Hero in the Shadows (31 page)

“You betrayed no one. You did not summon the demons.”

“I could have opened a portal and taken them to safety.”

“Now you are making me angry,” he said, but the hand stroking her head was still gentle. “There is no one living who would not change some aspect of the past if he could to avoid a hurt or a tragedy. We make mistakes. It is just the grim game of life. Your people followed you because they loved and believed in you. You were seeking to prevent a great evil. Yes, they died to protect you. And they did it willingly. It is
for you to make that sacrifice worthwhile by surviving, as they wanted you to survive. You hear me?”

“I hear you, Gray Man. But we have lost. The gateway will open, and the evil of Kuan Hador will return.”

“Maybe so, maybe not. We still live. I have had many enemies, Ustarte, powerful enemies. Some commanded nations, others armies, others demons. They are all dead, and I still live. And while I live, I will not accept defeat.”

Closing her eyes, she tried to flow with the pain. Ustarte felt the blanket being lifted from her. The Gray Man was studying her wounds.

“They are healing well,” he said. “Why will this change be dangerous for you?”

“I become larger. The stitches will tear open. If this begins to happen, you must … kill me. I will no longer be Ustarte. And what I become will … slaughter you in its agony. You understand?”

“Yes. Rest now.”

For a human it would have been sound advice, but Ustarte knew that if she did not stay conscious, the swirling would begin again and she would metamorphose. She lay very still. Her thoughts began to drift. Several times she almost lost the focus. She saw again the breeding pens, felt again the terrible fear she had known. The crippled girl dragged from her home and brought underground to the ceaseless horror of the pens. Sharp knives cutting into her flesh, noxious liquids being forced down her throat. Each time she vomited, more of the fluid was poured into her mouth. Spells were cast, sharper than knives, hotter than fire, colder than ice.

Then the awful day when her frail body was merged with the beast. Its terror and rage swamped her as its molecules flowed into her human frame. The pain was indescribable, every muscle swelling and cramping. The child was swept away in a sea of blackness. But she clung to her individuality
despite the roaring of the beast in her mind. Sensing her presence, the beast calmed.

Strange dreams followed. She felt herself running on all fours, her great limbs powering her across the plain at terrible speed. Then the leap to the back of the deer, her fangs closing on its neck, dragging it down, warm blood filling her mouth. She almost lost herself in the blood memory, but she clung to the tiny spark that was Ustarte.

She remembered the day she became aware of voices. “This new
Kraloth
does not conform, lord. It sleeps twenty hours and, when awake, seems confused. We have noted tremors in the muscles of its hind legs and occasional spasms.”

“Kill it,” came a second voice, harsh and cold.

“Aye, lord.”

The thought of dying flooded Ustarte with a burst of energy, and her spirit flowed up from the dark recesses of the bestial body. She felt again the pull of the flesh, the power of the muscles in her four limbs. Her eyes opened. She reared up, trying to speak. A low, guttural growl rippled from her throat. Her paws struck at the iron bars of the cage. A man in a green tunic pushed a long stick through the bars. Something sharp and bright on the end of it stabbed into her flesh. Fire flowed into her flanks.

Instinctively she knew it was poison. How she had dealt with it remained a mystery to her to this day. She could only assume that the merging had created in her an unforeseen talent, enhancing her lymphatic pathways in such a way that she could draw the poison into her system, breaking it down into component parts and subtly changing it.

She dropped to her haunches, waiting silently until the poison was dispersed harmlessly. Then she became aware of the thoughts of the three men in the room. One was waiting to go home to his family. Another was thinking of a missed meal. The third was considering murder.

Even as she linked to the thought, she felt the man close
his mind to her. A golden spell lanced through the bars, flowing over her body with whips of fire. She writhed under this new pain.

So desperate was she to escape it that she fled deep within the bestial body, allowing the beast control. It raged around the cage, slashing its great paws at the bars, bending them. Still the pain increased. Ustarte tried to flee again, surging up through the body as if trying to claw her way free of the tortured flesh.

And in that moment she found the key that would save her life.

The beast withdrew. The spirit of Ustarte swelled. The body fell to the floor of the cage, writhing and changing.

When she awoke, she was resting in a bed. Her body was no longer quite that of the beast, but neither was it human. Her shoulders and torso were covered in thick, striped fur, her fingers tipped with retractable talons.

“You are a mystery to me, child,” said a voice. Turning her head, she saw the third man sitting beside the bed. He was wonderfully handsome, his hair golden, his eyes a summer blue. The eyes of a kindly uncle, she thought. Yet there was no kindness in him. “But we will learn to solve it.”

Two days later she had been taken to a stockaded palace prison high in the mountains. Here there were other mutations, man-beasts and werecreatures, the subjects of failed experiments. There was a serpent with the face of a child. It was kept in a domed cage of thin wire mesh and fed on live rats. The creature did not speak, but at night it would make music, high and keening. The sound would tear at Ustarte’s soul every night for the five years she was imprisoned in that awful place.

Unspeakable acts were committed against her body, and she in turn was trained to kill and feed. For two years she refused to kill a human. For two years Deresh Karany, the golden-haired sorcerer, subjected her to dreadful pain. Ultimately
the torture broke her resistance, and she learned to obey. Her first kill had been a young woman, her next a powerful man with only one arm. After that she learned not to remember the faces and forms of her victims. Time and again Deresh Karany would force her to change, and once in the bestial form, she would be directed against some hapless human. Her long fangs and terrible talons would rip into the frail flesh, tearing off limbs, lapping up blood, and crunching brittle bones.

She was a good
Kraloth
, obedient and trustworthy. Not once, in either of her forms, did she turn on her jailers. Not even a growl. Her obedience was instantaneous. And day by day they grew more complacent about her. They thought they had her beaten. She could read it in their thoughts. Never, since that first day back in the city, had she let them know of her other powers. She was careful not to betray her talent. Ustarte knew that Deresh Karany sensed them. Once he had walked toward her with a dagger in his hand. His thoughts were clear: “
I am going to ram this blade into your throat.
”

“Good morning, my lord,” she said.

“Good morning, Ustarte.” He sat beside her. “I am very pleased with you.”

“
I am going to kill you
!”

“Thank you, my lord. What do you require of me?”

He smiled and sheathed the dagger. “The creatures in this place are unique; twin forming is so rare. How does it feel when you shift from one form to the other?”

“It is painful, lord.”

“Which form gives you the most pleasure?”

“Neither gives me pleasure, lord. In this, my near-human form, I derive some satisfaction from study, from the beauty of the sky. In
Kraloth
guise I glory in power and strength and the taste of flesh.”

“Yes,” he said, nodding, “the beast has no perception of abstracts. How, then, do you control it?”

“I cannot fully control it, lord. It is wild and savage. It obeys me because it knows I can deny it existence, but it constantly seeks ways to overcome me.”

“The spirit of the tiger remains alive?”

“I believe so.”

“Interesting.” He fell silent and seemed lost in thought. Then he met her gaze. “Back in the city I sensed you reaching out and touching my mind. You recall this?”

She had waited for this moment and knew it would be dangerous to offer a complete lie. “Yes, lord. It was most mysterious. It was like flowing up from a deep sleep. Suddenly I heard distant voices, though I knew they were not real sounds.”

“And this has not happened since?”

“No, lord.”

“Let me know if it does.”

“I will, lord.”

“You are doing well, Ustarte. We are all proud of you.”

“Thank you, lord. That is most pleasing to me.”

One day, as she strolled in semihuman form, she saw that the small postern gate was unlocked. She stood in the doorway gazing out on the mountain path leading to the forest. Reaching out with her mind, she sensed the watchers close by, reading their thoughts. The door had been left open for her. Concentrating, she pushed her talent further. Five more guards were hidden behind the rocks some fifty paces from the postern gate. They were armed with spears, and two held a strong net.

Ustarte turned away and walked back to the main exercise area.

As the months passed, they trusted her more and more. She was used to assist in the training of others like herself. Prial was brought to the prison in chains. He was in his wolf form then and was snapping and biting at the guards. Ustarte reached out with her talent, feeling his rage and terror. “
Be
calm
,” she whispered into his mind. “
Be patient, for our time is coming.
”

Waylander sat with the sleeping priestess for a while. Her breathing was even, but the gleam of perspiration on her face showed that her temperature was rising. Moving to the kitchen, he filled a bowl with cool water and returned to her side. Taking a cloth, he placed it in the water, squeezed out the excess liquid, and laid the cloth on her brow. She stirred, and the golden eyes opened. “Feels good,” she whispered. Gently he dabbed the cloth to her cheeks. She slept again.

Waylander rose from the floor and stretched. Then he stood very still and listened. Walking swiftly to the window, he drew the shutters closed, then stepped out through the door and into the sunshine, pulling the door closed behind him.

Eldicar Manushan and the page Beric were crossing the terrace garden and walking along the path to his apartments. The magicker was wearing a pale blue tunic shirt of glimmering silk. His legs were bare, and he wore no boots or shoes. His page was clad only in a loincloth and was carrying towels across his shoulder.

“Good day to you, Dakeyras,” the magicker said with a broad smile.

“And to you. Where are you heading?”

“To the beach. Beric has become fond of it.” The blond page looked up at his uncle and grinned.

“The water is very cold,” he said.

“You have taken a wrong turn,” said Waylander. “Go back to the tall yellow rose and turn right. The steps there will take you to the sea.”

Eldicar Manushan glanced at the roughly cut walls of Waylander’s apartments. “I understand you live here,” he said. “You are a most curious man. You build a palace of great style and beauty yet live in little more than a cave on a cliff wall. Why is that?”

“I sometimes ask myself the same question,” said Waylander.

“Can we go to the sea now, Uncle?” put in the boy. “It is getting very hot.”

“You go down, Beric. I will join you presently.”

“Don’t be long,” said the child, running back down the path.

“The young have such energy,” observed Eldicar Manushan, moving into the shade of a flowering tree and seating himself on a rock.

“And innocence,” added Waylander.

“Yes. It is always a cause of sadness when it passes. I did not take a wrong turn, Dakeyras. I wanted to speak with you.”

“I am here. Speak.”

“I am sorry for the deaths of your people. It was not my doing.”

“Just an unfortunate coincidence,” said Waylander.

Eldicar sighed. “I will not lie to you. My people have formed an alliance with, shall we say, another powerful group. Such is the way of war. What I am saying is that
I
did not bring the beasts to your palace.”

“What is it you seek here?” asked Waylander. “This is not rich land.”

“Perhaps not. But it is ours. It was once ruled by my people. We were temporarily defeated by force of arms. We retreated. Now we are coming back. There is nothing overtly evil in this. It is just human. We want what is ours by right, and we are willing to fight for it. The question for you is: Is this your fight? You are not a native of Kydor. You have a fine palace, servants, and the freedom only riches can supply. That will not change. You are a strong and deadly man, but whether for us or against us, you can make no discernible difference to the outcome.”

“Then why concern yourself with my friendship?”

“Partly because I like you.” The magicker smiled. “And partly because you killed the
Bezha
. Not many men could have done that. Our cause is not unjust, Dakeyras. This
was
our land, and it is the way of man to fight for what he believes is just. You agree?”

Waylander shrugged. “It is said that this land was once below the sea. Does the sea own it? Men hold what they are strong enough to hold. If you can take this land, then take it. But I will think on what you have said.”

“Don’t take too long,” advised Eldicar Manushan. He turned to follow his page to the beach, then swung back. “Did you find the body of the priestess?”

“I found the body of a creature not human,” said Waylander.

Eldicar Manushan stood silently for a moment. “She was a joining. A failed experiment, full of bitterness and hatred. My own lord, Deresh Karany, invested much time and passion in her training. She betrayed him.”

“And he sent the demons?”

Eldicar spread his hands. “I am only a servant. I do not know all my master’s plans.” He strolled away.

Waylander sat for some time outside the apartments. He was a hunter, trained to follow his prey and kill it. This situation was far more subtle and infinitely more dangerous.