will find an army in disarray: a force doomed to ultimate defeat. You can aid them.’
‘Are your wits addled, old man? Nothing can save Egel.’
‘I did not say “save”. I said “aid”.’
‘What is the purpose of aiding a dead man?’
‘What was the purpose in saving the priest?’
‘It was a whim, damn you! And it will be a long time before I allow myself another such.’
‘Why are you angry?’
Waylander chuckled, but there was no humour in the sound.
‘You know what has happened to you?’ asked the old man.’You have been touched by the Source and those are the chains you rail against. Once you were a fine man and knew love. But love died, and since no man lives in a vacuum you filled yourself not with hate but with emptiness. You have not been alive these past twenty years – you have been a walking corpse. Saving the priest was your first decent deed in two decades.’
‘So you came to preach?’
‘No, I am preaching in spite of myself. I cannot explain the Source to you. The Source is about foolishness, splendid foolishness; it is about purity and joy. But against the wisdom of the world it fails, because the Source knows nothing of greed, lust, deceit, hate, nor evil of any kind. Yet it always triumphs. For the Source always gives something for nothing: good for evil, love for hate.’
‘Sophistry. A small boy died yesterday – he hated no one, but an evil whoreson cut him down. All over this land good, decent people are dying in their thousands. Don’t tell me about triumphs. Triumphs are built on the blood of innocence.’
‘You see? I speak foolishness. But in meeting you I know what triumph means. I understand one more fragment.’
‘I am pleased for you,’ mocked Waylander, despising himself as he spoke.
‘Let me explain,’ said the old man softly. ‘I had a son – not a dazzling boy, not the brightest of men. But he cared about many things. He had a dog that was injured in a fight with a wolf and we should have killed the dog, for it was grievously hurt. But my son would not allow it; he stitched the wounds himself and sat with the hound for five days and nights, willing it to live. But it died. And he was heartbroken, for life was precious to him. When he became a man I passed on everything I had to him. He became a steward, and I left on my travels. My son never forgot the dog and it coloured everything he did …’