Read Drenai Series 05 - Waylander II: In the Realm of the Wolf for Free Online

cuckolded husband could not hire an assassin to murder his wife, her lover, or both. In practice, of course, such niceties never applied. As long as the contractor declared his reasons as being business or political, no questions were asked. Under Karnak the trade had become - if not morally acceptable -at least more legitimate. Waylander smiled. By allowing the Guild to operate openly, the financially-beleaguered Karnak had found yet one more source of taxable income. And in times of war such income was vital to pay soldiers, armourers, merchants, ship-builders, masons . . . the list was endless. 
    Waylander stood and stretched his aching back. How many would come against him? The Guild would have other contracts to meet. They could not afford to send all their fighters scouring the country for news of him. Seven? Ten? The best would not come first. They would sit back and watch, while lesser men began the hunt, men like Kreeg. 
    And were they already here, hidden, waiting? 
    He thought of Miriel and his stomach tightened. She was strong and lithe, skilled with all weapons. But she was young, and had never fought warriors, blade to blade. 
    Removing his cloak Waylander rolled it and looped it over his shoulder, tying it to his knife-belt. The cold wind bit into his naked chest, but he ignored it as he climbed down the tree. His eyes scanned the undergrowth, but there was nothing to be seen. Swiftly he leapt from the lowest branch, landing lightly on the moss-covered earth. 
    The first move would have to be left to the enemy. The fact galled him but having accepted it, he pushed it from his mind. All he could do now was prepare himself. You have fought men and beasts, demons and Joinings, he told himself. And you are still alive while your enemies are dust. 
    I was younger then, came a small voice from his heart. 
    Spinning on his heel he swept a throwing blade from its forearm sheath and sent it flashing through the air, to plunge home into the narrow trunk of a nearby elm. 
    Young or old, I am still Waylander. 
*
    Miriel watched the old man make his way slowly towards the northwest and the distant fortress of Dros Delnoch. His pack was high on his shoulders, his white hair and beard billowing in the breeze. He stopped at the top of a rise, turned and waved. Then he was gone. Miriel wandered back through the trees, listening to the birdsong, enjoying the leaf-broken sunlight dappling the path. The mountains were beautiful in the autumn, leaves of burnished gold, the last fading blooms of summer, the mountainsides glowing green and purple; all seemingly created just for her pleasure. 
    Coming to the brow of a hill she paused, her eyes scanning the trees and the paths wending down to the Sentran Plain. A figure moved into sight, a tall man, wearing a cloak of green. The cold of a remembered winter touched her skin, making her shiver, her hand moving to the hilt of the shortsword at her side. The green cloak identified him as the assassin Morak. Well, this was one killer who would not live to attack her father. 
    Miriel stepped into sight and stood waiting as the man slowly climbed towards her. As he approached she studied his face - his broad, flat cheekbones and scarred and hairless brows, a nose flattened and broken, a harsh gash of a mouth. The chin was square and strong, the neck bulging with muscle. 
    He paused before her. 'The path is narrow,' he said, politely enough. 
    'Would you be so kind as to move aside?' 
    'Not for the likes of you,' she hissed, surprised that her voice remained steady, her fear disguised. 
    'Is it customary in these parts to insult strangers, girl? Or is it that you rely on gallantry to protect you?' 
    'I need nothing to protect me,' she said, stepping back and drawing her sword. 
    'Nice blade,' he said. 'Now put it away - lest I take it from you and spank you for your impudence.' 
    Her eyes narrowed, anger replacing fear, and she