Waylander by David A. Gemmell

‘There are some who never learn,’ he said, opening the man’s jugular.

Standing, he moved to the writhing man downed by Dardalion and, tearing the knife clear, wiped the blade on the man’s jerkin before returning it to the priest. Recovering his two bolts from the other bodies, he cleaned his crossbow and pressed the bow-arms back into place alongside the handle.

‘Well thrown!’ he said.

‘They’ve killed the boy,’ Dardalion told him.

‘Blame me,’ said Waylander bitterly. ‘I should have killed them instantly.’

‘They may have meant no harm,’ said Dardalion.

‘Collect two swords and scabbards and one of the bows,’ asked Waylander. Til see to the boy.’

Leaving Dardalion in the woods, he walked slowly back to the horses. The sisters were sitting together, silent in shock; Danyal was crying as Culas lay with his head in her lap, his eyes open and his hands still clutching the arrow.

Waylander knelt by his side. ‘Is there much pain?’

The boy nodded. He bit his lip and tears flowed. ‘I’m going to die! I know I am.’

‘Of course you are not,’ said Danyal fiercely. ‘We’ll just rest for a little while, then we’ll take the arrow out for you.’

Culas let go of the arrow and lifted his hand; it was drenched in blood. ‘I can’t feel my legs,’ he wailed. Waylander reached out and took the boy’s hand.

‘Listen to me, Culas. There is nothing to frighten you. In a little while you will go to sleep, that’s all. Just a deep sleep … there will be no pain.’

‘It hurts now,’ said Culas. ‘It’s like fire.’

As Waylander gazed down on the young face, distorted now by agony, he saw again his son lying among the flowers.

‘Close your eyes, Culas, and listen to my voice. A long time ago I had a farm. A lovely farm, and there was a white pony that could run like the wind …’ And as he spoke Waylander drew his knife and touched it to Culas’ thigh. The boy did not react. Waylander carried on speaking in a low, gentle voice and turned the knifepoint into Culas’ groin, slicing the artery at the top of the thigh. Blood gushed from the wound and still Waylander’s voice continued as Culas’ face grew pale and a blue tinge appeared on his eyelids.

‘Sleep softly,’ whispered Waylander and the boy’s head sagged sideways. Danyal blinked and looked up, seeing the knife in Waylander’s hand. Her arm lashed out, catching him on the side of the head.

‘You swine, you despicable swine! You killed him!’

‘Yes,’ he said. He stood up and touched his lip. Blood was seeping from a split at the edge of his mouth where her fist had caught him.

‘Why? Why did you do it?’

‘I enjoy killing boys,’ he said sardonically and walked to his horse. Dardalion joined him; the priest was now wearing Baloc’s longsword.

‘What happened?’ he asked, passing a second sword and belt to Waylander.

‘I killed the boy … he would have lingered in pain for days. Gods, priest, I wish I had never met you! Get the children mounted and head north – I’m going to scout around for a while.’

He rode for an hour, alert and watchful, until he found a shallow dip in the land. Riding down into it, he located a camp-site near a broken tree and dismounted. After feeding his horse the last of the grain, he sat down on the stump of the tree, where he stayed without moving for another hour until the light began to fade, then he walked up the slope and stood waiting for Dardalion.

The group arrived just as the sun slid behind the western mountains. Waylander led them to the camp-site and lifted the sisters from the saddle.

‘There’s a man coming to see you, Waylander,’ said Krylla, curing her arms around his neck.

‘How do you know?’

‘He told me; he said he would join us for supper.’

‘When did you see him?’

‘A little while ago. I was nearly asleep and Danyal was holding me and I must have drifted. The man said he would see you tonight.’

‘Was he a nice man?’ asked Waylander.