‘It is not that simple, Rayvan.’
‘Life seldom is, Decado. But then I am but a simple mountain woman and I paint the pictures as I see them.’
‘Come now, lady, there is nothing simple about you! But let us suppose – for a moment – that you are right. Do you think that Tenaka, or Ananais, or myself chose to be as we are? My grandfather had a dog. He desired that dog to hate the Nadir, so he hired an old tribesman to come into the farmyard every night and beat the puppy with a switch.
‘The puppy grew to hate that old man and any other of his slant-eyed race. Would you blame the dog? Tenaka Khan was raised amid hatred and though he did not respond in kind, still the absence of love left its mark. He bought a wife and lavished all he had upon her. Now she is dead and he has nothing.
‘Ananais? You only have to look upon him to know what pain he carries. But even so that is not the whole story. His father died insane after killing Ananais’ mother before his eyes. Even before that, the father had bedded Ani’s sister . . . she died in childbirth.
‘And as for me, my story is even more sordid and sad. So spare me your mountain homilies, Rayvan. Had any of us grown to manhood on the slopes of your mountain, I don’t doubt we would have been better men.’
She smiled then and heaved herself on to the wall, swinging round to look down on him. ‘Foolish boy!’ she said. ‘I did not say you needed to be better men. You are the best of men, and I love all three of you. You are not like your grandfather’s dog, Decado – you are a man. And a man can overcome his background, even as he can overcome a skilled opponent. Look around you more often: see the people as they touch and show their love. But don’t watch coldly, like an observer. Don’t hover outside life – take part in it. There are people out there waiting to love you. It is not something you should turn down lightly.’
‘We are what we are, lady; do not ask for more. I am a swordsman. Ananais is a warrior. Tenaka is a general beyond compare. Our backgrounds have made us what we are. You need us as you see us.’
‘Perhaps. But perhaps you could be even greater.’
‘Now is not the time to experiment. Come – I will walk you back to your rooms.’
*
Scaler sat on the broad bed, staring at the dark-stained door. Tenaka was gone now, but he could still see the tall Nadir warrior and hear the softly-spoken commands.
It was a farce – he was trapped here, entangled in this web of heroes.
Take Dros Delnoch?
Ananais could take Dros Delnoch, charging it single-handed with his silver sword flashing in the dawn sun. Tenaka could take it with some improvised plan, some subtle stroke of genius involving a length of twine and three small pebbles. These were men made for Legend, created by the gods to fuel the sagas.
But where did Scaler fit in?
He moved to the long mirror by the window wall. A tall young man stared back at him, dark shoulder-length hair held in place by a black leather brow-circlet. The eyes were bright and intelligent, the chin square, giving the lie to the saga poets. The fringed buckskin jerkin hung well, drawn in to his lean waist by a thick sword-belt. A dagger hung at his left side. His leggings were of softest dark leather and his boots thigh-length after the fashion of the Legion. Reaching for his sword, he slotted it home in the leather scabbard and placed it at his side.
‘You poor fool!’ the mirror warrior told him. ‘You should have stayed at home.’
He had tried to tell Tenaka how ill-equipped he felt, but the Nadir had smiled gently and ignored him.
‘You are of the blood, Arvan. It will carry you through,’ he had said. Words! Just words. Blood was merely dark liquid – it carried no secrets, no mysteries. Courage was a thing of the soul and not a gift that a man could bestow on his sons.