Waylander by David A. Gemmell

For several hours he stayed quietly, feeling the warmth of her breath against his neck. Twice she woke, then snuggled down once more. As dawn lightened the sky he took her back into the cave and laid her beside her sister.

Then he returned to the cave mouth …

Alone.

Danyal’s scream snatched Waylander from sleep, his heart pounding. Rolling to his feet with knife in hand he ran into the cave to find the woman kneeling beside Dardalion’s still form. Waylander dropped to his knees and lifted the priest’s wrist. The man was dead.

‘How?’ whispered Danyal.

‘Damn you, priest!’ shouted Waylander. Dardalion’s face was white and waxen, his skin cold to the touch. ‘He must have had a weak heart,’ said Waylander bitterly.

‘He was fighting the man,’ said Miriel. Waylander turned to the child, who was sitting at the back of the cave holding hands with her sister.

‘Fighting?’ he asked. ‘Who was he fighting?’ But Miriel looked away.

‘Come along, Miriel,’ urged Danyal. ‘Who was he fighting?’

‘The man with the arrow in his eye,’ she said.

Danyal turned to Waylander. ‘It was just a dream; it means nothing. What are we to do?’

Waylander did not reply. Throughout the questioning of the child he had held on to Dardalion’s wrist and now he felt the weakest of pulses.

‘He is not dead,’ he whispered, ‘Go and talk to the child. Find out about the dream – quickly, now!’

For some minutes Danyal sat quietly with the girl, then she returned. ‘She says that the man you killed took hold of her and made her cry. Then the priest came and the man shouted at him; he had a sword and was trying to kill the priest. And they were flying – higher than the stars. That is all there is.’

‘He feared this man,’ said Waylander, ‘believing he had demonic powers. If he was right, then maybe death did not stop him. Perhaps even now he is being hunted.’

‘Can he survive?’

‘How?’ snapped Waylander. The man won’t fight.’ Danyal leaned forward, placing her hand on Waylander’s arm. The muscles were tensed and quivering. ‘Take your hand from me, woman, or I’ll cut it off at the wrist. No one touches me!’ Danyal jerked back with green eyes ablaze, but she mastered her anger and moved back to the children.

‘Damn you all!’ hissed Waylander. He took a deep breath, quelling the fury boiling inside him. Danyal and the children sat quietly, watching him intently. Danyal knew what was tormenting him: the priest was in danger and the warrior, for all his deadly skill, was powerless. A battle was taking place in another world and Waylander was a useless bystander.

‘How could you be so stupid, Dardalion?’ whispered the warrior. ‘All life fights to survive. You say the Source made the world? Then he created the tiger and the deer, the eagle and the lamb. You think he made the eagle to eat grass?’

For some minutes he lapsed into silence, remembering the priest as he had knelt naked by the robbers’ clothes.

‘I cannot wear these, Waylander …’

He transferred his grip from the priest’s arm to his hand and as their fingers touched, there came an almost imperceptible movement. Waylander’s eyes narrowed. As he gripped the priest’s hand more firmly, Dardalion’s arm jerked spasmodically and his face twisted in pain.

‘What is happening to you, priest? Where in Hell’s name are you?’

At the name of Hell Dardalion jerked again, and moaned softly.

‘Wherever he is, he is suffering,’ said Danyal, moving forward to kneel beside the priest.

‘It was when our hands touched,’ said Waylander. ‘Fetch the crossbow, woman – there, by the cave mouth.’ Danyal moved to the weapon and carried it to Waylander. ‘Put it in his right hand and close his fingers about it.’ Danyal opened Dardalion’s hand, and curled his fingers around the ebony hilt. The priest screamed; his fingers jerked open and the crossbow clattered to the ground. ‘Hold his fingers around it.’

‘But it is causing him pain. Why are you doing this?’

‘Pain is life, Danyal. We must get him back into his body – you understand? The corpse-spirit cannot touch him there. We must draw him back.’