Waylander by David A. Gemmell

He moved towards her and she froze, realising she had gone too far, said too much. But he laid no hand upon her. Instead he smiled and his eyes cleared, humour replacing the malicious glint.

‘Very well, Danyal, I’ll admit to you: I do intend to sell the Armour to the highest bidder. And that will be Kaem and the Vagrians. I also intend to kill Waylander and collect the bounty. Now what will you do?’

Her hand flashed towards his face, the silver steel dagger clenched in her fist, but his arm snaked out to rap her wrist. The knife flew from her fingers.

‘You can’t kill me, Danyal,’ he whispered. ‘Waylander himself would find that difficult – and you are but an able student. You’ll have to find another way.’

‘To do what?’ she asked, rubbing her numbed wrist.

‘To outbid Kaem.’

Understanding struck her like a blow. ‘You despicable swine. You wretch!’

He nodded. ‘What is your offer?’

‘You want me that badly?’

‘Yes, I want you, woman. I always have, ever since watching you and Waylander make love in the hills above Delnoch.’

‘And what will you give me, Durmast?’

‘I’ll let Waylander keep the Armour. And I won’t try to kill him.’

‘I agree,’ she said softly.

‘I thought you would,’ he replied, reaching for her.

‘Wait!’ she commanded and this time he froze, for there was in her eyes a look of triumph. ‘I agree to your terms, and I will pay you when Waylander rides away with the Armour. You and I will remain at Raboas.’

‘You are asking for a lot of trust, Danyal.’

‘Well, unlike you, Durmast, I can be trusted.’

He nodded. ‘I think you can,’ he asserted and moved away into the darkness.

Alone at last, the enormity of her promise swept over her.

Dundas, Gellan and Dardalion waited in the outer sitting-room while the surgeon, Evris, tended the now unconscious Karnak. Gellan, still filthy from his days in the tunnel, sat slumped in a wide leather chair, seeming frail without his armour. Dundas paced the room from window to bedchamber door, occasionally stopping to listen as if to hear the surgeon’s work. Dardalion sat silently, fighting off the urge to sleep; he could feel the tension in the two men and he relaxed his mind to flow with theirs.

He merged with Gellan, feeling first the man’s inner strength – a power stretched to its limits and threatened by doubt. This was a good man, Dardalion knew, and the suffering among the men hurt him cruelly. He was thinking of Karnak and praying for his recovery, fearing some internal injury that would yet rob the Drenai of hope. He was thinking also of the wall and the dreadful toll it took daily.

Then Dardalion withdrew from Gellan and merged with the tall, blond Dundas. He too was praying for Karnak, but not only for friendship. The weight of responsibility towered over Dundas like a mountain. If Karnak should die he would lose not only his greatest friend, but would have to bear the full awesome responsibility for the defence. And here was a terrible quandary. The wall could not be held, but to retreat meant to doom a thousand wounded men. Dundas could picture the scene: the defenders watching from the transient safety of the Keep as the wounded were dragged out and slain before their eyes. Dundas was a soldier, and a good one, but he was also revered by the men for his natural kindness and understanding. As a man, these were qualities to be admired. As a warrior, they were weaknesses to be exploited.

Dardalion fell back on his own thoughts. He was no military man, no planner. What would he do, assuming the choice was laid at his door?

Fall back?

Hold?

He shook his head, as if to push the thoughts from him. He was tired and the effort of holding the shield over Waylander sapped him more by the hour. He closed his eyes and reached out, tasting the despair that permeated the fortress. The Brotherhood were everywhere: four men so far had committed suicide, while two others had been caught trying to open a blocked postern gate high on the north wall.