White Wolf: A Novel of Druss the Legend

‘Do you remember the Grey Man, Weldi?’ she asked, as the servant brought her a goblet of water.

‘No, Ustarte. He was in the time of Three Swords. I came later.’

‘Of course. My memory is not what it was.’

‘You have been waiting for these travellers for some time now, priestess.

Why do you make them wait for the moonlight?’

‘They are not yet complete, Weldi. Another is coming. A Joining. You know, I miss Three Swords. He made me laugh.’

‘I only knew him when he was old. He was crotchety then, and he did not make me laugh. To be honest he frightened me.’

‘Yes, he could be frightening. We went through much together, he and I.

For a while we thought we could change the world. Such is the arrogance of youth, I suspect.’

‘You have changed the world, priestess. It is a better place with you in it.’ Clumsily he took her gloved hand and kissed it.

‘We have done a little good. No more than that. Yet it is enough.’

She gazed around the room, at the scrolls and books on the shelves, and the small ornaments and keepsakes she had gathered during her three hundred and seventy years. This tower room was her favourite. She had never really known why. Perhaps it was because it was the highest room in the temple. Closer to the sky and the stars. ‘You will remember at least two of the travellers,’ she told Weldi. ‘The conjoined twins?’

‘Ah, yes. Sweet children. That was a wonderful day, when they walked in the garden, separate but hand in hand. I shall never forget that.’

‘Hard to imagine those babes with swords in their hands.’

‘I find it hard to imagine anyone who would choose to have a sword in their hands,’ said Weldi.

‘Garianne is with them too. You said she would come back one day.’

‘You never did answer my question about her affliction.’

‘What question was that? I forget.’

‘No you don’t. You are teasing me. Are the voices real, or imagined?’

‘They are real to her. They could not be more real.’

‘Yes, yes! But are they real? Are they the spirits of the dead?’

‘The truth is,’ said the elderly priestess, ‘that I do not know. Garianne survived a dreadful massacre. She lay hidden, and listened to the screams of the dying. All that she loved, all that loved her. When she emerged from the hole in which she had been concealed she felt a terrible guilt for having survived. Did that guilt unhinge her mind? Or did it open a window in her soul, allowing the spirits of the dead to flow in?’

‘Why did you let her steal the Grey Man’s crossbow? You went through many dangers to bring that here.’

‘You are full of questions today. I have one for you. Why is the priestess still hungry, when her servant promised her a meal some time ago?’

Weldi grinned and bowed low. ‘It is coming, Ustarte. I shall run all the way to the kitchen.’

Ustarte’s smile faded as soon as he had left the room. She felt terribly tired. The magic needed to maintain the cloak of confusion over the temple took a heavy toll on an ageing priestess. It had been such a simple spell two hundred years ago, using merely a fraction of her power. It was merely a matter of reshaping and blurring refracted light so that the red stone of the temple appeared to merge with the towering mountain of rock from which it had been carved. Only in the brightest moonlight did the spell fade sufficiently for men to be able to observe the vast building. Even then the gates were strengthened by spells which — when activated -

caused immense forces to build up in metal. Swords would stick to shields, battering rams could not be swung. Men in armour would feel as if they were wading through the thickest mud. Ustarte knew that no castle on earth was completely impregnable. The Temple of Kuan did, however, come close. No-one could enter uninvited.

Her legs rested, she eased herself to her feet and returned to the window. Closing her eyes she concentrated her power, reaching out until she could feel the life forces of the travellers flickering around her, gossamer moths drawn to the light. Gently she examined each of them, coming at last to the youth. His heart had failed. Poison had entered his bloodstream, carried there by the filthy sword blade and the small sections of cloth from his tunic which had been driven into his body. Staying calm and focused Ustarte sent a bolt of energy into the still heart. It flickered, then failed again. Twice more she pulsed energy into the stricken muscle.

It began to beat — but irregularly. Ustarte’s spirit flowed through Rabalyn’s lymphatic system, boosting it with her own life force. The adrenal glands, overworked and undernourished, had also failed. These too she worked upon. The eerie howling of a wolf cut through her concentration momentarily. Ignoring it she continued to replenish Rabalyn’s energy. The dead youth was alive once more, and would survive until she could work on him inside the temple.

The moon was beginning to rise.

Ustarte drew back from Rabalyn and pulsed a message to Weldi. He was climbing the lower stairs, carrying a tray of food for her.

Leaving the tray upon a step he ran back to the inner hall to summon four priests, clad in yellow robes, who were dining there. Together they made their way swiftly through the corridors and halls of the temple, pushed open the gates, and ran across the open ground towards the travellers.

The travellers — all except Druss and Khalid Khan — were taken to an antechamber on the first floor of the temple. There were chairs and leather-cushioned benches here, and a wondrously fashioned table of twisted metal, upon which had been set fruit and goblets of sweet juices.

Nian sat on the floor, running his hands over the undulating metal of the table. Jared knelt by him. Garianne lay down on a couch. Diagoras moved to a high window and leaned out, gazing down upon the valley below.

‘Druss and Khalid are still there,’ he told Skilgannon. ‘It looks like Orastes is asleep at the axeman’s feet.’

Skilgannon joined him. Priests had gathered round the giant beast and were struggling to lift it. The door behind them whispered open.

Skilgannon turned. An elderly man, with small, button eyes, bowed to the company. He shuffled forward, his long white gown rustling on the terracotta flooring.

‘The lady Ustarte will be with you presently,’ he said. ‘She is engaged at present with your companion, Rabalyn.’

‘He is dead,’ said Diagoras. ‘She can bring him back to life?’

‘He was dead, yes, but had not yet passed the portals of no return.

Ustarte’s magic is very strong.’

Garianne rolled to her feet, a wide smile on her face. ‘Ho, Weldi! It is good to see you.’

‘And you, sweet one. I told the priestess you would come back to us.’

The elderly priest moved to the table where Jared and Nian waited.

‘You will not remember me,’ he said. ‘We played in the inner gardens when you were young.’ Jared looked uncomfortable, and merely shrugged. Nian looked up at the old man.

‘There is no beginning,’ he said, running his fingers along a length of metal in the centre of the table.

‘It is one piece, interwoven again and again. Very clever.’

‘Yes,’ said Nian. ‘Very clever.’

Weldi turned to Skilgannon. ‘Please rest here for a little while. You will each be assigned rooms later, after Ustarte has spoken with you individually.’

‘And the axeman?’ asked Diagoras.

Weldi gave a crooked smile. ‘The beast would not leave him. So we have sedated it. It will remain asleep while you are guests here. Druss will be with you presently. Khalid Khan refused our invitation. He has returned to his people. Is there anything you require in the meantime?’ Skilgannon shook his head. ‘Very well then, I shall leave you. The door at the far end of the apartment leads to an ablutions chamber. Its workings are not complicated. The main door leads out into the main temple. The passages and tunnels are very much like a maze to those who do not know the paths. I would therefore request you remain here until Ustarte calls for you. That may be an hour — perhaps a little longer.’