Waylander
Prologue
They had begun to torture the priest when the stranger stepped from the shadows of the trees.
'You stole my horse,' he said quietly. The five men spun round. Beyond them the young priest sagged against the ropes which held him, raising his head to squint through swollen eyes at the newcomer. The man was tall and broad-shouldered and a black leather cloak was drawn about him.
'Where is my horse?' he asked.
'Who is to say? A horse is a horse and the owner is the man who rides him,' answered Dectas. When the stranger first spoke Dectas had felt the thrill of fear course through him, expecting to find several men armed and ready. But now, as he scanned the trees in the gathering dusk, he knew the man was alone. Alone and mad. The priest had proved but sorry sport, gritting his teeth against the pain and offering neither curse nor plea. But this one would sing the song of pain long into the night.
'Fetch the horse,' said the man, a note of boredom in his deep voice.
'Take him!' ordered Dectas and swords sang into the air as the five men attacked. Swiftly the newcomer swept back his cloak over one shoulder and lifted his right arm. A black bolt tore into the chest of the nearest man, a second entered the belly of a burly warrior with upraised sword. The stranger dropped the small double crossbow and lightly lept back.
One of his attackers was dead and a second knelt clutching the bolt in his belly.
The newcomer loosened the thong which held his cloak, allowing it to fall to the ground behind him. From twin sheaths he produced two black-bladed knives.
'Fetch the horse!' he ordered.
The remaining two hesitated, glancing to Dectas for guidance. Black blades hissed through the air and both men dropped without a sound.
Dectas was alone.
'You can have the horse,' he said, biting his lip and backing towards the trees. The man shook his head.
'Too late,' he answered softly.
Dectas turned and sprinted for the trees, but a sharp blow in the back caused him to lose balance and his face ploughed the soft earth. Pushing his hands beneath him, he struggled to rise. Had the newcomer thrown a rock, he wondered? Weakness flowed through him and he slumped to the ground ... the earth was soft as a feather-bed and sweet-smelling like lavender. His leg twitched.
The newcomer recovered his cloak and brushed the dirt from its folds before fastening the thongs at the shoulder. Then he recovered his three knives, wiping them clean on the clothes of the dead. Lastly he collected his bolts, despatching the wounded man with a swift knife-cut across the throat. He picked up his crossbow and checked the mechanism for dirt before clipping it to his broad black belt. Without a backward glance he strode to the horses.
'Wait!' called the priest. 'Release me. Please!'
The man turned. 'Why?' he asked.
The question was so casually put that the priest found himself momentarily unable to phrase an answer.
'I will die if you leave me here,' he said, at last.
'Not good enough,' said the man, shrugging. He walked to the horses, finding his own mount and saddlebags were as he had left them. Satisfied, he untied his horse and walked back to the clearing.
Book 1
The Drenai king is dead - murdered by a ruthless assassin. Enemy warriors swarm into Drenai lands. Their orders are simple: Kill every man, woman and child in the nation.
Only one man can save the Drenai.
Stalked by men who act like beasts and beasts that walk like men, Waylander journeys into the shadow-haunted lands of the Nadir and finds the legendary Armour of Bronze.
But can he be trusted? For he is Waylander the Slayer. The man who killed the king.
Book 2
High in the wooded, peaked mountains of Skeln, the woodsman, Dakeyras, and his beautiful daughter Miriel, live a life of harmonious solitude. Unbeknown to them, a group of grim-eyed, bloodthirsty warriors stalk the mountains.
Men who have known defeat, to whom revenge and torture are meat and drink. For ten thousand in gold they are eager to kill the woodsman.
Battle-hardened warriors all, they have no fear of this task - they should have. For Miriel is a woman of fire and iron, skilled with bow and blade and taught her skills by one of the deadliest killers of all time...
Her father Dakeyras, better known as Waylander the Slayer.
Book 3
Prologue
Karnak returned to Dros Delnoch, gathered the forces there and led them against the Ventrians, smashing their army in two decisive battles at Erekban and Lentrum.
In the two years that followed Karnak took to brooding about the fear of assassination, becoming convinced that Waylander would one day seek him out and slay him.
Against the advice of Asten he once again contacted the Guild increasing the price on the assassin's head.
A veritable army of searchers was despatched, but no news of Waylander surfaced in Drenan.
Until one day three of the best hunters returned, bearing a rotted head, wrapped in canvas, and a small ebony and steel, double-bladed crossbow. Stripped of flesh, the skull and the crossbow were exhibited in the Museum at Drenan, under the description, cast in bronze:
Waylander the Slayer, the man who killed the King.
One winter's day, three years later, and fiver after the siege of Kar-Barzac, the corssbow was stolen. In the same week, as Karnak marched at the head of the annual Victory Parade, a young woman with long dark hair stepped from the crowd. In her right hand was the stolen bow.
People in the crowd saw her speak to the Drenai leader just before she killed him, two bolts plunging into his chest. A rider, leading a second horse, galloped on to the Avenue of Kings, and the woman vaulted to the saddle just as Karnak's guards were rushing to apprehend her.
The two assassins made their escape, and many were the theories surrounding the murder; they were hired by the son of the Ventrian King, the battle monarch whose body was thrown in a mass grave after the defeat at Erekban. Or she was one of Karnak's mistresses, furious after he discarded her for a younger, prettier gitl. Some in the crowd swore they recognised the male rider as Angel, a former gladiator. None knew the woman.
Karnak was given a state funeral. Two thousand soldiers marched behind the wagon bearing his body. Crowds lined the Avenue of Kings, and many were the tears shed for the man described on his tombstone as 'this greatest of Drenai heroes'.
The skull of Waylander was sold eight years later. It was bought at auction by the Gothir merchant Matze Chai, acting on behalf of one of his clients, a mysterious noble who lived in a palace in the Gothir city of Namib. When asked why a foreigner should pay such a vast amount for the skull of a Drenai assassin, Matze Chai smiled and spread his elegant hands.
'But you must know?' insisted the curator of the museum.
'I assure you that I do not.'
'But the price... It is colossal!'
'My client is a very rich man. He has invested with me for many years.'
'Was he a friend to this Waylander?'
'I gather they were close,' admitted Matze Chai.
'But what will he do with the skull? Display It?'
'I doubt it. He told me he intends to bury it.'
'Why?' asked the man, astonished. 'Forty thousand Raq just to bury it?'
'He is a man who likes to choose his own endings,' said Matze Chai.
Recommended Reading
| Waylander | David Gemmel | ISBN 0-09-947090-X
|
| Waylander II | David Gemmel | ISBN 0-09-989250-2
|
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