Gemmell, David - Drenai 09 - Hero In The Shadows Page 6

  'Very well, sir. And what message shall I send the Chiatze Lady?'

  'No message, Omri. I will go and see her presently.'

  'Yes, sir. Would it be considered a discourtesy to ask her how long she and her retainers plan to stay?'

  'I am more interested to know why they came here - and how,' said Waylander.

  'How, sir?'

  'A priestess in robes of embroidered silk, with three retainers, appears at our gates. Where was the carriage? Where were the horses? From where did they come? They did not stay in Carlis.'

  'Obviously they walked from elsewhere,' said Omri.

  'And yet attracted little dust to their clothing, and showed no sign of weariness.'

  Omri made the Sign of the Protective Horn. 'Regardless of the discourtesy, sir, I would gratefully appreciate knowledge of their departure date.'

  'I do not believe there is any need to fear them, Omri. I sense no evil in her.'

  'That is good to hear, sir. But some of us have little choice concerning what we fear. I have always been a frightened man. I don't know why.'

  Waylander laid his hand on the old man's shoulder.

  'You are a gentle soul and a good man,' he said. 'You care about people and their happiness. That is rare.'

  Omri looked embarrassed. 'I would have liked to have been more . . . manly, shall we say? I was a terrible disappointment to my father.'

  'Most of us are,' said Waylander. 'Had my father seen what I have done with my life he would have burned with shame. But that is neither here nor there. We live in the now, Omri. And now you are a steward, valued and respected - even loved by those who serve under you. It should be enough.'

  'Perhaps,' said Omri, 'but then you are loved and respected by those who serve you. Is it enough for you?'

  Waylander gave a rueful smile, but did not reply. Moving away, he climbed the terrace steps towards the North Tower.

  Minutes later he reached the top of the circular stair to the largest of the library rooms. It had originally been designed as a large state room, but as his collection of ancient scrolls and books grew, so too did the need for added space. There were now five smaller libraries within the palace, as well as the huge museum in the South Tower. Pushing open the door, he stepped inside and bowed to the slender woman sitting at the long, oval table, scrolls spread out around her. He found himself marvelling once more at her beauty, the pale gold of her flawless skin, and her finely boned Chiatze features. Even the shaven head only emphasized her exquisite good looks. She seemed almost too frail to bear the weight of the heavy robes of red and gold silk adorning her body.

  'What are you studying, Lady?' he asked.

  She looked up. Her slanted eyes were not the deep chestnut of the Chiatze, but tawny gold, flecked with blue. They were disconcerting eyes that seemed to stare deep into the recesses of his soul. 'I have been reading this,' she said, her gloved hand lightly touching an ancient scroll of dry and faded parchment. 'It is, I am told, a fifth-generation copy of the sayings of a writer named Missael. He was one of the most extraordinary men of the New Order, following the destruction of the Elder Races. Some believe his verses contain prophecies for the future.' She smiled. 'But, then, words are so imprecise. Some of these verses could mean anything.'

  'Then why do you study them?'

  'Why does one study at all?' she countered. 'For greater knowledge, and with it greater understanding. Missael tells how the old world was destroyed by lust, greed, fear and hatred. Did mankind learn from the destruction?'

  'Mankind does not have a single set of eyes,' said Waylander. 'A million eyes see too much and absorb too little.'

  'Ah, you are a philosopher.'

  'A poor one at best.'

  'From your words you believe mankind cannot change for the better, evolve and develop into a finer species?'

  'Individuals can evolve and change, Lady. This I have seen. But gather together any large group and within a few heartbeats you can have a howling mob, intent on murder and destruction. No, I do not believe mankind will ever change.'

  That may be true,' she agreed, 'but it leaves the taste of defeat and despair. I cannot countenance such a philosophy. Please sit.'

  Drawing up a chair, he reversed it and sat opposite her. 'Your rescue of the girl, Keeva, does you credit,' she said, her voice low, almost musical.

  'I did not at first know they had taken a hostage,' he admitted.

  'Even so. She now has a life - and a destiny - that would otherwise have been robbed from her. Who knows what she may achieve, Waylander?'

  'Not a name I use now,' he told her. 'And not one by which I am known by any in Kydor.'

  'No one shall hear it from me,' she told him. 'So, tell me, why did you ride after the bandits?'

  'They attacked my lands and my people. What other reason did I need?'

  'Perhaps you needed to prove to yourself that you are still the man you were. Perhaps, beneath the hard, worldly exterior, you felt for the pain and the loss of the villagers, and were determined that those evil men would never again cause such distress. Or perhaps you were thinking of your first wife, Tanya, and how you were not present when the raiders came to kill her and murder your children.'

  His voice hardened. 'You asked to see me, Lady. Your messenger said it was a matter of some importance.'

  She sighed, then looked once more into his eyes. When she spoke her voice was softer, the tone regretful. 'It distresses me to have caused you pain, Grey Man. Forgive me.'

  'Let us understand one another,' he said coldly. 'I try to hold my pain in a private place. Not entirely successfully. You opened a window to it. I would consider it a courtesy if you did not open it again.'

  'You have my word upon it.' She sat silently for a moment, her golden eyes holding to his gaze. 'It is sometimes difficult for me, Grey Man. You see, nothing is hidden from me. When I meet someone for the first time I see all. Their lives, their memories, their angers and pains are all laid bare to me. I try to close myself to myriad images and emotions, but that is painful and exhausting. So, in the main, I absorb them. It is why I avoid crowds, for it is like being trapped under an avalanche of roaring emotion. So let me say again that I am sorry to have offended you. You have been most kind to me and my followers.'

  Waylander spread his hands. 'It is forgotten,' he said.

  'That is most generous of you.'

  'And the matter you wished to speak of?'

  She averted her eyes. 'This is not easy for me,' she said, 'for I need to ask your forgiveness a second time.'

  'I have already said—'

  'No, not for my earlier words. In coming here I may have placed you in some . . . danger. My followers and I are being hunted. It is possible - though I hope unlikely -that we will be found. I felt obliged to inform you of this, and to offer, with genuine intent, to leave immediately, should you desire it.'

  'You have broken some Chiatze law?' he asked.

  'No, we are not law-breakers. We are seekers of knowledge.'

  'Then who hunts you, and why?'

  Now her eyes met his. 'Bear with me, Grey Man, while I explain why I cannot yet tell you. As I have already shown, your thoughts and memories are known to me. They blaze from you like the rays of the sun, and like those rays they radiate out over the land. All human thoughts do this. The world is awash with them. Far beyond this palace there are minds attuned to such thoughts, seeking out a resonance that will lead them to me. If I told you the names of those hunting me they would form part of your thinking. And merely by thinking them you might alert those who seek to kill me.'

  Waylander smiled. 'Since I do not understand the ways of magickers let us move on,' he said. 'Why did you come here?'

  'Partly because you are here,' she said simply, then fell silent.

  'And the other part?'

  'That is even more complicated.'

  Waylander laughed. 'More complicated than magical enemies who can read thoughts over great distances? It is a bright morning, with
a fresh breeze and a blue sky. I am fresh from a cooling swim. My mind is clear. Speak on, Lady.'

  'This is not the only world, Grey Man.'

  'I know. There are many lands.'

  'That is not what I meant. We dwell at this time in Kydor. But there are other Kydors, an infinite number of them. Just as there are an infinite number of Drenai worlds. Many have identical histories, many are different. In some the assassin Waylander killed the Drenai king and the land was overrun by Vagrian forces. In others he killed the king and the Drenai won. In some he did not kill the king and there was no war. You follow?'

  Waylander's good humour seeped away. 'I murdered the king. For money. It was unforgivable. But it happened. I cannot change it. No one can change it.'

  'It happened here,' she said softly. 'But there are other worlds. An infinite number. Somewhere, at this moment, in the vastness of space there is another woman, sitting with a tall man. The scene is exactly as this one, save perhaps that the woman is wearing a blue robe and not one of gold. The man may be bearded, or dressed differently. But she is still me, and he is still you. And the land they dwell in is called Kydor.'

  Waylander took a deep breath. 'He is not me. I am me.'

  'I am sure he is saying exactly that.'

  'And he is right,' said Waylander. 'He might also be about to ask the point of this conversation. What does it matter if there are two Waylanders, or two hundred, if they never meet or interact?'

  'A good question. I have seen some of these worlds. In all of them, no matter what the outcome, the man known as Waylander has a part to play.'

  'Not in this world, Lady. Not any longer.'

  'We shall see. Do you wish us to go?'

  'I will think on it,' he told her, rising from his chair.

  'That is kind of you. One other small matter ..."

  'Yes?'

  'You did not ask Keeva how she killed the pigeons she cooked for you.'

  'No, I did not.' He gave a wry smile. 'I had other matters on my mind.'

  'Of course. She used your crossbow. She missed with the first bolt, but then killed all three - the last as it took flight.'

  'Impressive,' he said.

  'I thought that it would interest you.'

  He paused in the doorway. 'In all your studies have you come across anything about the ruins to the west?'

  'Why do you ask?'

  'I was there yesterday. I... did not like the feel of the place. And yet I have passed through it many times. Something today was different.'

  'You felt in danger?'

  He smiled. 'I felt fear, and yet all I saw was a mist.'

  'I know that the ruins are five thousand years old,' she said. 'Perhaps you sensed the spirit of someone long dead. But if I find anything of interest I will call upon you, Grey Man,' she told him.

  'It is probably nothing. But it was too warm for a mist, and it seemed to be flowing against the breeze. Had the girl not been with me I would have investigated the phenomenon. I do not like mysteries.'

  Then he turned and was gone.

  As the Grey Man left the library a small door opened and a slender, round-shouldered man stepped into the presence of the priestess. Like her he was shaven-headed, and wearing an ankle-length robe. It was of white wool, with matching gloves and boots of thin, pale grey leather. His tawny eyes cast a nervous glance towards the outer door. 'I do not like him,' he said. 'He is a savage just like them.'

  'No, Prial,' she said. There are similarities, but he does not have their cruelty.'

  'He is a killer.'

  'Yes, he is a killer,' she agreed. 'And he knew you were beyond the door.'

  'How could that be? I scarcely even allowed myself to breathe.'

  'He knew. He has an unconscious talent for these matters. It is, I think, why he has survived so long.'

  'And yet he did not know one of the raiders was hiding in a tree above him?'

  The priestess smiled. 'No, he did not. But he had strung his crossbow minutes before, and was holding it ready when the man leapt. As I said, it is an unconscious talent.'

  'I thought for a moment you were going to tell him,' said Prial.

  She shook her head. 'I am hoping still that I do not have to. Perhaps they will not find us before we have completed our mission.'

  'You believe that?'

  'I want to believe it.'

  'As do I, Ustarte. But time is short, and we still have not found the way. I have scanned over two hundred tomes. Menias and Corvidal have at least equalled me in this, and there are still more than a thousand to study. Has it occurred to you that these people have long forgotten the truth of Kuan-Hador?'

  'They cannot entirely have forgotten,' said Ustarte. 'Even the name of the land remains similar. We have come across references to demons and monsters, and heroes who fought them. Fragments, mostly, but somewhere there will be a clue.'

  'How soon will the gateway begin to open?' he asked her.

  'Within days rather than weeks. But the creatures of the mist are already here. The Grey Man sensed their evil.'

  'And now the deaths will begin,' said Prial sadly.

  'Yes, they will,' she admitted. 'And we must continue our search with hope in our hearts.'

  'I am fast losing hope, Ustarte. How many worlds must we see fall before we admit we are too weak to save them?'

  The priestess sighed and rose from her chair, the heavy silk gown rustling as she moved. 'This one world did defeat them three thousand years ago. They drove them back through the gateways. Despite the power of their sorcery, and the allies they brought with them, they were beaten back. Even the Kriaz-nor could not save them.'

  Prial did not look her in the eyes. 'Five years we have been searching and have found nothing. Now we have - perhaps - a few days. Then they will send an Ipsissimus and he will sense our presence.'

  'He is already here,' she said softly.

  Prial shivered. 'You have seen him?'

  'There is a cloak-spell around him. I cannot see him, but I can sense his power. He is close.'

  'Then we must flee while we have the opportunity.'

  'He does not yet know we are here, Prial. There is some power left in me. I also know how to cloak our presence.'

  He stepped forward, taking her gloved hand in his and raising it to his lips. 'I know that, Ustarte. But you cannot stand against an Ipsissimus. If he has not found us it is because he is not yet looking for us. When he does he will kill us.' Prial began to tremble, and she felt his gloved fingers close tightly about her hand.

  She watched him closely, and saw him take a deep, shuddering breath. 'I am calm,' he told her. 'Truly I am.' Then he pulled away from her, embarrassed by his show of weakness. 'These clothes chafe me,' he complained. Opening his robe he pushed it back from his shoulders. Ustarte moved behind him, scratching her fingers through the thick grey fur of his back and shoulders.

  His tawny eyes closed, and he grunted with pleasure, his terror subsiding.

  But it would return, she knew.

  Keeva was tense and more than a little angry as she reached the unusual buildings set aside for the Grey Man. Despite Norda's directions, she had lost herself twice in the maze of corridors and stairs, and had emerged on a lower level, only to see that the building she sought was one storey above and to the right. Climbing a set of stone steps, which cut through a rockery, she finally arrived at the entrance. She stood for a moment, surprised by what she saw. The Grey Man's dwelling place was set back into the cliff, the stone facing roughly fashioned and blending with the natural rock around it. This made it virtually invisible from the bay side of the palace. It looked stark and unprepossessing - not the home of a rich man at all. Her disquiet grew. Keeva had told the Grey Man she would not be his mistress, but now, within a day, he had summoned her to his rooms. Keeva's anger subsided, and she felt a sudden sadness. For a little while today she had allowed herself to believe she might be happy here. She liked Norda, and the other girls of the team had been friendly. They all spo
ke highly of old Omri, and the atmosphere among them had been full of good humour. Ah, well, she thought, best get it over. Stepping forward she tapped on the door.

  The Grey Man opened it. He was dressed in the same manner as when first she had seen him, dark leggings over riding boots, and a shirt of thin, supple leather. He wore no rings, or chains of gold, and his clothes boasted no brooches and no embroidery. He beckoned her inside. 'Come through,' he said, swinging away from her and strolling into the main living area. It was a rectangular room with only two hide-covered chairs and an old rug. There were no shelves or cabinets, and the fireplace was bare of ornament. A pile of logs was set beside it and a blackened iron poker. The Grey Man wandered through the room and out through a door at the rear. Keeva followed him, expecting to see a bedroom. Her anger began to rise once more.

  She crossed the doorway and paused, surprised. It was no bedroom. The thirty-foot wall on the left was panelled with pine, and upon it hung many weapons: longbows, crossbows, Chiatze war darts, swords, knives of all descriptions, some small, others long and double-edged. The right-hand wall was set with six lanterns, their light casting flickering shadows over an array of wooden frames and curious apparatus. Targets had been placed around the room, some round, others crafted from straw, string and old clothing into the forms of men.

  The Grey Man moved to a bench table from which he took his crossbow. Loading it with two bolts, he carried it back to Keeva. Then he pointed at the round target some twenty feet away. 'Direct two bolts into the centre,' he told her.

  Keeva's arm came up, her hand settling into the worn pistol grip, her fingers on the two bronze triggers. As she had learnt when shooting at the pigeons, the weapon was front heavy, and as the triggers were depressed it tipped slightly downward. Adjusting for this, she loosed both bolts. They flew across the room, slamming into the small red centre of the target. The Grey Man said nothing. Relieving her of the weapon, he moved to the target, retrieving the bolts. Returning the crossbow to the bench he took up two throwing blades. They were diamond-shaped and around four inches in length. There were no hilts, but grooves had been cut into the metal for greater grip.