QUEST FOR LOST HEROES by David A. Gemmell

‘It will warm up soon enough,’ said the woman. ‘Then you’ll need to open the window. The left shutter is a little stiff, but a good push will move it; the wood has warped. I will bring your food presently.’

Chareos removed his cloak and dragged a chair to the fire. Kiall sat down opposite him, leaning forward; his back was healing fast, but still the wounds were sore.

‘Where do we go from here?’ he asked.

‘South-west into Nadir lands. There we’ll hear of the Nadren who raided your village. With luck Ravenna will have been sold and we should be able to steal her back.’

‘What of the others?’

‘For pity’s sake, boy! They’ll be spread all over the Nadir lands. Some of them will be sold twice over and we’d never find them all. Use your brain. Have you ever been to the Steppes?’

‘No,’ admitted Kiall.

‘It’s a big land. Huge. Endless prairies, hidden valleys, deserts. The stars seem close, and a man could walk for a year without seeing a single tent village. The Nadir are a nomadic people. They could buy a slave in … Talgithir, say . . . and three months later be in Drenan. They go where they will – unless they are summoned to war by the Khan. It will be task enough merely to find Ravenna. Believe me!’

‘I keep thinking of her,’ said Kiall, turning to stare at the fire. ‘How frightened she must be. It makes me feel guilty to be sitting in comfort by a fire.’

‘Nothing worth while was ever done in haste, Kiall. She is a beautiful woman, you say. Therefore they will not harm her. Is she virgin still?’

‘Of course!’ hissed Kiall, face reddening.

‘Good. Then they will not rape her either. They will set a high price, and that might mean they keep her for a month or two. Relax, boy.’

‘With respect, Chareos, would you mind not calling me boy? I last heard that more than five years ago. I am nineteen.’

‘And I am forty-four – that makes you a boy to me. But I am sorry if it offends you . . . Kiall.’

The villager smiled. ‘It does not offend me. I think I am too sensitive. It is just that, in your company, I feel . . . young and useless. I am an apothecary’s assistant; I know herbs and medicines, but nothing of swordplay. I wouldn’t know where to begin to look for Ravenna. Calling me “boy” just highlights my . . . lack of worth in this quest.’

Chareos leaned forward and added a chunk of wood to the blaze. Then he looked up into the earnest grey eyes of the young man. ‘Do not speak of lack of worth,’ he said. ‘You proved your worth when you spoke out before the Earl . . . and more. Not one man in a hundred would set out on a quest such as this. You will learn, Kiall. Every day. And this is your first lesson: A warrior has only one true friend. Only one man he can rely on. Himself. So he feeds his body well; he trains it; works on it. Where he lacks skill, he practises. Where he lacks knowledge, he studies. But above all he must believe. He must believe in his strength of will, of purpose, of heart and soul. Do not speak badly of yourself, for the warrior that is inside you hears your words and is lessened by them. You are strong and you are brave. There is a nobility of spirit within you. Let it grow – you will do well enough. Now where is that damned food?’

Outside two hunters were loping into the settlement. The taller man glanced back and cursed.

From the woods came forty riders, swords in their hands.

*

Finn ran up the tavern steps, hurled open the door and all but recoiled from the mass of humanity wedged inside. ‘Raiders!’ he bellowed, then turned and sprinted across to the barn, where Maggrig was scaling a rope to the hay­loft. The rolling thunder of hooves grew louder. Finn did not look back, but leapt for the rope and hauled himself up to kneel alongside his slender companion. Maggrig notched an arrow to his bow. ‘We should have stayed in the woods,’ he said. ‘I don’t believe it will be safer here.’