David Gemmell - Quest for Lost Heroes

'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.