‘It entertains me. Would you like my advice?’
‘No.’
‘Good. I like a woman who can think for herself.’ He sniffed and reached for one of the many clay pots beside the fire, dipping his finger into the contents and scooping a pale grey powder into his mouth. He closed his eyes and sighed. ‘Yes … yes …’ He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. Miriel leaned forward. His pupils had all but disappeared and the irises had changed from dark dark brown to pale blue. ‘I am Kesa Khan,’ he whispered, his voice lighter, friendlier. ‘And I am Lao Shin, the spirit of the mountains. And I am Wu Deyang, the Traveller. I am He Who Sees All.’
‘The powder is narcotic?’ asked Miriel softly.
‘Of course. It opens the window of worlds. Now listen to me, Drenai girl. You are brave, of that there is no question. But tomorrow the dead will walk again. Do you have the heart to face them?’
She licked her lips. ‘I am here to help you,’ she answered.
‘Excellent. No false bravado. I will show you how to armour yourself. I will teach you to summon weapons as you need them. But the greatest weapon you possess is the courage in your heart. Let us hope that the Dragon Shadow has taught you well, for if he has not you will bed neither of those fine warriors. Your soul will wander the Grey Paths for eternity.’
‘He taught me well,’ said Miriel.
‘We shall see.’
*
With the hound loping off ahead Waylander moved on to the boulder-strewn plain. There were few trees here, and the land sloped gently downward towards a white stone village by a river bank. A horse pasture was fenced off at the north of the village and to the south sheep grazed on the last of the autumn grass. It was a small settlement, built without walls, evidence of the longstanding agreement between Gothir and Sathuli. There were no raids here. It struck Waylander as strange that the Gothir could treat the Sathuli so well and the Nadir so badly. Both were nomadic tribes which had moved slowly down from the north and east. Both were warrior races, who worshipped different gods from the Gothir, and yet they were perceived as opposites. The Sathuli, in Gothir tales, were proud, intelligent and honourable. The Nadir, on the other hand, were seen as base, treacherous and cunning. All his adult life Waylander had moved among the tribes and could find no evidence to support the Gothir view.
Save, perhaps, for the sheer numbers of Nadir who roamed the steppes. The Sathuli posed no threat, whereas the Nadir, in their millions, were a future enemy to be feared.
He shrugged away such considerations and looked for the hound. It was nowhere to be seen. He stopped and scanned the slopes. There were many boulders and the dog was probably scratching at a rabbit burrow. Waylander smiled and walked on. It was cold, the weak sunshine unable to counter the biting wind. He pulled his fur-lined cloak more tightly around his shoulders.
The Sathuli would remember the chase as they sang the Songs of Passing over the hunters who would not return. He thought back to the boy who had first tried to ambush him, and was pleased that he had not killed him. As to the others, well, they had made their choices and he regretted their deaths not at all.
He could see people moving in the village below, a shepherd with a long crook striding up the hill, a dog at his side, several women at the main well, drawing buckets of cool water, children playing by the horse pasture fence. It was a peaceful scene.
He strode on, the path winding down between two huge boulders that jutted from the earth of the mountainside. In the distance a horse whinnied. He paused. The sound had come from the east. He turned and gazed up at the thin stand of trees on the slope. There were bushes growing there and he could not see a horse. Flicking back his cloak he lifted his crossbow, stringing it and sliding two bolts into place. There should be nothing to fear now, he chided himself. The Sathuli were unlikely to venture so far north. But he waited.