Waylander by David A. Gemmell

Below, four Vagrians finally burst through the crossfire and leapt into the courtyard. Jonat killed the first with a reverse cut to the neck. Dardalion ran forward, heart pounding, and thrust his sword at an enemy warrior. The man brushed the blade aside and crashed his shield into the priest. Dardalion fell back, tripping on the cobbles. The Vagrian lashed out and the priest rolled clear as the blade clanged against the stones. Pushing himself to his feet, Dardalion drew his second sword and faced the warrior. The man advanced, his sword stabbing towards Dardalion’s groin. The priest parried the blade with his right-hand sword, stepped forward and thrust his left-hand blade into the man’s throat; blood bubbled from under the black helm and he fell to his knees.

‘Look out!’ yelled Waylander, but Dardalion’s sword came up too late and a second Vagrian soldier ran forward crashing a blow to his head. The blade glanced from the silver helm and thundered to his shoulder. Dazed, he stumbled back and the Vagrian moved in for the kill.

Jonat despatched another man, then swung to see Dardalion in trouble. He ran forward and leapt feet-first at the attacker, catapulting him from his feet.

Jonat scrambled up and threw himself on the man’s back; then, drawing a slender dagger, he tore the man’s helm clear and cut his throat.

A single bugle blast pierced the battle clamour and the Vagrians pulled back out of bowshot.

‘Clear away the bodies!’ shouted Jonat.

Waylander retrieved his crossbow and counted the remaining bolts. Twelve. He climbed down to the courtyard and began searching the bodies, reclaiming fifteen bolts that were usable.

Dardalion sat with his back to the northern wall, dizzy and unable to stand. Waylander strolled over and knelt by his side.

‘Drink,’ he said.

Dardalion weakly pushed the canteen away. ‘I feel sick.’

‘You cannot sit there, priest; they’ll be back within minutes. Get yourself to the Keep.’

Dardalion pulled his legs under him and struggled to rise. Waylander pulled him upright.

‘Can you stand?’

‘No.’

‘Lean on me, then.’

‘I did not perform too well, Waylander.’

‘You killed your first man in combat. It is a start.’

Together they made their way to the Keep and Waylander laid the priest down on a bench table. Danyal ran forward, her face white with shock.

‘He’s not dead, merely dazed,’ said Waylander. Ignoring him she moved to Dardalion, pulling his helm clear and examining the shallow cut to his head where the helm had dented.

A bugle blast echoed over the plain.

Waylander cursed softly and made for the door.

8

To free himself from pain and dizziness Dardalion released his spirit and soared, passing through the walls of the Keep and out into the bright midday sunshine.

The battle below raged on. Waylander, back on the battlements, took aim carefully and loosed bolt after bolt into the oncoming Vagrians. Jonat, full of near-maniacal energy, gathered to him twenty warriors and rushed the Vagrians who had cleared the wagons. On the battlements to left and right, Drenai archers picked their targets with care. On the eastern wall the enemy had gained a foothold by climbing the pitted outer ramparts. Here three men fought hard to hold the tide and Dardalion floated towards them.

At the centre of the three stood a middle-aged officer whose swordplay was exquisite. Not for him the wild hacking, the fanatic attack; he fought with subtle grace and style, his sword flickering into play and scarcely seeming to touch his opponents. But down they went, choking on their own blood. His face was calm, even serene, thought Dardalion, and his concentration intense.

Through his spirit eyes the priest could see the flickering auras that marked the mood of each man. Bright red pulsed the colours on all but two of the combatants.

The officer glowed with the blue of harmony, and Waylander with the purple of controlled fury.

More Vagrians cleared the battlements of the eastern wall, while Jonat and his men were being forced back from the breach on the western wall. Waylander, his bolts exhausted, drew his sword and leapt from the ramparts to the wagon below, crashing into several Vagrian soldiers and bowling them from their feet. He came up swinging his sword, killing two before they could recover their balance. A third died even as he swung his sword into play. Waylander blocked the cut and tore open the man’s throat with a downward sweep.