They sat in silence for a while, then Callan donned his topcoat and walked out once more into the rain, returning with a bundle of dead wood. He repeated this manoeuvre several times until there was at least enough fuel to last the night. Then, removing his coat and draping it over a rock, he quietly prepared a fire. The wood was damp and it took some time to get a blaze going, but Callan showed no irritation.
Finally with the flames catching he leaned back against the cave wall. Harad opened his own pack and produced some dried meat, which he offered to Callan. Still nothing was said.
Lightning flashed, immediately followed by a rolling burst of thunder. The rain outside became torrential, lashing down against the cliff face. Harad, who had been hoping the man was not a chatterer, now found himself uncomfortable with the continued silence. ‘Might as well wait out the storm,’ he said.
He felt like slapping himself in the head. Of course they would wait out the storm. Why else were they inside the cave with a fire lit?
‘It is a good idea,’ said Callan. ‘I am more tired than I expected.’
‘Aye, it is a long climb for those unused to it,’ agreed Harad. Callan rolled smoothly to his feet and untied the thongs holding the oddly shaped item. Squatting down again he removed the cloth. Harad watched with undisguised interest. As the wrapping fell clear the firelight gleamed on a double-bladed axe with a black, silver-engraved haft. Harad had never seen a more beautiful weapon. The blades were shaped like the wings of a butterfly. He shivered suddenly, and felt goose flesh on his arms.
Callan hefted the weapon and passed it to Harad. It was heavy, and yet the balance was perfect.
Harad let out a long breath as he grasped the axe.
‘It is a gift from Landis Kan,’ said Callan.
‘He must value you highly to give you such a gift.’
Callan smiled. ‘The gift is for you, Harad.’ The Outsider returned to the fire, adding two thick chunks of wood.
‘Why would he give me such a gift?’
Callan shrugged. ‘Ask him when we get back. The axe has a name. It is called Snaga. The runes upon it say: The blades of no return. It is an ancient weapon. Once it was carried by a great hero.’
Harad stood and moved further into the cave. Hefting the axe he swung it lightly a few times. ‘He must have been a powerful man to wield this in battle,’ he said. ‘It is not light.’
Callan did not reply. He sat quietly in the firelight eating the dried meat.
Outside the rain pounded on. Thunder rolled and lightning flashed. A shape loomed at the cave entrance: a black bear. It stood for a few moments, then caught a whiff of the smoke and padded away.
‘Lots of bears up here,’ said Harad. ‘A few big cats too. Where are you from?’ he asked. ‘I have not heard that accent before.’ Returning to the fire and sitting down he laid the axe beside him, but could not resist continuing to touch it.
‘A long way from here,’ said Callan. Harad thought he detected a note of bitterness in the answer, and did not press him. After a while it became obvious that the storm was locked in for the night. Both men unrolled their blankets. Callan fell asleep almost instantly, but Harad sat up, holding the axe, and staring at his reflection in the butterfly blades. Just for a moment he felt as if he were looking at someone else, and he shivered and put the axe down. A feeling of disquiet touched him. He looked over at the sleeping Outsider. He had to admit the man was easy company. Callan did not question Harad, or seek to impress him. Perhaps these few days in the mountain would not be so arduous.
Harad stood and, axe in hand, wandered to the mouth of the cave.
Snaga.
It was a good name. The Blades of No Return. He found himself wondering about the hero who had carried it. Where was he from? Where had he fought?
In that moment the bear returned, ambling through the rain. Harad stood very still. The bear came closer, staring at the powerful figure in the cave mouth. Suddenly it reared up on its hind legs, towering above the man.
‘Let’s not do this,’ said Harad softly. ‘We are not enemies, you and I.’
For a moment more the bear continued to loom above him. Then it dropped back to all fours and moved off into the trees.
‘You have a way with bears,’ said Callan. Harad glanced round. The tall, blue-eyed Outsider was standing behind him, a hunting knife in his hand. Harad had not heard him approach.
‘I have seen him before. He once got into my cabin and ate three months of supplies. My own fault for leaving the door open.’ Harad glanced down at the knife, and grinned. ‘Good blade, but you’d need a lot of luck to kill him with that.’
‘I am a lucky man,’ answered Callan, sheathing the knife and walking back to his blankets.
The storm lasted for most of the night, but the dawn was bright and clear, the sky cloudless.
They walked without conversation for most of the morning, though this time Harad found the silence companionable and pleasant. In the distance he caught sight of several grey wolves, and a small herd of deer. They were grazing near some ruins in an area of flatland. ‘Who used to live here?’ asked Callan.
‘In the old days.’
Harad shrugged. ‘I don’t know much history. They were called Sathular — or something like it. They were wiped out way, way back.’
‘Sathuli,’ said Callan. ‘I have heard of them. Fierce tribal warriors. They were constantly at war with the Drenai.’
‘Whatever,’ muttered Harad, embarrassed by his lack of knowledge. ‘Good land. Few people.
There’s a small settlement to the north. No others. A man can walk here for weeks and never see anyone. I like that.’
They moved on, crossing a small valley before climbing again. ‘Still tired?’ asked Harad, as dusk approached.
Callan smiled. ‘Less so since I gave you that axe. A heavy piece.’
Harad hefted it. ‘It is a beauty. I feel as if I have carried it all my life.’
They camped that night in a small hollow. The wind had picked up. It was cold with snow from the mountain peaks. Callan lit a fire against a boulder, seeking to gain some added warmth from reflected heat. But the wind whipped through the hollow scattering sparks. Eventually the fire went out, and both men sat wrapped in their cloaks.
‘Do you know anything about the hero who carried Snaga?’ asked Harad.
‘Yes. His name was Druss. He was known as Druss the Legend. A Drenai hero.’
‘What was he like?’
Callan’s bright blue eyes suddenly met his own pale gaze. Harad sensed a moment of tension. Then it passed. ‘He was mighty. He lived by a code of honour.’
‘What does that mean?’
Callan shrugged. ‘A set of standards, rules, if you like. You want to hear it?’
‘Yes.’
Callan took a deep breath. ‘ Never violate a woman, nor harm a child. Do not lie, cheat or steal.
These things are for lesser men. Protect the weak against the evil strong. And never allow thoughts of gain to lead you into the pursuit of evil. That was the iron code of Druss the Legend.’
‘I like that,’ said Harad. ‘Say it again.’ Callan did so. Harad sat silently thinking it through. Then he spoke the code himself. ‘Did I get it right?’ he asked.
‘Aye, you did. You mean to follow it?’
Harad nodded. ‘If I carry his axe, I think I should carry also the code that went with it.’
‘He would have liked that,’ said Callan. ‘Where are we heading tomorrow?’
‘The ruins. I go there sometimes. I thought perhaps you would like to see them.’
Chapter Five