QUEST FOR LOST HEROES by David A. Gemmell

Kiall looked at the blond hunter – at the clear blue eyes and the handsome, almost perfect features. He said nothing. Maggrig met his gaze and nodded, and an under­standing passed between them.

‘Tell me of Ravenna,’ invited Maggrig. ‘Is she beautiful?’

‘Yes. Her hair is dark and long, her eyes brown. She is long-legged and her hips sway when she walks. Her laughter is like sunlight after a storm. I will find her, Maggrig . . . one day.’

‘I hope that you do,’ said the hunter, reaching out and patting Kiall’s arm, ‘and I also hope that you will not be disappointed. She may be less than you remember. Or more.’

‘I know. She may be wed to a Nadir warrior and have babes at her heels. It does not concern me.’

‘You will raise them like your own?’ enquired Maggrig. His expression was hard to read and Kiall reddened.

‘I had not thought of it. But . . . yes, if that is what she wished.’

‘And if she wishes you to leave her be?’

‘What does that mean?’

‘I am sorry, my friend – it is not my place to criticise. But, as I understand it, the lady turned you down once. Perhaps she will do so again. When a woman has children she changes; they become her life. And if their father loves them – and the Nadir are fond of their children – then she may wish to remain with him. Have you con­sidered that possibility?’

‘No,’ answered Kiall honestly, ‘but how much must I consider? She could be dead, or sold as a whore. She could be diseased. She could be wed. But whatever the situation, short of death, she will know that someone cared enough to come after her. That is important, I think.’

Maggrig nodded. ‘You are correct in that, my friend. You have a wise head on those young shoulders. But answer me this, if you can: does the lady have any virtues other than beauty?’

‘Virtues?’

‘Is she kind, loving, understanding, compassionate?’

‘I … I don’t know,’ admitted Kiall. ‘I never thought of it.’

‘A man should not risk his life for beauty alone, Kiall, for that fades. You might as well risk it for a rose. Think on it.’

*

Finn walked around the deserted camp-site. The snow was packed tight by heavy boots, and there were three abandoned shelters.

‘How many men?’ asked Chareos.

‘I’d say around seven, maybe eight.’

‘How long ago?’ questioned Beltzer.

‘Last night. They moved off to the east. If they come across our tracks, they will be led straight back to the cabin.’

‘Can you be sure they are Nadren?’ Chareos asked.

‘There is no one else up here,’ said Finn. ‘We should be heading back. Maggrig is in no condition to fight, and your villager is no match for them.’

*

Kiall stood in the doorway, feeling the warm sun on his face. The long icicles hanging from the roof were dripping steadily. He turned back inside.

‘How bizarre,’ he said to Maggrig, who was slicing venison into a large iron pot. ‘The sun is as warm as summer and the ice is melting.’

‘It is only autumn,’ Maggrig told him. ‘The blizzard was a foretaste of winter. We often get them. The temperature plummets for several days, and then it is like spring. The snow will clear within a day or two.’

Kiall pulled on his boots and took up the sabre Chareos had given him.

‘Where are you going?’ asked Maggrig.

Kiall grinned. ‘Before they get back, I’d like to practise a little with this blade. I am not much of a swordsman, you know.’

‘Nor I. I could never master it.’ Maggrig turned back to the broth, adding vegetables and a little salt. Having hung the pot over the fire, he sank back into a chair. He felt weak and dizzy and his head was spinning.

Kiall stepped out into the sunshine and slashed the air with the sabre, left to right. It was a fine blade, keen-edged, with a leather-covered hilt and an iron fist-guard. Many was the time during his youth when he had walked alone in the woods holding a long stick, pretending to be a warrior knight – his enemies falling back from the demon blade he carried, dismayed by his awesome skills. He hefted the sabre, cutting and lunging at imaginary opponents: three, four, five men died beneath the glitter­ing steel. Sweat dripped from his back, and his arm was growing tired. Two more opponents died. He spun on his heel to block a thrust from behind … his blade clanged against an arrow-head, shattering the shaft. Kiall blinked and gazed down at the ruined missile on the snow.