Gemmell, David - Drenai 09 - Hero In The Shadows

  Published in 1984, David A. Gemmell's first novel Legend, has become a classic. His subsequent novels have included Bloodstone, Waylander and In the Realm of the Wolf. Gemmell's latest novels, The Legend of Deathwalker, Dark Moon, Winter Warriors, Echoes of the Great Song, Sword in the Storm and Midnight Falcon, have all been published by Corgi. A full-time novelist since 1986, he lives in East Sussex.

  By David Gemmell

  The Drenai books

  Legend

  The King Beyond the Gate

  Waylander

  Quest for Lost Heroes

  Waylander II: In the Realm of the Wolf

  The First Chronicles of Druss the Legend

  The Legend of Deathwalker

  Winter Warriors

  Hero in the Shadows

  The Jon Shannow books

  Wolf in Shadow

  The Last Guardian

  Bloodstone

  The Stones of Power books

  Ghost King

  Last Sword of Power

  Lion of Macedon

  Dark Prince

  The Hawk Queen books

  Ironhand's Daughter

  The Hawk Eternal

  The Rigante books

  Sword in the Storm

  Midnight Falcon

  Individual titles

  Knights of Dark Renown

  Drenai Tales

  Morning Star

  Dark Moon

  Echoes of the Great Song

  HERO IN THE SHADOWS

  David A. Gemmell

  CORGI BOOKS

  HERO IN THE SHADOWS

  A CORGI BOOK : 0 552 14674 9

  Originally published in Great Britain by Bantam Press,

  a division of Transworld Publishers

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Bantam Press edition published 2000

  Corgi edition published 2000

  13579 10 8642

  Copyright © David A. Gemmell 2000

  The right of David A. Gemmell to be identified as the author

  of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77

  and 78 of the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All the characters in this book are fictitious,

  and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,

  is purely coincidental.

  Condition of Sale

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not,

  by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or

  otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other

  than that in which it is published and without a similar

  condition including this condition being imposed on the

  subsequent purchaser.

  Set in 10/12pt Sabon by

  Hewer Text Ltd, Edinburgh.

  Corgi Books are published by Transworld Publishers,

  61-63 Uxbridge Road, London W5 5SA,

  a division of The Random House Group Ltd,

  in Australia by Random House Australia (Pty) Ltd,

  20 Alfred Street, Milsons Point, Sydney, NSW 2061, Australia,

  in New Zealand by Random House New Zealand Ltd,

  18 Poland Road, Glenfield, Auckland 10, New Zealand

  and in South Africa by Random House (Pty) Ltd,

  Endulini, 5a Jubilee Road, Parktown 2193, South Africa.

  Printed and bound in Great Britain by Cox 8c Wyman Ltd, Reading, Bericshire.

  Hero in the Shadows is dedicated with much love to Broo Doherty, with thanks for the years of support, encouragement and flawless good humour. Be happy, Broo!

  Acknowledgements

  My thanks to my test readers, Jan Dunlop, Tony Evans, Alan Fisher, Stella Graham, and Steve Hutt, whose observations and advice were invaluable, and to my editors, Ursula Mackenzie, Liza Reeves and Steve Saffel. I am also more than grateful to Tim Walker, and the crew at Active Computers, Bexhill, who stepped in when my computer turned rogue and died during the final run up to deadline. Their swift assistance - and the loan of a new computer - ensured that Waylander's latest adventure made it to the publishers on time.

  Special thanks to Dale Rippke and to Eric Harris, who have made planning the next Drenai novel an even greater pleasure.

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Mercenary captain Camran Osir reined in his mount at the crest of the hill and swung in the saddle to stare back down the forest trail. The twelve men under his command rode from the trees in single file, and paused while he scanned the horizon. Removing his iron helm, Camran ran his fingers through his long blond hair, enjoying, momentarily, the warm breeze evaporating the sweat on his scalp. He glanced at the captive girl on the horse beside him. Her hands were tied, her dark eyes defiant. He smiled at her, and saw her blanch. She knew he was going to kill her, and that her passing would be painful. He felt the warmth of blood pulsing in his loins. Then the feeling passed. His blue eyes narrowed as he gazed over the valley, seeking sign of pursuit.

  Satisfied that no one was following, Camran tried to relax. He was still angry, of course, but calmed himself with the thought that his riders were ill-educated brutes, with little understanding of civilized behaviour.

  The raid had gone well. There were only five men in the little farming settlement, and these had been killed quickly, with no wounds or losses among his own men. Some of the women and children had managed to escape into the woods, but three young women had been taken. Enough, at least, to satisfy the carnal urges of his riders. Camran himself had captured the fourth, the dark-haired girl on the sway-backed horse beside him. She had tried to run, but he had ridden her down, leaping from his horse and bearing her to the ground. She had fought silently, without panic, but one blow to the chin had rendered her unconscious, and he had thrown her over his saddle. There was blood now upon her pale cheek, and a purple bruise was showing on the side of her neck. Her faded yellow dress was torn at the shoulder and had flapped down, almost exposing her breast. Camran jerked his thoughts from her soft skin, turning his mind to more urgent concerns.

  Yes, the raid had gone well. Until that idiot Polian had incited the others to set fire to the old farmhouse. Wanton destruction of property was anathema to a man of breeding like Camran. It was criminally wasteful. Peasants could always be replaced, but good buildings should be treated with respect. And the farmhouse was a good building, soundly constructed by a man who cared about quality work. Camran had been furious - not only with them, but with himself. For instead of merely killing the captured women he had allowed his needs to override his common sense. He had taken his time, enjoying the screams of the first, luxuriating in the desperate pleading of the second, and the subsequent cries of agony of the third. With each of them dead he had turned his attentions to the dark-haired girl. She had not pleaded, or made a sound after returning to consciousness to find her hands and ankles bound. She was to be the richest harvest; her cries, when they came, would be the purest and sweetest.

  The smoke had billowed over him just as he was unwrapping his ivory-handled skinning knives. Swinging round, he saw the fires. Leaving the bound girl where she lay, he ran back to the scene. Polia
n was grinning as Camran came alongside him. He was still grinning as he died, Camran's dagger plunging between his ribs, skewering his heart.

  This sudden act of savagery cowed the men. 'Did I not tell you?' he thundered. 'Never property! Not unless directly ordered. Now, gather supplies and let's be gone.'

  Camran had returned to the young woman. He thought of killing her, but there would be no pleasure in it now, no slow, pounding joy as he watched the light of life fade from her eyes. Gazing down at the six small skinning knives in their silk-lined canvas pouch, he felt the dead weight of disappointment dragging at him. Carefully he rolled the pouch, tying it with black ribbon. Then he hauled the girl to her feet, cut the ropes around her ankles and lifted her to the dead Polian's mount. Still she said nothing.

  As Camran rode away he gazed back at the burning building, and a deep sense of shame touched him. The farmhouse had not been built speedily, but with great patience, the timbers lovingly fashioned, the joints fitting to perfection. Even the window-frames had been carved and embellished. Destroying such a place was an act of sacrilege. His father would have been ashamed of him.

  Camran's sergeant, the hulking Okrian, rode alongside him. 'Wasn't in time to stop them, sir,' he said.

  Camran saw the fear in the man's eyes. 'It is what happens when one is forced to deal with scum,' said Camran. 'Let's hope there are better men available when we reach Qumtar. We'll earn little commission from Panagyn with only eleven men.'

  'We'll get more, sir. Qumtar is crawling with fighters seeking employment with one or other of the Houses.'

  'Crawling is probably an apt description. Not like the old days, is it?'

  'Nothing ever is,' said Okrian, and the two men rode in silence, each lost in thoughts of the past. Camran remembered the invasion of Drenai lands eighteen years earlier, when he had been a junior officer in the army of Vagria, serving under Kaem. It had been, Kaem had promised, the dawn of a new empire. And, for a time, it was true. They crushed all armies sent against them, forcing the greatest of the Drenai generals, Egel, into the vastness of Skultik Forest, and besieging the last fortress, Dros Purdol. But that had been the high point of the campaign. Under the command of the giant Karnak, Purdol had held, and Egel had broken from Skultik, descending upon the Vagrian army like a storm. Kaem himself had been slain by the assassin Waylander, and within two years Drenai forces had invaded Vagria. And it had not ended there. Arrest warrants were issued against many of the best Vagrian officers, charging them with crimes against the populace. It was laughable. What crime was there in killing your enemies, whether they be soldiers or farmers? But many officers were taken and hanged.

  Camran had escaped north into the lands of the Gothir, but even here agents of the Drenai continued to hunt him. So he had drifted east, across the sea into Ventria and beyond, serving in numerous armies and mercenary bands.

  At thirty-seven he was now in charge of recruitment for House Bakard, one of the four ruling Houses of Kydor. There was no outright war for them to fight. Not yet. But each of the Houses was gathering soldiers, and there were many skirmishes in the wild lands.

  News from home rarely reached Kydor, but Camran had been delighted to hear of the death of Karnak some years previously. Assassinated as he led a parade. Wonderful! Killed, apparently, by a woman wielding the bow of the legendary Waylander.*

  * From Waylander II: In the Realm of the Wolf (1993)

  Jerking his mind once more to the present, Camran gazed back at his recruits. They were still frightened now, and anxious to please, hoping that when they made camp Camran would let them have the girl. He would soon dash those hopes. His plan was to use her, skin her, and leave the men to bury the body. He glanced once more at her, and smiled. She looked at him coolly and said nothing.

  Just before dusk Camran swung from the trail and selected a campsite. As the men unsaddled their mounts he took the girl deeper into the forest. She made no resistance as he pushed her to the ground, and she did not cry out as he took her. As he was reaching his climax he opened his eyes and found her staring at his face, expressionless. This not only removed any pleasure from the rape; it also ruined his erection. Anger roared through him. Drawing his knife, he laid the edge on her throat.

  'The Grey Man will kill you,' she said, slowly, no trace of fear in her voice. The words carried certainty and he paused.

  'The Grey Man? Some demon of the night, perhaps? A protector of peasants?'

  'He is coming,' she said.

  He felt the prickle of fear on the nape hairs of his neck. 'I suppose he is a giant, or some such?'

  She did not reply. A movement came from the bushes to his left. Camran surged to his feet, heart pounding. But it was Okrian.

  'The men were wondering if you'd finished with her,' said the sergeant, his small eyes focusing on the peasant girl.

  'No, I have not,' said Camran. 'Maybe tomorrow.'

  The sergeant shrugged and walked back to the campfire.

  'One more day of life,' Camran told the girl. 'Are you going to thank me?'

  'I am going to watch you die,' she said.

  Camran smiled, then punched her in the face, hurling her back to the ground. 'Stupid peasant,' he said.

  But her words kept coming back to him, and the following morning's ride found him constantly scanning the back trail. His neck was beginning to ache. Camran was about to heel his horse forward when he took one last look back. For a heartbeat only, he saw a shadow moving into the trees some half a mile down the trail. He blinked. Was it a horseman, or merely a wandering deer? He could not be sure. Camran swore softly, then summoned two of his riders. 'Go back down the trail. There may be a man following. If there is, kill him.'

  The men swung their mounts and rode away. Camran glanced at the girl. She was smiling.

  'What's happening, sir?' asked Okrian, nudging his horse alongside Camran's mount.

  'Thought I saw a rider. Let's move on.'

  They rode through the afternoon, stopping for an hour to walk the horses, then made camp in a sheltered hollow, close to a stream. There was no sign of the two men Camran had sent out. He summoned Okrian to him. The big mercenary eased himself down alongside his captain and Camran told him about the girl's warning. 'Grey Man?' he said. 'Never heard of him. But, then, I don't know this area of Kydor well. If he is following, the boys will get him. Tough lads.'

  'Then where are they?'

  'Probably dawdling somewhere. Or, if they caught him, they're probably having a little fun with him. Perrin is said to be somewhat of an artist when it comes to the Blood Eagle. The men say he can open a man's ribs, pin the guts back with twigs, and still leave the poor bastard alive for hours. Now, what about the girl, sir? The men could use a little diversion.'

  'Aye, take her,' said Camran.

  Okrian hauled her up by her hair and dragged her back to the campfire. A cheer went up from the nine men gathered there. Okrian hurled her towards them. The first man rose and grabbed her as she half fell. 'Let's see a little flesh,' he shouted, tearing at her dress.

  Suddenly the girl spun on her heel, slamming her elbow into the man's face, crushing his nose. Blood spurted over his moustache and beard and he staggered back. The sergeant came up behind the girl, curling his arms around her and dragging her back into a tight embrace. Her head snapped back into his face, striking him on the cheekbone. He grabbed her hair and savagely twisted her head. The first man drew a dagger and advanced towards her. 'You puking bitch,' he snarled, 'I'm going to cut you bad. Not enough so we can't enjoy you, you little whore. But enough to make you scream like a gutted pig.'

  The girl, unable to move, stared with undisguised malevolence at the knifeman. She did not beg or cry out.

  Suddenly there was a crunching thud. The knifeman stopped, his expression bemused. Slowly he reached up with his left hand. As he did so he fell to his knees. His questing finger touched the black-feathered bolt jutting from the base of his skull. He tried to speak, but no words flowed. Then he pitched t
o his face.

  For a few heartbeats no one moved. The sergeant hurled the girl to the ground, and drew his sword. Another man, closer to the trees, grunted in shock and pain as a bolt speared his chest. He fell back, tried to rise, then gave out a gurgling scream as he died.

  Camran, sword in hand, ran back to the fire, then charged into the undergrowth, his men fanning out around him.

  All was silent, and there was no sign of an enemy.

  'Make for open ground!' shouted Camran. The men ran back to their horses, saddling them swiftly. Camran grabbed the girl, forcing her to mount, then clambered up behind her and rode from the hollow.

  Clouds drifted across the moon as the men raced through the forest. In the darkness they were forced to slow their flight. Camran saw a break in the trees, and angled his mount towards it, emerging on to a hillside. Okrian came close behind. As the other men broke through Camran counted them. Including himself and his sergeant, eight men were now clear of the trees. Flicking his gaze around the milling group he counted again. The killer had taken another victim during the flight.

  Okrian removed his black leather helm and rubbed his hand across his balding pate. 'Shem's balls,' he said. 'We've lost five men and we've seen no one!'

  Camran glanced around. They were in a circle of clear ground, but to progress in any direction they would have to re-enter the forest.

  'We'll wait for the dawn,' said Camran, dismounting. Dragging the girl from the saddle, he swung her round. 'Who is this Grey Man?' he asked. She did not reply and he slapped her hard. 'Talk to me, you bitch,' he hissed, 'or I'll cut open your belly and strangle you with your entrails!'

  'He owns all the valley,' she said. 'My brother, and the other men you killed, farmed for him.'