Quest for Lost Heroes

CHAPTER THREE

The stag dipped its head to the stream, its long tongue lapping at the clear water. Something struck it a wicked blow in the side; its head came up and an arrow sliced through one eye, deep into the brain. Its forelegs buckled and it dropped to the earth, blood seeping from its mouth.

The two hunters rose from the bushes and splashed across the stream to the carcass. Both were wearing buckskins, fringed and beaded, and they carried curved hunting-bows of Vagrian horn. The younger of the men — slight, blond-haired, with wide eyes of startling blue — knelt by the stag and opened the great artery of the beast's throat. The other man, taller and heavily bearded, stood watching the undergrowth.

There's no one about, Finn,' said the blond hunter. 'You are getting old, and starting to imagine things.'

The bearded man swore softly. 'I can smell the bastards — they're hereabouts. Can't see why. No raiding for them. No women. But they're here, right enough. Puking Nadren!'

The smaller man disembowelled the stag and began to skin the carcass with a double-edged hunting-knife. Finn notched an arrow to his bow and stood glaring at the undergrowth opposite.

'You are making me nervous,' the younger man told him.

'We been together twenty years, Maggrig, and you still read sign like a blind man reads script.'

Truly? Who was it last year said the Tattooed Men were hunting? Stayed guard for four days and not a sight of the head-hunters?'

They were there. They just didn't want to kill us right then,' said Finn. 'How long you going to be quartering that beast?'

Just then four men rose from the bushes on the other side of the stream. They were all armed with bows and swords, but no arrows were notched and the blades were scabbarded.

'You want to share some of that?' called a lean, bearded man.

'We need it for the winter store. Deer are mighty scarce these days,' Finn told him. Maggrig, kneeling beside the carcass, sheathed his hunting-knife and took up his bow, sliding an arrow from his quiver.

'There's two more on this side,' he whispered.

'I know,' said the older man, cursing inwardly. With two Nadren hidden in the undergrowth behind them, they were trapped.

'You are not being very friendly,' said the Nadren warrior as he and the others began to wade towards the hunters.

'You can stop there,' Finn told him, drawing back the bow-string. 'We are in no need of company.' Maggrig, confident that Finn could contain the men at the stream, notched an arrow to his bow, his blue eyes scanning the undergrowth to the rear. A bowman rose from the bushes with his arrow aimed at Finn's back. Maggrig drew and loosed instantly, his shaft flashing through the man's throat, and the raider's arrow sailed over Finn and splashed down into the water before the four men.

'I didn't order him to do that,' said the lean man across the water, waving his arm at the men alongside him. They began to back away but Finn said nothing, his eyes fixed on them.

'The other one is ready to chance a shaft,' whispered Maggrig. 'Do you have to stand there inviting it?'

'Hell's Gates, I'm tired of standing around in the cold,' said Finn. 'Make the whoreson show himself.' Maggrig drew back on the bow-string and sent an arrow slicing into the bushes. There was a yelp of surprise and a bowman reared up with a shaft through his upper arm. Finn spun on his heel and sent a second arrow into the man's chest and he fell face down into the undergrowth. Finn swung back, but the men across the stream had vanished into the bushes.

'Getting old, am I?' snapped Finn. 'Your boots have more brains that you.' Maggrig grabbed Finn's jerkin, hauling him from his feet as three arrows slashed the air where he had been standing. Maggrig loosed a shaft back across the stream, but he knew he had struck nothing.

Time to be going home, old man,' said Maggrig. An arrow hit the ground before him, striking a stone and ricocheting into the carcass. Hastily the two men dragged the butchered deer back out of range, stacked the choicest cuts of meat inside the skin and faded into the woods. They moved warily for several miles, but there was no sign of pursuit.

Finally they angled across the slopes of the mountain to the partially hidden cabin set against the north face. Once there Finn built up the fire and tugged off his wet boots, hurling them against the stone of the hearth. The cabin was two-roomed. A large bed was placed against the wall opposite the fire, and a single window was fashioned beside the door. Bearskin rugs covered the floor. Maggrig opened the door to the workshop beyond, where they crafted their bows and arrows and beat the iron for the heads. He heard Finn swear.

'Damn Nadren! When I was your age, Maggrig, we had mounted patrols that scoured the mountains for scum like that. It's a bad day when they feel they can come in, bold as a brass mirror, to steal an innocent man's supper. Damn them!'

'Why so annoyed?' asked Maggrig. 'We killed two of them, and kept our supper. They haven't caused us a problem, save for three lost arrows.'

'They will. Murderous savages, the lot of them. They'll be hunting us.'

'Ah yes, but we have the Great Hunter Finn, the smeller of trouble! Not a bird can break wind in the mountains without Finn picking up the scent.'

'You're as funny as a broken leg. I've got a bad feeling, boy; there's death in the air smelling worse than winter.' He shivered and stretched out his large, bony hands to the fire.

Maggrig said nothing. He could feel it too.

Carrying the quartered stag through to the back of the workshop, Maggrig hung it on iron hooks by the far wall. Then he spread the skin and began the long job of scraping the fat from it. He'd need a new shirt for the winter, and he liked the russet colour of the hide. Finn wandered in and sat at the work-bench, idly picking up an arrow shaft and judging the line. He put it down. Normally he would cut feather flights, but now he merely sat staring at the bench-top.

Maggrig glanced up at him. 'Your back troubling you again?'

'Always does when winter's close. Damn! I hate going down to the Tavern Town, but needs must. Have to pass the word about the raiders.'

'We could look in and see Beltzer.'

Finn shook his head. 'He'll be drunk as usual. And one more insult from that pig and I swear I'll gut him.'

Maggrig stood and stretched his back. 'You don't mean that. Neither does he. He's just lonely, Finn.'

'Feel sorry for him, do you? Not me. He was cantankerous when he was married. He was vile at Bel-azar. There's a streak of mean in the man — I can't stand him.'

Then why did you buy his axe when they auctioned it?' demanded the blond hunter. 'Two years of trapping to pay for that! And what have you done with it? Wrapped it in oilskin and left it at the bottom of the chest.'

Finn spread his hands. 'No accounting for myself sometimes. Didn't like the thought of some northern nobleman hanging it on his wall, I guess. Wish I hadn't now; we could do with some ready coin. Buy some salt. Damn, but I miss salt. I suppose we could trade some bows. You know, we should have stopped long enough to take the weapons from those Nadren. Could have got some salt for them, right enough.'

A wolf howl rent the night.

'Puking sons of bitches!' said Finn, standing and striding back into the main room.

Maggrig followed him. 'Got it in for wolves now, have you?'

'Wolf call makes no echo, boy. Don't you remember nothing at all?'

'I was raised to be a priest, Finn. My father didn't think I'd have much need for wolf calls and echoes.'

Finn chuckled. 'If they find the cabin, you can go out and preach to them.'

'How many do you think there are?'

'Hard to say,' Finn told him. 'Usually they keep to bands of around thirty, but there may be less.'

'Or more?' suggested Maggrig, softly.

Finn nodded. The wolf call sounded once more.

And this time it was closer. .

Chareos drew rein on a hill-top and glanced back down towards the valley. 'What is it?' asked Kiall. 'That's the fourth time you've checked the back trail.'

'I thought I saw riders, sunlight gleamed from helms or lances. It could be a patrol.'

'They would not be looking for us, would they? I mean, we have broken no laws.'

Chareos looked into Kiall's face and read the fear there. 'I have no idea. The Earl is a vengeful man and he feels I have insulted him. But even he could find no way to accuse me on this matter. Let's move. We should be in Tavern Town by mid-morning, and I would sell my soul for a hot meal and a warm bed.'

The clouds above them were heavy with the promise of snow, and the temperature had dropped sharply during the past two days. Kiall wore only a woollen shirt and leggings, and just looking at him made Chareos more cold. 'I should have bought gloves,' he said, blowing at his hands.

'It is not too cold yet,' said Kiall cheerfully.

'It is when you are my age,' Chareos snapped.

Kiall chuckled. 'You don't look much past fifty.'

Chareos bit back an angry retort and urged the stallion on down the slope. All life is a circle, he reminded himself, remembering the days when he had chided old Kalin for being near senile. Old Kalin? The man had been forty-two — nearly three years younger than Chareos was now.

The stallion slithered on the slope. Chareos pulled his head up and leaned back in the saddle. The grey recovered his balance and reached the foot of the hill without incident. The trail widened into a mountain road, flattened by the wide leather-rimmed wheels of the wagons that carried timber to Talgithir. The trees gave shelter from the wind and Chareos felt more comfortable. Kiall rode alongside, but the grey nipped at the gelding, which reared. The villager clung on grimly.

'You should sell that beast,' said Kiall. 'There is a devil in him.'

It was good advice, but Chareos knew he would keep the grey. 'He is bad-tempered and a loner. But I like him. He reminds me of me.'

They emerged from the woods above a cluster of buildings, at the centre of which was a tavern. Grey smoke rose from its two stone chimneys, and men could be seen gathering outside the main doorway.

'Bad timing,' muttered Chareos. 'The timber workers and labourers are waiting for their midday meal.'

The two men rode down into the settlement. The stables were at the rear of the tavern, and there Chareos unsaddled the grey and led him into a stall. He forked hay into the feeding-box and brushed the animal's back. Then he and Kiall walked through into the tavern. It was near full and there was no room close to the fires, so the two men sat at a bench table.

A plump woman approached them. 'Good morning, sirs. We have pies, and good roast beef and a rich honey-cake served hot.'

'Do you have rooms available?' asked Chareos.

'Yes, sir. The upper guest room. I will have a fire lit; it will be ready shortly.'

'We will take our food there,' he told her. 'But for now, two goblets of mulled wine, if you please.'

She curtseyed and moved back into the throng. The crowd made Chareos uncomfortable; the air was close and reeked of wood-smoke, sweat and broiling meat. After a while the woman returned and led them through to the stairs and on to the upper guest room. It was large and cold, despite the newly-lit fire, but there were two soft beds, a table and four deep leather chairs.

'It will warm up soon enough,' said the woman. 'Then you'll need to open the window. The left shutter is a little stiff, but a good push will move it; the wood has warped. I will bring your food presently.'

Chareos removed his cloak and dragged a chair to the fire. Kiall sat down opposite him, leaning forward; his back was healing fast, but still the wounds were sore.

'Where do we go from here?' he asked.

'South-west into Nadir lands. There we'll hear of the Nadren who raided your village. With luck Ravenna will have been sold and we should be able to steal her back.'

'What of the others?'

'For pity's sake, boy! They'll be spread all over the Nadir lands. Some of them will be sold twice over and we'd never find them all. Use your brain. Have you ever been to the Steppes?'

'No,' admitted Kiall.

'It's a big land. Huge. Endless prairies, hidden valleys, deserts. The stars seem close, and a man could walk for a year without seeing a single tent village. The Nadir are a nomadic people. They could buy a slave in… Talgithir, say. . and three months later be in Drenan. They go where they will — unless they are summoned to war by the Khan. It will be task enough merely to find Ravenna. Believe me!'

'I keep thinking of her,' said Kiall, turning to stare at the fire. 'How frightened she must be. It makes me feel guilty to be sitting in comfort by a fire.'

'Nothing worth while was ever done in haste, Kiall. She is a beautiful woman, you say. Therefore they will not harm her. Is she virgin still?'

'Of course!' hissed Kiall, face reddening.

'Good. Then they will not rape her either. They will set a high price, and that might mean they keep her for a month or two. Relax, boy.'

'With respect, Chareos, would you mind not calling me boy? I last heard that more than five years ago. I am nineteen.'

'And I am forty-four — that makes you a boy to me. But I am sorry if it offends you. . Kiall.'

The villager smiled. 'It does not offend me. I think I am too sensitive. It is just that, in your company, I feel. . young and useless. I am an apothecary's assistant; I know herbs and medicines, but nothing of swordplay. I wouldn't know where to begin to look for Ravenna. Calling me "boy" just highlights my. . lack of worth in this quest.'

Chareos leaned forward and added a chunk of wood to the blaze. Then he looked up into the earnest grey eyes of the young man. 'Do not speak of lack of worth,' he said. 'You proved your worth when you spoke out before the Earl. . and more. Not one man in a hundred would set out on a quest such as this. You will learn, Kiall. Every day. And this is your first lesson: A warrior has only one true friend. Only one man he can rely on. Himself. So he feeds his body well; he trains it; works on it. Where he lacks skill, he practises. Where he lacks knowledge, he studies. But above all he must believe. He must believe in his strength of will, of purpose, of heart and soul. Do not speak badly of yourself, for the warrior that is inside you hears your words and is lessened by them. You are strong and you are brave. There is a nobility of spirit within you. Let it grow — you will do well enough. Now where is that damned food?'

Outside two hunters were loping into the settlement. The taller man glanced back and cursed.

From the woods came forty riders, swords in their hands.

Finn ran up the tavern steps, hurled open the door and all but recoiled from the mass of humanity wedged inside. 'Raiders!' he bellowed, then turned and sprinted across to the barn, where Maggrig was scaling a rope to the hayloft. The rolling thunder of hooves grew louder. Finn did not look back, but leapt for the rope and hauled himself up to kneel alongside his slender companion. Maggrig notched an arrow to his bow. 'We should have stayed in the woods,' he said. 'I don't believe it will be safer here.'

Finn said nothing. The riders galloped in to the settlement, screaming war-cries and slashing the air with their curved blades. Some among them were Nadir warriors in lacquered breastplates, others were renegade Gothir outlaws bearing axes and knives. All carried small round bucklers strapped to their left forearms. As they leapt from the horses and ran for the buildings, Finn sent an arrow which skewered a man's neck. Maggrig loosed a shaft, but it struck a horned helm and glanced away to tear at the flesh of another warrior's arm. Seven of the raiders charged towards the barn and Finn cursed. A second shaft sang from his bow, but thudded against a raised buckler. Maggrig's next arrow hammered into a man's groin and he stumbled and fell. The six remaining raiders ran into the barn below.

Finn stood and scanned the hay-loft, seeing a ladder by a trapdoor some ten paces back. He moved to it and began to haul it up, but before he could lift it out of reach a tall raider leapt and dragged it back. Pulled forward, Finn almost toppled into the trap.

'I remember you, you puking bastard,' yelled the Nadren warrior at the foot of the ladder, staring up at Finn. 'You are dead meat. I'll rip your guts out through your bowels.'

Holding his buckler ahead of him, he began to climb. Finn swore and ran back to Maggrig.

'Good place you chose,' whispered Finn. Maggrig drew back on his bowstring and sent an arrow slicing into the back of a man running towards the tavern.

'You think we should leave?' he asked.

'No, I think we should stay and plant flowers,' muttered Finn. Behind them the Nadren warrior had reached the hay-loft. Finn sent a shaft at him, but the man blocked it with his buckler and began to haul himself through the opening. Dropping his bow, Finn launched himself at the warrior feet first, his right foot cracking home against the man's chin. Half stunned, he slumped back, but he still had a grip on his sword which he swung wildly. Finn rolled away from the cut. Maggrig ran back to aid him, but Finn waved him away. Rolling to his feet, the black-bearded hunter scooped up his bow and quiver, and looped them over his shoulder. 'Let's go!' he shouted at Maggrig. 'Now!' Dropping to his belly, he grabbed the rope and slithered over the hay-loft opening. Half-way down he released his hold and dropped to the ground. Maggrig joined him.

Deep in the barn, behind the winter wood-store, Beltzer awoke. His head was pounding and he sat up and groaned. He blinked and saw the Nadren warriors around the ladder. Worse, one of them swung round and saw him. Staggering upright as the man raised his sword and charged, Beltzer curled his right hand around the haft of a hatchet whose head was half-buried in a round of wood. He dragged it clear and leapt to meet the swordsman. The thin sabre slashed for his head, but Beltzer ducked and sent the hatchet blade cleaving through the man's ribs. The wooden haft snapped under the impact. Four more warriors came at him and, with a bellow of rage, Beltzer dropped his head and dived at them. Three of the Nadren were hurled from their feet but the fourth moved in with sword raised. An arrow punched through his temple and he staggered before dropping to his knees. Beltzer's huge fists clubbed at the men around him — in the close confines of the brawl they could not use their swords. He scrambled to his feet, kicked a man in the head and ran back towards the wood-store. The Nadren surged after him.

At the back of the barn the long-handled tree-axe rested against the wall. Beltzer swept it into his hands and swung on the attackers. Two men died in the first seconds of the combat, the survivor first backing away and then turning to sprint for the safety of the outer yard. An arrow from Finn stopped him in his tracks and he pitched face first to the floor.

'What in the Seven Hells is going on?' bellowed Beltzer — but Maggrig and Finn were gone and he sat down on a tree round and stared at the bodies. A movement from the ladder caught his eye and a Nadren warrior clambered down from the hay-loft. The man took one look at the giant with the axe and made off at speed.

Outside, Finn had dropped his bow and now held two bloodstained hunting-knives. Beside him lay two Nadren warriors and the body of Maggrig. Eight raiders circled him. 'Come on, my boys,' he snarled. 'Come in and die!'

Beltzer strolled out into the open with his axe on his shoulder and saw Finn surrounded. 'Bel-azar!' he screamed. The circle around Finn broke as the giant charged, and the slashing axe scattered the attackers. A warrior carrying a short stabbing spear rushed at Finn, but he sidestepped and rammed his hunting-knife into the man's belly.

Inside the tavern all was chaos. The raiders had forced their way in and hacked and slashed at the defenceless workers. Several were dead, others wounded. The survivors cowered on the floor, eyes averted from the warriors who stood guard over them. One Nadren warrior had climbed over the counter and was holding Naza's wife, Mael, by the throat. A knife-blade hovered over her right eye. Naza lay in a pool of blood by the man's feet.

'Where is it, you fat cow?' hissed the warrior, but suddenly a movement at the back of the room caused him to twist, his eyes narrowing. A door had opened and a tall man stepped into view carrying a shining sabre. Behind him came a second man, younger but also armed. The Nadren's eyes flickered back to the first man; he was no youngster, but he moved well. 'Don't just stand there,' the Nadren told the warriors. 'Take them!'

The farm workers scrambled back to form a pathway and several of the Nadren ran at the newcomers. Swords flashed and the clash of steel was punctuated by the screams of the dying. The Nadren holding Mael watched as his men were butchered by the tall swordsman. Hurling Mael aside, he vaulted the counter and ran to the door, shouting for aid.

But he stopped in the doorway — and cursed, for galloping from the woods to the north were twenty lancers. He leapt down and stepped into the saddle of the nearest horse, dragging the reins clear of the post round which they had been loosely tied.

'To horse! To horse!' he shouted. Then the lancers were upon them. The raiders, most of them on foot, scattered before the charge, but the lancers wheeled their mounts and bore down on the fleeing Nadren. A dozen of the raiders, mounted now, counter-attacked, trying to cut a path to the south.

Inside the tavern Chareos stumbled. A sword flashed for his head and he hurled himself to his right, landing on the massed forms of the labourers. The last Nadren loomed over him with sword raised, but Kiall slashed his sabre across the man's throat. Chareos regained his feet and moved to the doorway. On the open ground beyond he saw Salida and his lancers battling desperately against the raiders. The Nadren, realising now that they outnum- bered the soldiers, were attacking with renewed frenzy. Chareos sheathed his sabre and drew his hunting-knife. He ran among the milling horsemen and dragged a Nadren from the saddle, plunging his knife between the rider's ribs. Vaulting to the horse's back, he drew his sabre and battled his way towards Salida.

Inside the tavern, Kiall glared at the workmen. 'Is this what you will brag about to your children?' he shouted. 'How you cringed in the face of danger? Get up! Arm yourselves!'

Seven of the men pushed themselves to their feet, but most of them remained where they were. The seven took weapons from the dead Nadren and followed Kiall out into the open. 'At them!' yelled the young villager, running forward and plunging his sabre deep into the back of a horseman.

By the barn Beltzer knelt by Finn, who sat with Mag-grig's head in his lap. The blond hunter was bleeding from a wound to the scalp.

Beltzer reached for Maggrig's wrist. 'He's not dead,' he said, but Finn ignored him. Beltzer cursed and stood, pushing Finn aside and grabbing Maggrig by his shirt. He dragged the unconscious hunter back into the barn, away from the slashing, stamping hooves of the milling horses.

Finn blinked and followed him. 'Not dead?' he whispered.

'Stay with him,' said Beltzer, hefting his axe.

'Where are you going?' asked Finn.

'I'm going to kill a few Nadren. Then I am going to have a drink — many drinks.'

The giant vanished back into the fray. Finn sat back and looked down at Maggrig. He felt for the younger man's pulse; it was strong and even.

'You are nothing but trouble for me,' said Finn.

Slowly the battle turned. The lancers, fighting with sabres now, were more disciplined than the raiders and Chareos had linked with Salida at the centre. The two swordsmen seemed invincible.

Several of the Nadren turned from the fight and kicked their horses into a gallop. Others followed them. In all, seventeen Nadren escaped.

The others were killed where they stood. .

Eleven lancers were dead, four more seriously wounded, and the open ground before the tavern was blood-drenched. Six horses had been killed and two others crippled and put down. Everywhere lay the corpses of dead warriors. In the sudden calm Salida lifted one leg and slid from the saddle. He wiped his sabre clean on the shirt of a dead man, and returned it to his scabbard. Chareos dismounted alongside him.

'A timely arrival, Captain,' said the former monk.

'Indeed, Chareos. My thanks. You fought well.'

'Needs must when demons rise,' quoted Chareos.

'We need to talk,' said Salida, leading his horse away from the slaughter field. Chareos followed him to a well at the rear of the tavern where both men drank, then Salida sat down on the well wall. The Earl has ordered your arrest. He means to see you hanged.'

'For what?' said Chareos. 'Even an earl must have a reason.'

'The murder of Logar.'

'How can a man be accused of murder when he is attacked by three swordsmen?'

'Logar was unarmed.'

'Un. . Wait a moment.' Chareos moved back to the battle-ground and called Kiall to him. 'Give me your sword for a second.' He took the sabre to Salida. 'You recognise this?'

The Captain examined the blade and looked up. 'Yes, it is Logar's sabre. But that means nothing, Chareos. There is a witness against you and the Earl wishes you dead.'

'Do you believe me?'

The Captain smiled wearily. 'I believed in you even before I saw the sword. Logar was a snake. But that is not the point at issue and you leave me with a problem. My orders are to take you back — if I do, you will hang for certain; if I don't, I will be stripped of my command. Why in Bar's name did you cancel those cursed lessons?' Without waiting for an answer, Salida stood and returned to the tavern. He summoned an under-officer and gave instructions for the clearing away of the bodies.

Chareos sat by the well with Kiall beside him. 'What will you do?' asked the villager. Chareos shrugged. 'You can't go back,' said Kiall.

'No,' Chareos agreed, 'I can't go back.' A shadow fell across them and Chareos was suddenly lifted from his feet and held in a crushing bear-hug. Beltzer spun him round several times, then kissed him on both cheeks.

'I couldn't believe my eyes,' said the giant. 'Blade-master? What are you doing here? Did you come to see me? Have you a task for me? Dear Gods of Heaven, what a day!'

Tut me down, you ape!' thundered Chareos. Beltzer dropped him and stepped back, hands on hips.

'Gods, but you look older. Maggrig and Finn are here. We're all here! It's wonderful. I've been waiting for something to happen. Anything! But to have you here. . well, say something, Blademaster.'

'You look dreadful,' said Chareos, 'and your breath would make rotting fish smell like perfume. Moreover I think you've broken one of my ribs.'

'Who is the boy?' asked Beltzer, jerking a thumb at Kiall.

'His name is Kiall. We are travelling together.'

'Good to meet you,' said Beltzer, thumping Kiall on the back. The villager groaned and staggered. 'What's the matter with him?'

'He suffered a whipping,' snapped Chareos, rubbing at his ribs, 'which I think you just reminded him of. Do you live here now?'

'After a fashion. I've been helping Naza — the tavern owner. Come, you must be dying of thirst. Let's have a drink or two… or three. Gods, what a lucky day! I'll fetch us some ale.' Beltzer ambled away towards the tavern.

'What was that?' Kiall asked.

'That was Beltzer. Once seen, never to be forgotten.'

'Beltzer?' whispered Kiall. The golden-haired hero of Bel-azar?'

'You will find, Kiall, that song and fable are not reliable. There could once have been a blind sow who would have considered Beltzer handsome — but I doubt it. I've seen whores turn him away while his pockets were bulging with gold coin.'

'It's incredible,' whispered Kiall. 'He's ugly and fat — and he smells.'

Those are his good points,' said Chareos. 'Wait until you get to know him.' He stood and walked towards the barn, where Finn was helping Maggrig to stand.

'Still drawn to trouble like moths to candles,' remarked Chareos, smiling.

'It would seem so, Blademaster,' answered Finn. The boy here got a crack to the skull.'

'Bring him to my room.'

'I don't want to stay here too long,' said Finn. 'I hate crowded places — you know that.'

'I remember. But spare me an hour, if you will. Kiall will show you the way.'

Chareos walked over to where Salida sat on the raised walkway around the tavern.

'I have met some old friends, Captain. I will be in my room if you wish to talk to me.'

Salida nodded. 'Get your friend another sabre. I will take Logar's back to the Earl.'

'And what of me, my friend? And what of you?'

'You go where you will, Chareos. And may the Source guide you. As for me. . who knows? I wasn't always a Captain of Lance — there may be other roles I will enjoy. But I think the Earl will send others after you. He is no longer rational where you are concerned.'

'Be careful, Salida.'

'Yes, this is a world for careful men,' he replied, waving a hand at the battlefield.

Inside the tavern the bodies had been dragged away, leaving trails of blood on the wooden boards. The eastern end of the dining room was now a hospital area, where soldiers were stitching wounds and applying bandages. Chareos saw the innkeeper's wife sitting beside her husband. With a deep wound in his shoulder and a lump on his temple, Naza was white-faced and deeply in shock.

Chareos joined them and the woman looked up and smiled wearily. 'Thank you for your aid, sir,' she said. 'I thought they would kill me.'

'What did they want?' asked Chareos.

'The timber workers are paid tomorrow. We keep the silver coin hidden here. There are four hundred men, and they are paid each quarter year; it is a sizeable sum.'

'I see. Would you mind if I took some food from the kitchen? My companion and I still have not eaten.'

'I will prepare you something presently,' she offered, her face flushing.

'Not at all,' said Chareos swiftly. 'Stay with your husband. It is no trouble to me, I assure you.'

'You are kind, sir,' said Mael.

Chareos walked through to the kitchen. Several tables had been overturned and there were broken pots and crockery on the floor, but a large pot of stew still simmered on the huge iron stove. A serving-maid entered from the rear of the building. Short and slender, with dark, curled hair, she curtseyed. 'May I help you, sir?' she enquired.

'Bring some food, stew, meat, bread. . whatever, to the upper guest room. We will also need some wine — five goblets. Oh yes, and some linen for bandages. Will you do it now?' he asked, handing her a half silver piece. She pocketed the coin and curtseyed once more.

Chareos returned to his room where Finn was sitting on one wide bed, dabbing with a cloth at the wound on Maggrig's head; it was a shallow cut, and his temple was bruised and swollen. Beltzer was sitting by the fire with a pitcher of ale in his hands; Kiall was standing by the window, looking down at the former battleground. He had surprised himself today, leading the farm workers into the fight — the excitement had been great, and his fears had vanished in the chaos of the skirmish. Now he felt like a warrior. He glanced up at the sky. How blue it was, how fresh and clean the air. He turned and smiled at Chareos, then switched his gaze to Beltzer. Ugly the man was, but he had swung his axe like a giant of legend. He had not seen Maggrig and Finn in action, but merely to be in the same room as the heroes of Bel-azar filled him with pride.

A serving-maid brought food, but Kiall was no longer hungry. Beltzer took his share, while Chareos sat quietly opposite the giant, gazing into the fire. Finn had applied a linen bandage to Maggrig's head and the younger man lay back on the bed and fell asleep. There was no conversation and Kiall pulled up a chair and sat in silence. His hands began to shake, and his stomach heaved. Chareos saw this and passed across a chunk of black bread.

'Eat it,' he said. Kiall nodded and chewed at the crust and the nausea passed.

'What now?' said Beltzer, laying the empty pitcher beside the chair. 'Back to chopping wood and punching timber men?'

'What do you want?' asked Chareos softly.

'I want it to be the way it was,' the giant answered him.

'Nothing is the way it was. And I'll tell you something, Beltzer, old friend — it never was the way it was.'

'I'm supposed to understand that, am I? You always were so clever with words. But they don't mean pig-wind. I'm not old, I can hold my own with any man. I can drink a mountain of ale and still lift a barrel of sand over my head. And there's no man alive can stand against me in battle.'

'That's probably true,' Chareos agreed, 'but you are not young either. What are you, Beltzer? Fifty?'

'Forty-eight. And that's not old.'

'It's older than Kalin was at Bel-azar. And didn't you advise him to go home and leave the fighting to the younger men?'

'It was a jest,' snapped Beltzer. 'And I didn't know then what I know now. Gods, Blademaster, there must be something for me!'

Chareos eased himself back in his chair and stretched his legs to the fire. 'I am on a quest,' he said softly.

Beltzer leaned forward, his eyes shining. Tell me,' he invited.

'I am helping young Kiall to rescue a woman stolen by the Nadren.'

'A noblewoman? A princess?'

'No, a village girl — the daughter of a pig-breeder.'

'What? Why? Where is the glory in that? The Nadren have been stealing women for centuries. Who'll sing a song about the rescue of a pig-breeder's daughter?'

'No one,' admitted Chareos, 'but if you'd rather stay here and chop wood. .'

'I didn't say that — don't put words in my mouth. Which group took her?'

'No one knows.'

'Which Nadir camp did they head for?'

Chareos shrugged. 'We don't know.'

'If you are mocking me I'll break your head,' said Beltzer. 'What DO we know?'

'We know she was taken. Now all we have to do is find her — and steal her back.'

'You'd need the Tattooed Man for that — and he's gone. Probably dead by now.'

'My thoughts exactly," agreed Chareos, 'but I shall ride into the Valley and seek him. Unless you have a better plan?'

'Anything's better than that,' said Beltzer. 'They'll take your head and shrink it down to wear on a belt. You don't even speak the language.'

'You do.'

'I need some more ale,' said Beltzer, lurching to his feet and striding from the room.

'Who is the Tattooed Man?' asked Kiall. 'And where is the Valley?'

'The Gateway is not of this world,' answered Finn, moving to join them. 'And only a moonstruck fool would venture there. What game are you playing, Chareos? No one goes into the Valley.'

'It is no game, Finn,' Chareos told him. 'The quest, as it stands, is impossible. . unless we can find a man who can follow spirit-trails. Do you know of any as skilled as Okas?'

'None,' admitted Finn. 'But the Valley? I wouldn't go there if my soul depended on it. Neither will Beltzer. They don't like visitors.'

Til go there with you,' said Kiall. Til go anywhere if it means a chance to find Ravenna.'

'I can remember when we sounded like that,' mused Finn. 'It's a wonder we've survived so long, Blademaster. If you want to die, why not leap from a cliff, or open your veins with a sharp blade? The Tattooed People will kill you slowly. But then you know that.'

Chareos turned to Finn and smiled. 'I know the perils, Finn, and I won't go without Beltzer. For some reason, Okas seemed to like him.'

'Perhaps it was the smell,' offered Finn. 'He was the only man I ever met who stank worse than the big man. Even so, it is not a journey I would undertake.'

'What is so terrible there?' Kiall asked.

Finn scratched at his beard. 'According to Okas the land is hot, and there are beasts there who feed on human flesh. Also, the Tattooed People collect heads and shrink them down by magic. About twenty years ago a nobleman named Carsis led a small force into the Valley; their shrunken heads were left on spears at the entrance. For ten years, whenever a traveller passed by, the heads would shriek warnings. I saw them once — aye, and heard them. They spoke of the terrors of Hell.'

They are not there now, then?' said Kiall.

'No. The Lord Regent sent a section of lancers into the hills — they built a great fire and burned the heads.'

'Do the Tattooed People venture into our lands?'

'Sometimes, boy. And that's when a man locks his doors and sits up at night with sword and bow close to hand. You still want to go there?'

Kiall swallowed hard. 'I will go wherever I have to.'

'Spoken like a hero,' said Finn sourly.

The door opened and Beltzer entered, carrying two pitchers of ale. Til come with you,' he told Chareos.

'Spoken like an idiot,' whispered Finn.

The soldiers dug a shallow trench a half-mile from the settlement. The bodies of the Nadren, stripped of their armour and weapons, were unceremoniously flung into it. The corpses of the soldiers, eleven in all, were wrapped in their blankets and reverently placed on the back of a wagon, ready for burial with honours in Talgithir.

Salida ordered the Nadren grave to be filled with rocks, to prevent wolves and foxes from digging for food. It was almost dusk, and he was bone-weary. Seven of the dead had been new recruits, unused to war, but four were seasoned veterans. One of these had been his valet, a bright, amusing man named Caphes; he had a wife and five sons in Talgithir and Salida did not relish the visit he would have to make to the family home. The sound of a horse's hooves made him turn, and he saw Chareos riding towards him on a huge white stallion.

The former monk dismounted and approached.

'I wanted to make sure,' said Chareos, 'that you had no second thoughts on the matter of my arrest.'

Salida gazed into the man's dark eyes, unable to read the thoughts of the tall swordsman before him. 'No, I have not,' he said and Chareos nodded.

'You are a good man, Salida. Here, I have brought Logar's sabre.' He handed the scabbarded weapon to the officer. Dipping his hand into the sack hung behind his saddle, he produced a wineskin and two leather-covered brass cups. 'Join me?' he enquired.

'Why not? But let's move away from the stench of death — I've had my fill of it.'

'You look tired,' Chareos told him. 'And not just because of the battle, I think?'

They strolled to a group of boulders and sat down; Salida unbuckled his iron breastplate and laid it beside him. 'No, it is not. I am a family man now, Chareos. There was a time when I believed that soldiers could make a difference.' He accepted a goblet of red wine and sipped it. 'But now? I have three sons and a beautiful wife. The Nadir are gathering again, and one day soon they will cross the mountains and destroy the Gothir. What then of my sons and their dreams?'

'Maybe they will not come,' said Chareos. 'The Gothir have little; this is not a rich land.'

'They don't care about riches, they live for war. And what do we have to oppose them? The army has been cut to two thousand men. We couldn't even hold Bel-azar now.' He drained his wine and held out the cup for more. Chareos filled it and sat silently.

'I was born out of my time,' continued Salida, forcing a smile. 'I should have been an officer in the great days when the Gothir swept across Nadir lands all the way to the Delnoch mountains.'

'It is all a circle,' Chareos told him. 'The Gothir had their day, as did the Drenai and the Vagrians. Now we live in Nadir days. Their time will come, and then an officer just like you will sit at the last outpost of the Nadir empire bewailing his fate, and wondering about the dreams of his sons.'

Salida nodded. 'May that day come soon,' he said, grinning. 'Is it true that you were once a Drenai prince?'

Chareos smiled and refilled his own cup. 'So the singers would have us believe.'

'Have you never thought to return to your homeland?'

'This is my homeland. But yes, I have considered crossing the Delnoch mountains. . one day, perhaps.'

'I once visited Castle Tenaka,' said Salida. 'It is an incredible place: six great walls and a keep with walls three feet thick.'

'I knew it as Dros Delnoch,' Chareos told him. 'It was said that it could never be taken. I was raised on stories of Druss the Legend, and Rek, the Earl of Bronze. Strange that it should have been conquered by one of Rek's descendants. Castle Tenaka? I don't like the sound of the name.'

'You met him once, did you not? The Great Khan?'

'Yes. A very long time ago. Another lifetime.' Chareos rose. 'If you do not object, I would like to find my companion another sabre. I doubt the Nadren had anything of similar workmanship, but then he is no swordsman.'

'There's no point in going through the Nadren weapons — poor iron, badly fashioned. I gave a sword to my valet. It is a good blade, and he will have no further use for it. Take it with my blessing.' Salida walked across to the wagon and lifted clear a cavalry sabre in a wooden, leather-covered scabbard. 'The balance is good, the edge keen.'

'Thank you, my friend,' said Chareos, offering his hand. Salida gripped it.

'At least I can tell my sons I fought alongside a hero of Bel-azar.'

'May the Source go with you, Salida.'

The Captain watched as Chareos swung into the saddle. The stallion reared and came down at a run. Salida stood for several minutes as the rider grew ever smaller, then he returned to the tasks at hand — ordering the wagon hitched, and the riderless horses tied to the rear.

It would be a sad ride back to Talgithir.