David Gemmell - Quest for Lost Heroes

'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.