He wanted to know why. He was filled with an urge to ride in to the wagons and sit opposite Waylander, to ask him…
Cadoras had been a hunter for more than a decade and he knew the role better than any man alive. In the deadliest game of all he was a master – understanding every facet, every iron rule: the hunter stalked, the prey evaded or ran, or turned and fought back. But the prey never ignored.
Why?
Cadoras had expected Waylander to hunt him, had even set elaborate traps around his camp-site. Night after night he had hidden in trees, his bow slung, while his blankets lay by warm fires covering only rocks and branches.
Today would end the burning questions. He would kill Waylander and go home.
Home?
High walls and soul-less rooms, and cold-eyed messengers with offers of gold for death. Like a tomb with windows.
‘Curse you, Waylander! Why did you make it so easy?’
‘It was the only defence.’ answered Waylander and Cadoras spun round as a sword of shining steel rested on his back. He froze and then relaxed, his right hand inching, towards the hidden knives in his boot. ‘Don’t be foolish,’ said Waylander. ‘I can open your throat before you blink.’
‘What now, Waylander?’
‘I have not yet decided.’
‘I should have killed you.’
‘Yes, but then life is full of “should haves”. Take off your boots … slowly.’ Cadoras did as he was bid. ‘Now your belt and jerkin.’ Waylander moved the weapons and hurled them on to the grass.
‘You planned this?’ asked Cadoras, sitting back and resting on his elbows. Waylander nodded and sheathed his sword, sitting some ten feet from the hunter. ‘You want some dried meat?’ Cadoras enquired. Waylander shook his head and drew a throwing knife, balancing the blade in his right hand.
‘Before you kill me, may I ask a question?’
‘Of course.’
‘How did you know I would wait this long?’
‘I didn’t, I merely hoped. You should know better than any man that the hunter has all the advantages. No man is safe from the assassin, be he king or peasant. But you had something to prove, Cadoras – and that made you an easy prey.’
‘I had nothing to prove.’
Truly? Not even to yourself?’
‘Like what?’
‘That you were the better man, the greatest hunter?’
Cadoras leaned back and stared at the sky. ‘Pride,’ he said. ‘Vanity. It makes fools of us all.’
‘We are all fools regardless – otherwise we would be farmers, watching our sons grow.’
Cadoras rolled to one elbow and grinned. ‘Is that why you’ve decided to be a hero?’
‘Perhaps,’ admitted Waylander.
‘Does it pay well?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t been one very long.’
‘You know the Brotherhood will be back?’
‘Yes.’
‘You can’t survive.’
‘I know that too.’
‘Then why do it? I’ve seen you with the woman -why don’t you take her to Gulgothir and head east to Ventria?’
‘You think it would be safe there?’
Cadoras shook his head. ‘You have a point. But then at least you’d have a chance – on this quest you have none.’
‘I am touched by your concern.’
‘You may not believe it, but it is genuine. I respect you, Waylander, but I feel sorry for you. You are doomed … and by your own hand.’
‘Why by mine?’
‘Because the skills that are yours are now shackled. I do not know what has happened to you, but you are no longer Waylander the Slayer. If you were, I would now be dead. The Slayer would not have stopped to talk.’
‘I cannot argue with that, but then the Cadoras of old would not have waited before loosing an arrow.’
‘Maybe we are both getting old.’
‘Collect your weapons and ride,’ said Waylander, sheathing his knife and rising smoothly to his feet.
‘I make no promises,’ stated Cadoras. ‘Why are you doing this?’
‘Just ride.’
‘Why not merely give me your knife and offer me your throat?’ snapped Cadoras.
‘Are you angry because I haven’t killed you?’
‘Think back to what you were, Waylander, then you’ll know why I’m angry.’ Cadoras strode to his weapons and retrieved them. Then he pulled on his boots, tightened his saddle cinch and mounted.