‘You said Antikas will be coming. What about Dagorian?’
There was no other way to say it. ‘He died for us,’ said
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Kebra. ‘He fought like a man, and he died like a man.’
‘I don’t want to die,’ said Conalin, miserably.
‘But you will, one day,’ observed Kebra. He chuckled suddenly. ‘I had an old uncle, and he used to say, “Only one thing in life is certain, son, you won’t get out of it alive.” He lived every day to the full. He was a man who loved life. He was a soldier for a while, then a merchant, and lastly a farmer. He never did anything brilliantly, but he always gave it his best. I liked him – and he once did me a great service.’
‘What did he do?’
‘He killed my father.’
Conalin was shocked. ‘And that was a service?’
‘Indeed it was. Sadly he killed him too late, but that was not his fault.’ He fell silent for a moment. Conalin wanted to ask him other questions, but he saw the sadness in the old man’s eyes. Then Kebra spoke again. ‘What would you like to be, Conalin?’
‘Married to Pharis,’ answered the boy, instantly.
‘Yes, I know that. But what career do you desire?’
Conalin thought about it. ‘Something to do with horses. That’s what I’d really like.’
‘A good occupation. Nogusta has similar plans. Once his family were renowned for their horses. But his wife and all of his kin were murdered, the great house burned to the ground, the stables destroyed. The herd escaped into the mountains. Nogusta has a dream of returning to the family estate and rebuilding it. He says that deep in the mountains there are many valleys, and that the herd will have grown now. He plans to find them.’
Conalin’s eyes were shining now. ‘I’d like to do that. Would he let me, do you think?’
‘You would have to ask him.’
‘Could you not ask him for me?’
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‘I could,’ agreed Kebra, ‘but that is not the way it should be. A strong man makes his own way in the world. He does not ask others to do that which he fears himself.’
Conalin moved out of the wind. He was a little too close to Kebra now, and the bowman felt uncomfortable. ‘I will ask him,’ said the boy. ‘Will you be there with us?’
‘I might be – if the Source wills it.’
The boy’s excited expression suddenly faded. ‘What is wrong?’ asked Kebra.
‘What is the point of talking about horses? We are going to die here.’
‘We’ve made it this far,’ Kebra pointed out. ‘And I have yet to see the enemy who could defeat Nogusta. And as for Bison . . . well, he is the strongest man I ever knew, and he has more heart than any ten demons. No, Conalin, do not dismiss them so lightly. They may be old, but they are canny.’
‘What about you?’
‘Me? I am quite simply the finest archer ever to walk the earth. I could hit a fly’s testicles from thirty paces.’
‘Do flies have testicles?’ asked Conalin.
‘Not when I’m close by,’ answered Kebra, with a smile.
Antikas Karios reached the cave just before midnight. His beard was caked with ice, as was his horse’s mane, and both he and his mount were mortally weary. For the last 2 miles he had been swaying in the saddle, and fighting to stay awake.
Kebra stepped out into the biting wind, taking hold of the horse’s bridle and leading him into the cave. It took Antikas two attempts before he could summon the energy to dismount. Nogusta approached him.
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‘Sit by the fire and warm yourself,’ he said.
‘Horse first,’ muttered Antikas. From the back of his saddle he untied a thick bundle of wood and handed it to Nogusta. ‘I thought the fuel might be running low,’ he said. Dragging off his gauntlets Antikas rubbed life back into his cold fingers, then began to unsaddle the chestnut gelding. His movements were stiff and slow.
‘Let me help you,’ said Kebra, lifting the saddle clear and laying it over a rock. Antikas did not thank him, but moved to the saddlebags. His cold, swollen fingers fumbled at the buckles, but, at last he opened them, taking out a body brush and a cloth. Returning to the horse he rubbed the animal dry then, with deep circular strokes, brushed him. Conalin watched with interest. He had seen Kebra and Nogusta do the same some hours before, when they had first arrived at the cave. ‘Why is it so important for the horse to have a brushed coat?’ he whispered to the bowman.