Waylander by David A. Gemmell

She jerked back to the present as tears blurred her vision, blinking hard. The path was narrow and the darkness was gathering; she was loth to camp, but the horses were tired. Glancing to her right, she peered into the undergrowth, but there was no sign of the other traveller. Perhaps it had been a bear hunting for food. Perhaps her imagination had fuelled her fear.

Danyal rode on until she heard the sound of running water and then made camp by a shallow stream, determined to stay awake through the night, sword in hand.

She awoke with the dawn and stretched. Swiftly she washed in the icy stream, the water stinging the sleep from her. Then she tightened the saddle cinch of her mare and mounted. Durmast had told her to steer south-east until she reached the river. There was a ferry – cross that and head due south to Delnoch Pass.

The forest was silent as she rode and the day warm and close.

Four Nadir riders came into sight and Danyal jerked on the reins, her heart pounding as they came closer. One of them had a dead antelope roped across his saddle and the others carried bows. The lead rider halted before her.

‘You are blocking the path,’ he said.

Danyal steered the mare to the left and the men rode on.

That night she lit a small fire and fell asleep within seconds.

She awoke just after midnight to see a towering figure sitting by the fire, feeding branches to the flames. As silently as she could, she drew her dagger and pushed back the blanket. His back was to her, his naked skin shining in the moonlight – he was big, and would dwarf even Durmast. She moved to her feet. He turned …

And she found herself staring into a single dreadful eye about a slitted nose and a fang-rimmed slash of a mouth.

‘Vrend,’ grunted Kai, tapping chest. ‘Vrend.’

Danyal’s legs felt weak, but she took a deep breath and advanced with the knife outstretched. ‘Go away,’ she said.

Kai pushed out a taloned finger and began scratching at the earth. He was not looking at her. Tensing herself to spring and plunge the knife into him, she suddenly saw what he was doing: in the hard-baked clay, he had sketched a stick-figured man holding a small crossbow.

‘Waylander,’ said Danyal. ‘You know Waylander?’

‘Vrend,’ said Kai, nodding. He pointed at her. ‘Anyal.’

‘Danyal. Yes, yes. I am Danyal. Is Waylander alive?’

‘Vrend.’ Kai curled his hand into a fist as if it held a dagger. Then he stabbed his shoulder and hip.

‘He has been badly hurt? Is that what you are saying?’

The monster merely looked at her.

‘The Brotherhood warriors. Did they find him? Tall men in black armour.’

‘Dead,’ said Kai, mimicking the actions of a sword or axe. Danyal sheathed her knife and sat beside Kai, reaching out and touching his arm. ‘Listen to me. The man who killed them – is he alive?’

‘Dead,’ said Kai.

Danyal sat back and closed her eyes.

A few months ago she had been performing a dance in front of a king. Weeks later she had fallen in love with that king’s assassin. Now she sat in a lonely forest with a monster who could not speak. She began to laugh at the lunacy of it all.

Kai listened to the laughter, heard it change and become weeping and watched the tears flow on her pretty cheeks. So pretty, he thought. Like the Nadir girl he had watched. So small, fragile and bird-boned.

Way back, Kai had wanted one of these soft beings as a friend. And he had seized a girl as she washed clothes by a stream, carrying her into the mountains where he had gathered fruit and pretty stones. But when they had arrived Kai had found her broken and lifeless, her ribs in shards where his arm had encircled her. Not all his healing power could help her.

He didn’t touch them any more …

Six hundred men hauled the ballista into place some fifty paces from the gate. Then six carts came into view, pulled by teams of oxen, the Drenai watched as men milled around the carts, unyoking the beasts. Then a winch was set up behind the ballista.