In the Realm of the Wolf Read Free Page A

by raiders, he had roamed the land until he had hunted down every one of the killers. Waylander was a legend in the Guild, a capable swordsman but a brilliant knife fighter and a crossbowman without peer. More than that, he was said to possess mystical abilities, always sensing when danger was near.
    Kreeg sighted the crossbow at the tall man’s back. Mystical abilities? Pah. In one heartbeat he would be dead.
    The man at the graveside picked up a clay bowl and moved toward the pool. Kreeg shifted his aim, but his intended victim crouched down, filling the bowl. Kreeg lowered his bow a fraction, slowly letting out his held breath. Waylander was side-on now, and a sure killing shot would have to be to the head. What was he doing with the water? Kreeg watched the tall man kneel by the roses, tipping the bowl and splashing the contents around the roots. He’ll go back to the grave, thought Kreeg. And once there, I’ll take him.
    So much in life depended on luck. When the kill order had come to the Guild, Kreeg had been out of money and living off a whore in Kasyra, the gold he had earned from killing the Ventrian merchant long since vanished in the gambling dens of the city’s south side. Now Kreeg blessed the bad luck that had dogged him in Kasyra. For all life, he knew, was a circle. And it was in Kasyra that he had heard of the hermit in the mountains, the tall widower with the shy daughter. He thought of the message from the Guild:
    Seek out a man named Dakeyras. He has a wife, Danyal, and a daughter, Miriel. The man has black and silver hair and dark eyes and is tall, close to fifty years of age. He will be carrying a small double crossbow of ebony and bronze. Kill him and bring the crossbow to Drenan as proof of success. Move with care. The man is Waylander. Ten thousand in gold is waiting.
    In Kasyra Kreeg had despaired of earning such a fabulous sum. Then—blessed be the gods—he had told the whore about the hunt.
    “There’s a man with a daughter called Miriel who lives in the mountains to the north,” she had said. “I’ve not seen him, but I met his daughters years ago at the Priests’ School. We learned our letters there.”
    “Do you remember the mother’s name?”
    “I think it was something like Daneel … Donalia …”
    “Danyal?” he had whispered, sitting up in bed, the sheet falling from his lean, scarred body.
    “That’s it,” she had said.
    Kreeg’s mouth had gone dry, his heart palpitating. Ten thousand! But Waylander? What chance would Kreeg have against such an enemy?
    For almost a week he had toured Kasyra, asking about the mountain man. Fat Sheras the miller saw him about twice a year and remembered the small crossbow.
    “He’s very quiet,” said Sheras, “but I wouldn’t like to see his bad side, if you take my meaning. Hard man. Cold eyes. He used to be almost friendly, but then his wife died—five … six years ago. Horse fell, rolled on her. There were two daughters, twins. Good-looking girls. One married a boy from the south and moved away. The other is still with him. Shy child. Too thin for my taste.”
    Goldin the tavern keeper, a thin-faced refugee from the Gothir lands, also remembered him. “When the wife was killed, he came here for a while and drank his sorrows away. He didn’t say much. One night he just collapsed, and I left him lying outside the door. His daughters came and helped him home. They were around twelve then. The city elders were talking of removing them from his care. In the end he paid for places at the Priests’ School, and they lived there for almost three years.”
    Kreeg was uplifted by Goldin’s tale. If the great Waylander had taken to drinking heavily, then he was no longer to be feared. But his hopes evaporated as the tavern keeper continued.
    “He’s never been popular. Keeps to himself too much,” said Goldin. “But he killed a rogue bear last year, and thatpleased people. The bear slaughtered a young farmer and his family.