Chapter Ten

Waylander moved to the bedside. Ustarte's golden eyes were open. He sat beside her. 'You were wrong to do that,' she said, her voice almost a whisper.

'I gave her a choice.'

'No, you didn't. She owes you her life. She will feel obliged to do as you ask.'

'I know, but I don't have too many choices,' he admitted.

'You could become a friend to Kuan-Hador,' she reminded him.

He shook his head. 'I would have remained neutral, but they brought death to my house and to my people. I cannot forgive that.'

'It is more than that,' she said.

He laughed then, with genuine good humour. 'I forget for a moment that you can read minds.'

'And speak with spirits,' she reminded him.

His smile faded. On the first night he had tended her Ustarte had woken and told him that the spirit of Orien, the Battle King of the Drenai, had appeared to her. It had shaken Waylander, for the same spirit had appeared to him years before, offering him the chance to redeem himself by finding the Armour of Bronze.*

* From the novel Waylander (1986)

'Has he come to you again?'

'No. He harbours no ill-will towards you. He wanted you to know that.'

'He should. I killed his son.'

'I know,' she said sadly. 'You were a different man then, and almost beyond redemption. But the goodness in you fought back. He has forgiven you.'

'Strangely, that is harder to bear than hate,' he said.

'That is because you cannot forgive yourself.'

'Can you read the minds of spirits?' he asked her.

'No – but I liked him.'

'He was a king,' said Waylander, 'a great king. He saved the Drenai, and forged a nation. When he was old, his sight failing, he abdicated in favour of his son, Niallad.'

'I know this from your own memories,' she said. 'He hid the Armour of Bronze. You found it.'

'He asked me to. How could I refuse?'

'Some men would have. And now he has asked a second favour of you.'

'It makes no sense to me. Finding the Armour of Bronze helped the Drenai overcome a great enemy. But going to a feast? Why would a dead king care about a feast?'

'He did not say. But I think you will be in danger if you go. You know that?'

'I know.'

Keeva moved in from the weapons room. Waylander turned to see her standing in the doorway. She was wearing the dark shirt and leggings and a pair of fringed riding boots. The hunting knife was belted at her waist. Her long dark hair was pulled back from her face and tied in a pony-tail. Waylander rose from the bedside. 'The clothes fit well,' he said. Moving past her he walked to a cabinet on the far wall of the weapons room. Opening it, he withdrew a small double-winged crossbow. Calling out to Keeva he carried the weapon to a bench. Under the light of a lantern he examined the crossbow, lightly oiling the bolt grooves. As Keeva came alongside he passed the weapon to her. 'I had this made for my daughter, Miriel,' he said, 'but she preferred the more traditional hunting bow. It is considerably lighter than my own bow and the killing range is no more than fifteen paces.'

Keeva hefted the bow. It was T-shaped, when viewed either vertically or horizontally, the grip projecting down from the centre of the weapon. The rear of the crossbow was fluted back, and shaped so that it settled snugly over the wrist. There were no bronze triggers. Two black studs had been set into the grip.

Waylander handed the girl two black bolts. 'Load the lower groove first,' he advised. Keeva struggled with the action. The centre of the lower bowstring was hidden inside the mechanism. 'Let me show you,' he said.

On the underside of the bow was a catch. Waylander flicked it open and pulled it down. This engaged the lower bowstring, drawing it back into view. Slipping his fingers into the groove he cocked the weapon, then slid a bolt into place. Snapping the catch, he handed the weapon to Keeva. Extending her arm, she loosed the centre bolt into a nearby target. He watched her reload it. She still struggled with the lower section. 'Do not leave it loaded for too long,' he said, 'for it will weaken the wings. When you get time, practise loading and unloading. It will become easier.'

'I do not want it to become easier,' she told him. 'I will take Ustarte to this place you spoke of, but then you can have this weapon back. I told you once before I do not want to be a killer. That remains true.'

'I understand that, and I am grateful to you,' he said. 'I will be with you late tomorrow. After that you will be free of any obligation to me.'

Finding a stick of charcoal and a section of parchment he drew two diamond shapes, the first with a diagonal line across it running left to right, the second right to left. 'Skirt the ruins of Kuan-Hador to the south-west and head into the mountains. Follow the main road for around a mile. You will come to a fork in the road. Take the left fork and continue until you see a lightning-blasted tree. Ride on, keeping your eyes on the trunks of the trees you pass. Each time you see these symbols change direction according to the line through the diamond, left to right or right to left. You will come to a cliff-face. If you have followed the symbols correctly you will be close to a deep cleft in the rocks. Dismount and lead the horses into that cleft. Inside you will find a deep cave with a freshwater pool. There are supplies there, and grain for the horses.'

Keeva slipped the bolts from the crossbow and loosed the strings. 'I heard the priestess say you would be in danger at the Feast. Why go?'

'Why indeed?' he observed.

'You had best be wary.'

'I am always wary.'

Niallad, son of the mighty Duke Elphons, and blood heir to the vanished throne of Drenan, stood naked before a full-length mirror disliking what he saw. The slender face, with its large blue eyes and full mouth, seemed to him to be that of a girl. There was no real sign yet of facial hair. His shoulders and arms were still skinny, despite the many weeks of hard physical labour he had pushed himself to complete. His chest, also hairless, carried no flesh and his ribs could clearly be seen. He looked nothing like the powerhouse that was his father. And the fears he carried would not go away. When surrounded by crowds he would start to sweat, his palms becoming clammy, his heart beating wildly. His dreams were always of darkness, an unfamiliar maze of corridors, and the stealthy footfalls of an assassin who was never seen.

Turning away from the mirror Niallad went to the chest beneath the window and opened it, pulling forth a grey tunic and dark leggings. Dressing, he pulled on his calf-length riding boots and strapped his dagger-belt to his waist. Then came a light tapping at the door. 'Come in,' he called.

The bodyguard, Gaspir, stepped inside. He pointed at the dagger-belt. 'No weapons, young lord,' he said. 'Your father's orders.'

'Yes, of course. A hall full of enemies and we carry no weapons.'

'Only the friends of the Duke are invited,' said Gaspir.

'Panagyn is no friend, and I do not trust Aric.'

The broad-shouldered bodyguard shrugged. 'Even if Panagyn were an enemy he would be a fool to attempt an assassination in a hall filled with the Duke's supporters. Put your mind at rest. Tonight is a celebration.'

'Are there many people here?' asked Niallad, trying not to show his fear.

'Only about a hundred so far, but they are still arriving.'

'I shall be down presently,' said Niallad. 'Is the food being served?'

'Aye, it looks enticing.'

'Then go down and eat, Gaspir. I will see you in a little while.'

The guard shook his head. 'You are in my charge, young lord. I will wait outside.'

'I thought you said there was no danger.'