QUEST FOR LOST HEROES by David A. Gemmell

‘We will see,’ said Patris.

When the afternoon session ended, Akarin had learned a great deal from Patris, but his arms and legs were bruised from the countless blows the older boy landed with their wooden practice blades.

‘I will see you tomorrow, gentlemen,’ said Chareos, watching as they trudged wearily back to their homes. ‘Wear something more in keeping tomorrow,’ he called after them.

The following afternoon the youths assembled by the pegs and Chareos came out to them. Akarin was not present; instead, a slim boy stood beside Patris.

‘And who is this?’ enquired Chareos.

‘My cousin, Aleyn,’ answered Patris.

‘Where is Akarin?’

‘He has decided not to continue his lessons.’

‘And you arranged this, my lord?’ asked Chareos softly.

‘I did. You were wrong, master Chareos. When I am an officer I will have no one in my force who is not excellent in every department. I shall certainly have no pigs.’

‘Neither will I, my lord. I suggest that you and your cousin remove yourselves immediately. The rest of you gentlemen can begin on the pegs.’

‘No one move!’ ordered Patris and the youths froze. ‘You dare to insult me?’ the boy demanded of Chareos.

‘You have brought discredit on yourself, my lord,’ Chareos answered him icily, ‘and I will no longer be at your service. Since these youngsters are your friends, and in some way dependent on your good graces, I shall not ask them to remain and incur your displeasure. There will be no more lessons. Good day to you.’

Chareos bowed to the group and walked away.

‘You’ll pay for this!’ Patris shouted.

The monk ignored him and returned to his rooms, his fury hard to control. He was not angry with Patris, but with himself; he should have seen it coming. The Earl’s son was a fine athlete, but his personality was flawed. There was in him an arrogance which could not be curbed, and a cruelty which would never be held in check.

After a while he calmed his emotions and walked to the library. Here in the cold, stone quiet of the reading hall he sat and studied the writings of the philosopher Neucean.

Lost in his studies, he did not feel the hours flow by. A hand touched his shoulder.

‘The Earl is waiting for you in the Long Hall,’ said the Senior Brother.

*

Chareos left the library and walked through the arched gardens towards the steps to the Long Hall. He had expected some reaction to his dismissal of Patris – but a visit from the Earl? And so swiftly? It made him feel uneasy. In Gothir the old feudal laws had been much revised, but the Earl was still the ultimate power in the Southlands and, on a whim, he could have a man flogged or imprisoned or both.

Chareos gathered his thoughts and climbed the stairs to the Hall. The Earl was standing alone by the south window, his fingers tapping rhythmically at the sill.

‘Welcome, my lord,’ said Chareos and the slim young man turned to him, forcing a smile. His face was fine-featured, his hair long and blond, heat-curled in the manner of the Lord Regent’s Court.

‘What are we to do about this business, Chareos?’ asked the Earl, beckoning the monk to a seat by the window. Chareos sat but the Earl remained standing.

‘You are speaking of the lessons?’

‘Why else would I be here? You have caused quite a stir. My wife wants you flogged; the Captain of the Guard wishes to challenge you; my son wants you hanged – though I pointed out that withdrawing from lessons is hardly a crime. So, what can we do?’

‘Is the subject so important, my lord? There are many swordmasters.’

‘That is not the point and you know it, Chareos. You have insulted the heir to the earldom and, in doing so, it could be argued that you have insulted me.’

‘The question of right and wrong must be considered,’ said the monk.

‘The fat boy? Yes. But I want this business resolved. I suggest you invite the child – what’s his name? Akarin? – to return to the classes. You can then pair him with someone else, and the lessons can continue.’