Kebra returned to the fire, and carefully stowed away the clean plates. Then he sat down beside Bison. He said nothing, but his expression was one of amusement.
‘Why we should stay?’ stormed Dagorian. ‘What kind of a question is that from a Drenai warrior? Evil threatens to kill a child. Never mind that the child is the heir to the throne, and that his mother is the queen. When evil threatens good men stand against it.’
Bison hawked and spat into the fire. ‘Just words,’ he said, dismissively. ‘Just like all that high sounding bull that Skanda used to spout before battles. Justice and right, forces of Light against the Dark tyranny. And
where did it get us, eh? Army’s gone, and we’re sitting in a cold forest waiting to be struck down by demons.’
‘He is quite right,’ said Kebra, with a wink to Nogusta. There is no point in arguing the issue. I don’t much care about wealth and glory. Never did. The thought of getting back to Drenan and attending parades and banquets in my honour means nothing to me. And I do not need to live in a palace, surrounded by beautiful women. All I require is a simple farm on a nice plot of land. And I’ll best achieve those dreams by heading for the coast on a fast horse.’
‘My point exactly,’ said Bison, triumphantly. Then he faltered. ‘What was that about wealth?’
Kebra shrugged. ‘Meaningless baubles. But you can imagine the kind of reception given to the small band of heroes who rescued the queen? Showered with gold and praise. Probably given a commission in the avenging army that would return to Ventria. Who needs it? You and I will head for Caphis tomorrow. We’ll sail home quietly and retire. You can have a place on my farm.’
‘I don’t want to live on a farm,’ insisted Bison. ‘I want to be in the . . . what did you call it? … the avenging army.’
‘You probably can,’ Kebra assured him. ‘You could dye your moustache black and pretend to be forty again. Now I’m for bed. It’s been a long and tiring day.’
Rising from the fire he strolled to his blankets. ‘Would they really give us riches and fame?’ Bison asked Dagorian.
‘I fear so.’
‘They’d probably write songs about you,’ said Nogusta.
‘A pox on songs! Can’t buy a whore with a song. But can we fight demons, Nogusta? I mean, can we actually beat them?’
196
‘Have you ever seen me lose?’ countered Nogusta. ‘Of course we can beat them.’
‘Then I think you are right,’ said Bison. ‘Can’t let evil get its own way. I’m with you.’ Pushing himself to his feet he walked back to his blankets and lay down. Within moments he was snoring softly.
‘Sweet Heaven, he makes me sick,’ said Dagorian.
‘Don’t judge him so harshly,’ Nogusta told him. ‘Bison is not a complex man, but he has a little more depth than you give him credit for. He may have trouble with the concepts, but the realities are different. You will see. Now you get some sleep. I’ll take the first watch. And I’ll wake you in around three hours.’
When Dagorian had gone Ulmenetha moved alongside Nogusta. ‘Do you believe we can make it to the coast?’ she asked him.
‘Do you believe in miracles?’ he countered.
Nogusta sat alone, enjoying the solitude. There was no real need to keep watch. They could do nothing if attacked here, save fight and die. But he had always enjoyed forest nights, the wind whispering in the leaves, the filtered moonlight, and the sense of eternity emanating from the ancient trees around him. Forests were never silent. Always there was movement; life. Bison’s gentle snoring drifted to him and he smiled. Dagorian and Ulmenetha had gazed at the giant scornfully when he decided to travel with them for the wealth and the glory. Nogusta knew better. Bison needed an excuse for heroism. Like all men of limited intelligence he feared being tricked or manipulated. There was never any doubt that he would journey with them. Kebra had known this, and had given Bison the excuse he needed. The giant would stand beside his friends against any foe.