If he could just. . .
Swords and knives plunged into Finn’s body, but he did not feel them.
High on the ledge Chareos watched it all. His hands were trembling and he tore his eyes from the scene, staring down at the ground. He sucked in a deep breath, then leaned back. For several minutes he sat in silence, remembering Finn and Maggrig as they had been back at Bel-azar. Then he turned to Harokas. ‘You had your chance,’ he said softly. ‘It will not come again. Why did you not kill me?’
Harokas spread his hands and said nothing. Chareos backed away from the ledge and returned to the horses. Beltzer was sitting on a rock, his axe on the ground beside him.
‘Did he die well?’ asked the giant.
‘Yes . . . whatever that means,’ answered Chareos. He stepped into the saddle. ‘Let’s get back.’
‘What are we going to do, Blademaster?’ Beltzer asked. ‘Yesterday seems so far away now. Okas is dead. Finn and Maggrig are dead. Do we go on?’
‘What do we have to go back to? We go on.’ Touching heels to the grey, Chareos rode out of the clearing. Beltzer gathered his axe, mounted and followed him.
For some time Harokas waited. Finally he vaulted into the saddle and rode after them. Chareos heard him coming and reined in as the assassin came alongside.
‘Well?’ asked Chareos.
‘You can’t take on the Nadir army with three men,’ said Harokas.
‘What do you suggest?’
‘Four would even the odds.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
Chien-tsu opened his eyes. Around him the mountains reared like the spears of the gods, looming and threatening. An icy wind howled through the crags. His servant, Oshi, was huddled by a small fire, his face blue with cold. Chien shivered.
‘She is dead,’ he said, picturing Mai-syn as he had last seen her, radiant and happy, her dress of yellow silk shining in the sunlight.
‘As always then, lord, you were correct,’ said Oshi.
‘I had hoped to be wrong. Come, let us find a cave.’ Oshi was reluctant to leave even the illusory warmth of the small fire, but he rose without complaint and the two men led their horses along the winding mountain path. There were no trees at this height, only an occasional stunted shrub cloaked in snow. The walls of the mountains rose sheer to the left and right of the travellers, and there was no sign of a cave or shelter of any kind beyond shallow depressions in the rock-face. Oshi was convinced they would die here. It was three days since they had eaten – and that had been a stringy hare brought down by an arrow from Chien’s bow.
They walked on. Chien did not feel the cold; he closed his mind to it, and thought instead of the beautiful Mai-syn. He had spirit-searched the land, seeking her soul, listening for the music of her spirit.
His mood was dark now, and colder than the mountain winds.
The trail dropped into a narrow valley, then rose again. For a while they rode, but it seemed colder to sit immobile on a saddle and they dismounted. Oshi stumbled and fell and Chien turned. ‘Are you weary, old man?’
‘A little, lord,’ he admitted.
Chien moved on. He could not stop the servant from addressing him with his title, and had long since given up the effort.
They rounded a bend in the trail and saw an elderly man sitting cross-legged on a rock. He seemed incredibly ancient, the skin of his face weathered like sandstone. He was wearing only a loin-cloth of pale skin and a necklace of human teeth; his body was emaciated, the bones sharp and jutting, like knife-blades under leather. Snow had settled on his skeletal shoulders.
‘Good evening, old father,’ greeted Chien, bowing.
The old man looked up and as Chien met his gaze he shuddered inwardly. The eyes were blacker than night, and cold with an ancient malice. The man smiled, showing several blackened teeth.
His voice whispered out like a breeze across tombstones. ‘Mai-syn angered Jungir Khan. He threw her to his Wolves, who used her and threw her back. In her despair she cut her throat with a pair of silver scissors. It happened less than a month after her arrival.’