Drenai Series 05 - Waylander II: In the Realm of the Wolf by David Gemmell Read Free Book Online Page A

of the man left, save one small flickering spark of pride. 
    He had told them nothing. Cold water drenched him, easing the pain of the burns and he opened his one remaining eye. Morak knelt before him, an easy smile on his handsome face. 
    'I can free you from this pain, old man,' he said. Ralis said nothing. 
    'What is he to you? A son? A nephew? Why do you suffer this for him? You have walked these mountains for what . . . fifty, sixty years? He's here and you know where he is. We will find him anyway, eventually.' 
    'He . . . will. . . kill you . . . all,' whispered Ralis. 
    Morak laughed, the others following his lead. Ralis smelt the burning of his flesh moments before the pain seared into his skull. But his throat was hoarse and bleeding from screaming and he could only utter a short, broken groan. 
    And suddenly, wonderfully, the pain passed, and Ralis heard a voice calling to him. 
    He rose from his bonds and flew towards the voice. 'I did not tell them, Father,' he shouted triumphantly. 'I did not tell them!' 
*
    'Old fool,' said Morak, as he stared at the corpse sagging against the ropes. 'Let's go!' 
    'Tough old man,' put in Belash as they left the glade. Morak rounded on the stocky Nadir tribesman. 
    'He made us waste half a day - and for what? Had he told us at the start, he would have walked off with ten, maybe twenty gold pieces. Now he's dead meat for the foxes and the carrion birds. Yes, he was tough. But he was also stupid!' 
    Belash's jet-black eyes stared up into Morak's face. 'He died with honour,' muttered the Nadir. 'And great will be his welcome in the Hall of Heroes.' 
    Morak's laughter welled out. 'The Hall of Heroes, eh? They must be getting short of men if they need to rely on elderly tinkers. What stories will he tell around the great table? How I sold a knife for twice its worth, or how I mended a broken cookpot? I can see there'll be some merry evenings ahead for all of them.' 
    'Most men mock what they can never aspire to,' said Belash, striding on ahead, his hand on his sword-hilt. 
    The words cut through Morak's good humour, and his hatred of the little Nadir welled anew. The Ventrian swung to face the nine men who followed him. 'Kreeg came to these mountains because he had information that Waylander was here. We'll split up and quarter the area. In three days we'll meet at the foot of that peak to the north, where the stream forks. Bans, you go into Kasyra. Ask about Kreeg, who he stayed with, where he drank. Find out where he got his information.' 
    'Why me?' asked the tall, sandy-haired young man. 'And what happens if you find him while I'm gone? Do I still get a share?' 
    'We all get a share,' promised Morak. 'If we find him and kill him before you get back I will see that the gold is held for you in Drenan. Can I be fairer than that?' 
    The man seemed unconvinced, but he nodded and walked away. Morak cast his eyes over the remaining eight men. All were woodsmen and proven warriors, men he had used before, tough and unhindered by morals. He despised them all, but was careful to keep his thoughts to himself. No man needed to be wakened by a saw-edged blade rasping across his jugular. But Belash was the only one he hated. The tribesman was fearless and a superb killer with knife or bow. He was worth ten men on a hunt such as this. One day, though, Morak thought with grim relish, one day I will kill you. I will slide a blade into that flat belly, and rip out your entrails. 
    Organising the men in pairs he issued his instructions. 'If you come upon any dwellings, ask about a tall man and a young daughter. He may not be using the name Dakeyras, so seek out any widower who fits the description. And if you find him make no move. Wait until we are all together. You understand?' 
    The men nodded solemnly, then departed. 
    Ten thousand Raq in gold was waiting for the man who killed Waylander, but the money meant little to Morak. He