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

imagination would seep out, and they would begin to doubt, to fear. And from that moment it did not matter that they were better, or faster or stronger. For I would grow before their eyes and they would shrink before mine.' 
    'I will learn,' she promised. 
    'I doubt it can be learned. Your father became Waylander because his first family were butchered by raiders, but I don't believe the atrocity created Waylander. He was always there, beneath the surface of Dakeyras. The real question is, what lies beneath the surface of Miriel?' 
    'We will see,' she said. 
    'Then you wish me to stay?' 
    'Yes. I wish you to stay. But answer me one question honestly.' 
    'Ask.' 
    'What is it you fear?' 
    'Why would you think I fear anything?' he hedged. 
    'I know that you did not want to stay, and I sense you are torn between your desire to help me and a need to leave. So what is it?' 
    'The question is a fair one. Let us leave it that you are right. There is something I fear, but I am not prepared to talk about it. As you are not prepared to speak of the loss of your Talent.' 
    She nodded. 'There is one - or more - among the assassins that you do not wish to meet. Am I close?' 
    'We must thicken the grip on your sword,' he said. 'Cut some strips of leather - thin, no wider than a finger's width. You have glue?' 
    'Yes. Father makes it from fishbones and hide.' 
    'First bind the hilt until the size feels comfortable. When curled around it your longest finger should just touch the flesh below your thumb. When you are satisfied, glue the strips into place.' 
    'You did not answer me,' she said. 
    'No,' he replied. 'Cut and bind the strips tonight. It will give the glue time to dry. I will see you in the morning.' He rose and strode across the room. 
    'Angel!' 
    His hand was on the door latch. 'Yes.' 
    'Sleep well.' 

4
    Dardalion swung away from the window and faced the two priests standing before his desk.
    'The argument,' he said, 'is of intellectual interest only. It is of no real importance.'
    'How can that be, Father Abbot?' asked Magnic. 'Surely it is central to our beliefs?'
    'In this I must agree with my brother,' put in the forked-bearded Vishna, his dark eyes staring unblinking at the Abbot. Dardalion beckoned them to be seated and leaned back in his wide leather chair. Magnic looked so young against Vishna, he thought, his pale face, soft-featured and unlined, his blond, unruly hair giving him the appearance of a youth some years from twenty. Vishna, tall and stern, his black forked beard carefully combed and oiled, looked old enough to be Magnic's father. Yet both were barely twenty-four.
    The debate is of worth only because it makes us consider the Source,' said Dardalion at last. The pantheistic view that God exists in everything, every stone and every tree, is an interesting one. We believe the Universe was created by the Source in a single moment of blinding energy. From Nothing came Something. What could that Something be, save the body of the Source? That is the argument of the pantheists. Your view, Magnic, that the Source is separate from the world, and that only the Chaos Spirit rules here, is also widely held. The Source, in a terrible War against His own rebellious angels, sent them hurtling to the earth, there to rule, as He rules in Heaven. This argument makes Hell of our world. And I would agree that there is strong evidence to suggest that sometimes it is. 
    'But in all these debates we are trying to imagine the unimaginable, and therein lies a great danger. The Source of All Things is beyond us. His actions are timeless, and so far above our understanding as to make them meaningless to us. Yet still we try to force our minds to comprehend. We struggle to encompass His greatness, to draw Him in and place Him in acceptable compartments. This leads to dispute and disruption, discord and disharmony. And these are the weapons of the Chaos Spirit.'