The Quest for Lost Heroes

Informationen zum Autor David Gemmell Klappentext The Drenai stronghold had fallen. Now blood-hungry Nadir hordes spread desolation and despair across all the lands... ...even tiny Gothir, where slavers seized a young girl while the villagers looked the other way--all but the peasant boy Kiall. His unlikely rescue attempt would lead across the savage steppes and on through the Halls of Hell. The youth would face ferocious beasts, deadly warriors, and demons of the dark; he would emerge a man--or not emerge at all. But Kiall would not face these dangers alone. Heroes out of legend joined his quest: Chareos the Blademaster, Beltzer the Axeman, and the bowmen Finn and Maggrig. And one among their company hid a secret that could free the world of Nadir domination. That one was the Nadir Bane, the hope of the Drenai. That one was the Earl of Bronze. Thus did a search for a stolen slave girl become a quest that would shake the very world.1 SEVENTEEN PEOPLE WATCHED the duel, and not a sound could be heard above the whispering of the blades and the discordant music of steel on steel. The earl rolled his wrist and sent a lancing stroke toward the face mask of his opponent, but the man dropped his shoulder and swayed aside, flashing a riposte that the earl barely parried. For some minutes the two duelists were locked in a strategic battle, then the earl launched a blistering attack. His opponenta tall, lean man wearing the gray habit of a monk beneath his mask and mail shirtdefended desperately. With a last hissing clash the swords came together, the earl's blade sliding free to touch the monk's chest. The duelists bowed to each other, and a light ripple of applause came from the spectators. The earl's wife and three sons moved out onto the floor of the hall. You were wonderful, Father, said the youngest, a blond-headed boy of seven. The Earl of Talgithir ruffled the boy's hair. Did you enjoy the exhibition? he asked. Yes, Father, the boys chorused. And what was the move by which your father defeated me? the monk asked, pulling off his mask. The Classic Chare, replied the eldest. The monk smiled. Indeed it was, Lord Patris. You are studying well. The earl allowed his wife to lead his sons from the hall and waved away his retainers. With the hall empty, he took the monk's arm, and the two men strode to the south gallery, where a pitcher of fruit juice and two goblets had been set aside. The earl filled the goblets. Are you really content here? he asked. The monk shrugged. As content as I would be anywhere, my lord. Why do you ask? The earl gazed into the eyes of the man before him. The face he saw was strong, the nose long and aquiline, the mouth full below a trimmed mustache. There are many legends concerning you, Chareos, he said. Some have you as a prince. Did you know that? I have heard it, Chareos admitted. It is unimportant. What is important? You are the finest swordsman I ever saw. You were one of the heroes of Bel-azar. You could have been rich beyond the dreams of common men. I am rich beyond the dreams of common men, my lord. And that is what is important. This life suits me. I am by nature a student. The libraries here in Gothir are among the best anywhere. Far south, they say, the libraries of Drenan contain more books, but here are the complete works of Tertullus. It will take me many years to study them all. It doesn't seem right, said the earl. I remember my father putting me on his shoulder so that I could see the heroes of Bel-azar as they marched through the streets of New Gulgothir. I remember everything about that day. You were riding a white stallion of some seventeen hands and wearing a silver mail shirt and a helm with a white horsehair plume. Beltzer was behind you, carrying his ax. Then Mag...

Autorentext

David Gemmell

Klappentext

The Drenai stronghold had fallen. Now blood-hungry Nadir hordes spread desolation and despair across all the lands...
...even tiny Gothir, where slavers seized a young girl while the villagers looked the other way--all but the peasant boy Kiall. His unlikely rescue attempt would lead across the savage steppes and on through the Halls of Hell. The youth would face ferocious beasts, deadly warriors, and demons of the dark; he would emerge a man--or not emerge at all.
But Kiall would not face these dangers alone. Heroes out of legend joined his quest: Chareos the Blademaster, Beltzer the Axeman, and the bowmen Finn and Maggrig. And one among their company hid a secret that could free the world of Nadir domination. That one was the Nadir Bane, the hope of the Drenai. That one was the Earl of Bronze.
Thus did a search for a stolen slave girl become a quest that would shake the very world.

Leseprobe
1
 
SEVENTEEN PEOPLE WATCHED the duel, and not a sound could be heard above the whispering of the blades and the discordant music of steel on steel. The earl rolled his wrist and sent a lancing stroke toward the face mask of his opponent, but the man dropped his shoulder and swayed aside, flashing a riposte that the earl barely parried. For some minutes the two duelists were locked in a strategic battle, then the earl launched a blistering attack. His opponent—a tall, lean man wearing the gray habit of a monk beneath his mask and mail shirt—defended desperately. With a last hissing clash the swords came together, the earl’s blade sliding free to touch the monk’s chest.
 
The duelists bowed to each other, and a light ripple of applause came from the spectators. The earl’s wife and three sons moved out onto the floor of the hall.
 
“You were wonderful, Father,” said the youngest, a blond-headed boy of seven. The Earl of Talgithir ruffled the boy’s hair.
 
“Did you enjoy the exhibition?” he asked.
 
“Yes, Father,” the boys chorused.
 
“And what was the move by which your father defeated me?” the monk asked, pulling off his mask.
 
“The Classic Chare,” replied the eldest.
 
The monk smiled. “Indeed it was, Lord Patris. You are studying well.”
 
The earl allowed his wife to lead his sons from the hall and waved away his retainers. With the hall empty, he took the monk’s arm, and the two men strode to the south gallery, where a pitcher of fruit juice and two goblets had been set aside.
 
The earl filled the goblets. “Are you really content here?” he asked.
 
The monk shrugged. “As content as I would be anywhere, my lord. Why do you ask?”
 
The earl gazed into the eyes of the man before him. The face he saw was strong, the nose long and aquiline, the mouth full below a trimmed mustache. “There are many legends concerning you, Chareos,” he said. “Some have you as a prince. Did you know that?”
 
“I have heard it,” Chareos admitted. “It is unimportant.”
 
“What is important? You are the finest swordsman I ever saw. You were one of the heroes of Bel-azar. You could have been rich beyond the dreams of common men.”
 
“I am rich beyond the dreams of common men, my lord. And that is what is important. This life suits me. I am by nature a student. The libraries here in Gothir are among the best anywhere. Far south, they say, the libraries of Drenan contain more books, but here are the complete works of Tertullus. It will take me many years to study them all.”
 
“It doesn’t seem right,” said the earl. “I remember my father putting me on his shoulder so that I could see the heroes of Bel-azar as they marched through the streets of New Gulgothir. I remember everything about that day. You were riding a white stallion of some seventeen hands and wearing a silver mail shirt and a helm with a…