‘By my lights, my son, you are a young man. You should have a wife and children; there should be love in your life. Am I at fault in my thinking?’
Chareos stood and moved once more to the window. ‘Not at fault, Senior Brother. I loved once . . . and in truth I could love again. But the pain of loss was too much for me. I would rather live alone than suffer it.’
‘Then you are here to hide, Chareos, and that is not a good reason. The gift of life is too great to waste in such a fashion. Think on it. Why should the famed hero of Bel-azar fear such a wondrous joy as love?’
Chareos swung on the old man, his dark eyes hooded and angry. ‘Bel-azar! I have heard that name twice today. It means nothing. I had a sword … I used it well. Men died. I see nothing heroic in that, Senior Brother. A long time ago I watched an old man, crippled in the joints, try to aid a woman who was being attacked. One blow from a fist killed that old man. But his action was heroic – for he, had no chance. Do you understand what I am saying? The soldier always has a chance. There are men and women in the world who perform heroic acts daily, and no one sees them. But I – because of a good eye and a fast arm – I am one of the heroes of Bel-azar. My name is sung in the long halls and the taverns.’
‘You are wrong, Chareos. Men sing of you. But the action of that old man was sung before God. There is a difference.’
‘There would be – if I believed. But I do not.’
‘Give it time – and beware of the Earl, my son. There is strength in him, but there is cruelty also. And when you go to teach him at his castle, do not wear the Grey. We are not warriors here; this is no Temple of the Thirty.’
‘As you wish, Father.’
The old man rose. ‘When I came upon you,’ he said softly, ‘you were lost in thought. Will you share your memories?’
‘I was thinking of Bel-azar and Tenaka Khan. I was wondering about that last night when he climbed the wall alone and sat with us until the dawn. He talked of his life and his dreams and we spoke of ours. Beltzer wanted to hold him for a hostage, but I overruled him. At dawn he climbed down from the gate-tower and led his force away. We still had the Gothir standard so – in theory, at least – the victory was ours.’
‘You admired the man?’
‘Yes. There was a nobility of spirit. But I do not know why he let us live.’
‘Did he not tell you?’
‘No. But he was not a man to act without a reason and it has haunted me for years. When he died I journeyed into Nadir lands and stood before the great tomb of Ulric, where Tenaka Khan was buried. I was drawn there. I rode into the camp of the Wolves and knelt before the shaman. I asked him why we were spared on that day. He shrugged. He told me we were the Shio-kas-atra – the ghosts-yet-to-be.’
‘Did you understand him?’
‘No. Do you?’
‘I will pray on it, my son.’
*
Beltzer awoke to a roaring sea of pain within his skull. He groaned and hauled himself to a sitting position, his stomach heaving. He pulled on his boots and staggered upright, wandered around the bed to the window and opened it. Fresh air drifted in on a light breeze. He hawked and spat; his lip was split and a little blood could be seen in the phlegm. There was a mirror on the dresser and he sank down into the seat before it and stared at his reflection. One eye was swollen and dark; his forehead was grazed and there was a shallow cut on his right cheek; his red and silver beard was matted with dried blood. He felt sick. The door opened behind him, causing the curtains to billow. He turned to see Mael entering, bearing a tray on which was a platter of toasted bread and cheese and a jug – he prayed it contained ale.