‘Why did you not bring him with you? This is dangerous land for a merchant.’
Gilden removed his helm, pushed back his coif, and brushed his fingers through his sweat-streaked grey hair. ‘I offered to. You should know he’s travelling with a large pack of Jiamad runaways. Calls them “his lads”. I tried to tell him it’s our job to hunt them down, and you know what he said? He said he’d cut my heart out himself if anyone attacked them. What do you think of that?’
‘Stavut said that? We are talking about the same Stavut? Small man, wagon, scared rigid of Jiamads?’
‘Aye, the same. Only he’s not scared now. Must have fifty of the beasts with him. Been teaching them to hunt, he told me.’
Alahir burst out laughing. ‘What is so funny?’ asked Gilden, eyes narrowing.
‘That was a good jest, Gil. And you sold it well. I never realized you had such a dry sense of humour.
So, where is he? Is he following you?’
‘I wish it was a jest. His clothes are covered in dried blood. He even has two Jiamads pulling his wagon — and don’t you dare laugh again. This is all true. What are we to do? Our orders are clear when we come across Jems.’
‘Our orders no longer apply, Gil. Not since we found the Armour.’
‘It’s not right letting those beasts walk free. I think Stavut is deranged. They’ll kill him as soon as hunger takes them.’
‘I hate the creatures as much as you, Gil. But he was in no danger when you saw him. What else did he say?’
‘He said there’s an army moving from the south, thousands of men. Looks like the final confrontation is coming.’
‘Let’s find the horse, then we’ll swing north.’
‘Whatever you say,’ replied Gilden glumly.
The troop rode on for just under an hour, entering a thinly wooded area of flatland. As they emerged onto open ground they saw the white horse and its rider. Alahir’s breath caught in his throat. The beast was majestic, thundering across the land, seeking to unseat the man. The rider also was magnificent, reading the stallion’s every move. When the horse rolled, and the rider leapt clear, only to vault back into the saddle as it rose, Alahir felt like applauding. Every man in the troop watched with admiration as the contest of wills continued. At last the horse realized it had met its match, and the rider put it through a series of sharp turns and sudden sprints. Only then did he look up and see the Legend Riders. Patting the horse’s neck he rode towards them, drawing rein and sitting silently. Alahir stared at the man. His face was lean and handsome, his eyes ferociously blue. He did not seem ill at ease. Heeling his own mount forward Alahir spoke. ‘Thank you for finding my horse,’ he said.
‘It is not your horse,’ said the man. The words were not spoken angrily, nor was there any sense of confrontation. They were just spoken, matter of fact.
‘How do you arrive at that conclusion?’
The man smiled, and pointed to the riders around Alahir. ‘You all have the same saddle designs, stirrup protectors, horns from which to hang your bows. This saddle has no such refinements. Added to which there was blood upon it. My guess is the rider was killed.’
‘Very astute,’ said Alahir, ‘and entirely right. However, the horse is mine by right of conquest, since I killed its rider.’
‘Ah well,’ replied the man, ‘that sets an interesting precedent. Are you intending to conquer me also?’
‘You think we cannot?’
‘I would be a fool to believe I could beat forty armed soldiers. No, there is no doubt that the survivors would claim the horse.’ His voice hardened. ‘You, however, would not be among the survivors. Nor the two riding with you. I am not sure how many others I could take with me on the Swan’s Path. Three or four probably. Even so it might be worth the risk. It is a fine horse.’
Alahir laughed. ‘Then you think we should attack you for it?’
‘Depends how much you want it.’
At that moment two other people came into view, a staggeringly beautiful young woman, dark-haired and slim, carrying a recurve bow, and a huge, black-bearded warrior bearing a massive axe.
‘Stay back,’ the rider told them, ‘and do nothing.’
Alahir stared at the woman, and the bow she carried. ‘Are you Askari?’ he asked.
‘I am. How would you know that?’
‘I chose that bow myself. Stavut wanted a fine present for you.’
‘You are Alahir?’
‘Indeed I am, beautiful lady,’ he replied, bowing low.
She laughed. ‘He said you were ugly and crookbacked and had lost all your teeth.’
Gilden edged alongside him. ‘Have you seen the axe?’ he said. Alahir looked more closely at the weapon carried by the massive young man. He said nothing for a moment.
‘Are there runes upon that blade?’ he asked at last.
‘Aye, in silver.’
‘May I see it?’
‘Step down first,’ said the axeman. ‘I’ll not be passing my weapon to mounted men.’
Alahir dismounted and walked over to the man, who held up the axe so that the runes on the haft could be seen.
‘Does it say what I think it might?’ called out Gilden.
‘It does.’ Walking back to his horse Alahir stepped into the saddle and returned his attention to the man with the sapphire eyes.
‘This is a day of surprises,’ he said. ‘Would you do me a kindness, and show me the weapons you would have used to defend your right to the horse?’
The man’s arms swept up and back, and two gleaming swords flashed in the sunlight. One was gold, the other moonlight silver.
‘The Swords of Night and Day,’ said Alahir. ‘We are to follow where you lead.’
Chapter Sixteen
Askari, nursing a thudding headache, sat with Harad as Skilgannon, Alahir and many of the riders gathered round and talked. Much of the conversation was lost on the huntress, dealing as it did with Drenai history, old legends, and new prophecies. Her interest waned still further when Alahir produced a brilliantly burnished helm of bronze and showed it to Skilgannon. Armour was not one of her interests.
Beside her, Harad was becoming irritated by the number of men wishing to see the axe. Many of them reached out reverentially and touched the haft.
One young man squatted down before them and just stared at the weapon. Askari, her patience wearing as thin as Harad’s, said: ‘It is an axe — not a holy relic’
‘It is the axe,’ the boy replied, not taking his eyes from the weapon.
‘Well, you have seen it. Now leave us in peace,’ snapped Harad.
The conversation among the leaders turned to more recent events, and Askari heard Stavut’s name mentioned. A grizzled veteran was talking about the merchant’s now keeping company with a troop of Jiamads. Askari listened in amazement. Stavut, who was terrified of wolves, and noises in the dark, was now leading a pack of monsters? It was ludicrous. There must have been a mistake. He was supposed to be leading her friends to a place of safety. Rising, she walked to where the men were talking and questioned the old soldier. He told her what had transpired, including the story Stavut had outlined, of a battle to avenge the deaths of people he cared about.
‘Which way was he heading?’ she asked.
‘Northeast.’
Askari moved back from the men, swept up her bow and quiver and walked away through the trees.
Harad followed her. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked.
‘To find Stavut.’
‘I’ll come with you.’
‘No disrespect, Harad, but you can’t move as fast as I can.’ With that she set off at a run, cutting through the trees and back towards the north. Once away from the group she felt her tensions ease. The headache she had suffered for the last few hours drifted away. There were perhaps three hours of good daylight left as she loped across the grassland towards a distant wood. If Stavut was with a pack of Jiamads then their tracks should not be hard to find. As she ran, eyes scanning ground, she thought of what she had heard. Stavut covered in blood. Something had obviously happened that had unhinged the young man. Though brave he was not a warrior, as she had seen during the fight in the cave. No, Stavut was a sensitive fellow, with charm, wit and a good heart. So why was he with the beasts? Perhaps they had taken him hostage or were keeping him for. . for food? She shuddered at the thought.