QUEST FOR LOST HEROES by David A. Gemmell

The Nadir fell back again – but not in fear.

The giant was dying. No warrior needed to die now to clear the path. They stood, staring at the axeman, their dark eyes reflecting both hatred and respect.

‘Had enough, have you?’ croaked Beltzer, spitting blood from his mouth. ‘You don’t want old Beltzer’s mountain? Come on? What are you afraid of? It’s only . . . death.’

He looked up at the men before him and realised he was on his knees, his axe fallen from his hands. He tried to reach for it but the floor rose up to meet him and he lay quietly for a second or two, trying to gather his strength. Then his arm stretched towards the axe. It was too far away.

But it meant so much. A Nadir warrior knelt beside him, took the axe and placed it in Beltzer’s hand.

Beltzer looked up at the man.

‘Watch for me on the mountain,’ he said.

The man nodded. The last breath rattled from Beltzer’s throat and the Nadir rose and loped off down the tunnel, leaving Beltzer with the eighteen men he had killed.

*

The shock of Beyond brought a scream from Kiall. It was as if black ink had been poured into his eyes, penetrating his skull, covering his brain and his soul with a dark, dark shroud. On the verge of panic he felt Tanaki’s hand gripping his, warm and alive.

Then a golden light grew, emanating softly from the hands of Asta Khan, and Kiall saw that they stood on a narrow pathway of shining silver. The light did not pen­etrate far into the blackness around them, and it seemed to Kiall that they stood in a spherical cave whose walls pressed down with the weight of worlds.

‘Do not stray from the path,’ whispered Asta. ‘This is a place of consummate evil. Those who stray . . . die! No rescue. The only safe way is the Silver Path. Follow me.’

Asta moved carefully forward, Chien and Oshi follow­ing and behind them Harokas, Chareos, Kiall and Tanaki.

At first the journey was uneventful, but soon a sibilant whispering grew out of the darkness, closing in on them, and hundreds of shining eyes glinted from all around. The path was too narrow for Kiall to keep holding Tanaki’s hand, but he kept glancing back to see her face, drawing strength from her presence.

To the right of the trail white wolves loped into view and sat staring at the travellers. They were monstrous beasts, as large as ponies.

Suddenly the creatures howled and hurled themselves forward and Kiall started to back away, but Tanaki grabbed his jerkin. ‘Stay on the path,’ she hissed. The beasts came closer – but stopped, fangs bared, inches from the Silver Pathway.

The party moved on into the endless dark. From close by came a scream, then the sound of laughter, manic and shrill. But they saw nothing. The rustle of wings came from above, but when Kiall looked up he saw only darkness.

Then there was silence for a while.

Chareos walked on, oblivious to his surroundings. Beltzer was dead. Maggrig and Finn were slain. His mind reeled back from the tragedies, seeking solace in memories of better times as he followed Harokas blindly, unthinking.

A voice sounded from the left of the path. ‘Chareos, help me.’ The Blademaster glanced to his left where Beltzer was staggering towards them, wounded but alive. As Chareos stepped from the path the skin peeled back from Beltzer’s frame and a scaled creature leapt at the swordsman.

Chareos did not move.

Kiall dived at him, hooking an arm around his waist and hurling him from his feet. But the scaled beast moved with terrifying speed, twisting and looming over them. The small figure of Chien-tsu hurdled the fallen men, his silver sword slicing through the creature’s neck. Harokas and Tanaki pulled Chareos back on to the path, Kiall scrambling after them, as Chien backed slowly to join them.

Asta stared down at Chareos and shook his head. These fools would never learn, he thought. Their judgements, their reason, were built on emotions: love, honour, duty, friendship. The Nadir also understood the value of all four, but viewed them differently. Instead of love of the individual, there was love of tribe. Honour and duty were not abstracts but realities, earned by serving the chosen leader. And friendship, forged in war, was the least of all. On the word of a khan one friend would cut the head from another. There would be regret, but not a moment’s hesitation. No Nadir warrior would have stepped from the Silver Path. Asta walked on.