Quest for Lost Heroes

by David Gemmell

  “What does it matter?” asked Asta, his face a mask, his eyes cold and impenetrable.

  “I do not enjoy playing another man’s game.”

  “Then let me say this: I have no interest in the woman. You may take her. That is what you want, is it not? There is nothing else you desire?”

  “That is true enough,” answered Chareos, “but now I have two men with their own secret plans.”

  Asta cackled, and the sound made Chareos shiver. “The Kiatze? He wishes only to kill Jungir Khan. No more. When the time is right, he will leave you. Now you have only one man to concern yourself with.”

  Chareos was uneasy, but he said nothing. He did not like Asta Khan and knew there was more to be said. Yet he could find no words. The old man watched him, his eyes unblinking. Chareos had the feeling his mind was being read.

  “You must rest tonight,” said Asta. “Tomorrow we walk the Path of Souls. It will not be an easy journey, but with luck and courage, we will pass through.”

  “I have heard of this path,” whispered Chareos. “It is between worlds, and it is said to be inhabited by evil creatures. Why must we walk it?”

  “Because even as we speak, the general Tsudai is riding toward us. He will be in the mountains by dawn. But of course you may prefer to fight three hundred men …”

  “Three of our party are dead already. I wish to see no more die.”

  “Sadly, Chareos, such is the fate of the ghosts-yet-to-be.”

  13

  BELTZER COULD NOT sleep. He lay back in the flickering torchlight and closed his eyes, but all he could see was the faces of Finn, Maggrig, and Okas. Rolling to his side, he opened his eyes. His ax was resting against the cave wall beside him and he looked at his reflection in the broad blades.

  You look like your father, he told himself, remembering the grim-faced farmer and his constant, unrelenting battle against poverty. Up an hour before dawn, in bed at midnight, day in day out, engaged in a war he could never hope to win. The farmland was rocky, nearly barren, but somehow his father had fought the sterile environment, producing enough food to feed Beltzer and his five brothers. By the time Beltzer was fourteen three of the brothers had gone, run away in search of an easier life in the city. The other two had died with his mother during the red plague. Beltzer stayed on, working alongside the bitter old man until at last, while guiding the plow horses, his father had clutched his chest and sagged to the ground. Beltzer had been felling trees in the high meadow and had seen him fall. He had dropped his ax and sprinted down to him, but when he had arrived, the old man was dead.

  Beltzer could not remember one kind word from his father and had seen him smile only once, when he was drunk one midwinter evening.

  He had buried him in the thin soil and had walked from the farmhouse without a backward glance.

  Of his brothers he heard nothing. It was as if they had never been.

  His mother was a quiet woman, tough and hardy. She, too, had rarely smiled, but when he thought back, he realized she had had little to smile about. He had been beside her when she died. Her face had lost its perennial weariness; she had been almost pretty then.

  Beltzer sat up, feeling melancholy. Looking around, he saw Chareos asleep by the dying fire. He rose and took his ax, wanting to see the stars, feel the night wind on his face.

  He missed Finn. That night on the gate tower when the Nadir had dragged the bowman from the walls, Beltzer had leapt in among them, cleaving and killing. He had been amazed to find Chareos and Maggrig beside him. Stooping, he had lifted Finn to his back and run for the gate.

  Later, when Finn had recovered consciousness, his gashed brow bandaged, Beltzer had gone to him.

  “How do you feel?” he had asked.

  “I’d be a damn sight better if you hadn’t rapped my head against that doorpost,” Finn had grumbled.

  By all the gods in heaven, that was a time to be alive!

  Beltzer felt the breeze on his face and strolled into the last tunnel.

  He stopped in his tracks …

  Before him were scores of Nadir warriors, creeping in through the entrance. They had not seen him, and he quickly stepped back into the shadows.

  He thought of his friends sleeping peacefully some thirty paces away. The Nadir would be on them in seconds.

  But if he stayed where he was, he could be safe. He could live. He had the gold he had buried near Finn’s cabin; that would keep him for years.

  Sweet heaven, I don’t want to die!

  He stepped out to stand before the Nadir, the torchlight glinting on his red and silver beard, his ax shining crimson.

  “Nadir!” he bellowed, the sound echoing through the tunnels. They drew their swords and charged. Never one to wait he lifted his ax, shouted a war cry, and ran to meet them. The blades sliced downward and wounded warriors screamed in agony as the giant cut and cleaved them in the narrow tunnel. Swords pierced his flesh, but he felt no pain. A man loomed before him, and Beltzer slammed the ax forward, the tips of the butterfly blades skewering his chest. The Nadir fell back. Beltzer staggered but remained upright.

  “Well, my boys,” he said. “You want to be on my mountain? You want to see the sky?”

  A warrior drew his bow and let loose a shaft. Beltzer’s ax came up, and the arrow glanced from the blades, ripping the skin of Beltzer’s temple. The Nadir charged once more, but in the narrow tunnel they could only come at him three abreast. He roared his anger and lifted the bloodied ax. Four more died, then another three, before they fell back again.

  Back in the chamber Chareos had gathered his sword and was sprinting back toward the tunnels, Harokas and the others behind him.

  Asta Khan stepped into his path. “You can do nothing!” hissed the old man.

  “He is my friend,” protested Chareos, reaching out to brush the shaman aside.

  “I know!” whispered Asta. “That is why he is dying for you: to give you a chance. Don’t let him down now. It would break his spirit if you were to die also. Can’t you understand that?”

  Chareos groaned. He knew it was true, and the pain of that knowledge was too much.

  “Follow me!” said Asta, moving off into the darkness. He took the questers to a second chamber that was smaller than the first; there he knelt and raised his hands, palms outward. No words were spoken, but the chamber grew cold and colder still. Tanaki shivered and leaned in close to Kiall, who lifted his cloak around her shoulders. A deeper darkness formed before the old man, and he rose. “Follow,” he commanded. He stepped into the black doorway.

  And disappeared …

  For a moment the questers stood rooted to the spot; then Harokas walked after Asta, followed by Chien and the trembling Oshi.

  “Now you,” said Chareos to Kiall.

  The younger man looked at Chareos, reading the intent in his eyes.

  “No, Chareos. We will go through together or back together.”

  “I don’t want you to die, boy!”

  “Nor I you, but the shaman is right. Beltzer would not want you there. This is his victory—that we escape.”

  Tears stung Chareos’ eyes as he leapt through the doorway. Tanaki and Kiall followed.

  The darkness closed around them.

  In the tunnel Beltzer found his strength slowly fading. A dagger was jutting from his belly, and blood was pouring from a terrible wound in his upper left arm. The limb hung uselessly at his side, and he knew the bone was smashed. Yet still he hefted the ax in his right hand, defying the warriors before him. The tunnel floor was slippery with blood, and the moans of the dying echoed around him.

  Again they charged, forcing him back. A sword plunged into his side, breaking his ribs. His ax hammered back to smash a warrior from his feet. Blades licked out at his flesh, piercing him. He roared at the enemy and fell to his knees. They swarmed over him, but he surged up, scattering them. Blood was gushing from his throat and chest, and one eye was closed and bleeding.

  The Nadir fell back again, but not in
fear.

  The giant was dying. No warrior needed to die now to clear the path. They stood, staring at the axman, their dark eyes reflecting both hatred and respect.

  “Had enough, have you?” croaked Beltzer, spitting blood from his mouth. “You don’t want old Beltzer’s mountain? Come on? What are you afraid of? It’s only … death.”

  He looked up at the men before him and realized he was on his knees, his ax fallen from his hands. He tried to reach for it, but the floor rose up to meet him and he lay quietly for a second or two, trying to gather his strength. Then his arm stretched toward the ax. It was too far away.

  But it meant so much. A Nadir warrior knelt beside him, took the ax, and placed it in Beltzer’s hand.

  Beltzer looked up at the man.

  “Watch for me on the mountain,” he said.

  The man nodded. The last breath rattled from Beltzer’s throat, and the Nadir rose and loped off down the tunnel, leaving Beltzer with the eighteen men he had killed.

  The shock of beyond brought a scream from Kiall. It was as if black ink had been poured into his eyes, penetrating his skull, covering his brain and his soul with a dark, dark shroud. On the verge of panic, he felt Tanaki’s hand gripping his, warm and alive.

  Then a golden light grew, emanating softly from the hands of Asta Khan, and Kiall saw that they stood on a narrow pathway of shining silver. The light did not penetrate far into the blackness around them, and it seemed to Kiall that they stood in a spherical cave whose walls pressed down with the weight of worlds.

  “Do not stray from the path,” whispered Asta. “This is a place of consummate evil. Those who stray … die! No rescue. The only safe way is the Silver Path. Follow me.”

  Asta moved carefully forward, Chien and Oshi following and behind them Harokas, Chareos, Kiall, and Tanaki.

  At first the journey was uneventful, but soon a sibilant whispering grew out of the darkness, closing in on them, and hundreds of shining eyes glinted from all around. The path was too narrow for Kiall to keep holding Tanaki’s hand, but he kept glancing back to see her face, drawing strength from her presence.

  To the right of the trail white wolves loped into view and sat staring at the travelers. They were monstrous beasts, as large as ponies.

  Suddenly the creatures howled and hurled themselves forward. Kiall started to back away, but Tanaki grabbed his jerkin. “Stay on the path,” she hissed. The beasts came closer—but stopped, fangs bared, inches from the Silver Path.

  The party moved on into the endless dark. From close by came a scream, then the sound of laughter, manic and shrill. But they saw nothing. The rustle of wings came from above, but when Kiall looked up, he saw only darkness.

  Then there was silence for a while.

  Chareos walked on, oblivious to his surroundings. Beltzer was dead. Maggrig and Finn had been slain. His mind reeled back from the tragedies, seeking solace in memories of better times as he followed Harokas blindly, unthinking.

  A voice sounded from the left of the path. “Chareos, help me.” The blademaster glanced to his left, where Beltzer was staggering toward them, wounded but alive. As Chareos stepped from the path, the skin peeled back from Beltzer’s frame and a scaled creature leapt at the swordsman.

  Chareos did not move.

  Kiall dived at him, hooking an arm around his waist and hurling him from his feet. But the scaled beast moved with terrifying speed, twisting and looming over them. The small figure of Chien-tsu hurdled the fallen men, his silver sword slicing through the creature’s neck. Harokas and Tanaki pulled Chareos back onto the path, Kiall scrambling after them, as Chien backed slowly to join them.

  Asta stared down at Chareos and shook his head. These fools would never learn, he thought. Their judgments and their reason were built on emotions: love, honor, duty, friendship. The Nadir also understood the value of all four but viewed them differently. Instead of love of the individual, there was love of the tribe. Honor and duty were not abstractions, but realities, earned by serving the chosen leader. And friendship, forged in war, was the least of all. On the word of a khan one friend would cut the head from another. There would be regret but not a moment’s hesitation. No Nadir warrior would have stepped from the Silver Path. Asta walked on.

  The darkness closed in around them, then Asta’s voice sounded. “Stand very still and wait until you see the light once more. Then move swiftly, for I cannot hold the Gateway for long.”

  Silence followed, broken only by the rustling of wings above and the stealthy padding of claws on the rocky ground beside the path. A shaft of dim gray light lit the scene, stretching, widening.

  “Now!” yelled Asta, and the little shaman ran through the opening. Chien, Oshi, and Harokas ran after him. Chareos stumbled through, followed by Kiall. Tanaki ran forward, but her foot strayed from the path, and instantly a hairy hand grabbed her ankle, tripping her. She rolled, drawing her sword and hacking at the limb. The hand slid away, but she saw the giant wolves bearing down on her. Bunching her legs beneath her, she hurled herself at the shrinking Gateway.

  She hit the ground hard, rolled, and came to her knees. The gate had vanished, and she was kneeling on a ledge high above the city of Ulrickham.

  Kiall helped her to her feet. “I would not wish to walk that path again,” he said. Unable to speak, she merely nodded. Chareos was sitting by himself, staring down at the ground. He looked older, more weary than Kiall had ever seen him.

  Kiall walked to him. “He was a strong man. A good friend,” he said.

  “He was a fool. We are all fools,” whispered Chareos. “But I will see out the game.” He turned his gaze on the city. “What do you think, Kiall? Shall we surround it and demand they release Ravenna?”

  “Whatever you say, Chareos.”

  Chareos rose and stretched his back. He smiled and clapped his hand to Kiall’s shoulder. “Life goes on, boy. Do not be too concerned for me.”

  Asta Khan walked over to them, squatting to sit before Chareos. “There is an underground river below Ulrickham. The great Tenaka knew of it and linked the city’s sewers to it. He also strengthened the side tunnels so that there would be a means of escape if the city was surrounded.”

  “Is it guarded?” Kiall asked.

  “Not by men. It would not be much of a secret if all the soldiers in Ulrickham knew of its existence. No, the prisoners who labored to strengthen the tunnels were slain.”

  “But it is guarded by something,” said Chareos, and Asta looked up, his dark eyes hooded.

  “Yes, Blademaster. By something. The blood of the slain was used by me to weave a dark spell. I merged the tunnel with the Void.”

  “The Void?” queried Kiall.

  “You have just passed through it,” Asta told him. “Only below Ulrickham there is no Silver Path.”

  “We must pass through it again? I couldn’t!” Tanaki said.

  “You can!” hissed Asta. “It is not long, a mere twenty paces. I will lead you.”

  “And once we are through?” asked Chareos. “How do we reach Ravenna?”

  Tanaki stepped forward. “You cannot, Chareos. Asta knows this. No man could enter the Palace of Women, but I could.”

  “No,” protested Kiall. “No, I won’t have that. It is …”

  Tanaki chuckled. “Do not say ‘too dangerous,’ Kiall. It is your only hope.”

  “She is right,” said Asta, his eyes shining now. “She is truly of the blood of the great Tenaka.” Chien-tsu and Harokas joined the group, listening as Tanaki outlined her plan.

  “The question is when,” said Chareos.

  “The time is now,” declared Asta. “The journey through the Void took many weeks, though it felt like hours. Ravenna is only a few days from giving birth.”

  “Should we not wait until after the birth?” Harokas asked.

  “No!” said Asta. “Jungir will take the queen and the heir around the kingdom. They will be surrounded by warriors, and there would be no way to approach them. No, it must be
now. Tonight.”

  Chien said nothing, but his eyes locked to the face of the shaman. There was much here that was not being said. He did not like Asta Khan, but this quest meant nothing to the Kiatze. He would aid the questers and then demand his payment. He stood and moved back to Oshi. The old man’s face was gray, his eyes wide and staring. The walk through the Void had terrified him.

  “Sleep for a while, Oshi,” said Chien, but the old man shook his head.

  “I would dream of that place, and I would never wake.”

  Nodding, Chien took a sharp knife from the sheath in his sleeve. “Then be so kind as to make yourself useful. Shave me.”

  The little servant smiled. “Yes, lord.”

  The sun sank beyond the distant, mist-shrouded horizon, and Chareos stood alone, staring down at the city below, where the first lanterns of evening had been lit. He thought of his boyhood and the dream of Attalis that one day Chareos would return to the lands of the Drenai and find the hidden Armor of Bronze.

  “You will be a great leader, my boy. I know. I can see it in you.”

  How little you knew me, thought Chareos. You saw me through the eyes of hope. A great leader? I have brought my greatest friends on a quest of death, and they lie unburied and far from home.

  And what did we achieve? he wondered. How has the world been changed by their deaths?

  “It is not over yet,” whispered a voice in his mind.

  “Okas?” he said aloud. But there was no response, and he wondered if he had imagined the old man’s voice in the whispering of the dusk breeze. He shivered.

  Beltzer had saved them all, standing alone in the dark of the mountain. Chareos smiled, and a weight lifted from him. He looked up at the sky. “You were a cantankerous, foul-smelling, evil-minded whoreson, Beltzer. But you never let down a friend. May the Source take you. May you drink your fill in the Hall of Heroes.”

  He turned away and saw Harokas standing close by, half-hidden in the shadows. The assassin stepped forward.

  “I am sorry, Chareos. I did not mean to eavesdrop on your farewell.”