Waylander by David A. Gemmell

A distant scream pulled him to the present. Somewhere out in the darkness another soul was suffering.

Dardalion shivered and moved to the fireside where the young woman Danyal was sitting alone. Waylander was gone.

‘I insulted him,’ said Danyal as the priest sat opposite her. ‘He is so cold. So hard. So fitted to the times.’

‘Yes, he is,’ agreed Dardalion, ‘but he is also the man who can lead us to safety.’

‘I know. Do you think he will come back?’

‘I think so. Where are you from?’

Danyal shrugged. ‘Here and there. I was born in Drenan.’

‘A pleasant city with many libraries.’

‘Yes.’

‘Tell me about your days as an actress,’ said Dardalion.

‘How did you … oh yes, there are no secrets from the Source.’

‘Nothing so magical, Danyal. The children told me; they said you once performed the Spirit of Circea before King Niallad.’

‘I played the sixth daughter and had three lines,’ she said, smiling. ‘But it was an experience to remember. They say the King is dead, slain by traitors.’

‘So I have heard,’ said Dardalion. ‘Still, let us not concentrate on such things. The night is clear, the stars are beautiful, the children sleep dreaming sweet dreams. Tomorrow we will worry about death and despair.’

‘I cannot stop from thinking about it,’ she said. ‘Fate is cruel. At any moment raiders may run from the trees and the terror will begin again. You know it is two hundred miles to the Delnoch range where Egel trains his army?’

‘I know.’

‘Will you fight for us? Or will you stand by and let them kill us?’

‘I do not fight, Danyal. But I will stand with you.’

‘But your friend will fight?’

‘Yes. It is all he knows.’

‘He is a killer,’ said Danyal, lifting her blanket around her shoulders. ‘He is no different from the mercenaries or the Vagrians. And yet I hope he comes back – is that not strange?’

Try to sleep,’ urged Dardalion. ‘And I will see that your dreams are untroubled.’

That would be nice – and of a magic I could warm to.’

She lay by the fire and closed her eyes. Dardalion breathed deeply and entered once more into concentration, summoning the Prayer of Peace and projecting it silently to shroud her body. Her breathing deepened. Dardalion released the chains of his spirit and soared into the night sky, twisting over and over in the bright moonlight, leaving his body hunched by the fire.

Free!

Alone with the Void.

Stopping his upward spiral with an effort, he scanned the earth below for sign of Waylander.

Far to the south-east the burning cities illuminated the night sky in a jagged crimson arc, while to the north and west watch-fires burned, their regular setting identifying them as Vagrian sentry fires. To the south a single blaze twinkled in a small wood and, curious, Dardalion swooped towards it.

Six men slept around the fire while a seventh sat upon a rock spooning mouthfuls of stew from a copper pot. Dardalion hovered above them, an edge of fear seeping into him. He sensed great evil and prepared to depart.

Suddenly the seated man glanced up at him and grinned.

‘We will find you, priest,’ he whispered.

Dardalion did not move. The man placed the copper pot by his feet and closed his eyes … and Dardalion was no longer alone. Hovering beside him was an armed warrior, bearing shield and black sword. The young priest darted for the skies, but the warrior spirit was faster, touching him lightly on the back as he passed. Pain lanced Dardalion and he cried out.

The warrior hovered before him, grinning.

‘I will not kill you yet, priest. I want Waylander. Give him to me and you can live.’

‘Who are you? whispered Dardalion, fighting for time.

‘My name would mean nothing to you. But I am of the Brotherhood and my task is set. Waylander must die.’

‘The Brotherhood? You are a priest?’

‘Priest? In a way you would never understand, you pious pig! Strength, guile, cunning, terror-these are the things I worship, for they bring power. True power.’

‘You serve the Darkness then?’ said Dardalion.