‘I wish to climb those stairs, old man. Step aside.’
‘One step towards me and your soul perishes!’ warned the old man, holding the crystal high. Waylander sprang forward, his sword smashing through the crystal, sending glittering shards to the water. The old man fell back. ‘How did you know?’ he moaned.
‘My soul is my own,’ answered Waylander. The old man vanished.
And the stairs beckoned.
Waylander edged forward. The stairwell walls shimmered with a faintly green light, the stairs glistening as if oiled. He took a long deep breath then ventured on to the first step. Then the second. Arms swept out from the walls, hooked fingers and talons reaching for him. The sword slashed down, hacking through a scaled wrist. Fingers grabbed at his black leather tunic. Tearing himself free he forced his way up the stairwell, the sword-blade hacking a path through the writhing, questing limbs.
At the top of the stairs was a square landing. There were two doors, one edged with gold and part-open, the other guarded by a huge three-headed serpent, whose coils rose up around the frame. The part-open door showed a shaft of sunlight, warm and welcoming, beckoning the man. Waylander ignored it, his eyes fixed to the serpent. Its mouths were cavernous, each showing twin fangs more than a foot long. Venom dripped from them, splashing to the stone of the landing, bubbling and hissing.
A figure in a robe of light appeared at the part-open door. ‘Come this way. Quickly!’ said the figure, a friendly-faced man with white hair and kindly blue eyes. ‘Come to the light!’ Waylander moved towards him, as if to comply, but once close enough he reached out, pulling the man forward by his robes, then hurling him at the serpent. Two of the heads darted forward, the first closing on the man’s shoulder, the second sinking its fangs into his leg. The victim’s screams filled the air.
As Waylander leapt past the struggling man the third head lunged down. Waylander’s sword smote it in the eye. Black blood bubbled from the wound and the head withdrew. Throwing his shoulder against the door Waylander felt the wood give way, and he fell into a wide hall. Rolling to his feet he saw a man waiting for him, sword in hand.
It was Morak.
‘No dying dog to save you now!’ said the dead assassin.
‘I don’t need help for the likes of you,’ Waylander told him. ‘You were nothing then. You are less than nothing now.’
Morak’s face twisted and he ran to the attack. Waylander sidestepped, parried the lunge then sent a riposte that almost tore Morak’s head from his neck. The assassin staggered then righted himself, his head hanging at an obscene angle.
‘How do you kill a dead man?’ he mocked. Morak attacked again. Waylander parried and once more chopped at the gashed neck. The head fell to the floor, but the body continued its assault. Waylander blocked two thrusts, slashing his blade into the already open ribcage. It did not even slow the headless opponent. Laughter came from the air. ‘Are you beginning to know fear?’ Morak’s voice echoed in the hall, the air filled with screaming obscenities.
Ducking under a wild cut Waylander ran to the head, lifting it by the hair. Spinning round he hurled it towards the doorway. It bounced and rolled through the gap. A serpent lunged, the great mouth snapping shut. The screams stopped instantly.
The headless body collapsed.
Waylander whirled, awaiting the next attack.
‘How did you know which door to take?’ asked another voice. Waylander searched for the source of the sound, but could see no one.
‘It was not difficult,’ he answered, holding his blade at the ready.
‘Yes, I can see that. The sunlight and the white robe was a little too obvious. I won’t make that mistake again. I must say Morak was a disappointment. He gave you a much greater battle while alive.’
‘He had more to fight for,’ said Waylander. ‘Who are you? Show yourself!’
‘Of course, how impolite of me.’ A figure shimmered into being on the far side of the hall, a tall man wearing purple robes. His hair was waxed flat to his skull, save for two braided sideburns that hung to his slender shoulders. ‘I am ZhuChao.’