A serving-maid brought food, but Kiall was no longer hungry. Beltzer took his share, while Chareos sat quietly opposite the giant, gazing into the fire. Finn had applied a linen bandage to Maggrig’s head and the younger man lay back on the bed and fell asleep. There was no conversation and Kiall pulled up a chair and sat in silence. His hands began to shake, and his stomach heaved. Chareos saw this and passed across a chunk of black bread.
‘Eat it,’ he said. Kiall nodded and chewed at the crust and the nausea passed.
‘What now?’ said Beltzer, laying the empty pitcher beside the chair. ‘Back to chopping wood and punching timber men?’
‘What do you want?’ asked Chareos softly.
‘I want it to be the way it was,’ the giant answered him.
‘Nothing is the way it was. And I’ll tell you something, Beltzer, old friend – it never was the way it was.’
‘I’m supposed to understand that, am I? You always were so clever with words. But they don’t mean pig-wind. I’m not old, I can hold my own with any man. I can drink a mountain of ale and still lift a barrel of sand over my head. And there’s no man alive can stand against me in battle.’
‘That’s probably true,’ Chareos agreed, ‘but you are not young either. What are you, Beltzer? Fifty?’
‘Forty-eight. And that’s not old.’
‘It’s older than Kalin was at Bel-azar. And didn’t you advise him to go home and leave the fighting to the younger men?’
‘It was a jest,’ snapped Beltzer. ‘And I didn’t know then what I know now. Gods, Blademaster, there must be something for me!’
Chareos eased himself back in his chair and stretched his legs to the fire. ‘I am on a quest,’ he said softly.
Beltzer leaned forward, his eyes shining. Tell me,’ he invited.
‘I am helping young Kiall to rescue a woman stolen by the Nadren.’
‘A noblewoman? A princess?’
‘No, a village girl – the daughter of a pig-breeder.’
‘What? Why? Where is the glory in that? The Nadren have been stealing women for centuries. Who’ll sing a song about the rescue of a pig-breeder’s daughter?’
‘No one,’ admitted Chareos, ‘but if you’d rather stay here and chop wood . . .’
‘I didn’t say that – don’t put words in my mouth. Which group took her?’
‘No one knows.’
‘Which Nadir camp did they head for?’
Chareos shrugged. ‘We don’t know.’
‘If you are mocking me I’ll break your head,’ said Beltzer. ‘What DO we know?’
‘We know she was taken. Now all we have to do is find her – and steal her back.’
‘You’d need the Tattooed Man for that – and he’s gone. Probably dead by now.’
‘My thoughts exactly,” agreed Chareos, ‘but I shall ride into the Valley and seek him. Unless you have a better plan?’
‘Anything’s better than that,’ said Beltzer. ‘They’ll take your head and shrink it down to wear on a belt. You don’t even speak the language.’
‘You do.’
‘I need some more ale,’ said Beltzer, lurching to his feet and striding from the room.
‘Who is the Tattooed Man?’ asked Kiall. ‘And where is the Valley?’
‘The Gateway is not of this world,’ answered Finn, moving to join them. ‘And only a moonstruck fool would venture there. What game are you playing, Chareos? No one goes into the Valley.’
‘It is no game, Finn,’ Chareos told him. ‘The quest, as it stands, is impossible . . . unless we can find a man who can follow spirit-trails. Do you know of any as skilled as Okas?’
‘None,’ admitted Finn. ‘But the Valley? I wouldn’t go there if my soul depended on it. Neither will Beltzer. They don’t like visitors.’
‘I’ll go there with you,’ said Kiall. Til go anywhere if it means a chance to find Ravenna.’
‘I can remember when we sounded like that,’ mused Finn. ‘It’s a wonder we’ve survived so long, Blademaster. If you want to die, why not leap from a cliff, or open your veins with a sharp blade? The Tattooed People will kill you slowly. But then you know that.’
Chareos turned to Finn and smiled. ‘I know the perils, Finn, and I won’t go without Beltzer. For some reason, Okas seemed to like him.’