Quest for Lost Heroes (12 page)

'If they fear proud women, perhaps no one would buy me.'

'Do not be a fool!' snapped the older woman. 'If you look defiant, the auctioneer will have you whipped into submission - or you'll be bought by a man who enjoys inflicting pain on women. What you need is a master who will treat you casually. There is no such animal as a gentle Nadir, but better to be bedded swiftly by an indifferent savage than to be beaten like a dog.'

'How is it you know so much?' asked Ravenna.

'I have been sold before,' said the woman. 'I spent three years as a whore in New Gulgothir. Before that I was sold to a Nadir chieftain.'

'But you escaped?'

'Yes. And I will escape again.'

'How is it you are so strong?'

'I was once wed to a weak man. Sleep now. And if you cannot sleep, rest. You will not want dark rings under those pretty eyes.'

'What is your name?'

'What does it matter?' the woman answered.

*

Salida strode into the main hall, his armour dust-stained and dull, his eyes bloodshot and weary. Yet still he kept his back straight, his chin high. There were more than forty noblemen present. He bowed before the Earl and their eyes met.

'Do you bring me Chareos?' asked the Earl softly.

'No, my lord. But I bring you Logar's sabre.' He held the scabbarded blade high and placed it on the dais before the Earl. 'Also I bring you the owner of the Grey Owl tavern, who witnessed the fight; he is outside. He says that Logar and two others attacked the monk, and that Chareos defended himself nobly. The man Kypha was lying.'

'You took this investigation on yourself?' said the Earl, rising from his ebony chair, his eyes cold.

'I know, my lord, how highly you value justice. I must also tell you that Chareos and the villager, Kiall, fought alongside myself and the men from Talgithir against a large band of Nadren. Chareos slew at least six of them in a pitched battle. Without him, and Beltzer, Maggrig and Finn, we might well have lost the encounter. I judged - perhaps wrongly - that you would not appreciate the waste of time involved in bringing Chareos back.'

The Earl stood in silence for several seconds, then he smiled. 'I like my officers to show initiative, Salida, and this you have done. You also destroyed a band of raiders and showed, I understand, great personal courage. You are to be commended - both for your action in battle and your discretion. Go now. Rest. You have earned it.'

Salida bowed and backed two paces before turning and striding from the hall. Aware that all eyes were on him, the Earl turned back to his guests. For an hour he moved among them, his mood light, his humour good. Just before dusk he left the hall and walked swiftly through the stone corridors of the Keep until he reached the stairway to his private rooms.

He entered the study and pushed shut the door. A tall man was standing at the window. Lean and hawk-faced, with pale eyes separated by a curved beak of a nose, a scar ran from his brow to his chin in an angry white line. He wore a black leather cloak that shimmered in the lantern light, and three knives hung from a baldric on his chest.

'Well, Harokas?' said the Earl.

'The man, Kypha, is dead. Somehow he contrived to drown in his bath,' answered Harokas. 'I hear the other business is finished.'

The Earl shook his head. 'Nothing is finished. The man insulted me, through my son, then disgraced me publicly. Find him - and kill him.'

'I am skilful with a blade, my lord - but not that skilful.'

'I did not say fight him, Harokas. I said
kill
him.'

'It is not for me to criticise ..."

'No, it is not!' stormed the Earl.

Harokas' green eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

'I want him to know why he is dying,' the Earl continued.

'What should I tell him, my lord?' asked Harokas. 'That a hero of Bel-azar is doomed because he disciplined an arrogant boy?'

'Beware, Harokas,' the Earl hissed. 'My patience is not limitless - even with those who have served me well and faithfully.'

'It will be as you order,' said Harokas. He bowed and left the study.

*

Kiall's dreams were troubled. Again and again he saw the Nadren sweep down on the village, heard their wild battle cries and saw the sunlight gleaming on their swords and helms. He had been high in the woods, supposedly gathering herbs for the apothecary - but in reality he had been wandering, dreaming, imagining himself as a knight, or a bard singer, or a nobleman on a quest. In his fantasy he was a man of iron courage and lethal skills. But when the Nadren war cries sounded he had stood frozen to the spot, watching the carnage, the looting, raping and burning. He had seen Ravenna and the others hauled across the saddles of the conquering raiders and taken away to the south. And he had done nothing.

He knew then, as he knew now, why Ravenna had rejected him, and suffered again the pain of their meeting in the high meadow by the silver stream.

'You are a dreamer, Kiall,' she had said, 'and I like you. Truly I do. But I need more than dreams. I want a man who will build, who will grow. I need a strong man.'

'I can do all these things,' he had assured her.

'Only in your head. Now you must leave me. If Jarel sees you talking to me, he will be jealous. And it would not be wise for you to make Jarel angry.'

'I am not afraid of Jarel. But I love you, Ravenna. I cannot believe that means nothing to you.'

'Poor Kiall,' she whispered, stroking his cheek. 'Still the dreamer. Love? What is love?' She had laughed at him then and walked away.

Kiall awoke. His body was warm under the blanket, but his face was cold. Raising himself on one elbow, he saw that the fire was dying. He added wood and sat up. Beltzer was snoring and Chareos remained in a deep sleep. The flames licked the fuel and rose. Kiall wanned his hands and wrapped his blanket around his shoulders.

He sniffed. The air inside the shelter was close and full of smoke, but still he could smell the rank odour emanating from Beltzer. This was no dream. Here he sat with the heroes of Bel-azar, on a quest to rescue a beautiful maiden from the clutches of evil. Yet in no way did the reality match the fantasies. A bad-tempered Swordmaster, a vile-smelling warrior, and two hunters who spoke barely a civil word to anyone but each other.

Beltzer snorted and turned over, his mouth open. Kiall saw that he had lost several teeth and that others were discoloured and bad. How could this fat old man ever have been the golden-haired hero of legend?

I should have stayed in the village, he told himself, and learned the apothecary's skills. At least then I would have been able to afford to take a wife, and build a home. But no, the dreamer had to have his way.

He heard the crunching of boots on the snow outside, and fear rose in him as he pictured the Nadren creeping up on them as they slept. He scrambled to his feet and dressed swiftly. Then he heard Maggrig's voice. Pulling on his boots, he dropped to his knees and eased himself out into the snow-covered clearing. The sky was a rich velvet blue, and the sun was just rising above the mountains to the east. Maggrig and Finn were skinning four white rabbits, the nearby snow spattered with blood.

'Good morning,' said Kiall. The younger man smiled and waved, but Finn ignored the villager. Kiall moved alongside them. 'You're out early,' he remarked.

'Early for some,' grunted Finn. 'Make yourself useful.' He tossed a rabbit to Kiall, who skinned it clumsily. Finn gathered up the entrails and threw them out into the bushes, then he scraped the fat from the furs and pushed them deep into his pack.

Kiall wiped his blood-covered hands on the snow and sat back on a rock. Finn's bow was resting against it and Kiall reached for it.

'Don't touch it!' snapped Finn.

Kiall's anger rose. 'You think I would steal it?'

'I don't much care - but don't touch it.'

Maggrig moved alongside Kiall. 'Don't take it to heart,' he said softly. 'No bowyer likes another man to touch his bow. It is ... a superstition, I suppose. You see, each bow is made for one archer. It is designed for him alone. Finn makes his own bows. Even I am not allowed to use them.'

'No need to make excuses for me,' said Finn sourly.

Maggrig ignored him. 'When we get to the cabin,' he told Kiall, 'you will see many bows. Finn will probably give you one - a weapon to suit your length of arm and your pulling strength.'

'It would be no use,' said Kiall. 'I have no eye for archery.'

'Neither had I when I first met Finn. But it is amazing what a man can learn when he is paired with a master. Finn won every prize worth the taking. He even took the Lord Regent's talisman against the best archers of six lands: Drenai, Vagrians, Nadir, Ventrians, and even bowmen from Mashrapur. None could compete with Finn.'

'Not then or now,' muttered Finn, but his expression softened and he smiled. 'Don't mind me, boy,' he told Kiall. 'I don't like people much. But I don't wish you harm - and I hope you find your lady.'

'I am sorry you will not be travelling with us,' said Kiall.

'I'm not. I have no wish to have my head shrunk on a pole, or my skin flayed outside a Nadir tent. My battle days are long gone. Quests and the like are for young men like you.'

'But Beltzer is coming,' Kiall reminded him.

Finn grunted. 'He never grew up, that one. But he's a good man in a scrap, right enough.'

'Chareos too,' said Maggrig softly.

'Yes,' agreed Finn. 'A strange man, Chareos. But you watch him, boy, and learn. His kind don't come around so often, if you catch my meaning.'

'I'm not sure that I do.'

'He's a man with iron principles. He knows the world is shades of grey, but he lives like it's black and white. There's a nobility in him - a gallantry, if you like. You'll see what I mean, come the finish. Now that's enough of talking. Wake your companions. If they want to break their fast, they'd better be up. I'll not wait for them.'

*

The snow held off for several days, but even so the travellers made slow progress across the peaks. On the fifth day Maggrig, leading the group, came too close to the lair of a snow leopard and her cubs. The leopard seemed to explode from the undergrowth, spitting and snarling. Maggrig was hurled from his feet, a jagged tear across one arm of his tunic. Beltzer and the others ran forward, shouting at the tops of their voices - but the animal crouched before them, ears flat to her skull and fangs bared. Finn dragged Maggrig clear and the travellers gave the beast a wide berth. Maggrig's arm was slashed, but not deeply, and the wound was stitched and bound by Finn.

On the following morning they reached the valley where the hunters' cabin was hidden. A blizzard blew up around them and they forced their way, heads bowed against the wind, to the frozen doorway. Snow had banked against it, blocking the door and filling the window-frame alongside. Beltzer cleared it, shovelling it aside with his huge hands.

Inside was icy, but Finn got a fire going; it was more than an hour before the heat wanned the cabin.

That was good luck,' said Beltzer, finally stripping his bearskin jerkin and squatting on the rug beside the fire. 'That blizzard could have hit us days ago, and we'd have been trapped out in the mountains for weeks.'

'It may be lucky for you, dung-brain,' said Finn, 'but I do not relish my home being rilled with sweating bodies for days on end.'

Beltzer grinned at the black-bearded hunter. 'You're the least welcoming man I've ever known. Where do you keep the drink?'

'In the well outside. Where else?'

'I mean the ale, or the wine, or even the malt spirit?'

'We have none here.'

'None?' asked Beltzer, eyes widening. 'None at all?'

'Not a drop,' answered Maggrig, smiling. 'Now how lucky do you feel?' His face was white and sweat dripped into his eyes. He tried to stand, but sank back in his chair.

'What's the matter with you?' said Finn, rising and moving to the younger man.

Maggrig shrugged. 'I don't . . . feel. . .' He sagged sideways from the chair. Finn caught him and carried him to the bed, where Chareos joined him.

'He has a fever,' said Chareos, laying his hand on the hunter's brow. Maggrig's eyes opened.

'Room's going round . . . thirsty ..." Finn brought him a goblet of water and lifted his head while he drank.

Kiall cleared his throat. 'If you boil some water, I'll make a potion for him.'

Finn swung on him. 'What are you ... a magician?'

'I was an apothecary's assistant, and I bought some herbs and powders back in Tavern Town.'

'Well, come and look at him, boy. Don't just stand there!' stormed Finn. Kiall moved to the bedside. First he examined the wound on Maggrig's temple; it had closed and healed well, but his master had always told him that blows to the head often shocked the system. Perhaps the second injury, caused by the leopard's attack, had caught the hunter in a weakened state. Trying to remember what Ulthen had told him of such wounds, he removed the bandage from Maggrig's arm; the cut was jagged and angry, but there was no pus or obvious sign of infection.