David Gemmell. Winter Warriors

‘Is he your best friend?’ asked Conalin.

‘Best friend? I don’t know what that means,’ Kebra told him.

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‘Do you like him better than Bison?’

‘That’s easier to answer,’ said Kebra with a smile. ‘After all, nobody likes Bison. But no, he’s not a better friend.’ Reaching down he plucked two grass stems. ‘Which of these stems is better?’ he asked Conalin.

‘Neither. They are just grass.’

‘Exactly.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Neither did I when I was young. In those days I thought that anyone who smiled at me was a friend. Anyone who offered me food was a friend. The word had little real meaning. But true friendship is rarer than a white raven, and more valuable than a mountain of gold. And once you find it you realize there is no way to grade it.’

‘What did he do to become your friend? Did he save your life?’

‘Several times. But I can’t answer that question. I really can’t. No more, I think, could he. And now my tired old bones need sleep. I will see you in the morning.’

Kebra rose and stretched his back. Conalin stood and they walked back to the camp-site. Bison was asleep by the fire, and snoring loudly. Kebra nudged him with his foot. Bison grunted and rolled over.

Conalin added sticks to the dying fire and sat watch­ing the flames flicker as Kebra settled down alongside Bison. The bowman spread his blanket over his lean frame, then came up on one elbow. ‘You are a bright lad, Conalin,’ he said. ‘You can be whatever you want to be, if your dreams are grand enough.’

For a while Conalin sat quietly by the fire. Dagorian emerged from the bushes and strolled to the wagon. The young officer looked tired, his movements heavy with weariness. Conalin watched him take an apple from a

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food sack and bite into it. Seemingly unaware of the boy Dagorian strolled back to the fire, pausing to gaze down on the sleeping figure of Axiana. Pharis was lying beside her, little Sufia cuddled in close. Dagorian stood silently for a moment, then sighed and joined Conalin by the-dying blaze. Bison began to snore again. Conalin rose and prodded the giant with his foot, exactly as Kebra had done. Obligingly Bison rolled over, and the snoring ceased.

‘Neatly done,’ said Dagorian, reaching out and adding the last of the fuel to the fire. Conalin did not reply. Rising he left his blanket and wandered to the tree line, gathering dry sticks and twigs. He was not tired now, for his mind was full of questions, and the only man he would trust to answer them was asleep. He made several trips back to the fire, and was pleased to see Dagorian settle down in his blankets.

Conalin walked to the nearby stream and drank, then moved out away from the camp, strolling through the moonlit woods. The night breeze rustled in the leaves, but there was no other sound. The day’s drama seemed far away now, an incident from another life. Then he remembered the big man running at the mounted knight, ducking under his horse and hurling the enemy back into the flames. He knew what Ulmenetha had meant when she said she was surprised. Conalin had not expected such a rare display of courage from the obscene old man. Yet the others had not been surprised. Conalin walked on, oblivious to his surroundings. The night air was full of new scents, fresh and vibrant and utterly unlike the musty stink of the city. He came to a break in the trees, and saw a moonlit meadow. Rabbits were feeding on the grass, and he paused to watch them. It seemed strange to see these creatures so full of life. His only previous

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experience of them was to see them hanging by their hind legs in the market place. Here, like him, they were free.

A dark shadow swept over the meadow, and a great bird swooped low over the feeding rabbits. They scattered, but the bird’s talons slashed across the back of one fleeing rabbit, bowling it over. Before it could rise the bird was upon it, gripping it tight, its curved beak tearing the life from its prey.