David Gemmell: Quest for Lost Heroes

'You have been,' said Chareos. 'Now do as I told you.' Swinging the stallion he rode to the village, tethering the horse upwind of the smoke before running to help the villagers. The fire at the barn was out of control. As a man ran by him bearing a bucket of water, Chareos dragged him to a halt. 'You must get out what you can. The barn is beyond saving,' he told him. The man nodded, and ran on to the others as the soldiers arrived and hurled themselves into the work. Three of the homes were saved, but the barn fire raged on. Several axemen hammered an entrance at the rear of the building, allowing others to enter and drag clear what grain sacks could be saved. The battle went on long into the evening, but finally the fires died down.

Chareos walked to a nearby stream and washed his face and hands of grime. He looked down at his new clothes. The jerkin was singed, as were the troos; the shirt was blackened by smoke, the boots scuffed.

He sat down. His lungs felt hot, and his mouth tasted of woodsmoke. A young man approached him.

They took eleven of our women, sir. When will you ride after them?'

Chareos stood. 'I am not a soldier, I was merely passing by. You need to see the officer with the troop; his name is Logar.'

'A thousand curses on him!' spat the young man. Chareos said nothing, but looked more closely at the villager. He was tall and slender, with long dark hair and keen blue eyes under thick brows. The face was handsome, despite the blackening of the smoke and charcoal.

'Be careful what you say, youngster,' warned Chareos. 'Logar is the Earl's champion.'

'I don't care. Old Paccus warned us of the raid and we sent to the Earl for aid three days ago. Where were the soldiers when we needed them?'

'How did he know of the raid?'

'He's a seer: he told us the day and the hour. We tried to fight them, but we've no weapons.'

'Who were they?'

'Nadren. Outlaws who trade with the Nadir. For slaves! We must get them back. We must!'

'Then see the officer. And if that does not satisfy you, go to the Earl. It will soon be Petition Day.'

'Do you think he will care about what happens to a few poor farmers?'

'I do not know,' said Chareos. 'Where is Paccus?'

The young man pointed across the ruined village to where an old man was sitting on the ground, wrapped in a blanket. Chareos made his way over to him.

'Good day, sir.'

The old man looked up, his eyes bright in the moonlight. 'So, it begins,' he said softly. 'Welcome, Chareos. How can I help you?'

'You recognise me? Have we met?'

'No. How can I help you?'

'There is a young man who claims you knew of the raid. He is angry — understandably so. How did you know?'

'I saw it in a dream. I see many things in dreams. I saw you in the clearing beyond the hill asking the vile Logar about the smoke. He and his men have been camped there all day but he did not want to be involved in a battle. Who can blame him?'

'I can. There is no place for cowardice in an army.'

'You think it cowardice, Chareos? We are talking of a man who has killed sixteen men in duels. No, he was paid by the Slavers. Since slavery was outlawed in Gothir lands the price per head has quadrupled. Our eleven women will fetch perhaps fifteen gold pieces each; Ravenna will fetch more.'

'That is a great deal of money,' Chareos agreed. 'The Nadir can afford it. Their treasuries are bulging with gold and jewels from Drenan, Lentria, Vagria and Mashrapur.'

'How do you know that Logar accepted a bribe?'

'How do I know that you are planning to leave the city on Petition Day? How do I know that you will not travel alone? How do I know that an old friend awaits you in the mountains? How? Because I am a seer. And today I wish I had never been born with the Talent.'

The old man turned his head away, gazing down at the cinder-strewn ground. Chareos rose, and as he walked back towards his stallion a tall figure stepped into his path.

'What do you want, Logar?' he asked.

'You insulted me. Now you will pay the price!'

'You wish to duel with me?'

'I do not know you, therefore the Laws of the Duel do not apply. We will merely fight.'

'But you do know me, Logar. Look closely, and picture this face above the robes of a grey monk.'

'Chareos? Damn you! Will you hide behind the rules of the Order? Or will you meet me like a man?'

'Firstly, I will see the Earl and discuss your. . curious behaviour today. Then I will consider your challenge. Good night to you.' He moved on, then turned. 'Oh, by the by… when you spend the gold you made today, think of the bodies that lie here. I noticed two children among the corpses. Perhaps you should help to bury them.'

The stallion stood quietly as Chareos stepped into the saddle. The rider looked back once at the smouldering remains of the village and then rode warily for the distant city.

'I am deeply sorry that you have decided to leave us,' said the Senior Brother, rising from his chair and leaning across the desk with one hand extended. Chareos accepted the handshake.

'I also am full of regrets, Father. But it is time.'

Time, my son? What is time but the breath between birth and death? I had thought you were coming to understand the purpose of Being, to establish the Will of the Source in all things. It saddens me greatly to see you armed in this way,' he said, pointing to the sabre and the hunting-knife.

'Where I am travelling I may have need of them, Father.'

'I learned long ago that the sword is no protection, Chareos.'

'I have no wish to argue, Father. Yet it must be said that the monks exist here in peace and security only because of the swords of the defenders. I do not belittle your views — I wish all men shared them. But they do not. I came to you as a broken man and you made me whole. But if all men lived as you and I, there would be no children and no humanity. Where then would be the Will of the Source?'

The Brother smiled. 'Oh, Chareos, how narrow is your thinking! Do you believe that this is all there is? You were an acolyte, my son. In five or ten years you would have been ready to study the true Mysteries, and you would have seen the magic of the universe. Give me your hand once more.'

Chareos reached out and the monk took his fingers and turned his palm upwards. The Senior Brother closed his eyes and sat statue-still, seeming not even to breathe. Slowly the minutes passed and Chareos found his shoulder stiffening as he sat with arm stretched. Easing his hand from the Brother's grip, he waited in silence. At last the monk opened his eyes, shook his head and reached for a goblet of water.

'Your journey will be long, my friend, and perilous. May the Lord of All Harmony travel with you.'

'What did you see, Father?'

'Some sorrows are not for sharing before their time, my son. But there is no evil in you. Go now, for I must rest.'

Chareos took a last stroll around the monastery grounds before walking on towards the Keep at the centre of the city. Several centuries ago the Keep had been built to guard the northern toll road, but when the Nadir hordes of Ulric first gathered they destroyed the great southern city of Gulgothir, the capital of the Gothir kingdom, and the land was torn in two. Refugees streamed north, over the mountains and far from Nadir tyranny. A new capital was built on the western edge of the ocean, and the Keep at Talgithir became the southernmost point of Gothir lands. It had grown in size since those early days, and now the Keep was but a small island at the centre of a bustling metropolis.

The Great Gates of Oak and Iron were shut, but Chareos joined the queue at the side gate which slowly filed through to the outer courtyard. There were the petitioners, men and women with grievances only the Earl could settle. There were more than two hundred people already present, and each carried a flat disc of clay stamped with a number. When that number was called, the petitioner would walk inside the main hall and present his case to the Earl. Of the hundreds waiting, only about a dozen would be dealt with, the rest returning next Petition Day.