Hero in the Shadows (27 page)

So he had donned the blue robes once more and journeyed across Kydor, taking up a position at the small temple in the center of Carlis. Within weeks his sermons had tripled the congregation. Two years later, the coffers swelled by donations, a new temple had been designed, twice the size of the old one. Three years after that even that imposing building struggled to contain the masses who came to hear Chardyn.

The adulation of the congregation was in sharp contrast to the low regard in which the church authorities held him. Parali had seen to that.

Yet it did not rankle unduly. Chardyn now lived in a large house with many servants. He had also managed to put away a sizable sum to indulge his tastes for fine foods, expensive wines, and soft women.

Indeed, he was as content as a man could be. Or, rather, he had been until this morning, when riders from the duke had arrived demanding his presence on an expedition to exorcise demons from the ancient ruins in the valley.

Chardyn had no experience of demons, nor did he wish to acquire any. However, it would not be wise to refuse the duke’s summons, and so he had swiftly gathered several scrolls dealing with the subject of exorcism and joined the riders.

The sun was unbearably hot as the company rode down the hillside toward the valley. Up ahead Chardyn could see the duke and his aides riding with Lord Aric and the magicker Eldicar Manushan. Behind them came fifty bowmen, twenty heavily armored lancers, and fifty cavalrymen armed with long sabers.

Once they reached flat ground, Chardyn pulled the first of the scrolls from his saddlebag and began to peruse it, trying to memorize the incantations. It was far too complex, and he put it away. The second scroll involved the use of holy water, of which he had none, so that, too, was thrust back into the saddlebag. The third spoke of the laying on of hands to remove demonic possession from someone suffering from fits. Chardyn resisted the temptation to swear, screwed up the scroll, and threw it to the ground.

He rode on, listening to the talk of the men around him. They were nervous and frightened, emotions he began to share as they spoke of the massacred wagoners and the attack on the Gray Man and his Chiatze companions.

A lancer rode alongside him. “I am glad you are with us, sir,” he said. “I have heard you speak. You are blessed by the Source and a true holy man.”

“Thank you, my son,” said Chardyn.

The lancer removed his silver helm and bowed his head. Chardyn leaned over, placing his hand on the man’s hair. “May
the Source bless you and keep you from all harm.” Other soldiers began bunching around the priest, but he waved them away. “Come, come, my friends, wait until we have reached our destination.” He smiled at them, exuding a bonhomie and confidence he did not feel.

Chardyn had never before visited the ruins of Kuan Hador and was surprised by the vast distance they covered. The duke led the riders deep into the ruins, then dismounted. The soldiers followed his lead. A picket line was set up, and the horses were tethered. Then the bowmen were ordered to take up positions on the camp’s perimeter. Chardyn moved across to where the duke was conversing with Aric, Eldicar Manushan, and a short, slender Chiatze warrior wearing a long gray robe.

“This is where the last attack took place,” said the duke, removing his helm and running his fingers through his thick black and gray hair. “Can you sense any evil here?” he asked Chardyn.

The Source priest shook his head. “It seems merely a warm day, my lord.”

“What of you, magicker? Do you sense anything?”

“Sensing evil is not my forte, my lord,” said Eldicar Manushan, glancing at Chardyn. The priest met his eyes and saw amusement there. Something akin to mockery, he thought. Eldicar Manushan swung to the little Chiatze warrior. “Does your blade shine?” he asked.

The man half drew his sword, then thrust it back into the black scabbard. “No. Not yet.”

“Perhaps you should move around the ruins,” said the magicker. “See if the evil is present elsewhere.”

“Let him stay close for the time being,” said the duke. “I do not know how swiftly the mist can appear, but I do know the creatures within it killed the wagoners in a matter of heartbeats.”

Eldicar Manushan bowed. “As you wish, sire.”

The sound of a galloping horse came to them. Chardyn
turned and saw the Gray Man riding his mount across the valley. He heard Lord Aric curse softly and noted that the amused look had vanished from Eldicar Manushan’s face. Chardyn felt his own good humor rise. He had once gone to the Gray Man for a contribution to the new temple and had received a thousand gold pieces without even a request for the Gray Man’s name to be added to the roll of honor or for the altar table to be named after him.

“The Source will bless you, sir,” Chardyn had told him.

“Let us hope not,” the Gray Man had said. “Those of my friends he has blessed so far are all dead.”

“You are not a believer, sir?”

“The sun will still rise whether I believe or not.”

“Why, then, are you giving us a thousand gold pieces?”

“I like your sermons, priest. They are lively and thought-provoking, and they encourage people to love one another and to be kind and compassionate. Whether the Source exists or not, these are values to be cherished.”

“Indeed so, sir. Then why not make it two thousand?”

The Gray Man had smiled. “Why not five hundred?”

Chardyn had chuckled then. “The thousand is ample, sir. I was but jesting.”

The Gray Man dismounted, tethered his horse, and strolled across to the little group. He moved, Chardyn noted, with an easy grace that spoke of confidence and power. He was wearing a dark chain mail shoulder guard over a black leather shirt, leggings, and boots. Two short swords were strapped to his waist, and over his shoulder was slung a small double-winged crossbow. There was not a glint of shining metal on him, and even the chain mail had been dyed black. Although Chardyn had chosen the priesthood, he had been raised in a military family. No soldier, in his experience, would pay extra to have his armor dulled. Most wanted to stand out, to shine in battle. The Gray Man’s garb achieved the opposite effect. Chardyn flicked a glance at the steeldust gelding. The
stirrups and bridle and even the straps on the saddlebags had been dulled. Interesting, he thought.

The Gray Man nodded toward Chardyn and gave a courteous bow to the duke.

“Your company was not requested,” said the duke, “but I thank you for taking the trouble to join us.”

If the Gray Man registered the mild rebuke, he did not show it. He glanced at the screen of archers. “If the mist appears, it will swamp them,” he said. “They will need to be more closely grouped. They also need to be told to shoot swiftly at the first sight of a black hound. Their bite carries vile poison.”

“My men are well trained,” said Lord Aric. “They can look after themselves.”

The Gray Man shrugged. “So be it.” Tapping the Chiatze warrior on the arm, he led him deeper into the ruins, where they sat in close conversation.

“He is an arrogant man,” snapped Aric.

“With much to be arrogant about,” put in Chardyn.

“What does
that
mean?” asked Aric.

“Exactly what it says, my lord. He is a man of power, and not just due to his wealth. You can see it in his every movement and gesture. He is—as my father would have said—a man of dangerous ashes.”

The duke laughed. “It is a long time since I heard that phrase. But I tend to agree.”

“I have never heard it at all, sire,” said Aric. “It sounds meaningless.”

“It’s from an old tale,” said the duke. “There was an outlaw named Karinal Bezan, a deadly man who killed a great many people, most of them in one-on-one combat. He was arrested and sentenced to be burned at the stake. When the executioner stepped forward and applied the torch to the tinder, Karinal managed to get one hand free. He grabbed the man and dragged him into the flames, and they died together, the
man screaming and Karinal’s laughter ringing above the roar of the blaze. Some time after that the phrase ‘You can burn him, but walk wide around the ashes’ came into use to describe a certain kind of man. Our friend is just such a man. With that in mind, I suggest you move your men closer to the camp and pass on his warnings about the black hounds.”

“Yes, sire,” said Aric, struggling to control his anger.

The duke rose and stretched. “And you, sir,” he said to Chardyn, “should walk among the men and offer them the blessing of the Source. They are far too nervous, and it will stiffen their resolve.”

And who will stiffen mine? thought Chardyn.

Kysumu listened quietly as Waylander told him of his conversation with the priestess. The Rajnee tapped the black hilt of his sword. “There is no proof that he is the enemy. If there was, I would slay him.”

“Ustarte says he cannot be killed.”

“You believe that?”

Waylander shrugged. “I find it hard to believe he could survive a bolt through his heart, but then, he is a magicker, and such powers are beyond my understanding.”

Kysumu glanced around at the archers, who were taking up fresh positions. “If the mist comes, many will die here,” he said softly. Waylander nodded and watched as the priest Chardyn strolled among the men, administering blessings. “You think Eldicar Manushan plans to kill us all?”

“I don’t know what he plans,” said Waylander. “But Ustarte says he is looking for allies, so perhaps not.”

Kysumu sat silently for a while, then looked into Waylander’s dark eyes. “Why are you here, Gray Man?” he asked.

“I have to be somewhere.”

“That is true.”

“And what of you,
Rajnee
? What makes you desire to fight demons?”

“I have no desire any longer to fight anything,” said Kysumu. “When I was young, I wanted to be a great swordsman. I wanted fame and riches.” He gave a brief smile. “I was like Yu Yu. I wanted people to bow down before me as I passed.”

“But not now?”

“Such are the thoughts of the young. Pride is everything; status must be fought for. It is all empty and meaningless. It is ephemeral. Like the leaf on the oak tree. ‘Look at me, I am the greenest leaf, the biggest leaf, the finest leaf. None of the other leaves have my majesty.’ Yet autumn beckons, and winter mocks all the leaves, the great and the green, the small and the stunted.”

“I understand that,” said Waylander, “but it is also an argument against waiting here to fight demons. What difference will it make if we fight or we run, if we win or we lose?”

“Fame is fleeting,” said Kysumu, “but love and hate are eternal. I may be but a small leaf in the wind of history, but I will stand against evil wherever I find it, no matter the cost. The demon I slay will not descend on the home of a farmer and murder his family. The bandit who falls beneath my sword will never again rape or kill or plunder. If my death saves a single soul from pain and anguish, it is a price worth paying.”

Chardyn clambered across the broken rocks and approached them. “Would you like a blessing?” he asked. Waylander shook his head, but Kysumu rose and bowed. Chardyn laid his hand upon the
Rajnee
’s head. “May the Source cherish you and keep you from all harm,” whispered Chardyn. Kysumu thanked him and sat down once more. “May I join you?” asked Chardyn. Waylander gestured for the man to sit. “You think the demons will come?” the priest inquired.

“Do you have a spell ready if they do?” asked Waylander.

Chardyn leaned forward. “No,” he admitted with a wry smile. “My knowledge of demons and exorcism is, shall we say, severely limited.”

“I admire your honesty,” said Waylander. “However, if you can’t fight them, you should leave. If they come, it will be no place for an unarmed man.”

“I cannot leave,” said Chardyn, “though I would dearly love to follow that advice. My presence helps the men.” He smiled, but Waylander saw the fear in his eyes. “And perhaps—if the demons do come—I can hurl one of my sermons at them.”

“If the mist comes, stay close to us, priest,” said Waylander.

“Now,
that
is advice I will take.”

They sat in silence for a while, then Eldicar Manushan strolled over to them. He halted before Waylander. “Will you walk with me?” he asked.

“Why not?” replied Waylander, rising smoothly. The magicker picked his way through the broken rocks until they were a little way from the others.

“I think you have misread me,” said Eldicar Manushan. “I am not evil, nor do I seek to do you harm.”

“I am glad you have told me,” said Waylander. “It will save me many sleepless nights of worry.”

Eldicar Manushan laughed with genuine good humor. “I like you, Gray Man. Truly. And there is no need for us to be enemies. I can offer you your deepest desires. It is within my power.”

“I think not,” said Waylander. “I have no desire to be young again.”

The magicker seemed momentarily puzzled. “Normally I would find that hard to believe,” he said at last. “Though not in this instance. Are you so unhappy with life that you yearn to see an end to it?”

“Why do you desire my friendship?” countered Waylander.

“Look about you,” said Eldicar, gesturing toward the soldiers. “Frightened men, small men, malleable men; the world is made up of such men as these. They live to be conquered and ruled. Look at them cowering behind ancient stones, praying that their insignificant lives will be allowed to continue
past this night. If they were animals, they would be sheep. You, on the other hand, are a predator, a superior being.”

“Like yourself?” asked Waylander.

“I have always loathed false modesty, so yes, like myself. You are rich and therefore powerful in this world. You could be useful to Kuan Hador.”

Waylander laughed softly and gazed around at the broken stones. “
This
,” he said, “is Kuan Hador.”

“It was destroyed here,” said Eldicar Manushan. “This is merely one reality. Kuan Hador is eternal. And she will prevail. This world was once ours. It will be again. When that happens, it would be preferable for you to be our friend, Dakeyras.”

“
If
that happens,” said Waylander.