‘You are a surprising lad,’ remarked Chareos.
‘And you are a whoreson,’ hissed Kiall, dropping the sabre to the snow and turning away. His wounds had opened and fresh blood was seeping in jagged lines through the back of his tunic.
Chareos rose and slid the sabre back in its scabbard.
‘I am sorry,’ he said and Kiall stopped, his shoulders sagging. Chareos moved to him. ‘I mean it. I am not a man who likes women very much, but I do know what it is to be in love. Were you married long?’
‘We were not wed,’ Kiall told him.
‘Betrothed?’
‘No.’
‘What then?’ asked Chareos, mystified.
‘She was going to marry another man. His father owns the whole of the east pasture land and it was a good match.’
‘But she loved you?’
‘No,’ admitted Kiall. ‘No, she never did.’ The young man hauled himself into the saddle.
‘I don’t understand,’ said Chareos. ‘You are setting off on a quest to rescue a woman who doesn’t love you?’
‘Tell me again what a fool I am,’ Kiall said.
‘No, no, forgive me for that. I am older than you, and cynical, Kiall. But I should not mock. I have no right. But what of her betrothed? Is he dead?’
‘No. He has made an arrangement with Ravenna’s father and now he will marry her younger sister, Karyn – she was not taken.’
‘He did not grieve for long then,’ Chareos observed.
‘He never loved her; he just wanted her because she is beautiful and her father is rich – he breeds pigs, cattle and horses. He is the ugliest man I ever saw, but his daughters have been touched by Heaven.’
Chareos picked up the boy’s sabre and handed it to him, hilt first.
Kiall gazed down at the blade. ‘There’s little point in my carrying this sword. I have no skill with such things.’
‘You are wrong,’ said Chareos, smiling. ‘You’ve a good hand, a fast eye and a proud heart. All you lack is tuition. I’ll supply that – as we search for Ravenna.’
‘You’ll come with me? Why?’
‘Never count the teeth of a gift horse,’ answered Chareos, moving to the grey and stepping into the saddle. The horse trembled.
‘Oh no,’ whispered Chareos. The stallion bucked violently, then reared and twisted in the air and Chareos flew over his head to land in the snow with a bone-jarring thud. The stallion walked forward to stand over him. He pushed himself upright and remounted.
‘A strange beast,’ observed Kiall. ‘I don’t think he likes you.’
‘Of course he does, boy. The last man he didn’t like he trampled to death.’
Chareos touched his heels to the stallion and led the way south.
He stayed some lengths ahead of Kiall as they rode through the morning, aware that he had no answers which the boy would understand. He could have told him of a child thirty years ago who had no hope, save that a warrior named Attalis had rescued him and become a father to him. He could tell him of a mother also named Ravenna, a proud, courageous woman who had refused to leave the husband she adored, even for the son she loved. But to do so would mean sharing a secret that Chareos carried with shame – a duty unfulfilled, a promise broken. He felt the fresh breeze whispering against his skin, and could smell the trees and the promise of snow. He glanced at the sky.
There was nothing he could say to Kiall. The boy was happy. The legendary Blademaster had agreed to accompany him and in Kiall’s mind success was assured.
Chareos’ thoughts turned to the farm-girl and the man who loved her – just as he had loved Tura, a hopeless one-sided emotion. Yet even now, after the bitterness and the pain, Chareos would walk through a lake of fire if Tura needed him. But she did not need him … she never had.
No, the one in need was a pig-breeder’s daughter. He twisted in the saddle and looked back at Kiall, who smiled and waved.
Returning his gaze to the mountains ahead, Chareos remembered the day Tura had left him. He was sitting alone in the small courtyard behind the house. The sun was sinking behind the clouds, which seemed to burn like red fire. Finn had found him there.