David Gemmell - Quest for Lost Heroes

'And where is that?' whispered Jungir.

'From Asta Khan, sire.' Shotza risked a glance to see the effect the name had on the man above him.

Jungir's face betrayed no emotion, but his dark eyes narrowed. 'Still alive? How can this be? He was an old man when my father became Khan. He left the city of tents to die more than twenty years ago.'

'But he did not die, lord. He lives still in the Mountains of the Moon. There are many caves there, and tunnels that go through to the centre of the world.'

Jungir rose to his feet. He was tall for a Nadir, as his father Tenaka had been. He had jet-black hair drawn back in a tight topknot, and a short, trimmed trident beard. His eyes were slanted and dark, betraying no evidence of his half-breed ancestry. 'Stand up,' he ordered the little shaman and Shotza rose. He was just over five feet tall, wiry and bald. Less than sixty years old, the skin of his face hung in wrinkled folds.

Jungir looked into the shaman's curiously pale eyes and smiled. 'Do you fear me?" he asked.

'As I fear the winds of death, lord.'

'Do you love me?'

'Love? You are my Khan. The future of the Nadir rests with you,' answered Shotza. 'Why would you need my love also?'

'I do not. But the answer is a good one. Now tell me of Asta.'

The Khan returned to his throne and sat with his head back, gazing up at the silken roof which gave the throne hall the appearance of a vast tent. The silks were gifts from the Eastern kingdom of Kiatze, dowry for the bride they had sent him.

'After Asta left the Wolves, he passed from the knowledge of men,' began Shotza. 'We all thought he had died. But at the last full moon, when I tried to trace the Silver Thread of your destiny, I found a great mist had settled over the sign of your house. I tried to pierce it, and at first had some success. Then it hardened into a wall. I flew high, but could not find the top. Using all the arcane powers my masters taught me, I finally breached the wall. But all too briefly. Yet I saw the face of Asta Khan. And I sensed the perils that await you in the coming year.'

Shotza licked his lips and once more considered his words. 'I saw gleaming Armour of Bronze, floating beneath a star, and a swordsman of great skill. But then Asta became aware of me — I was.thrown back, and the wall sealed itself once more.'

'And that is all you saw?' asked Jungir softly.

'All that I could see clearly,' Shotza answered, wary of offering a direct lie to his king.

The Khan nodded. 'Find Asta Khan — and kill him. Take a hundred of my Guards. Scour the mountains. Bring me his head.'

'With respect, Great Khan, you could send a thousand men and not find him. Asta was the greatest of shamen; he cannot be taken by men.'

'His magic is stronger than yours?'

Shotza closed his eyes. 'Yes, lord. There is not one man alive who could overcome him.'

'It is not my way, Shotza, to have inferior men serve me.'

'No, lord. But there is a way in which I could defeat him. I have six worthy acolytes. Together — and with certain necessary sacrifices — we could overcome Asta.'

'Necessary sacrifices?'

'Blood kin of Asta Khan, sacrificed on the night of Midwinter.'

'How many such sacrifices?'

'Twenty at least. Maybe thirty. Each one will weaken the old man.'

'And you, of course, know the whereabouts of Asta's family?'

'I do, lord.'

'Then I leave the preparations to you, Shotza. Now this peril from the Armour of Bronze — does it herald yet another Drenai uprising?'

'I do not think so, lord. I saw the image of the armour, and yet the star was in the north. There can be no Drenai threat from the lands of the Gothir. But once I have breached Asta's wall, I will know more. I will know it all.'

Shotza bowed deeply. Jungir waved him away and the shaman made his way to his chambers and sat down on a silk-covered divan. Free from the piercing eyes of Jungir Khan, he lay back and allowed his fear to show. His heart was palpitating and he found it difficult to breathe. Slowly he calmed himself, thanking the gods of the Steppes that Jungir had not pressed him about the other images.

He had seen a babe, wrapped in a cloak, lying on a cold stone floor.

And hovering over the child was the grim ghost of Tenaka Khan, Lord of the Wolves.

Jungir watched the little man leave, then sat in silence for several minutes. He could smell Shotza's fear and knew full well there was more the shaman could have said. None of these sorcerers ever gave the whole truth. It was against their natures. Secretive, deceitful and cunning, they were weaned on subtlety and guile. But they had their uses. Shotza was the best of them and it must have taken great courage to admit that Asta Khan was more powerful. Jungir rose and stretched. He walked to the hanging tent wall which masked the window and pulled it aside.

The new city of Ulrickham stretched out before his eyes, low single-storey dwellings of mud-dried brick and stone. Yet inside all of them were the tent hangings that meant home to the Nadir. Nomads for ten thousand years, they were ill-suited to cities of stone. Yet Tenaka had insisted on the building of the cities, with their schools and hospitals.

'It ill behoves the world's greatest nation to live like savages,' he had told Jungir. 'How can we grow? How can we fasten our grip on the events of the world if we do not learn civilised ways? It is not enough to be feared on the battlefield.'

Such talk had made him unpopular with the older Nadir warlords, but how could they turn on the man who did what the mighty Ulric could not? How could they betray the man who had conquered the round-eyed southerners?

Jungir stepped back from the window and wandered into the Hall of Heroes. Here, after the fashion of the conquered Drenai, were the statues of Nadir warriors. Jungir paused before his father's likeness and stared into the cold, grey eyes. 'Just how I remember you, Father,' he whispered. 'Cold and aloof.' The statue was expertly carved, showing the lean power of the Khan, the fine jaw and the noble stance. In one hand he held a long-sword, in the other the helm of Ulric. 'I loved you,' said Jungir.

A cool breeze caused the torches to flicker and shadows danced on the stone face, seeming to bring it to life. Jungir could almost see the stone eyes gleaming violet, the mouth curving into that long-remembered cynical smile. He shivered. 'I did love you,' he repeated, 'but I knew of your plan. You trained me well, Father. I had my spies too. No man should think to live forever. . not even Tenaka Khan. And had you succeeded, where would Jungir have found a place? The eternal heir to a living god? No. I too am of the blood of Ulric. I had a right to rule, to make my own life.'

The statue was silent. 'How strange, Father. There is no difference in talking to you now, from when you were alive. It was always like speaking to stone. Well, I wept when you died. And I almost stopped you drinking that poison. Almost. I reached out my hand to you. You looked into my eyes, and you said nothing. A single word from you and I would have stopped you. But you looked away. Did you know, I wonder, as the poison touched your soul? In those last moments, as you lay upon the floor with me kneeling by you, did you know that it was I who put the black powder in your wine? Did you?' He gazed once more into the cold eyes. 'Why did you never love me?' he asked.

But the statue was silent still.

The twelve days lost beyond the Gate cost the questors dear, for a savage blizzard kept them trapped within the cabin for eighteen days. Food ran short and Finn almost died after setting off to hunt for meat. After killing a deer, he was caught in a second blizzard and had to take refuge in a cave. An avalanche blocked the entrance and it was only through the magic of Okas that Chareos and the others found the hunter and dug a tunnel through to him.