QUEST FOR LOST HEROES by David A. Gemmell

‘What was I saying? Oh yes, flowers. This land could do with more flowers. Perhaps then the Nadir would become interested more in poetry than war. Saddle the horses, Oshi. This ugly place is making me melancholy.’

*

For three weeks the questors travelled only by night, hiding by day in woods or jagged hollows which stretched across the land. The journey in darkness was taken with great care, as the land descended in giant steps from rocky plateau to rocky plateau. The trails were scree-covered and treacherous, and the questors were often forced to dismount and lead their horses.

Four times Okas warned them of hunters, and twice the hidden questors saw bands of Nadren riders searching for sign. But Finn had obscured their trail and the hunters passed on.

Water was scarce on the Steppes and they were com­pelled to take wide detours to seek rock pools in the plateaux. Most of these were guarded and many times the questors were forced to move on, their throats dry. What little water they carried was used to rinse the dust from the nostrils and mouths of their mounts.

‘Our enemies have all the advantages,’ said Finn, as they made their third dry camp in as many days. ‘They know we cannot travel without water, and they have stopped trying to track us. Now they guard all the wells and pools.’

‘Not all,’ said Okas. ‘There is rock tank an hour’s ride from here. The water is shallow, but good to drink.’

‘Why is it not guarded?’ Chareos asked.

‘It is, but not by men.’

‘If there are more demons,’ croaked Beltzer, Td just as soon suck grass for another day.’

‘Not demons,’ said Okas. ‘Lions. But do not fear; I have a way with beasts.’

With a half moon to guide them the questors set off across the plateau, their horses’ hooves muffled by cloth shoes. The trail wound down at first, then cut to the right, rising steeply. The horses grew increasingly nervous as the smell of lion droppings filled the air. Okas led the way on foot and the trail opened to a wide bowl-shaped arena. They saw eight lions by the pool – one male, three females and four cubs. The females rose first, baring their fangs. Okas began to chant softly; he walked slowly towards the beasts and sat some ten paces from them. The sound of his rhythmic song echoed in the rocks and a lioness padded towards him, circling him, her tail thrashing. She pushed her face against Okas’ shoulder and head, then settled down beside him. The other lions ignored the old man.

Okas’ voice sounded inside Chareos’ mind: ‘Lead the horses to the pool. Let them drink their fill. You do likewise and fill the water-sacks. Then withdraw. Let no one speak.’ Chareos turned to the others and lifted his fingers to his lips. Finn nodded, and silently they made for the water.

The song of Okas continued as the questors led the frightened horses to.the pool. The need for water over­came their fear and they dipped their heads and drank. Chareos dropped to his belly and filled his mouth with the cool liquid. For some moments he held the water there, then he allowed it to trickle into his dry throat. Finally he drank until he felt he could contain no more. Only then did he fill the water-sacks. The others followed suit.

Kiall ducked his head under the surface of the pool. ‘That was good,’ he said as he sat up.

The lion roared. The horses reared and Beltzer almost lost grip of the reins. The lion rose and padded across towards Kiall.

‘Make no move!’ came the voice of Okas in Kiall’s mind. ‘Sit still. Absolutely still.’

The lion prowled around Kiall, baring its yellow fangs. The song of Okas came louder now, hypnotic in its rhythm. The lion’s face loomed before Kiall’s eyes, the fangs brushed his skin and he could smell the creature’s fetid breath. Then the lion padded back to the pride and settled down. Kiall rose unsteadily. Chareos had gathered the reins of Kiall’s mount and passed them to him silently; slowly the group retreated from the pool, down the long slope and out on to the plateau.