Beltzer knelt on the other side of Tanaki. “You want some help?” he asked Kiall.
“No. There is nothing we can do. But a fire would help; we could keep her warm.”
“We cannot risk that,” said Chareos. “I don’t know how powerful the magic is or how long it will last.”
“I do not know why she is still unconscious,” said Kiall. “The bruising is severe, but no bones seem to be broken.”
“I have seen this before,” Chareos told him. “It is not an injury to the body but to the spirit. This is an ugly business, Kiall.”
Tanaki moaned softly, and Kiall lay alongside her, stroking her face. “You are well now,” he whispered into her ear. “You are with friends. Sleep, lady. Rest.” Chareos covered her with his own blanket, while Beltzer removed his jerkin and rolled it for a pillow beneath her head. She turned to one side, her hand outside the blanket. The fingers clenched into a fist, then opened and dug into the earth. Kiall took her hand gently and held it. Tanaki’s breathing eased, and she slept.
Three times ghostly Nadir riders entered the clearing. Once a man dismounted within three paces of the questers and knelt to examine the tracks. He looked puzzled and spoke to his companions, but the questers could hear no words. Then he mounted and rode away through the trees.
The night passed slowly. Kiall slept fitfully alongside Tanaki, while Chareos and Beltzer sat talking in low whispers. Harokas moved away to the edge of the trees and slept alone.
Dawn found Chareos and Beltzer on the hillside, scanning the horizon for signs of Finn or Maggrig. The Nadr-camp was deserted, the town silent.
“They’re canny men,” remarked Beltzer. “They’ll be all right.”
“I wish I could be sure,” said Chareos. “The risk was too great; I should never have asked them to go.”
“They’re grown men; they could have refused. And we did get the girl.”
Chareos was tired. His back ached, and he stretched out on the grass. “You should sleep for a while,” said Beltzer. “I’ll stand watch for Finn.”
Chareos nodded. “Keep an eye on the earl’s man also. Don’t let him move behind you.”
“You think he’s an assassin?”
“I just think he needs watching.” Chareos closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
The sun climbed higher as Beltzer sat beside Chareos, his ax in his lap, his mind on the mountain. He felt alive now, almost young again. Almost. Carrying the girl had sapped his strength, as had the battle in the town. His huge hand curled around the ax haft. “There’s still a skirmish or two left in us, eh?” he said.
Far off to the west he saw a rider keeping to the low hollows. Beltzer shaded his eyes and tried to identify the man; it looked like Finn. Scanning the hills and hollows, he could see no pursuers. He thought of waking Chareos but hesitated. The blademaster was bone-weary; he needed rest. Slowly the rider made his way up the slope. It was Finn. He dismounted and led the horse into the clearing, then walked back to Beltzer.
“Where is Maggrig?” Finn asked.
“He’s not back yet,” Beltzer told him.
Finn sank to the ground. “I didn’t think I’d make it; they almost had me. I killed two of them and then rode into a swirling river. I lost my bow. I thought the horse would drown, and I hung on to the pommel. But he’s a good beast. He swam well and found solid ground.”
“Get some rest,” Beltzer advised him.
Finn shook his head. “I’ve got to find Maggrig,”
“Don’t be a fool! The Nadir are everywhere. Maggrig is probably holed up in some cave. He’ll wait till nightfall, then make it back. If you ride out there, you’ll lead them to him.”
Finn sighed. “You are right. I’ll sleep for a while. Wake me if he comes.”
Beltzer nodded. “We got the girl,” he said. “It went well.”
Finn did not reply but lay on the grass and closed his eyes. Beltzer sat with his back to a tree and dozed in the morning sunshine. He awoke to see Harokas kneeling beside Chareos. The hawk-nosed warrior was staring intently at the face of the sleeping man; his expression was hard to read, but Beltzer could see that he was troubled.
“Don’t wake him,” said Beltzer softly, and Harokas looked up.
“I was sent here to kill him.”
“I know,” said Beltzer. “So does he.”
“But there is no need, is there? You have all decided to die. And I am glad to be relieved of the task.”
Harokas rose and walked away to his horse. Beltzer watched him mount and ride away.
At the center of the clearing Kiall awoke. He sat up and looked down at Tanaki. Her color was better. Opening his pack, he took out some comfrey leaves, which he mixed with cold water. It was good for swellings, and he labored over the poultice for some time. Satisfied at last, he touched Tanaki’s hand, and she awoke with a start.
“You are with friends,” he told her, his voice soothing. “It is me, Kiall. I have a poultice here for your eyes. Lie still.” She said nothing as he placed the cool cloth over her eyelids. He took her hand and patted it gently.
“The Wolves?” she whispered.
“Gone.”
“How did … ?”
“Do not talk, lady. Rest. We came into the town last night and slew the men who … attacked you. Then we carried you here. You are safe.”
“Why?”
“Rest now. Let the poultice do its work.” He tried to release her hand, but her fingers gripped his.
“Why?” she asked again.
“Because you were in need,” he said lamely. He sat with her for several minutes; then her fingers relaxed their grip, and he saw she was asleep once more. He stood and stretched. Beltzer was asleep by a tree on the crown of the hill, Chareos and Finn lying close by. Of Harokas and Maggrig there was no sign.
The voice of Okas sounded in his mind. “Kiall, can you hear me?”
“Yes,” he answered aloud, looking down at the old man’s sleeping form. The voice was like a whisper through time, impossibly distant yet clear. “I can hear you.”
“Tell Chareos to travel to the Mountains of the Moon. Tell him to seek out Asta Khan. Tell him I am sorry.”
The voice faded. Kiall moved to Okas and knelt by the body. It was stiff and cold.
The Tattooed Man was dead.
* * *
They buried the old man on the crown of the hill and stood silently around the grave. “The first of us to die,” whispered Beltzer, his words hanging in the air. He walked back to the campsite and sat staring at the blades of his ax, twirling the haft in his hands.
“I am sorry,” Kiall told Chareos. “I wish I had never asked you to help me. It all seems so futile now. I don’t know why.”
“We are free men, Kiall. We make our own choices.”
“I know that,” said the young man. “It is just … there is so much savagery. Look at Tanaki. How could men do that to her? I don’t understand.”
“Be glad that you do not.”
“Do you?”
Chareos turned away, staring out over the steppes. “Yes, sadly I do. I would never contemplate such a deed, but yes, I understand it. It is connected with war, Kiall, and the nature of the warrior. He is competitive, and his desire is to dominate and destroy his enemies. But the word to remember is dominate. There is another word to consider also: arousal. A man can be aroused to anger as easily as he is aroused to rut. The two emotions are closely linked. Anger and lust. So the warrior is aroused in battle and fights to dominate. Tanaki and others like her are the victims of that. Dominated, abused, humiliated.”
“They are evil,” said Kiall. “Simply that.”
“Would that it were so simple. Some of those men will have had wives and children. They might have been good family men; they knew love and compassion in their lives.”
“I would show them no compassion. I am glad we killed them.”
“Glad? Never be glad another man has died. Not ever. Just be relieved that you are alive. I
had a teacher once, a great man called Attalis. He told me that the path to evil often begins with righteous anger. A Nadir band raids a Gothir village; they rape and kill. A group of Gothir soldiers set out for revenge; they want to hurt the enemy, so they rape and kill. It never ends. Never … ever … be glad to kill.”
Chareos walked away and stood at the graveside. Kiall left him there and wandered over to Beltzer, who was sitting alone. The giant’s face was set, but a muscle twitched in his cheek. His eyes were red-rimmed, and he was blinking rapidly.
Kiall sat opposite him. “Are you all right?” asked the younger man.
“Me? I’m fine. I was just thinking that we haven’t eaten. I’m starved.” His mouth trembled, but he clamped his jaws tight. “Stupid old fool,” he said. “Stupid! He killed himself to protect us. Stupid.” Beltzer sniffed, then hawked and spit. “Damned if I’m not getting a chill. It’s this weather, cold winds and dust. Only the Source knows how people live out here. Give me a city any time … and taverns. What are you staring at?”
“I’m sorry,” said Kiall. “I didn’t mean to stare. He had a message for you, you know. He said to say farewell to old Beltzer.”
“Did he? Truly?”
“Yes,” said Kiall, continuing the lie. “He didn’t sound unhappy.”
“You know what the worst thing is, boy? Do you?”
“No.”
“He liked me. For myself. Not because I could swing an ax, or kill a few tribesmen. But for me. There’s not much to like, but he found it. And I’ll tell you something—laugh if you like—but I loved that old man. ‘Old Beltzer.’ That’s something, isn’t it? I loved him.”
“Why would I laugh?”
Tears welled in Beltzer’s eyes, flowing to his cheeks and into the red and silver beard. He bowed his head and wept. Kiall reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Get away!” said Beltzer. “Leave me alone. Can’t a man even grieve in private?”
Kiall rose and backed away. Tanaki was awake and sitting in the center of the campsite, a blanket around her shoulders. Her eyes were still swollen, but she could see.
Kiall sat beside her. “How are you feeling?”
“You wouldn’t want to know,” replied Tanaki. “Did you kill them all?”
“Yes. No. There was one man—the leader, I think—he escaped.”
“Good.”
Kiall was surprised, but he did not press the point. “Do you wish to be alone?” he asked.
She smiled, then winced as her lip split and a tiny drop of blood formed. “No. You sit close by. I like your company. Why did you rescue me?”
“Does it matter?”
“It does to me.”
“Is it not enough that you were alone and needed help?”
“This is not a song or a fable, Kiall. I am not one of your yellow-haired ladies trapped in a tower.”
“But you are a princess,” he said, smiling. “One should always rescue a princess.” She ignored the smile, and annoyance showed in her eyes.
“What about the others? Why did they help?”
“The Tattooed Man asked them to; he said you were part of our quest. Does that satisfy you?”
She nodded. “I will repay you all.”
“There is no need.”
“I will judge that. I want no debts hanging over me. Where will you go now?”
“To find a man named Asta Khan.”
She looked at him, but he could not read her expression through the bruises she bore. “He still lives? Surprising. My father set great store by him.”
“He does still,” said Kiall.
“What madness are you speaking? My father is dead; he has been for years.”
“It is hard to explain.”
“Try!” she snapped. “I may be bruised, but there is nothing wrong with my brain.”
As best he could, Kiall outlined the duel with the demons and the violet-eyed warrior who had come to his assistance. “Okas told me it was the spirit of Tenaka Khan.”
“How did he fight?”
“With two short swords. He spun like a dancer; I have never seen anything like it.”
She nodded. “That is one of the names he carried: Bladedancer. He was also the Prince of Shadows.”
“Chareos and Beltzer both knew him,” said Kiall, “as did Maggrig and Finn. They are the heroes of Bel-azar; he sat with them on the last night of the battle.”
“I know. My father told me. They are the ghosts-yet-to-be.”
“What does that mean?”
She shrugged. “I do not know. My father was a secretive man. He told me of the warriors of the Gothir; he said one of them was blood kin, a Drenai prince. I would guess that to be Chareos. It is inconceivable that it could be the bald, fat one.”
“I know what you mean. Beltzer is not exactly cultured.”
The sound of a walking horse came to them, and Beltzer leapt up, his ax in his hands. Kiall stood, drawing his saber, as Harokas guided his mount into the camp and stepped down.
“I thought you had gone for good,” said Beltzer.
“So did I,” answered Harokas, wearily, “but I found your friend.”
“Maggrig?” Beltzer whispered.
“Yes.”
Finn lurched to his feet and ran forward. “Where is he?” he shouted, grasping Harokas’ black jerkin.
Harokas put his hand on Finn’s shoulder. “The Nadir took him.”
“Oh, no! Oh, please, no!” cried Finn, stumbling back. He ran to his horse, but Chareos cut him off, grabbing his arms and holding him tight.
“Wait!” said Chareos softly. “We will all go. Calm yourself, my friend.”
Finn seemed to sag in Chareos’ arms, his head falling to rest on the swordman’s shoulder. Chareos turned to Kiall. “Wait here with the woman. We’ll be back.”
“There’s no point,” said Harokas. “The Nadir are everywhere. It’s madness.”
“Even so,” replied Chareos, “will you take us to the body?”
“It means that much to you? You’ll risk your lives for a corpse?”
“Yes.”
Harokas shook his head in disbelief. “Follow me, then, but ride warily.”
Trees were sparse as the questers rode in single file behind Harokas, and the land spread out before them in a series of folds and gullies like a giant’s cloak carelessly tossed from heaven.
They moved with care for more than an hour, coming at last to a rocky rise. Harokas dismounted and led his horse up the hill, the questers following his lead. He tethered his mount to a skeletal poplar and waited. Chareos joined him. No one had spoken since they had ridden from the camp. Finn stood by, white-faced, expressionless, his eyes tormented. Beltzer was beside him.
“Follow me,” whispered Harokas, “and please … no heroics.”
He led them to a rock face and on into a narrow fissure that wound down to a ledge. There he squatted in the fading light and pointed to the Nadir camp below. The greater part of the three hundred Wolves were there, and six camp-fires had been set. At the center of the camp, staked out naked on the ground, was Maggrig, his body covered in cuts and burns. Finn groaned, and Beltzer’s hand gripped the hunter’s shoulder.
“Have you seen enough?” whispered Harokas. “It does not take a warrior’s eye to know the man is dead.” Chareos nodded. Maggrig had been tortured, his skin partially flayed, his eyes put out.
“They are still searching for you,” said Harokas, “so he could have told them nothing. He had courage. Great courage.”
“Yes, he did,” agreed Chareos, glancing at Finn. “He was a fine man.”
“I think his horse broke a leg,” continued Harokas. “It was just bad luck. He almost made it to the slopes.”
“There’s nothing more to see,” said Chareos softly. He touched Finn’s arm. “Let us go, my friend.”
“Yes,” murmured Finn.
Harokas backed away from the rim of the ledge, and the questers clambered back through the fissure
. As they reached the horses, it was Beltzer who first noticed Finn’s absence.
“No!” he cried. Turning, he ran back for the fissure, Chareos and Harokas behind him. They came to the ledge in time to see Finn walking slowly down the scree-covered slope toward the Nadir camp. Beltzer made as if to follow him, but Chareos grabbed the neck of his jerkin, hauling him from his feet.
Beltzer hit the ground hard. He stared up into Chareos’ face. “Leave it be,” said Chareos. “He wouldn’t want you there; you know that.”
Beltzer tried to speak, but no words came. He rolled to his knees, gathered his ax, and stumbled back through the fissure. Harokas knelt beside Chareos.
The blademaster ignored him, his eyes fixed on the small, dark figure closing on the Nadir camp. It would be so easy, thought Harokas, his hand on the hilt of his dagger … just slip the blade through his ribs, sliding it up into the heart. So easy. Then he could return to the earl, claim his gold, and get on with his life. But that would mean leaving Tanaki. He cursed inwardly and took his hand from the hilt.
Below them Finn reached the bottom of the slope and walked forward, back straight, head high. There was a roaring in his ears like the distant sea, and his eyes were misted. So many years together, years of joy and fear. It never paid to love too much; he’d always known that. All life was balance. There was always a reckoning. Better by far not to have loved at all. He walked past two Nadir warriors who were honing their swords; they stared at him for a moment, then rose behind him. Steadily Finn walked on. He could see Maggrig now and the terrible cruelty they had unleashed on him. A man seized Finn’s arm. Almost absently, Finn plunged his hunting knife into the warrior’s throat.
There had been that time when Maggrig had gone down with the red plague. No one survived that, but Finn had sat with him, begging him to live. The fever had burned all the flesh from Maggrig’s body, leaving translucent skin stretched tightly over the bones. But Finn had nursed him to health. He remembered the day he had first realized Maggrig was going to live. The sky had been gray and overcast, the mountains covered with mist. Moisture dripped from the trees, yet the day had been beautiful, so incredibly beautiful that Finn had been unable to look on it without tears.
Quest for Lost Heroes Page 24
