Waylander by David A. Gemmell

‘You are leaving something out.’

‘Yes. I told him I loved you.’

‘Why? Why would you do that?’

‘Because it’s true!’ she snapped.

‘And he asked you whether I felt the same?’

‘Yes. I told him no.’

‘But he did not believe you.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because you are here.’ Waylander lapsed into silence, remembering Hewla’s words about the redheaded woman and Orien’s enigmatic warning concerning companions. What was it the old man had said?

That success or failure would depend on Waylander’s companions. Or rather on whom he chose to accompany him.

‘What are you thinking?’ she asked, seeing him smile, and the tension fade from his face.

‘I was thinking that I am glad you are here. It is very selfish of me. I will die, Danyal. I am a realist and the odds are too great. But knowing you will be with me, for a few days at least, gives me pleasure.’

‘Even though Durmast will use me against you?’

‘Even so.’

‘Do you have a small copper coin?’ she asked.

He fished in his money-sack, producing a tiny coin carrying the head of Niallad which he handed to her.

‘What do you want it for?’

‘You once said you never took a woman you had not paid for. Now you have paid.’

Leaning over, she kissed him softly and his arms moved round her waist, pulling her in to him.

Hidden in the trees, Durmast watched the lovers move to the grass beside the boulders. The big man shook his head and smiled.

The dawn broke bright and clear, but dark clouds loomed in the north and Durmast cursed loudly. ‘Rain,’ he spat. ‘That’s all we damned well need!’ The first of the wagons was led to the crest of the Pass. Pulled by six oxen, it was some twenty feet long and heavily laden with boxes and crates. The driver licked his lips, his eyes narrowing as he gauged the dangers of the trail. Then he cracked his whip over the head of the lead oxen and the wagon lurched forward. Waylander walked behind, with Durmast and seven of his men. The first two hundred yards were steep, though relatively simple to travel for the path was wide and firm. But then it narrowed and dipped to the right. The driver hauled back on the reins and jammed the wheel-brake tight against the rim, but the wagon slid slowly sideways towards the yawning drop on the left.

‘Ropes!’ bellowed Durmast and the men ran forward to hook inch-thick hemp ropes about the axles. The wagon stopped its slide. Waylander, Durmast and the others took up the two ropes and gathered in the slack.

‘Now!’ called Durmast and the wagoner gently released the brake. The wagon inched forward, slithering to a stop some twenty paces on. The trail was angled here, and the weight of the wagon caused it to pull towards the edge. But the men on the ropes were strong, and well-used to the perils of the Delnoch Pass.

For over an hour they toiled, until at last the wagon came to level ground.

Far behind them a second wagon was making the descent, with seven more of Durmast’s men hauling on ropes. The giant sat back and grinned as he watched them strain.

‘They earn their money when they work with me,’ he said.

Waylander nodded, too weary to speak. ‘You’ve gone soft Waylander. A little gentle exercise and you’re sweating like a pig in heat!’

‘Pulling wagons is not my usual occupation,’ said Waylander.

‘Did you sleep well?’ asked Durmast.

‘Yes.’

‘Alone?’

‘What sort of question is that from a man who hid in the bushes and watched?’

Durmast chuckled and scratched his beard. ‘You don’t miss much, my friend. Soft you may be, but you eyes have lost nothing in sharpness.’

‘Thank you for allowing her to come,’ said Waylander. ‘It will make the first few days of the journey more pleasurable.’

‘The least I could do for an old friend. Are you taken with her?’

‘She loves me,’ replied Waylander with a grin.

‘And you?’

‘I shall say farewell at Gulgothir – with regret.’

Then you are fond of her?’