QUEST FOR LOST HEROES by David A. Gemmell

The warrior said nothing. He moved to the wall and curled up to sleep on the floor. The Nadren leader approached Kiall. ‘My name is Chellin,’ he said. ‘You have done well by us. I thank you for it.’

‘I am Kiall.’

‘I could use a man like you. If ever you travel south past the Middle Peaks, ask for me.’

‘I’ll remember that,’ Kiall said.

The tension in the room eased and the Nadren settled back. Kiall built up the fire, and helped himself to a little broth. He offered food to Maggrig, who shook his head and smiled.

As the afternoon sun began its slow descent towards the western mountains, Chellin roused his men and walked with Kiall out into the sunlight. Just as they gath­ered their weapons Chareos, Finn and Beltzer appeared. Chareos had his sabre in his hand.

Kiall waved to them casually, then turned to Chellin. ‘Good luck on your journey,’ he said.

‘And you. I am glad the ice warrior was not here when we arrived.’

Kiall chuckled. ‘So am I.’

The warrior whose arm Kiall had treated approached him. ‘The pain has mostly gone,’ he said, his face expressionless. He held out his hand and gave Kiall a golden Raq.

‘That is not necessary,’ Kiall told him.

‘It is,’ retorted the man. ‘I am no longer in your debt. Next time I see you I will kill you – as you killed my brother during the raid.’

When the Nadren had gone Kiall wandered back to the cabin. Chareos’ laughter came to him as he mounted the three steps to the doorway. Inside Maggrig was regaling them with the tale of Kiall the Arrow-slayer. Kiall flushed. Chareos rose and walked to him, clapping a hand to his shoulder.

‘You did well,’ he said. ‘You thought fast and took control. But how did you deflect the arrow?’

‘It was an accident – I didn’t even know they were there. I was practising with the sabre and I spun round. The arrow hit the sword-blade.’

Chareos smiled broadly. ‘Even better. A warrior needs luck, Kiall, and those Nadren will carry the tale of your skill. It could hold you in good stead. But it was an enormous risk. Maggrig told me how you threatened to kill them all single-handed. Let’s walk awhile.’

Together the Swordmaster and the young villager walked out into the fading sunshine. ‘I am pleased with you,’ said Chareos, ‘but I think it is time I gave you a little instruction. Then perhaps the next time you face armed men, you will not need to bluff.’

For an hour Chareos worked with the villager, showing him how to grip the sabre, how to roll his wrist, to lunge and parry. Kiall was a swift learner and his reflexes were good. During a break from the exercise, Chareos and his student sat on a fallen log.

‘To be skilful requires hard work, Kiall, but to be deadly requires a little more. There is a magic in sword-play that few men master. Forget the blades, or the foot­work – the battle is won in the mind. I once fought a man who was more skilful than I, faster and stronger. But he lost to a smile. He thrust, I parried and, as our blades locked, I grinned at him. He lost his temper, perhaps feeling that I mocked him. He came at me with great frenzy and I killed him . . . just like that. Never let anger, or outrage, or fear affect you. That is easy advice to give, but hard to follow. Men will bait you, they will laugh at you, they will jeer. But it is just noise, Kiall. They will hurt the people you love. They will do anything to make you angry or emotional. But the only way you can make them suffer is to win. And to do that you must remain cool. Now let us eat – if the Nadren left us any broth.’

*

Chareos sat beneath the stars, his cloak wrapped loosely around his shoulders, the night breeze cool upon his face. Inside the cabin all was silent, save for Beltzer’s rhythmic snoring. A white owl soared and dived. Chareos could not see its prey, nor whether the owl made a kill. A fox eased itself from the undergrowth and loped across the snow, ignoring the man.