‘May I join you?’ asked the villager.
Chareos looked up and nodded. ‘How is Maggrig?’
‘I don’t really know,’ whispered Kiall. ‘I have only been working with Ulthen for a few months. But the potion will reduce the fever. I’m not sure, though, about the arm wound. Perhaps the cat had something trapped beneath its claws – dung, rotting meat . . .’
‘Well, he has two choices – live or die,’ said Chareos. ‘Keep an eye on him. Do what you can.’
‘There’s nothing much I can do at the moment. That’s a thin bow, isn’t it?’ he went on, looking at the slender length of wood in Chareos’ hand.
‘It is just a section: one of three. Finn will bond them together for more flexibility. You know what wood this is?’
‘No.’
‘It is yew. A curious wood. When you slice it there are two shades – light and dark. The light is flexible, the dark compactable.’ He lifted the piece and showed it to Kiall. ‘You see? The light wood is used for the outer curve, where maximum flexibility is needed; the dark for the inner, where it compacts. It is beautiful wood. It will be a splendid weapon.’
‘I didn’t know you were an archer?’
‘Nor am I, Kiall, but I was a soldier and it pays a soldier to understand the workings of all weapons of death. I’m getting cold in here – and hungry.’ Chareos replaced the wood and strolled out into the main room where Finn was asleep beside Maggrig, while Beltzer lay unmoving on the floor. Chareos stepped over the giant and added wood to the fire, then he took dried meat and fruit from his pack and shared it with Kiall.
Thank you for agreeing to help me,’ said Kiall softly. ‘It means much to me. Finn told me you were gallant.’
Chareos smiled and leaned back in his chair. ‘I am not gallant, Kiall. I am selfish, like most men. I do what I want, go where I want. I am answerable to no one. And do not thank me until we have freed her.’
‘Why did you come with me?’
‘Why must there always be answers?’ countered Chareos. ‘Perhaps I was bored. Perhaps it was because my mother’s name was Ravenna. Perhaps it is because I am secretly a noble prince who lives to quest for the impossible.’ He closed his eyes and was silent for a moment. ‘And perhaps I do not know myself,’ he whispered.
*
By mid-morning Maggrig’s fever had broken and he was awake and hungry. Finn showed no relief, gathered his bow and quiver and, with Chareos and Beltzer, set off into the snow to scout the trail to the Valley of the Gateway. Kiall remained with the younger hunter; he prepared a breakfast of oats and honey and built up the fire. Then he dragged a chair to Maggrig’s bedside and the two men sat and talked for much of the morning.
Maggrig would not speak of the battle at Bel-azar, but told Kiall how he had been a student at a monastery. He had run away on his sixteenth birthday and joined a company of bowmen from Talgithir. He had spent two months with them before being sent to the fortress; there he had met Finn and the others.
‘He is not the friendliest man I have known,’ said Kiall.
Maggrig smiled. ‘You learn to look beneath the harsh words and judge the deeds. Had I not met him, I would not have survived Bel-azar. He’s canny and a born fighter. There’s more give in a rock than Finn. But he’s never liked company much. Having you all here must be driving him insane.’
Kiall glanced around the cabin. ‘How do you stand it? Living here, I mean? You are days from civilisation and the mountains are savage and unwelcoming.’
‘Finn finds cities savage and unwelcoming,’ said Mag-grig. ‘This is a good life. Deer are plentiful, and mountain sheep. There are pigeons and rabbits, and many roots and tubers to spice a broth. And you should see the mountains in spring, ablaze with colour under a sky so blue it would bring tears to your eyes. What more could a man need?’