‘What does it matter?’ asked Asta, his face a mask, his eyes cold and impenetrable.
‘I do not enjoy playing another man’s game.’
‘Then let me say this – I have no interest in the woman. You may take her. That is what you want, is it not? There is nothing else you desire?’
‘That is true enough,’ answered Chareos, ‘but now I have two men with their own secret plans.’
Asta cackled and the sound made Chareos shiver. ‘The Kiatze? He wishes only to kill Jungir Khan. No more. When the time is right, he will leave you. Now you have only one man to concern yourself with.’
Chareos was uneasy, but he said nothing. He did not like Asta Khan and knew there was more to be said. Yet he could find no words. The old man watched him, his eyes unblinking. Chareos had the feeling his mind was being read.
‘You must rest tonight,’ said Asta. ‘Tomorrow we walk the Path of Souls. It will not be an easy journey but, with luck and courage, we will pass through.’
‘I have heard of this Path,’ whispered Chareos. ‘It is between worlds and it is said to be inhabited by evil creatures. Why must we walk it?’
‘Because even as we speak the general Tsudai is riding towards us. He will be in the mountains by dawn. But, of course, you may prefer to fight three hundred men . . .’
‘Three of our party are dead already. I wish to see no more die.’
‘Sadly, Chareos, such is the fate of the ghosts-yet-to-be.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Beltzer could not sleep. He lay back in the flickering torchlight and closed his eyes, but all he could see were the faces of Finn, Maggrig and Okas. Rolling to his side, he opened his eyes. His axe was resting against the cave wall beside him and he looked at his reflection in the broad blades.
You look like your father, he told himself, remembering the grim-faced farmer and his constant, unrelenting battle against poverty. Up an hour before dawn, in bed at midnight, day in day out, engaged in a war he could never hope to win. The farmland was rocky, near barren, but somehow his father had fought the sterile environment, producing enough food to feed Beltzer and his five brothers. By the time Beltzer was fourteen three of the brothers had gone, run away in search of an easier life in the city. The other two had died with his mother during the Red Plague. Beltzer stayed on, working alongside the bitter old man until at last, while guiding the plough-horses, his father had clutched his chest and sagged to the ground. Beltzer had been felling trees in the high meadow and had seen him fall. He had dropped his axe and sprinted down to him, but when he arrived the old man was dead.
Beltzer could not remember one kind word from his father, and had seen him smile only once, when he was drunk one midwinter evening.
He had buried him in the thin soil and had walked from the farmhouse without a backward glance.
Of his brothers he heard nothing. It was as if they had never been.
His mother was a quiet woman, tough and hardy. She too had rarely smiled, but when he thought back he realised she had had little to smile about. He had been beside her when she died. Her face had lost its perennial weariness; she had been almost pretty then.
Beltzer sat up, feeling melancholy. Looking around, he saw Chareos asleep by the dying fire. He rose and took his axe, wanting to see the stars, feel the night wind on his face.
He missed Finn. That night on the gate-tower when the Nadir dragged the bowman from the walls Beltzer had leapt in among them, cleaving and killing. He was amazed to find Chareos and Maggrig beside him. Stooping, he had lifted Finn to his back and run for the gate.
Later, when Finn recovered consciousness, his gashed brow bandaged, Beltzer had gone to him.
‘How do you feel?’ he had asked.
‘I’d be a damn sight better if you hadn’t rapped my head against that door-post,’ grumbled Finn.