‘Durmast, you watched us last night. Did you see what happened before we made love?’
‘I saw you pass her something.’
‘You saw me give her money. Love! You tell me.’
Durmast leaned back, closing his eyes against the morning sun.
‘You ever wished you had settled down? Raised a family?’
‘I did once, they died,’ said Waylander.
‘Me too. Only mine didn’t die – she ran off with a Ventrian trader and took my sons with her.’
‘I am surprised you didn’t go after her.’
Durmast sat up and stretched his back. ‘I did, Waylander,’ he said.
‘And?’
‘I gutted the trader.’
‘And your wife?’
‘She became a whore in the dockside taverns.’
‘What a fine pair we make! I pay for my pleasures because I will never again risk love, while you are haunted by love’s betrayal.’
‘Who says I am haunted?’ demanded the giant.
‘I do. And don’t let yourself get too angry, my friend, for soft though I may be you cannot handle me.’
For several seconds Durmast’s angry glare remained, then it faded from his eyes and he smiled. ‘At least some of the old Waylander remains,’ he said. ‘Come, it’s time for the long climb and another wagon.’
Throughout the day the men toiled and by dusk all the wagons were safely at the foot of the pass. Waylander had rested through the afternoon, his instincts warning him that he would need all his strength over the next few days.
The rain passed them by and by nightfall the camp-fires were blazing and the smell of cooking meat hung in the air. Waylander made his way to the wagon of the baker, Caymal, who had allowed Danyal to ride with him and his family. On his arrival he found Caymal nursing a bruised eye, his wife Lyda, beside him.
‘Where is Danyal?’ asked Waylander.
Caymal shrugged. His wife, a lean dark-haired woman in her late thirties, looked up.
‘You animals!’ she hissed.
‘Where is she?’
‘Wait your turn, ‘ said Lyda, her lip trembling.
‘Listen to me, woman – I am a friend of Danyal’s. Now where is she?’
‘A man took her. She didn’t want to go and my husband tried to stop him but he hit Caymal with a club.’
‘Which way?’
The woman pointed to a small grove of trees. Waylander lifted a rope from the back of the wagon, coiled it over his shoulder and loped off in that direction. The moon shone bright in a clear sky and he slowed his pace as he neared the grove, closing his eyes and focusing his hearing.
There! To the left was the sound of coarse cloth against tree bark. And to the right, a muffled cry. Angling towards the left Waylander moved slowly forward, bursting into a sprint just as he reached the trees.
A knife flashed past his head and he hit the ground on one shoulder and rolled. A dark shadow detached itself from the trees, moonlight shining from a curved sword. Waylander rolled to his feet and leapt, his right foot crashed into the man’s head and then – as the stranger staggered – Waylander spun on his heel, his right elbow exploding against the man’s ear. He fell without a sound. Waylander crept to the right. There in a shallow hollow lay Danyal, her dress ripped open, her legs spread. A man was kneeling over her as Waylander slid the rope from his shoulder and opened the noose.
Moving forward silently he came up behind the man, slipping the noose over his head and jerking it tight. He fell back, scrabbling at the noose, but Waylander pulled him from his feet and dragged him across the hollow to a tall elm. Swiftly he hurled the rope over a branch some ten feet from the ground and hauled the struggling man to his feet. The attacker’s eyes were bulging and his face above the dark beard was purple.
Waylander had never seen him before.
Then a whisper of movement from behind caused him to drop the rope and dive to his right. An arrow hissed past him to thud into the bearded attacker. The man grunted and his knees gave way. Waylander bunched his legs under him and came up running, cutting left and right to hinder the aim of the hidden assassin. Once into the trees he dropped low and began to crawl through the bushes, circling the hollow.