In the Realm of the Wolf (25 page)

Jahunda had sent up a signal smoke, then had clambered down from the peak, making his way carefully to the first ambush site. But the Drenai had cut to the right, angling up into the high pass. Hooking his bow over his shoulder, Jahunda ran to the second site, overlooking the deer trail. The Drenai had to emerge there. He chose his arrow with care and hoped he could make the kill before the others arrived. Then the horse would be his by right, and a fine beast it looked. He closed his eyes and listened for the soft clopping of hooves in the snow. Sweat was seeping from under his white burnoose, and fear made his mouth dry. The Drenai was no merchant. This one was a careful man who knew where he was riding and the danger he was in. That he traveled there at all spoke well of his bravery and his confidence. Jahunda was anxious that the first shaft should strike a mortal blow.

There was no sound from the snow-shrouded trees, and Jahunda risked a glance around the boulder.

Nothing.

But the man had to be close. There was no other route. Jahunda inched his way to the left and leaned out Still nothing. Perhaps the rider had doubled back. Maybe he should have waited by the first site. Indecision rippled through him. The Drenai could be relieving himself against a tree, he told himself. Give it time! His heart was beating fast, and he tried to calm himself. But the horse was magnificent! He could sell it and buy Shora a shawl of silk and one of those bangles with the blue stones that Zaris sold at ridiculously high prices. Oh, how Shora would love him if he arrived at her father’s house bearing such gifts. He would be an acclaimed warrior, a hunter, a defender of the land. It would hardly matter then that he could not yet grow a beard.

He heard the clop of hooves and swallowed hard. Wait! Be patient. He drew back on the string and glanced up at the sun. It would cast a shadow from high and to the right of the rider, and from his hiding place behind the boulder Jahunda could time his attack perfectly. He licked his lips and watched for the shadow of the horse. As it drew alongside the boulder, he stepped out, bow raised.

The saddle was empty. There was no rider.

Jahunda blinked. Something hard struck the back of his head, and he fell to his knees, his bow falling from his fingers. “I am dying!” he thought, and his last thoughts were of the beautiful Shora.

He felt rough hands shaking him and slowly came to consciousness.

“What happened, boy?” asked Jitsan, the Lord Sathuli’s chief scout.

He tried to explain, but one of the other hunters came up, tapping Jitsan’s shoulder. “The Drenai sent his horse forward then moved around behind the boy and clubbed him. He is heading for Senac Pass.”

“Can you walk?” Jitsan asked Jahunda.

“I think so.”

“Then go home, child.”

“I am ashamed,” said Jahunda, hanging his head.

“You are alive,” Jitsan pointed out, rising and moving off swiftly, the six hunters following him.

There would be no horse for the young Sathuli warrior now. No bangle. No shawl for Shora.

He sighed and gathered up his bow.

Waylander dismounted, leading the gelding up the steep slope. Scar padded alongside him, not liking the cold snow under his paws. “There’s worse to come,” said the man.

He had seen the signal smoke and watched with grim amusement the antics of the young Sathuli sentry. The boy could not have been more than fourteen. Callow and inexperienced, he had run too swiftly for the ambush site, leaving easily seen footprints leading to the boulder behind which he hid. There had been a time when Waylander would have killed him. “You’re getting soft,” he scolded himself aloud, but he did not regret his action.

At the top of the slope he halted, shading his eyes from the snow glare and seeking out the route to Senac Pass. It was twelve years since he had come this way, and that had been summertime, the slopes of the mountains green and verdant. The wind was biting through his jerkin, and he untied his fur-lined cloak from behind his saddle and unrolled it, fastening it into place with a brooch of bronze and a leather thong.

He studied the trail behind him then walked on, leading the gelding. The trail was narrow, wending its way down a snow-covered slope of scree and onto a long, twisting ledge no more than four feet wide. To the right was the mountain, to the left a dizzying drop into the valley some four hundred feet below. In summer the journey across the ledge had been perilous enough, but now, ice-covered and treacherous …

You must be insane, he told himself. He started to walk, but the gelding held back. The wind was whistling across the mountain face, and the horse wanted no part of such a venture.

“Come on, boy!” urged Waylander, tugging on the reins, but the gelding would not move. Behind the horse Scar let out a deep, menacing growl. The gelding leapt forward, almost sending Waylander over the edge. He swayed on the brink, but his hold on the reins saved him and he pulled himself back to
safety. The ledge wound on around the mountain face for almost a quarter of a mile until, just beyond a bend, it was split by a steep scree slope leading down into the valley.

Waylander took a deep breath and was just about to step onto the scree, when Scar growled again. The horse lurched forward, pulling the reins from Waylander’s hand. The beast hit the scree headfirst and tumbled down the slope. An arrow flashed past Waylander’s head. Spinning, he drew two knives. Scar leapt to attack the first Sathuli to come into sight around the bend behind them. The hound’s great jaws snapped at the archer’s face. Dropping his bow, the warrior threw himself back, cannoning into a second man, who fell from the ledge, his scream echoing away. Scar hurled himself upon the first man, fangs locking to the man’s forearm.

Waylander moved closer to the rock face as a third Sathuli edged into sight. The warrior raised his tulwar over the hound. Waylander’s arm snapped forward, the black-bladed knife slicing between the man’s ribs. With a grunt he dropped the tulwar and fell to his knees before toppling to his face in the snow.

“Here, Scar!” shouted Waylander. For a moment the dog continued to rip and tear at die first Sathuli, but when Waylander called again, it released its grip and backed away. Unhooking the small crossbow from his belt, Waylander loaded it and waited. The man with the injured arm was lying on the brink of the precipice, breathing hoarsely. The other warrior was dead.

“Who is leader here?” Waylander called in halting Sathuli.

“Jitsan,” came the reply. “And I speak your tongue better than you do mine.”

“Do you like to wager?”

“On what?”

“On how long your friend there lives if you do not come for him and bind his wounds.”

“Speak plainly, Drenai!”

“I am passing through. I am no danger to the Sathuli. Nor am I a soldier. Give me your word the hunt will cease and I will leave here now. You can rescue your friend. If not, I wait We fight. He dies.”

“If you wait, you die,” shouted Jitsan.

“Even so,” answered Waylander.

The injured man groaned and tried to roll himself from the ledge to certain death on the rocks below. It was a brave move, and Waylander found himself admiring the warrior. Jitsan called out to him in Sathuli, and the man ceased his struggle.

“Very well, Drenai, you have my word.” Jitsan stepped into sight, his sword sheathed.

Waylander flicked the bolts from the crossbow and loosed the strings. “Let’s go, dog,” he said, and leapt to the scree, sliding down the slope on his haunches. Scar followed him instantly, tumbling and rolling past his master.

But Waylander had misjudged the speed of the descent and lost his grip on the crossbow as he struck a hidden rock that catapulted him into the air, spinning and cartwheeling. Relaxing his muscles, he rolled himself into a ball and prayed he would not strike a tree or boulder.

At last the dizzying fall slowed, and he came to a stop in a deep drift of snow. His body was bruised and aching, and two of his knives had fallen from their sheaths. Curiously, his sword was still in its scabbard. He sat up. His head was spinning, and he felt a rush of nausea. After it had passed he pushed himself to his knees. As well as the loss of the two knives, his crossbow quiver was empty, his leggings were torn, and his right thigh was gashed and bleeding.

To his right lay the gelding, its neck broken in the fall. Waylander took a long, deep breath, his fingers probing at his bruised ribs. Nothing seemed broken. Scar padded over to him, licking his face. The stitches on the dog’s side had opened, and a thin trickle of blood was oozing from the wound.

“Well, we made it, boy,” said Waylander. Slowly and with great care he stood. Several of his crossbow bolts and one of his knives lay nearby, close to the dead gelding. Gathering the weapons, he searched the snow for his knife but could not find it. Scar ran back up the slope and returned with the crossbow in his jaws.

A second search left Waylander with twelve bolts and one knife recovered. The gash in his leg was not deep, requiring no stitches, but he bound the wound with a bandage taken from
his saddlebag and then sat on a jutting rock and shared some dried meat with the hound.

High above him he saw the signal smoke. Reaching down, he stroked Scar’s huge head. “You just can’t trust the Sathuli,” he said. The hound twisted its head and licked the man’s hand.

Waylander stood and surveyed the valley. The snow was deep there, but the way to Senac Pass lay open.

Lifting the food sack from the dead horse, he set off toward the north.

Slowly the six hundred black-cloaked warriors filed into the huge hall, forming twenty ranks before the dais on which stood Zhu Chao and his six captains. Red lanterns glowed with crimson light, and shadows flickered across the great curving beams of the high ceiling.

All was silent. Zhu Chao spread wide his arms, his caped gown arching down from his shoulders like the wings of a demon. “The day is here, comrades!” he shouted. “Tomorrow the Ventrians attack Purdol and the pass at Skeln. Gothir troops will then march on the Sentran Plain. And five thousand soldiers will obliterate the Nadir Wolves, bringing us the treasures of Kar-Barzac.

“Within the month all three great nations will be ruled by the Brotherhood. And we will have the power our strength and our faith deserve.

“The days of blood are here! The days when, for us, the only law will be to do as we will, wherever we choose.” A thunderous roar rose up from the ranks, but he quelled it with a swift wave of his hand. “We are talking about power, comrades. The Elder races did not understand the power they held. The oceans drank their cities, and their culture is all but lost to us.

“But there is one great center of their might, named in all the grimoires. In the Mountains of the Moon lies the citadel of Kar-Barzac. The arcane strength of the Elders still flows there, and with it we will find not only the instruments to maintain our rule but the secret of immortality. Win this war and we will live forever, our dreams made true, our lusts sated, our desires fulfilled.” This time he let the cheering mount and stood with
arms folded, drinking in the adulation. Gradually the sound died away. Zhu Chao spoke again.

“To those who are chosen to ride against the Wolves I say this: kill them all and their whores and their brats. Leave nothing alive. Burn their bodies and grind their bones to powder. Consign their dreams to the ashes of history!”

As the renewed cheering died down, he strode from the dais, exiting the hall through a small side door. Followed by his captains, he made his way to a suite of rooms in the western wing of the palace. There he stretched out on a couch and bade his officers sit around him.

“The plans are all set?” he asked the first of his officers, Innicas, a wide-shouldered albino in his midforties with a forked white beard and a jagged scar across his brow. His long hair was braided, and his pink eyes, unblinking, shone with a cold light.

“Yes, lord. Galen will see Karnak delivered to us. He has convinced him to meet with the Sathuli chieftain. He will be captured and delivered alive to Gulgothir. But tell me, lord, why do we need him? Why not just slit his throat and be done with it?”

Zhu Chao smiled. “Men like Karnak are rare indeed. They have power, deep elemental strength. He will be a worthy gift to Shemak, as will the emperor. Two lords beneath the sacrificial knife. When has our master known such a sacrifice? And I shall enjoy watching both men beg for their lives.”

“And the Source priests?” inquired a second officer, a slim man with thinning shoulder-length gray hair.

“Dardalion and his comical troop?” Zhu Chao gave a dry laugh. “Tonight, Casta. Use sixty men. Destroy their souls as they sleep.”

“I am concerned, lord,” said Innicas, “about the man, Waylander. Was he not allied with Dardalion many years ago?”

“He is a killer. No more, no less. He has no understanding of the mystic arts.”

“He slew nine of our warriors,” Casta pointed out.

“He has a stepdaughter, Miriel. It is she who has talent. And with him were two arena warriors named Senta and Angel. Also there was the renegade Belash. The timing of the attack
was unfortunate, but they will not survive a second assault—that I promise you.”

“I mean no disrespect, sir, but this Waylander does seem to show a spectacular talent for survival,” said Innicas. “Do we know where he is?”

“At this moment he is being pursued through Sathuli lands. He is wounded, alone—save for a mangy hound—and has little food and no water. The hunters are closing in. We shall see how far his talent for survival can be stretched.”

“And the girl?” asked the gray-haired Casta.

“At Dros Delnoch. But she will join Kesa Khan. She will be at Kar-Barzac.”

“You want her taken alive?” asked Melchidak.

“It matters not to me,” answered Zhu Chao, “but if she is, then give her to the men. Let them amuse themselves. When they are done, sacrifice her to the master.”

“You spoke, lord, of the power of the Elders and immortality,” said Casta. “What awaits us at Kar-Barzac?”

Zhu Chao smiled. “One day at a time, Casta. When the Nadir Wolves are dead, I will show you the crystal chamber.”