Instantly the four Krayakin warriors leapt at the startled men. One bowman loosed a shaft, but Bakilas's sword flashed in the night air, snapping the arrow in two. Then he was among the robbers, his sword cleaving left and right. One man died, his neck severed, a second fell to the ground, his chest gaping open. Mandrak blocked a savage cut from the leader's sword, then stepped inside and hammered a straight left to the man's face, breaking his nose. The leader staggered. Mandrak leaned back, then leapt, his right foot thundering against the leader's chin. The man went down as if poleaxed. Drasko killed two men, then lanced his sword through the back of another as the man turned to run.
Within moments the battle was over. Four survivors had fled into the forest, and seven men lay dead upon the grass. Bakilas moved to the unconscious leader, flipping the man with his foot. The leader grunted and struggled to sit up. Still dazed he rubbed his chin. Then, incongruously he cast around for his fallen helm. Setting it upon his head he pushed himself to his feet. He saw the dead men lying where they had fallen. He tried to run, but Mandrak was quicker, grabbing him by his jerkin and hurling him to the ground. 'What are you going to do with me?' he wailed.
Bakilas stepped up to the man, hauling him to his feet.
'We need to contact our leader,' he said, softly. 'You can help us with that task.'
'Anything,' said the man. 'Just ask.'
Bakilas took hold of the man's shirt and ripped it open, exposing his naked chest. He traced a line down the skin, locating the man's sternum. Slamming his fingers into the man's chest he split the skin beneath the breast bone. His hand drove in like a blade, then opened for his long fingers to encircle the still beating heart. With one wrench he tore the organ free. Letting the body sink to the grass he held up the dripping heart. 'Anharat!' he called. 'Speak to your brothers!'
The heart rose from Bakilas's hand and burst into a bright flame which soared up above the clearing. Then it coalesced into a ball and slowly dropped to hover above the warriors.
'I am here,' said a voice that whispered like a cold wind across a graveyard.
The Krayakin sat in a circle around the flame. 'Two of our company are Windborn once more,' said Bakilas. 'We would appreciate your guidance.'
'The child is born,' said the voice of Anharat. 'The route to the sea is cut off, and they must journey south. I am marching with the army to the city of Lem. There we will sacrifice the child. His blood will flow upon my own altar.'
'What of the wizard who is helping them?' asked Drasko.
'There is no wizard. The soul of Kalizkan possessed the child, but he is now gone to the Halls of the Dead. He will not return. Continue south. I have also returned a gogarin to the forest ahead of them. They will not pass him.'
'We need no help, brother,' said Bakilas. 'And a gogarin could kill them all — the babe included.'
'They will not be foolish enough to attempt to pass the beast,' said Anharat. 'Not once they know it is there. And I shall see that they do.'
'You are taking a great risk, Anharat. What if it does kill the babe?'
'I have already begun the Spell,' said the voice of the Demon Lord. 'It hangs in the air awaiting only the death of the third king. If the babe is killed before the time of sacrifice there will still be enough power released to bring back more than two-thirds of the Illohir. Now find them, and bring the babe to my altar.'
The flame faded, becoming thick, black smoke, which drifted in the air before slowly dispersing.
'The city of Lem,' said Drasko. 'Not a place of good omens.'
'Let us ride, brothers,' said Bakilas.
Nogusta drew rein at the mouth of the great canyon, and for several moments all his fears and tensions disappeared, swamped by the awesome beauty before him. The ancient map had shown a canyon here, and a trade road winding through it, but nothing etched on paper could have prepared Nogusta for the sheer majesty before him. Towering peaks, cloaked with trees and crowned by snow, deep valleys, full of lush grass and glittering streams and rivers, filled his field of vision.
The road continued along a wide ridge, steadily climbing and twisting around a mountain. At each curve a new panorama greeted him. The canyon was colossal.
Nogusta rode on, lost in the natural splendour of this high country. He felt young again, clean air filling his lungs, long-forgotten dreams rising from the dusty halls of his memory. This was a place for a man to live!
Starfire too seemed to be enjoying the ride. The great black gelding had been increasing in strength for some days now and, though still a shadow of his former self, the horse was swiftly recovering from the lung infection that had condemned him to the slaughterhouse. Nogusta dismounted and walked to the rim, staring down at the forest and river below. What were the dreams of men when compared to this, he wondered?
The wagon was an hour behind him, and he found himself growing angry. How had he become chained to this doomed quest? The answers were obvious, but offered little comfort. For life to have meaning a man needed a code to live by. Without it he was just a small, greedy creature following his whims and desires to the detriment of those around him. Nogusta's code was iron. And it meant he could not ride away and leave his friends and the others to the fate that so obviously awaited them somewhere along the road.
He had told the boy, Conalin, his reasons for helping the queen were selfish — and so they were. He remembered the day his father had taken the family to the Great Museum in Drenan. They had viewed the exhibits, the ancient swords and statues, the gilded scrolls and the many bones, and at last his father had led them to the Sickle Lake, and there they had sat, eating a lunch of bread and cold roast meat. It was his tenth birthday. He had asked his father about the heroes, whose lives were celebrated at the museum. He had wondered what made them stand and die for their beliefs. His father's answer had been long-winded, and much of it had passed over the boy's head. But there was one, striking, visual memory. His father had taken his mother's hand mirror and placed it in Nogusta's hand. 'Look into it, and tell me what you see,' he said. Nogusta had seen his own reflection, and told him so.
'Do you like what you see?' his father had asked. It was a strange question. He was seeing himself.
'Of course I do. It's me!'
Then his father said: 'Are you proud of what you see?' Nogusta couldn't answer that. His father smiled. 'That is the true secret that carries a hero to deeds other men can only envy. You must always be able to look in a mirror and feel pride. When faced with peril you ask yourself, if I run, or hide, or beg or plead for life, will I still be able to look into a mirror and feel pride?'
Stepping into the saddle Nogusta rode on. The ridge road dipped steeply and Starfire's hoofs slipped on the stone. Riding with care the black warrior reached the canyon floor, and an old stone bridge that crossed the river. He was riding under the trees now, and stopped to examine the map once more. There was a second bridge marked, some 3 or 4 miles to the south-east. He decided to examine it before heading back to the wagon. There were still patches of snow upon the hillsides, and the air was cool as he heeled Starfire forward. The old road ran alongside a steep incline, then disappeared round the flanks of the hill.
Knowing he could see more of the land from higher ground Nogusta took hold of the pommel and ran the gelding up the slope. Starfire was breathing heavily as he crested the hill and Nogusta paused to allow the gelding to catch his breath.
Then he saw the cabin, set back in the trees, its walls built of natural stone, its roof covered with earth. Climbing ivy clung to the walls, and flowering shrubs had been set beneath the windows. The area around the cabin was well tended, and smoke drifted lazily from the stone chimney. Nogusta hesitated. He did not want to bring danger to any innocent mountain folk, but equally they would know the mountains and be able to advise him on the best route to Lem. Touching heels to Starfire he rode forward, but the horse grew nervous as they cleared the trees, and backed away.