‘Forget it. It is past.’
Chareos moved forward and placed his hand on Finn’s shoulder. ‘That was nobly done. He wasn’t the same man without that axe. He sold it while drunk in Talgithir and never knew what became of it.’
‘I know. Let’s be on our way.’
The journey to the Valley took three days. They saw no sign of any Nadren, and only once caught sight of a single rider far to the south. The air was thin here and the questors talked little. At night they sat beside camp-fires, but slept early and rose with the dawn.
Kiall found it a curious time. It was an adventure, full of promise – yet these men, these comrades of war, hardly spoke at all. When they did it was to discuss the weather, or the preparation of food. Not once did they mention the Gateway, or the Nadir, or the quest. And when Kiall tried to introduce such topics to the conversation they were brushed aside with shrugs.
The Valley proved an anti-climax to Kiall. It was just like several others they had journeyed through, its pine-cloaked flanks dropping away into a deep cleft between the mountains. There were meadows at the base, and a stream ran along its length. Deer moved across the gentle hills, and there were sheep and goats grazing close by.
Finn and Maggrig chose a camp-site, removed their packs, took up their bows and moved off to hunt for supper. Chareos climbed a nearby hill and scanned the surrounding countryside while Beltzer prepared a fire and sat, watching the flames flicker and dance.
Kiall seated himself opposite the bald giant. ‘It is a beautiful axe,’ he said.
‘The best,’ grunted Beltzer. ‘It is said that Druss the Legend had an axe from the Elder Days that never showed rust, and never lost its edge. But I don’t believe it was better than this one.’
‘You carried that at Bel-azar?’
Beltzer glanced up, his small, round eyes fixing to Kiall.
‘What is this fascination you have with that place? You weren’t there – you don’t know what it was like.’
‘It was glorious. It is part of our history,’ said Kiall. The few against the many. It was a time of heroes.’
‘It was a time of survivors – like all wars. There were good men there who died on the first day, and cowards who lasted almost until the end. There were thieves there, and men who had raped or murdered. There was the stench of open bowels, and split entrails. There was screaming and begging, and whimpering. There was nothing good about Bel-azar. Nothing.’
‘But you won,’ persisted Kiall. ‘You were honoured throughout the land.’
‘Aye, that was good – the honour, I mean. The parades and the banquets, and the women. I never had so many women. Young ones, old ones, fat ones, thin ones: they couldn’t wait to open their legs for a hero of Bel-azar. That was the real glory of it, boy – what came after. By the gods, I’d sell my soul for a drink!’
‘Does Chareos feel as you do – about Bel-azar, I mean?’
Beltzer chuckled. ‘He thinks I don’t know … but I know. The Blademaster had a wife,’ he said, twisting his head to check that Chareos was still high upon the hill. ‘Gods, she was a beauty. Dark hair that gleamed like it was oiled, and a body shaped by Heaven. Tura, that was her name. She was a merchant’s daughter. Man, was he glad to be rid of her! Anyway, Chareos took her off his hands and built a house for her. Nice place. Good garden. They’d been married maybe four months when she took her first lover. He was a scout for the Sabres – just the first of many men who romped in the bed Chareos made for her. And him? The Blademaster, the deadliest swordsman I ever saw? He knew nothing. He bought her presents, constantly talked about her. And we all knew. Then he found out … I don’t know how. That was just before Bel-azar. Man, did he try to die! He tried harder than anyone. But that’s what makes life such a bitch, isn’t it? No one could kill him. Short sword and dagger he carried, and his life was charmed. Mind you, he had me alongside him and I don’t kill easy. When the Nadir rode away you’ve never seen a man so disappointed.’