“She is pregnant?”
“Yes. Senta’s son.”
“He didn’t know,” said Angel, staring down at the cloak-shrouded corpse on the stones.
“But you know, Angel. You know now that she has something to live for. But she will need help. There are few men strong enough to take on the burden of another man’s child.”
“That is no worry to me, Abbot. I love her.”
“Then go to her, my son. Sit with her. Share her grief.”
Angel nodded and moved away. Dardalion strode into the hall. The boy was sitting at a bench table, staring down at his hands. Dardalion sat opposite him. Their eyes met, and Dardalion smiled. The boy returned it.
Kesa Khan entered the hall from the stairwell leading to the upper floors. He saw Dardalion and crossed to the table. “I saw her on the battlements,” he said. “I am … happy that she survived.”
“Her lover did not,” said Dardalion.
The shaman shrugged. “It is not important.”
Dardalion bit back an angry reply and shifted his gaze to the boy. “I have something for you, Kesa Khan,” he said, still staring at the black-eyed child.
“Yes?”
“The young warlord who will wed the daughter of Shia.”
“You know where to find him?”
“You are sitting beside him,” said Dardalion, rising.
“He is a mute. Worthless!”
“By all that’s holy, shaman, I do despise you!” roared Dardalion. Fighting for calm, he leaned forward. “He had an infection of the ear that made him deaf. Without being able to hear, he never learned to speak. Ekodas healed him. Now all he needs is time, patience, and something that is a little beyond you, I think—love!” Without another word Dardalion spun on his heel and strode from the hall.
Vishna met him in the courtyard. “They are massing again. We’ll be hard-pressed to hold them.”
Waylander crouched down on the roof, watching the men gathering around the body below. The guard had almost surprised him, but the man had been slow to bring his sword to bear, and a black-handled throwing knife had sliced into his throat, ending his indecision and his life. Swiftly Waylander had stripped the man, then had removed his own jerkin and leggings and dressed the corpse.
The dead man was a little shorter than Waylander, but the black breastplate and full-faced helm fitted him well, though the dark woolen leggings rode high on the calf. This discrepancy was covered by the man’s knee-length boots. They were tight, but the leather was soft and pliable, and they caused Waylander little discomfort.
Leaning out over the parapet, he had seen the guards in the courtyard below. Drawing the dead man’s sword and holding his own blade in his right hand, he shouted. “He’s here! On the roof!” Out of sight of the men below he clashed the two swords together, the discordant noise ringing above the palace. Then he sliced his own blade three times into the dead man’s face, smashing the bones and disfiguring the features. Laying aside the swords, he then hauled the corpse to the parapet and sent the body plummeting to the ground.
He waited several minutes and watched as the soldiers below carried the body inside the palace. Then he put on the full-faced helm, gathered his second rope, and ran to the rear of the roof, leaning out and scanning the windows below. According to the information supplied by Matze Chai, there was a stairwell at the corner of the building, winding down to the lower levels.
Looping his rope over a jutting pillar, he climbed to the wall and rappelled down, past two windows, halting by a third. It was open, and no light showed within. Hooking his foot over the sill, he climbed inside. It was a sleeping chamber with a narrow bed. There were no blankets or sheets, and he took it to be an unused guest room. Hiding his loaded crossbow within the folds of the dead man’s black cloak, he stepped out into the corridor. The stairs were to his right, and he made for them. He heard the sound of footfalls on the stairs and kept moving. Two knights rounded a bend and climbed toward him.
“Who was it who killed the assassin?” the first asked him.
Waylander shrugged. “Not me, more’s the pity,” he said, continuing on his way.
“Well, who else is up there?” continued the first man, grabbing Waylander’s shoulder. The assassin turned, the crossbow coming up.
“No one,” he said, and loosed a bolt that hammered into the man’s open mouth and up into the brain. The second knight tried to run, but Waylander shot again, the bolt plunging into the back of the man’s neck. He fell to the stairs and was still.
Reloading the crossbow with his last two bolts, the assassin moved on.
As his chains were unlocked Karnak tensed, but a knife blade touched his throat, and he knew his struggles would be useless. The huge Drenai general glared at the men holding his arms. “By all the gods, I’ll remember your faces,” he told his captors.
One of them laughed. “You won’t have long to remember them,” he said.
They dragged him out of the dungeon and along the torchlit corridor. He saw Zhu Chao standing by a doorway. “A pox on you, you yellow-faced bastard!” he shouted.
The Chiatze did not reply but stood aside as Karnak was led into the inner sanctum. A pentagram had been chalked on the stone floor, and gold wires had been stretched between candle-holders of stained iron, forming a six-pointed star above the chalk. Karnak was hauled to a wall, where once more he was shackled by the wrists. He saw another prisoner already there, a tall, slender man, his bearing regal despite the bruises and cuts to his face.
“I know you,” whispered Karnak.
The man nodded. “I am the fool who trusted Zhu Chao.”
“You are the emperor.”
“I was,” replied the man sourly. He sighed. “The serpent enters.”
Karnak swung his head to see the purple-robed figure of Zhu Chao approach them.
“Tonight, gentlemen, you will witness the supreme gift of power.” His slanted eyes glowed as he spoke, and the faintest trace of a smile showed at his thin-lipped mouth. “I do appreciate that you will not share my pleasure, even though you will be instrumental in supplying it.” Leaning forward, he laid a hand on Karnak’s massive chest. “You see, I will begin by cutting out your heart and laying it upon the golden altar. This gift will summon the servant of the Lord Shemak.” He turned to the emperor. “That is where you enter the proceedings. You I will deliver whole, and the demon will devour you.”
“Do as you please, wizard,” snapped the emperor. “But do not bore me any longer.”
“I assure Your Highness that you will not remain bored for long.” Three men entered the room, carrying a blood-drenched body. Zhu Chao swung around. “Ah,” he said. “My supposed nemesis. Bring it here!”
The knights carried it forward and laid the corpse on the floor. Zhu Chao smiled. “See how puny he looks in death, his face sheared away by the sharp sword of a valiant knight. See how …” He faltered, his eyes staring at the right hand of the corpse. Zhu Chao knelt and lifted the man’s right hand. On the signet finger was a ring of red gold shaped like a coiled serpent. “You fools!” hissed Zhu Chao. “This is Onfel! Look, see the ring!” Zhu Chao scrambled to his feet, his composure lost. “Waylander is alive! He is in the palace. Get out! All of you! Find him!”
The knights ran from the room. Zhu Chao pushed shut the door and dropped a heavy lock bar into place.
Karnak’s laughter boomed out. “He’ll kill you, sorcerer. You are dead!”
“Shut your stinking mouth!” screamed Zhu Chao.
“How can you make me? With what will you threaten me?” asked the giant Drenai. “Death? I don’t think so. I know this man who hunts you. I know what he is capable of. By the bones of Missael, I had men hunting him myself. The best assassins, the finest swordsmen. Yet still he lives.”
“Not for long,” said the sorcerer. A slow, cruel smile curved his thin lips. “Ah, yes! You hired assassins to protect your beloved Bodalen. He told me of it only recently.”
“You have se
en my son?”
“Seen him? Oh, I saw a lot of him, my dear Karnak. He was mine, you see. He fed me all your plans in return for a promise that when I had killed you he would rule the Drenai.”
“You lying whoreson!” stormed Karnak.
“Not so. Ask your fellow guest, the late emperor. He has no reason to lie. He will die alongside you. Bodalen was weak, spineless, and ultimately of little use to me.” Zhu Chao laughed, a high shrill sound that echoed in the chamber. “Even when he had the strength of ten, he had difficulty completing his task. Poor, stupid, dead Bodalen.”
“Dead?” whispered Karnak.
“Dead,” repeated Zhu Chao. “I sent him to an enchanted fortress. You would not like to see what he became. Therefore, I shall show you.”
The sorcerer closed his eyes, and Karnak’s mind reeled. He found himself staring into a dimly lit chamber where a creature out of a nightmare was battling against a young woman and the gladiator Senta. He watched Senta struck down and saw a second arena warrior—Angel—leap to the attack. The scene faded.
“I would like to be able to show you more, but sadly I had to leave,” said Zhu Chao, his words ripe with malice. “But the monster was Bodalen—and several others of my men, merged by magic.”
“I do not believe you,” said Karnak.
“I thought you might not. So, for your edification, Drenai, here is another scene I took from Kar-Barzac.”
The vision shimmered again, and Karnak groaned as he saw Bodalen and the other warriors falling asleep in the crystal chamber, the bodies beginning to writhe and merge …
“No!” he screamed, and wrenched savagely at the chains that held him.
“I do so enjoy your pain, Drenai,” said Zhu Chao. “And here is a second source of agony for you. Tomorrow Galen will kill your friend Asten, and the Drenai will come, as the Gothir already have, under the rule of the Brotherhood. As indeed will Ventria. Three empires under one lord. Myself.”
“You are forgetting Waylander,” snarled Karnak. “By all the gods, I would give my soul to be alive at the moment he kills you.”
“Before the night is over my powers will be so great that no blade will be able to cut me. Then I will welcome this … Drenai savage!”
“Welcome him now,” came a cold voice from the other side of the room.
Zhu Chao spun, dark eyes narrowing as he peered into the shadows by the door. A knight stepped from behind a pillar and lifted clear the full-faced helm he wore.
“You can’t be here!” whispered Zhu Chao. “You can’t!”
“I came in with the men carrying the body. So good of you to lock the others out.”
The assassin stepped closer, crossbow raised. Zhu Chao ran to his left and leapt over the golden wires, making for the center of the pentagram. Waylander loosed a bolt that flashed toward the sorcerer’s neck, but Zhu Chao swung at the last instant, his hand coming up. The bolt pierced his wrist, and he screamed in pain. Waylander took aim, but the sorcerer ducked behind the altar of gold and began to chant.
Black smoke oozed around the altar, swirling up to form a massive figure with hair and eyes of green flame. Waylander sent a crossbow bolt into the huge chest, but it passed through and clattered against the far wall.
Zhu Chao rose and stood before the creature of smoke and fire. “Now what will you do, little man?” he jeered at Waylander. “What pitiful weapons can you bring to bear?” The assassin said nothing. He had no more bolts and dropped the crossbow, drawing his saber. “Lord Shemak!” screamed Zhu Chao. “I call for this man’s death!”
The figure with eyes of flame spread its massive arms, and a voice like distant thunder rumbled in the room. “You do not command me, human. You ask for favors, and you pay for them with blood. Where is the payment?”
“There!” said Zhu Chao, pointing to the chained men.
“They still live,” said the demon. “The ritual is incomplete.”
“I will deliver their strength to you, lord, I swear it! But first, I beg you, give me the life of the assassin Waylander.”
“It would please me more to see you slay him,” said the demon. “Shall I give you the strength?”
“Yes! Yes!”
“As you wish!”
Zhu Chao suddenly screamed in pain, his head arcing back. His body twisted and grew, stretching, swelling. His robes fell away as new muscles formed, huge and knotted. His body spasmed, and a series of terrible groans came from the deformed throat. Nose and chin stretched out, and sleek velvet fur burst through his skin, covering the colossal eight-foot frame. His mouth opened to reveal long fangs, and his fingers, triple-jointed now, boasted talons.
The creature that had been Zhu Chao stumbled forward, dislodging the delicate golden wires and scattering the black candlesticks.
Against the wall Karnak tore at his chains, using all his mighty strength. Two of the links stretched but did not give. Again and again the Drenai threw his weight against them.
Waylander backed away from the beast, and the smoke demon’s laughter filled the room.
Outside the sanctum the remaining knights of blood were hammering on the door, calling out for their master. Waylander ran back to where he had discarded his helm. Slipping it over his head, he lifted the bar on the door and stepped aside. The door burst open, and three knights tumbled inside, one falling to his knees directly before the awesome beast. The man screamed and tried to rise. The beast’s talons tore into him, lifting him into the air, the deadly fangs ripping open his throat. Blood sprayed across the altar.
The other knights stood transfixed.
“It killed the master!” yelled Waylander. “Use your swords!”
But the knights turned and fled. The beast leapt at Waylander. Ducking under the sweep of its talons, the assassin sent a slashing cut to the creature’s belly, but the blade merely sliced the surface of the skin. Waylander dived and rolled to his feet.
Karnak, with one last effort, snapped the right-hand chain, then turned and used both hands to rip loose the left. Spinning on his heel, he swung the chains around above his head and charged the monster. The iron links hit the beast on the throat, whipping around the neck. It turned and reared high, dragging Karnak from his feet. Waylander darted forward and plunged his sword into the open belly, driving it home with all his weight and strength.
A great howl went up, and a taloned arm flashed down, opening the flesh of Waylander’s shoulder. He fell back. Karnak dragged back on the chain, which tightened around the beast’s throat. It tried to turn and rend its attacker, but Karnak, despite his great bulk, moved nimbly, keeping the chain taut. Waylander ran to the fallen knight, retrieving the man’s sword. Holding the blade double-handed, the assassin advanced once more, lifting the sword high and slamming it down on the elongated skull. The blade bounced clear on the first stroke, but twice more Waylander struck. The bone of the skull parted on the third blow, the sword wedging deep into the beast’s cranium. It sank to all fours, blood gushing from its mouth and its talons scratching at the stone.
And died.
The smoke demon was silent for a moment. “You offer me good sport, Waylander,” he said softly. “But then, you always have. I think you always will.”
The smoke billowed and faded, and the demon vanished.
Karnak unwound the chain from the dead beast’s throat and crossed to Waylander. “Good to see you, old lad,” he said with a wide smile.
“The men you sent are all dead,” said Waylander coldly. “Now only you remain.”
Karnak nodded. “I was trying to protect my son. No excuses. He’s … dead. You’re alive. Let that be an end to it.”
“I choose my own endings,” said Waylander, moving past the giant Drenai to where the emperor stood, still chained to the wall. “It has always been said that you are a man of honor,” Waylander told him.
“It is a source of pride to me,” said the emperor.
“Good. You see, I have two choices, Majesty. I can kill you or I can let you go
. But there is a price for the latter.”
“Name it, and if it is within my power you may have it.”
“I want the attack on the Nadir Wolves stopped, the army ordered back.”
“What are the Nadir to you?”
“Less than nothing. But my daughter is with them.”
The emperor nodded. “It will be as you say, Waylander. Is there nothing you want for yourself?”
The assassin smiled wearily. “Nothing any man can give me,” he said.
Angel pushed the table onto the stairs, upending it to block the view of the enemy archers on the landing above, then sank to his haunches and stared around the hall.
The Gothir had forced the portcullis gate on the eleventh day of the siege, forcing the defenders back to the transient safety of the keep. The older women and children hid in the lower levels of the fortress while, as Angel had predicted, the younger women joined the men in the defense of the citadel.
Only eighty-five men remained, and they were desperately tired as the siege reached the thirteenth day. The barricades at the keep gate were holding, but the Gothir army had scaled the outside walls, climbing in through undefended windows, and was in control of all the upper levels, occasionally attacking down the narrow stairwells but more often merely loosing shafts into the packed hall below.
An arrow thudded into the upturned table. “I know you’re there, arse face!” yelled Angel.
Miriel joined him. She had lost weight, the skin of her face taut and fleshless, her eyes gleaming unnaturally. Since Senta’s death she had fought like one possessed with a lust for death. Angel had been hard-pressed to defend her, and had taken two minor cuts, one to the shoulder and the other to the forearm, hurling himself into the path of warriors closing in on her.
“We’re finished here,” she said. “The barricade will not hold them for long.”
He shrugged. There was no need to reply. The point was all too obviously correct, and Angel could sense the mood of grim resignation among the Nadir. Miriel sat beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. He curled his arm around her. “I loved him, Angel,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I should have told him, but I didn’t know until he was gone.”