‘Mighty fine, young man,’ he said, grasping Dardalion’s hand. ‘Mighty fine indeed. What can you do with cockroaches?’
Dardalion grinned. ‘I think I’ll leave that for another day, Evris, if you don’t mind—’
Astila, alert as always, caught Dardalion as he fell.
‘Carry him in here,’ said Evris, pushing open the door to his own room. Astila laid Dardalion on the narrow bed and removed the silver armour, while Evris lifted Dardalion’s wrist. “The pulse is strong. I think he’s just exhausted – how long since he slept?’
Astila shrugged. ‘I don’t know, surgeon. But I have only had three hours in the last eighty. There is so much to do – so many wounded and dying. And then at night …’
‘I know. The Brotherhood stalks the darkness.’
‘We will not hold them much longer. Soon we will die.’
‘How many of them are there?’
‘Who knows?’ answered Astila wearily. ‘They have been reinforced. Last night we almost lost Baynha and Epway. Tonight … ?’
‘Get some rest. You are taking on too much.’
‘It is the price of guilt, Evris.’
‘You have nothing to feel guilty about, surely?’
Astila placed his hands on the surgeon’s shoulders. ‘It is all relative, my friend. We are taught that life is sacred. All life. I once got out of bed and trod on a beetle -I felt somehow defiled. How do you think I feel tonight, with scores of men dying in the town below? How do you think we all feel? There is no joy for us here, and the absence of joy is despair.’
Six men knelt before the shaman, six warriors with shining eyes and grim faces: Bodai, who had lost his right arm two years before; Askadi, whose spine was twisted following a fall from a cliff; Nenta, once a fine swordsman, now crippled with arthritis; Belikai the blind; Nontung the leper, fetched from the caves of Mithega; Lenlai the possessed, whose fits grew more frequent and who had bitten off his own tongue in a terrible spasm.
Kesa Khan, dressed now in a robe of human scalps, gave each man a draught of Lyrrd, spiced with the herbs of the mountains. He watched their eyes as they drank, noting the swelling of the pupils and the dawning of incomprehension.
‘My children,’ he said slowly, ‘you are the Chosen. You whom life has robbed, you will be strong again. Sleek and strong. Power will flow in your veins. And then having tasted the strength you will die, and your souls will flow to the Void on a sea of joy. For you will have served the blood of your blood and fulfilled a Nadir destiny.’ They sat still, their eyes fixed on his. Not a movement came from them – not a blink, seemingly not a breath. Satisfied, Kesa Khan, clapped his hands lightly and six acolytes entered the cave, leading six grey timber wolves, muzzled and wary.
One by one, Kesa Khan approached the wolves, removing first the leash and then the muzzle. He laid his bony fingers across their eyes and each sat obediently where he led them, until at last all six were squatting before the crippled warriors. The acolytes withdrew.
Kesa Khan closed his eyes, allowing his mind to flow around the cave and out into the darkness of the Nadir night, feeling the pulse of the land and tuning it to his own. He felt the vast elemental power of the mountains rushing into his mind, swelling within him, seeking to explode the frail man-shell that held it. The shaman opened his eyes, stilling the adrenal surge within his veins.
‘In this cave the assassin rested. His scent is upon the rocks. Your last memory must be of this man: this tall, round-eyed Drenai who seeks to thwart the destiny of our race. Burn his image into your minds, even as the wolves feel the searing hatred of his scent in their nostrils, Waylander the Slayer. The Soul Stealer in the shadows. He is a strong man, this one – but not as strong as you will be. He is fast and deadly – but not as fast as you, my children.
‘His flesh will be sweet, his blood like the wine of the mountains. No other flesh can sustain you. All other food will be poison to you. He alone is your life.’