Waylander turned to his side, facing away from the Nadir leader. Once more he tried for sleep, but this time he saw Dardalion, tied to the tree, his flesh sliced and bleeding, the men around him laughing and mocking.
That was the day Waylander’s world had changed. He had rescued the priest, then been drawn into the eternal battle, Light against Dark, Harmony against Chaos. And he had met Danyal. He groaned and rolled again, his body weary, muscles aching.
Stop dwelling on the past, he told himself. Think about tomorrow. Just tomorrow. He would find a way into the Mountains of the Moon. He would stand beside Miriel and Angel and do that which he did best. He would fight.
He would kill.
Sleep took him by surprise, and his soul drifted into darkness.
*
The walls were clammy, the corridor dark and claustrophobic. Waylander blinked and tried to remember how he had come here. It was so hard to concentrate. Was he looking for something? Someone?
There were no doors or windows, just this endless tunnel. Cold water was soaking through his boots as he waded on.
I am lost, he thought.
There was no source of light, and yet he could see.
Stairs. Must look for stairs. Fear touched him, but he suppressed it ruthlessly. Stay calm! Think! He moved on. Something white caught his eye on the far wall. There was an alcove there. Splashing across the streaming water he saw a skeleton, rusty chains holding it to the wall. The ligaments and tendons had not yet rotted and the thing was intact, save for the left leg, which had parted at the knee. Something moved within the ribcage and Waylander saw two rats had made a nest there.
‘Welcome,’ said a voice. Waylander stepped back in shock. The head was no longer a skull but a handsome face, framed in golden hair. It smiled at him. Waylander’s heart was beating wildly and he reached for his crossbow. Only then did he realise he was weaponless. ‘Welcome to my home,’ said the handsome head.
‘I am dreaming!’
‘Perhaps,’ agreed the head. A rat pushed its way through the gaping ribcage and sprang to a nearby shelf of stone.
‘Where is this place?’ asked Waylander.
The head laughed, the sound echoing away into the tunnel. ‘Well, let us think … Does it look to you like paradise?’
‘No.’
‘Then it must be somewhere else. But one mustn’t complain, must one? It is pleasant to have a visitor after so long. The rats are company, of course, but their conversation is rather limited.’
‘How do I get out of here?’
The head smiled, and Waylandersaw the pale eyes widen, a gleam of triumph showing there. Waylander spun. A sword lunged for his throat. Swaying aside he slammed his fist into a face out of nightmare. His assailant fell back into the water, but rose swiftly. He looked like a man, save that his skin was scaled, his eyes huge and set, like a fish, on either side of his head. He had no nose, merely slits in the skin of his face, and his mouth was shaped like an inverted V, lipless and rimmed with fangs.
The creature leapt forward. Waylander reached out, his fingers curling around one of the skeletons ribs, and snapping it clear. The sword slashed down. Waylander sidestepped the blow and rammed the broken rib into the creature’s chest. Dropping the sword it let out a terrible howl. And disappeared.
Waylander scooped up the sword and swung back to the skeleton. The handsome head was no longer visible. The rotting skull sagged against the vertebrae and toppled into the murky water.
Sword in hand Waylander moved on, every sense alert.
The tunnel widened and he saw an arch of stone and a path leading to a stairwell. An old man was sitting on the first stair. His robes were old and covered in mildew and mould. In his hands was a sphere of transparent crystal, a white light shining at the centre.
Waylander approached him.
‘This is your soul,’ said the old man, holding up the crystal. ‘If I drop it, or break it, or crush it, you will never leave here. You will wander these tunnels for eternity. Go back the way you have come.’