QUEST FOR LOST HEROES by David A. Gemmell

He nodded. ‘There’s truth in that, Mael my love. But I feel his sadness; it hurts me.’

Moving from her seat, she leaned over to kiss his brow. ‘You are too soft-hearted. But that is one of the reasons I love you. So I won’t complain too much. I just hope he doesn’t let you down.’

He pulled her into his lap. ‘He will; he can’t help it. He climbed the mountain, and now he has nowhere to go-‘

‘What mountain?’

‘The worst kind, Mael. The kind that first you climb – and then you carry.’

‘It is too late for riddles.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed, surging to his feet and holding her in his arms. ‘Let me take you to bed.’

‘Which bed? You put your drunken friend in ours!’

‘The upper guest room is free.’

‘And you think you’re still young enough to carry me there?’

He chuckled and lowered her to the floor. ‘I could – but I think I’ll conserve what little strength I have for when we get there. You go up and light the lantern. I’ll be with you in a little while.’

He wandered back to his own room and pulled the boots from the sleeping man. A second knife clattered to the floor. Covering his friend with a blanket, he crossed the room.

‘Sleep well,’ he whispered, pulling shut the door behind him.

CHAPTER ONE

Seventeen people watched the duel, and not a sound could be heard above the whispering of the blades and the dis­cordant music of steel upon steel. The Earl rolled his wrist and sent a lancing stroke towards the face-mask of his opponent, but the man dropped his shoulder and swayed aside, flashing a riposte which the Earl barely parried. For some minutes the two duellists were locked in a strategic battle, then the Earl launched a blistering attack. His opponent – a tall, lean man wearing the grey habit of a monk beneath his mask and mail-shirt – defended desper­ately. With a last hissing clash the swords came together, the Earl’s blade sliding free to touch the monk’s chest.

The duellists bowed to one another, and a light ripple of applause came from the spectators. The Earl’s wife and his three sons moved out on to the floor of the hall.

‘You were wonderful, Father,’ said the youngest, a blond-headed boy of seven. The Earl of Talgithir ruffled the boy’s hair.

‘Did you enjoy the exhibition?’ he asked.

‘Yes, Father,’ the boys chorused.

‘And what was the move by which your father defeated me?’ asked the monk, pulling off his mask.

‘The Classic Chare,’ replied the eldest.

The monk smiled. ‘Indeed it was, Lord Patris. You are studying well.’

The Earl allowed his wife to lead his sons from the hall and waved away his retainers. With the hall empty he took the monk’s arm and the two men strode to the south gallery where a pitcher of fruit juice and two goblets had been set aside.

The Earl filled the goblets. ‘Are you really content here?’ he asked.

The monk shrugged. ‘As content as I would be any­where, my lord. Why do you ask?’

The Earl gazed into the eyes of the man before him. The face he saw was strong, the nose long and aquiline, the mouth full below a trimmed moustache. ‘There are many legends concerning you, Chareos,’ he said. ‘Some have you as a prince. Did you know that?”

‘I have heard it,’ Chareos admitted. ‘It is unimportant.’

‘What is important? You are the finest swordsman I ever saw. You were one of the heroes of Bel-azar. You could have been rich beyond the dreams of common men.’

‘I am rich beyond the dreams of common men, my lord. And that is what is important. This life suits me. I am by nature a student. The libraries here in Gothir are among the best anywhere. Far south, they say, the librar­ies of Drenan contain more books, but here are the com­plete works of Tertullus. It will take me many years to study them all.’

‘It doesn’t seem right,’ said the Earl. ‘I remember my father putting me on his shoulder so that I could see the heroes of Bel-azar as they marched through the streets of New Gulgothir. I remember everything about that day. You were riding a white stallion of some seventeen hands, and wearing a silver mail-shirt and a helm with a white horsehair plume. Beltzer was behind you, carrying his axe. Then Maggrig and Finn. People in the crowd reached out to touch you, as if you were some lodestar. It was a wonderful day.’