Quest for Lost Heroes

by David Gemmell

  “Good. I like them. And the others?”

  Some contained gold, others perfumes and spices or articles of clothing. The last chest produced the strongest response from the Nadir warlord. From it Chien lifted a saber of dazzling brightness. The hilt guard was of gold inset with gems, and the hilt was bound with gold thread. But the pommel stone was milky-white and carved into the head of a wolf.

  Jungir took the blade and slashed the air. “It is perfect,” he said, his eyes shining. “The balance is beyond belief, and the edge is remarkable. Truly I am pleased. Relay my thanks to your king; tell him I had not realized his lands delivered such wealth. When will you be starting back—tomorrow?”

  “As you wish, Great Khan.”

  “Tomorrow would be good for you, for the winter will be closing in on the ports and I would not like your journey to be uncomfortable.”

  “It is kind of you to concern yourself over my comforts, but His Majesty has required me to see his daughter and to carry to her a message of his love and devotion.”

  “I will give her that message,” Jungir said loftily.

  “And I do not doubt, Great Khan, that you would deliver it more skillfully than I. But my king ordered me to see her, and as I am sure you will agree, a subject must always obey the order of his liege lord.”

  “Indeed,” said Jungir, “but I fear that will not be possible. The … queen is at my palace in the south. It is a two-month journey. I am sure your king will understand that you could not fulfill his wishes.”

  “But I can, Great Khan. I will travel to the south and then journey home. With your permission, of course.”

  Jungir’s face darkened, but his expression remained friendly. “It would not be advisable, Ambassador. The lands of the steppes are … perilous for outsiders. Many tribes continue to harass … foreigners.”

  “I understand, sire. Even within the Middle Kingdom there are bandits and rogues who disobey the emperor’s will. But I am sure my soldiers will be a match for them. And I much appreciate your concern over the safety of a humble ambassador.”

  Jungir gave a tight smile and stepped back to the dais. “Quarters will be allocated to you, Ambassador, and my chamberlain will furnish you with the guides and supplies you will need for your journey. And now I have matters of state to occupy me.”

  Chien bowed, but not low. He straightened. “I cannot thank you sufficiently, sire, for the time you have allowed me.” He backed seven paces instead of ten and turned.

  As the great doors swung shut, Jungir turned to a broad-shouldered warrior at his side. “You will guide them south for a week. Then there will be an attack on them. No one survives. You understand, Kubai?”

  “I do, sire.”

  “And see that they do not move around in the palace. I want no one to mention the yellow-faced bitch.”

  “As you wish, Lord Khan.”

  The chamberlain led Chien through the maze of tunnels to three large, square adjoining rooms. Windows in the west walls looked out over an exquisitely ugly garden of shrubs. In the first room was a bed, four chairs, a table, and three lanterns. The second contained only a narrow bed and a single lantern, while the third boasted a metal bath, three barrels of water, and several thin towels.

  “It is almost too luxurious,” said Chien, without a hint of mockery. The chamberlain gave a thin-lipped smile and left. Chien turned to his manservant, Oshi, a wiry ex-slave who had served Chien’s family for forty years. “Find the spy holes,” ordered Chien, using an obscure Kiatze dialect. Oshi bowed and moved around the room for several minutes.

  “There are none, lord,” said Oshi finally.

  “Is there no end to their insults?” snapped Chien. “Do they feel I am not important enough to spy on?”

  “They are savages, lord.”

  “Go and find where they have put Sukai and the others. Send Sukai to me.”

  “At once, lord. Or should I prepare your bath first?”

  “I will bathe tomorrow. I would not put it past these Nadir to have urinated in the water barrels.” Oshi chuckled and left the room. Chien pulled a linen handkerchief from his pocket and dusted one of the chairs. A dark shape scuttled across the room behind him, and Chien swiveled, his hand snapping a small throwing knife from his sleeve. The blade flashed across the room, and the black rat died instantly, almost cut in half.

  Minutes later, as Chien stood at the window staring down at the gray-green shrubs in what passed for a royal garden, there came a discreet tap at the door.

  “Enter!” he commanded.

  Sukai marched into the room and bowed as low as his lacquered leather breastplate would allow. The officer carried his iron helm against his chest. He was neither tall nor especially formidable in appearance, yet his skill with the long, curved chantanai blade was known throughout the Middle Kingdom. He had served Chien for eleven years, and not once in that time had Chien seen him without his hair combed, oiled, and lacquered. Now it was hanging lank about his shoulders.

  “Why do you come here looking like the basest peasant?” asked Chien, still using the Kiatze dialect.

  “A thousand apologies, noble lord,” Sukai replied. “I was preparing for my bath. I did not think you would wish to wait for me to dress properly.”

  “You are correct in that, Sukai. But it was improper to prepare to bathe without first ascertaining whether I had need of you. However, in a city of barbarians it is difficult to retain hold of civilized behavior. Have you checked your room?”

  “I have, lord. There are no passageways hidden and no secret hearing tubes.”

  “Disgraceful!”

  “They are an insulting people.”

  Oshi entered silently, bowed twice, then saw the dead rat. He retrieved Chien’s knife and removed the corpse by the tail. “It has fleas,” he said, holding the body at arm’s length.

  “Throw it from the window,” ordered Chien. “If we leave it here, we will probably find it served to us for supper.” Oshi hurled the rat to the gardens below and wandered off to the back room to clean the knife, while Chien turned back to the warrior. “Tomorrow we will be leaving for the south.”

  “Yes, lord.”

  Chien hesitated and closed his eyes. His concentration hardened, and he felt the floating presence of a spirit within the room. He smiled. So, he thought, they are not quite such savages. His fingers flickered against his belt; Sukai read the message and smoothly moved from Kiatze to Nadir.

  “Will the lord khan be supplying us with guides, sir?”

  “But of course. He is a noble king, of a noble line. But I do not think we should all presume on his hospitality. You will arrange for a guard of twenty men to take the women and all manservants bar Oshi back to Kiatze. I will send a message to the divine emperor, telling him of the success of our mission and the kind words of Jungir Khan. The journey south would be too hard on my girls.”

  “Yes, lord.”

  “We will take only one wagon—with gifts for the queen. All my goods will go back to Kiatze.”

  “With the exception of your tent, my lord?”

  “No, that also. I will take my paints and brushes—that is all. There may be some interesting flowers along the way.” His fingers appeared to brush a speck of dust from his sleeve.

  Sukai bowed. “I have noticed many red blooms, sir.”

  “You will see many more.”

  Sukai’s face hardened. “May I be permitted to write to my family, lord?”

  “Of course. Now leave me. I will see you at dawn.”

  As the officer departed, Oshi returned to the room with Chien’s freshly cleaned knife in his hands. Chien returned the blade to the oiled sheath in his sleeve.

  Oshi moved the cleaned chair to the window, and Chien sat, seemingly lost in thought. He focused his mind on the intrusive spirit in the room and saw a thin, wrinkled old man with pale eyes and a weasel face. He was floating just below the high ceiling. Chien sat silently until the watcher’s presence faded.

  �
�Oshi!”

  “Yes, lord?”

  “Go to the kitchens and find some bread. They will have no fish, but choose me some dried meat that is not full of corruption.”

  “At once!”

  Chien folded his arms and thought of Mai-syn. To her this place must have seemed worse than squalid. He concentrated on the beauty of her face, trying to communicate with her spirit. But there was only a cosmic silence. Perhaps she is too far from here, he thought. Perhaps not, the darker side of his nature told him.

  The chamberlain knocked at the door and told Chien that the Lord Jungir Khan had arranged a feast in his honor. It would be that evening at moonrise. It would be acceptable if the lord ambassador wished to bring the chief of his guards. Chien bowed and accepted.

  What new humiliation will the savages plan for tonight? he wondered.

  The great hall was packed with warriors seated around a score of bench tables pushed together to make an enormous open square. Jungir Khan, in a tight-fitting tunic of black leather embroidered with gold thread, sat at the southern end of the hall, the throne dais behind him. Chien was seated at his right hand, and to his right sat Sukai, ill at ease and eating little. To Jungir’s left was a wizened man whom the khan introduced as Shotza, the court shaman. Chien inclined his head to the man. “We have heard much of the skills of the Nadir shamans,” he said.

  “As we have of the court magicians of the Kiatze,” responded Shotza. “Is it true they make tiny golden machines that fly in the air, imitating birds?”

  “The divine king has three,” answered Chien-tsu.

  Shotza nodded but seemed unconvinced.

  The feast involved eating an extraordinary amount of meat that back in Kiatze would have been refused by the court dogs. In the main, it was high beyond the point of rotting. To offset this, the guests covered the food with spices. Chien ate sparingly and drank less. The liquor being consumed by the Nadir was distilled, he was told, from rancid goats’ milk. “How clever,” he remarked. How apt, he thought.

  Between the interminable courses there were performances by jugglers or acrobats. They were not especially skilled, though Chien applauded politely.

  “We have heard much,” said Jungir Khan suddenly, “of the martial skills of the Kiatze. Would your officer honor us with an exhibition?”

  “Of what kind?” Chien inquired.

  “Swordsmanship.”

  “With respect, Lord Khan, that is not possible. The soul of a warrior partly resides in his blade. It is not to be drawn unless to take blood—and that, I fear, would not represent an exhibition of skills.”

  “Then let him fight to the death,” said the khan.

  “I am afraid I do not understand you, sire. Is this a jest of some kind?”

  “I never jest about war, Ambassador. I merely ask that your man show me the skills of the Kiatze. I would take it badly were you to refuse me.”

  “I hope, my Lord Khan, that you will not interpret my words as a refusal. I merely ask you to reconsider. Is it not bad fortune for there to be a death at a feast?”

  “That depends on who dies,” answered the khan coldly.

  “Very well, sire,” said Chien, turning to Sukai. “The khan wishes to see the battle skills of a Kiatze officer. Oblige him.”

  “As you order,” answered Sukai. He rose and vaulted the table. He was not a tall man, nor did he have great width of shoulder. His face was broad and flat, his eyes dark; he was clean-shaven but for a thin mustache that drooped to his chin. He drew his long, curved double-handed sword and waited; his fingers brushed his chest. Chien read the signaled question and found it difficult to keep the pride from his eyes. “Do you require me to die?” Sukai had asked. Chien lifted his hand to touch his carefully lacquered hair. Sukai understood—and bowed.

  Jungir Khan pointed to a warrior at the far end of the hall. “Show our guest how a Nadir fights,” he called, and the man leapt into the square.

  “Excuse me, sire,” said Chien, his face expressionless.

  “What is it?”

  “It seems hardly fair to have only one man face Sukai. He will be mortally offended.”

  The khan’s face darkened, and he held up one hand. Silence fell. “Our guest, the ambassador for the land of Kiatze, has said that one Nadir warrior is no match for his champion.” An angry murmur began. Again the khan’s hand cut the air, and silence followed the move. “Can this be true?”

  “No!” came a roar from the feasters.

  “But he also says that his champion will be insulted if he faces only one opponent. Should we insult so fine-looking a warrior?” There was no response, and the Nadir waited for the lead from their khan. “No, we cannot insult our guests. Therefore, you, Ulai, and you, Yet-zan, will join your comrade.” The two Nadir warriors clambered into the square. “Let the battle commence,” Jungir ordered.

  The Nadir warriors spread out in a circle around the motionless figure of Sukai, his great sword resting lightly on his shoulder. Suddenly the first Nadir ran forward, the others following. Sukai spun on his heel, his sword slicing out and down to cleave the collarbone and chest of the first attacker. He swiveled and blocked a thrust, cut the head from the sword wielder, dropped to one knee, and rammed his blade through the belly of the third man.

  Sukai returned the great sword to its scabbard on his back and waited with hands on hips. At his feet lay three corpses, their blood staining the mosaic floor.

  “He is a fine warrior,” said Jungir Khan, his voice cutting the silence.

  “Not especially, my lord,” replied Chien, masking his delight. “I thought the last thrust sloppily executed. A fourth man might well have killed him at that moment.”

  Jungir Khan said nothing but waved his hand. Servants moved into the square, and the tables were pulled back to allow the bodies to be dragged from the hall. Sawdust was spread on the blood.

  The feast continued for another hour, but Jungir did not speak again to the ambassador from the land of Kiatze.

  Toward midnight the feasters began to drift away. Chien stood and bowed to Jungir. “With your leave, my lord.”

  The khan nodded. “Good fortune follow you on your journey,” he said.

  “I am sure that if you will it, then it will be so,” answered Chien. “My thanks to you for the feast. May the gods bring you all the blessings you deserve.”

  With Sukai following, Chien-tsu marched from the hall.

  Back in his rooms he turned to Sukai.

  “I apologize,” he said, “for the affront to your dignity. It was unseemly to have agreed to the khan’s request.”

  Sukai bowed low, dipping his head three times. “No apology is necessary, lord. I live to serve you.”

  Chien entered his rooms to find that Oshi had stripped the Nadir linen from the bed and covered the mattress with sheets of fine silk and a coverlet filled with goose down. The servant was asleep at the foot of the bed.

  Chien removed his clothes and carefully folded them, placing them on the chir by the window. Then he climbed into bed and lay back, wishing that he could enjoy a hot, scented bath.

  Oshi rose from the foot of the bed. “Is there anything you require, my lord?”

  “Nothing, thank you.”

  Oshi settled down on the floor once more, and Chien stared out the window at the bright stars. In all probability Mai-syn was dead. He could sense no warmth from her spirit. No more would her laughter be heard under heaven; no more would her sweet singing grace the night. But he could not be sure and therefore would have to begin, at least, his journey to the south. Yet if she was dead, then once away from the city, Chien had no doubt the party would be attacked and slaughtered. Jungir Khan would have no wish for news of his daughter’s death to reach the emperor. No, Chien’s murder would be put down to robbers or bandits, and thus the flow of costly presents would continue for at least one more year.

  There had to be a way to thwart the khan. Honor demanded it.

  For several hours he lay awake. At last
a smile touched his face.

  And he slept.

  Despite the closeness of the midwinter solstice, the warmth of an early spring was in the air as the questers rode down the long hills into the valley of Kiall’s settlement. The young man found his emotions torn as he gazed down on the wooden buildings and the new stockade. He was home, yet he was not home. All his dreams of childhood were resting there, the ghosts of his youth still playing in the high woods. He knew every bend and turn of the trails, all the secret places, the fallen trees and the hidden caves. Yet the village had changed. The burned-out buildings were no longer in evidence, and twelve new houses stood on the outskirts. Tanai the baker had been killed in the raid, his house and bakery gutted. Now a new bakery stood on the site, and Kiall felt that someone had reached into his memories with a hot knife, cutting and hacking at images dear to him.

  Chareos led the small group down into the settlement and on through the unfinished stockade wall to the main square. People stopped their work to watch the riders, and a tall, fat man in a tunic of green wool, a wide leather belt straining to hold his bulging belly, marched out to stand before them with brawny arms folded across his chest.

  “What do you want here?” he asked, his voice deep, his tone pompous.

  Chareos stepped down from the saddle and approached him. “We are looking for shelter for the night.”

  “Well, there’s no welcome here for strangers.”

  Kiall could stand no more; he lifted his leg over the pommel of his saddle and jumped to the ground. “I’m no stranger,” he stormed. “But who in Bar’s name are you? I don’t know you.”

  “Nor I you,” said the man. “State your business or suffer the consequences.”

  “Consequences?” snorted Beltzer. “What is he talking about?”

  “He’s talking about the bowmen hidden in the alleyways around us,” explained Finn.

  “Oh,” said Beltzer.

  Chareos glanced around and saw the archers. They seemed nervous and frightened, their fingers trembling on the drawn bowstrings. At any moment an accidental shot could turn the square into a battlefield, Chareos knew. “We are not Nadren,” he said softly. “I came here on the night of the raid and tried to aid the people. The young man here is Kiall, who is of this village.”