Hero in the Shadows (30 page)

“To the north tower.”

“We have not searched that yet. You think it safe?”

“The demons have gone. I can feel it.”

The Gray Man slipped the bolts from his crossbow, returning them to the quiver by his side. Without another word he strode off.

9

W
AYLANDER KEPT MOVING
until he was out of sight of the
Rajnee
, then sat down on a velvet-covered bench seat in the corridor. His relief at the survival of Matze Chai was overwhelming, and he could feel his hands trembling. Leaning back against the wall, he took several deep, calming breaths. The deaths of Mendyr Syn and Omri saddened him greatly, but he had known them for only a short while. Matze Chai had been part of his life for three decades, a solid anchor he could always rely on. He had not, however, realized until this day how much he cared for the old man.

But with the relief came a deeper anger, a cold and terrible resentment against the arrogant cruelty of men who were willing to visit such terror on innocent victims. Ultimately, he knew, wars were never about simple issues such as right and wrong. They were launched by men who lusted after power. Those men did not care about the victims such as Omri and Mendyr Syn. They lived for fame and all the empty, fruitless joys it brought. One man like Omri was worth ten thousand of such killers, he thought.

Having recovered his composure, Waylander moved on at a lope, scaling the stairs of the north tower two at a time. He slowed when he reached the first level. Shelves had been torn from the walls, and manuscripts, scrolls, and leather-bound volumes were scattered across the floor. Kneeling, he touched his hand to the carpet. It was wet and cold. To the left were two
eight-foot stains on the floor. Dark blood was spattered around them. Ustarte’s followers, it seemed, had fought well.

Treading carefully through the debris, he reached the second stairwell and climbed once more. As he turned a corner, he saw the body of a huge golden wolf, its belly ripped open, its golden eyes glazing. The body twitched as he approached and tried to raise its head. Then it slumped down and died.

Climbing past the dead beast, he came across two more bodies, those of the acolytes who had followed Ustarte. Waylander struggled to remember their names. Prial was one. He was lying on his back, chest open and ribs splayed. The other lay close by. Huge talon marks were on his back, and the lower part of his spine was jutting from the body.

Waylander stepped over them. The door to Ustarte’s apartments had been torn from its hinges. He moved into the doorway and scanned the room. Furniture had been hurled against the walls, the ornate carpet was ripped in places, and there was blood on the floor and walls. There was no sign of Ustarte. Waylander moved to the window. Upon the sill was a bloody smear. Leaning out, he looked down. Two floors below was a balcony. A patch of blood showed on the balustrade.

Retracing his steps, he returned to the stairs. The body of the golden wolf had vanished. In its place lay the third of Ustarte’s acolytes.

Waylander walked to the front of the palace, where Emrin was anxiously waiting.

“The palace is clear,” said Waylander. “Tell the servants they can return to their rooms.”

“Yes, sir. Quite a few have left your service. They have gone to Carlis. Even those who remain are frightened.”

“I don’t blame them. Send some men to fetch the bodies from the long kitchens and the north tower library. And set the servants tasks to take their minds from their fear. Tell them all there will be an extra month’s salary to compensate for the terror they have endured.”

“Yes, sir. They will be most grateful. Did you find the priestess?”

“She and her people are dead.” Waylander looked into the young man’s eyes. “With Omri gone I need someone to manage the household. That role is yours for now. Your salary is doubled.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“No need to thank me. It is an arduous duty, and you will earn your pay. Have the wagons left?”

“Yes, sir. I also sent riders to the hospital in Carlis, where Mendyr Syn’s two assistants are working. They should be here soon to help with the wounded.”

Waylander moved across to where Yu Yu Liang was sitting with his back to a tree. Keeva was beside him, her arm around the shoulders of the blond page. The boy looked up at Waylander and gave a nervous smile.

“Were you very frightened?” Waylander asked the boy.

“Yes, sir. Is my uncle safe?”

“He was when last I saw him.” He turned his attention to Yu Yu. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Like I want to be ditchdigger again,” said Yu Yu. “Like I could throw this puking sword in sea and go home.”

“You can do that,” said Waylander. “You are a free man.”

“Later,” said Yu Yu, “but first we have to find Men of Clay.”

Many of the servants were reluctant to return to the palace, but as the boldest of them moved through the doors, most of the others followed. Another fifteen joined the thirty who had already quit the Gray Man’s service and journeyed to Carlis.

Waylander walked out through the banquet hall and found Kysumu sitting cross-legged on the terrace stones. The
Rajnee
’s arms were extended outward, his head bowed. Waylander moved silently past him, leaving the warrior to his meditation.

The sun was high now in a clear blue sky, shining down on
the myriad colors of the flowers in the terraced gardens. The scent of roses filled the air. It made the events of the night seem like a dream. Waylander strolled down to his apartments. The door was open, and there was a crimson smear on the frame.

Inside, the priestess Ustarte lay naked in one corner. Blood from a number of wounds to her flanks, arms, and legs was seeping through her striped fur. Waylander knelt beside her. She was unconscious. Stretching her out on her back, he examined the wounds. They were deep. Waylander drew the blue crystal from his pocket, slowly moving it over the tears in her flesh. He could see no sign of the flesh-eating maggots. Finding his medicine bag, he took from it a curved needle and began to stitch the largest of the jagged rips in her side. Her golden eyes opened and locked on his gaze. Then they closed once more. Waylander continued his work. Her fur was not soft like that of a cat. It was wiry and thick, the muscles beneath supple and immensely strong. Indeed, she was far stronger than the slim form suggested. There was further evidence of this when he tried to lift her to carry her to his bed. She weighed at least as much as two tall men. Unable to move her, Waylander fetched a pillow and some blankets and laid them on a chair close by. Then, using old cloths, he mopped up the blood around her. Wiping his hands clean, he lifted her head and slipped the pillow under it. Then he covered her with the blankets.

Having done all he could, Waylander left the building, pulled shut the door, and walked to the waterfall. Stripping off his clothes, he stood beneath the cold water.

Refreshed, he gathered up his clothes and returned to his rooms. Finding a fresh shirt and leggings, he dressed and returned to the priestess. Her breathing was shallow, her face ashen. Her eyes opened, and she tried to speak, the effort causing her to wince. “Don’t talk,” he said softly. “Rest now. I will fetch you some water.” Filling a goblet, he raised her head and
held it to her lips. She drank a little and then sank back. “Sleep,” he said. “Nothing will harm you.” He was aware even as he said it that he could in truth make no such guarantees, but the words were out before he could stop them.

He walked to the door and sat down on the step. The fishermen were out in the bay, the white sails of their boats bright in the sunlight.

Waylander leaned back against the door frame.

Eldicar Manushan had been torn apart battling the demons in the ruins. He could not, surely, at the same time have summoned more monsters to attack the palace. Waylander considered the attack. There had been three targets: Mendyr Syn, Yu Yu Liang, and Ustarte. Since Yu Yu and the
Rajnee
sword had been in the hospital building, the death of the surgeon might have been merely a tragic coincidence. Anger flickered in his weary frame. Life was full of such meaningless tragedies.

His first wife, Tanya, and his three children had died because a group of raiders had decided to head southeast rather than southwest. Coincidentally, he had chosen that day to hunt venison rather than stay and rebuild the south pasture fence.

“You have no time for self-pity,” he said aloud, pushing the awful scenes from his mind.

He truly did not care whether Kydor stood or fell. War was a grisly fact of life and one he was powerless to alter. But the enemy had brought death to
his
house, and
that
he did care about. Demons had been unleashed within the palace. Omri had been a gentle, kind man. Talons had torn his chest open. Mendyr Syn had devoted his life to the care of others. In his last moments he had witnessed his patients being ripped apart.

Until now this had not been Waylander’s war.

Now it was.

Leaning his head back against the door frame, he closed
his eyes. Sunlight was warm on his face. A soft breeze whispered against his skin. He was almost asleep when he heard soft footfalls on the steps. His dark eyes flicked open, and he drew a diamond-shaped knife from its sheath.

Keeva appeared, carrying a tray of food. Waylander pushed himself to his feet and stood blocking the doorway. “Emrin asked me to bring you some breakfast,” she said.

He was silent for a moment. “Was it you who hurled the carving knife at the beast?” he asked.

“Yes. How did you know?”

“I saw it on the floor. Where did you aim for?”

“The eye.”

“Did you hit it?”

“Yes. It went in to the hilt.”

“Excellent.” He looked at her closely. “I want you to do something for me,” he said.

“Of course.”

“I want it done quietly. No one must know. No one at all.”

“You can trust me, Gray Man. I owe you my life.”

“Go to the north tower and the rooms of the priestess Ustarte. Let no one see you. Gather some of her clothes and gloves. Do not forget the gloves. Put them in a sack and bring them here.”

“She is still alive?”

Waylander stepped back into the apartments, beckoning her to follow him. Keeva paused in the doorway and gazed down on the sleeping priestess. One arm was outside the blankets. Keeva moved closer and stared down at the exposed fur-covered limb and the sharp claws extending from the short, stubby fingers. She recoiled instantly.

“Sweet heavens! What is she?” whispered Keeva.

“Someone who has been badly wounded,” he said softly. “No one must know she has survived the attack. You understand?”

“Is she a demon?”

“I do not know what she is, Keeva, but I believe there is no evil in her. Will you trust me on this?”

“I trust you, Gray Man. Will she live?”

“I have no way of knowing. The wounds are deep, and there may be massive internal bleeding. But I will do what I can.”

Ustarte opened her eyes. Her vision swam, then focused on the roughly wrought ceiling above her. Her mouth was dry, and she became aware of pain. It grew from a dull, throbbing ache to needles of fire in her side and back. She groaned.

Instantly a figure appeared above her. Lifting her head, he held a goblet of water to her lips. She drank sparingly at first, allowing the cool liquid to ease its way down her parched throat. The swirling began in her belly, and she quelled it. Must not change now, she thought, an edge of panic seeping into her mind. Looking up into the Gray Man’s face, she read his thoughts instinctively. He was concerned for her.

“I will live,” she whispered. “If I do not … become the beast.” She caught an image in his mind of a golden wolf dying on the stairs of the library. Sorrow flowed over her, and tears welled in her eyes. “They died for me,” she whispered.

“Aye, they did,” he said. The tears flowed onto her cheeks, and she began sobbing. She felt his hands on her shoulders. “Be calm, Ustarte! You will tear the stitches. There will be time for grief later.”

“They trusted me,” she said. “I betrayed them.”