Gemmell, David - Drenai 08 - Winter Warriors (v1.0)

by Winter Warriors (v1. 0) [lit]

  Z03

  ceased. 'Open up, Canta! There is a hungry man out here,' he called.

  He heard the bolts being drawn back. The door swung open. Within were two men. One, the owner, Canta, a short, fat, balding man with a heavy black moustache, had a kitchen knife in his hand, the other man was holding a hatchet. 'Come in quickly,' said Canta. Antikas stepped inside. They slammed shut the door and bolted it.

  'What are you afraid of?' asked Antikas. The men looked at one another.

  'How long have you been back in the city?' asked Canta.

  'I just rode in.'

  There have been riots,' said the tavern keeper, dropping his knife to a table and slumping down. 'Riots like you've never seen. People hacking and stabbing their neighbours. Last night the baker murdered his wife and ran along the street with her head in his hands. I saw it with my own eyes, Antikas, through the window slats. There is madness everywhere. Tomorrow I'm getting out.'

  'And what of the Militia?' asked Antikas.

  'They're out there with them, burning and looting. I tell you, Antikas, it beggars belief. By day everything is quiet, but when the sun goes down the nightmare begins again. There is a great evil at work here. I feel it in my bones.'

  Antikas rubbed his weary eyes. 'The army is back now. They will restore order.'

  'The army is camped a mile from the city,' said the other man, a stocky figure with a greying beard. 'The city is defenceless.'

  The tavern was gloomy and dark, lit only by a fading log fire in the hearth. 'Do you have any food?' asked Antikas. 'I have not eaten since yesterday.'

  204

  Canta nodded and moved away to the kitchen. The other man sat opposite the swordsman. 'There is sorcery here,' he said. 'I think the city is dying.'

  'Nonsense,' snapped Antikas.

  'You haven't seen it, man. Outside. After dark. I have. I'll not forget it. The mob becomes possessed. You can see it in their eyes.'

  'That is the way with mobs,' said Antikas.

  'Maybe it is, soldier. But yesterday . . .' his voice tailed away. The man rose and walked away to the fire, slump­ing down beside it and staring into the flames. Canta returned with a plate of cold beef and cheese and a jug of watered wine.

  'It is the best I can offer,' said Canta. Antikas reached for his money pouch. 'Don't concern yourself with that,' said Canta. Take it as a gift.'

  The sound of sobbing came from the hearth. Antikas looked at the weeping man with distaste. Canta leaned in close. 'Last night he killed his wife and daughters,' whispered the innkeeper. 'And he loved them dearly. He came to me this morning, covered in blood. He could not believe what he had done.'

  'He will be arrested and hanged,' said Antikas, coldly.

  'Wait until you've lived through the night before mak­ing judgements,' advised Canta.

  Antikas did not reply. Slowly he ate the meal, savour­ing the taste of the cold beef and the texture of the smoked cheese. At last replete he sat back. A stair board creaked. Antikas glanced up and saw a tall, thin priest, in robes of white, moving down the stairs. 'He has been here two days,' said Canta. 'He says little, but he is mightily afraid.'

  The priest acknowledged Antikas with a curt nod and moved past him to sit at a table at the far wall.

  205

  'What is he doing at a tavern?' asked Antikas.

  'He says that this place was built on the ruins of a shrine, and that demons will avoid it. He is leaving with us tomorrow.'

  Antikas rose and moved across the room. The priest glanced up. He had a thin, ascetic face, with a prominent nose and a receding chin. His eyes were pale and watery. 'Good evening to you, Father,' said Antikas.

  'And to you, my son,' answered the priest.

  'What is it you fear?'

  'The end of the world,' said the priest, his voice dull and toneless.

  Antikas leaned forward on the table, forcing the man to meet his gaze. 'Explain,' he ordered him.

  'Words are useless now,' said the priest, once more averting his gaze. 'It has begun. It will not be stopped. The demons are everywhere, and growing stronger each night.' He lapsed into silence. Antikas found it hard to suppress his irritation.

  'Tell me anyway,' he said, sitting down on the bench seat opposite the man.

  The priest sighed. 'Some weeks ago Father Aminias, the oldest of our order, told the Abbot he had seen demons over the city. He maintained the city was in great danger. Then he was murdered. A few days ago a woman came to me in the temple. She was a priestess, and midwife to the queen. She had been blessed with a kiraz - a three­fold vision. I spoke with her, and tried to interpret it. After she had gone I began to study the ancient scrolls and grimoires in the temple library. There I came upon a prophecy. That prophecy is being fulfilled now.'

  'What are you saying?' persisted Antikas. 'You think the sun will fall from the sky, that the oceans will rise up and destroy us?'

  zo6

  'Nothing so natural, my son. Both the old emperor and Skanda were, I believe, descended from the line of three ancient kings. These kings, and a wizard, fought a war long ago. It was not a war against men. There are few details of it now, and those that remain are hope­lessly distorted, and full of bizarre imagery. What is clear, however, is that it was a war against non-humans

  - demons, if you like. All the ancient tomes tell of a period when such creatures walked among us. The three kings ended that period, banishing all demons to another world. There are no details now of the spell that was wrought, but one of the tomes tells of the patterns of planets in the sky that awesome night. A similar pattern is in the heavens now. And I believe - with utter certainty

  - that the demons are returning.'

  'Tomes, stars, demons - I understand none of this, priest,' snapped Antikas. 'Offer me proofs!'

  'Proofs?' The priest laughed aloud. 'What proofs would be sufficient? We are in a city being torn apart every night by those possessed. The prophecy talks of the Sacrifice of Kings. The priestess told me her vision showed the old emperor was killed in such a manner. Now Skanda is dead. You are a soldier. Were you there when his army was destroyed?' Antikas nodded. 'Was he slain on the battlefield, or taken to a secret place, and then killed?'

  'It is not my place to discuss these things,' said Antikas. 'But, for the sake of argument, let us assume he was. What do you take it to mean?'

  'It means the fulfilment of prophecy. Two of three kings sacrificed. When the third dies the gateways will open, and the demons will be back among us. In the flesh.'

  'Pah!' snorted Antikas. 'And there your argument falters, for there is no third king.'

  2.07

  'Not so,' said the priest. 'In the words of the prophecy the sacrifices will consist of an owl, a lion and a lamb. The owl represents wisdom and learning. The old emperor was, as you will recall, a learned man, who founded many universities. Skanda, may his soul burn, was a ravening lion, a destroyer. The third? A lamb is a newborn creature. A child, therefore, or a babe. I am not a seer. But I do not need to be, for I saw Queen Axiana recently, and her child is soon due. He will be the third king.'

  Antikas leaned back in his chair and drew in a long breath. 'You speak of spells and grimoires, but only one man had such power. Kalizkan. And he is dead. Killed in a rockfall.'

  'I do not speak of men,' said the priest. 'No man could summon such magic. I knew Kalizkan. He was a caring man, thoughtful and sensitive. Two years ago he came to the temple to be healed of a terrible cancer. We could not help him. He had but days to live. He spent two of those days studying ancient texts in our library. After the visit of the priestess I studied those same texts myself. One of the spells contained there was of a merging. If a sorcerer had enough power - so it maintained - he could draw a demon into himself for the purposes of prolonging his life. Shared immortality.' The priest fell silent, then sipped water from a pewter tankard. Antikas waited patiently. The priest spoke again. 'We were all surprised when Kalizkan continued to survive. But he did not come to th
e temple again, nor visit any holy place. It is my belief - though I can offer you no further proofs -that Kalizkan, in a bid to heal himself, allowed his body to be possessed. But either the promise of the spell was a lie, or Kalizkan was not powerful enough to with­stand the demon. Whatever, I think Kalizkan died long

  zo8

  ago. And, if I am right, no rockfall would have killed him.'

  'And yet it did,' insisted Antikas.

  The priest shook his head. 'The Demon Lord would merely have found another host. You say he died in a rockfall. Was there one survivor who walked away unscathed?'

  Antikas pushed back his chair and rose. 'I have heard enough of this nonsense. Your brains are addled, priest.'

  'It is my sincere hope that you are right,' the priest told him.

  From outside came the sound of wailing. Scores of voices joined in. Antikas shivered, for the sound was unearthly.

  'It begins again,' said the priest, closing his eyes in prayer.

  Despite his apparent dismissal of the priest Antikas was deeply troubled. He had served Malikada for more than fifteen years, and had shared his hatred of the Drenai invaders. And while he had never fully condoned the treachery that led to the destruction of the Drenai army, he had seen it as the lesser of two great evils. However, the events of the past few days had concerned him, and now, with the added weight of the priest's words, doubt began to gnaw at him.

  Malikada had escaped the rockfall which killed Kalizkan, and from that moment had seemed changed. He was colder, more controlled. That, in itself, meant nothing. Yet he had also lost interest in strengthening his grip on the empire. Killing Skanda was but a step towards freeing Ventria from the grip of the Drenai. There were garrisons all over the land, many of them containing Drenai units. And the sea lanes were patrolled

  2.09

  by Drenai ships. Both he and Malikada had planned this coup for months, and both had been acutely aware of the dangers of Drenai reprisals. Yet now Malikada showed complete disinterest in the grand design. All he seemed to want was Axiana.

  Antikas crossed to the fire. The wife-killer was sitting silently, staring at the flames through eyes red-rimmed from weeping. Outside they could hear hundreds of people moving through the streets. Canta crept across the room. 'Stay silent,' he whispered. 'Make no movement.'

  Antikas moved to the shuttered window, and listened. People were gathering together, and he could hear a babble of voices. There were no words to be understood, though they seemed to be speaking to one another in strange tongues. Antikas shivered.

  Suddenly a spear smashed through the shutters, pass­ing inches from Antikas's face. He leapt back. An axe blade smashed the wood to shards and he found himself staring at a sea of faces, all twisted into fearsome grimaces, their eyes wide and staring. At that moment Antikas knew the truth of the priest's words. These people were possessed.

  Behind him Canta screamed and fled for the stairs. Antikas drew his sabre and stood his ground. The axe­man grabbed the window-sill and began to haul himself across the threshold. His face changed, his expression softening. He blinked. 'In the name of Heaven, help me!' he shouted, dropping his axe to the floor. A knife was plunged through his back and the body was dragged from the window. The mob did not advance, but stood, staring with hatred at the lone swordsman standing inside. Then they drew back and moved away down the street.

  The priest approached Antikas. 'A long time ago there

  2.10

  was a shrine here. The remains of the altar can still be found at the rear of the cellar. Great and holy spells were once cast here. They cannot enter.'

  Antikas sheathed his sabre. 'What are they?

  'The Entukku. Mindless spirits who live to feed. Some say they are born from the souls of the evil dead. I do not know whether that be true. But they swim in the air all around us now, like sharks, feasting on the dark emotions of the possessed. Usa is a feeding ground, and faces extinction.'

  'What can be done, priest?'

  'Done? Nothing.'

  Antikas swung on the man, grabbing his white robes at the neck and hauling him close. 'There is always some­thing!' he hissed. ' So think!'

  The priest sighed. Antikas released him. 'Are you a believer?' asked the priest.

  'I believe in my skills and my sabre.'

  The priest stood for a moment, staring out into the darkness. 'You cannot kill the Demon Lord,' he said, 'for he is immortal. You could destroy the host body, but he would find another. And his strength is growing. You saw the mob. A few days ago the Entukku could merely inspire men to acts of violence. Skanda's death gave them the ability to possess hosts utterly. How can you fight such power with a sabre? Were you to step outside this door the demons would descend upon you and then the great Antikas Karios would be running with the mob, screaming and killing.'

  Antikas considered his words. 'That may be so, priest,' he said, at last, 'but you say his power is derived from the murder of kings. What happens if he fails to kill the third?'

  'How can he fail? Who can withstand demons?'

  Antikas stepped in close to the man. The words he used were softly spoken, but the priest blanched. 'If I hear another negative phrase from you I will hurl you from this window, and out into the night. Do you under­stand me?'

  'In the name of mercy . . . !' wailed the priest. Antikas cut him short.

  'I am not known as a merciful man, priest. Now answer the question. What if the third king eludes the demons?'

  'I am not sure,' answered the priest. 'The power he is using is derived from the previous sacrifices. Such power, though great, is finite. If he does not complete the third sacrifice in time then he will - I believe - be drawn back into his own world.'

  'What do you mean, in time?'

  'The pattern of the heavens is the clue. There are times when the strength of a spell is made immeasurably more powerful if cast with the right conjunction of planets. I believe this to be the case now.'

  'And how long does that give us?'

  'That is hard to estimate, for I am no astrologer. But no more than a month. That is for sure.'

  Canta returned from his hiding place upstairs. He and the man by the fire up-ended a table, lifting it into place against the shattered window. Antikas lit several lanterns. 'What are you doing?' asked Canta, fear­fully.

  'They cannot pass the portals of the tavern,' said Antikas, 'so let us have some light.' He gestured to the priest to join him and returned to the table. 'I need to get to my horse before dawn,' he said. 'Have you a spell to aid me?'

  The priest shook his head. 'My skills were not suited to magick.'

  ziz

  'What then, pray, are your skills?'

  'I am a healer.'

  Antikas cursed, then lapsed into thought. They were silent for several minutes. Then the swordsman glanced up. 'You say this place is holy. What makes it so?'

  'I told you. It was once a shrine.'

  'Yes, yes. But what remains here to keep it holy. Was a spell cast?'

  'Yes, many spells. They are held in the stone of the walls, and the wood of the beams.'

  'Therefore, if we were to move the shrine to another place, that would also be holy?'

  'I believe so.'

  'Come with me,' ordered Antikas, rising and lifting one of the lanterns from its wall bracket. Together the two men moved through to the back of the tavern. Finding the door to the cellar Antikas moved down the steps. It was cold below ground, and he threaded his way past barrels of beer, wine and spirit. 'Where is the altar?' he asked.

  'Over here,' said the priest, leading him to a block of stone some 3 feet high. The shape of a bull had been carved on the front of the stone, the image all but weathered away. On each side was a sculpted hand, holding a crescent moon. These too had been eroded by time. Antikas left the priest holding the lantern and returned upstairs.

  Gathering the axe dropped by the first of the mob he moved back to the cellar.

  'What are you going to do?' asked the p
riest. Antikas swung the axe, bringing it crashing down on the altar. Twice he struck, then a fist-sized section broke away. Dropping the axe he took up the stone.

  'You say that spells are held in the stone. Perhaps this will shield me from the demons.'

  2.13

  'I cannot say that for sure,' said the priest. 'What you have is a tiny fragment.'

  'I have no choice but to try, priest. The queen is in the mountains, guarded by only four men.'

  'And you think a fifth will make a difference?'

  'I am Antikas Karios, priest. I always make a differ­ence.'

  Tucking the rock into his tunic Antikas returned to the upper room. Moving to the upturned table which blocked the window he peered out into the street. All was silent. His mouth was dry, his heart beating fast. Antikas Karios feared no living man, but the thought of the demons waiting threatened to unman him. Placing his hand on the table he prepared to draw it aside.

  'Don't go out there!' pleaded Canta, echoing the voice in Antikas's own heart.

  'I must,' he said, wrenching the table aside and climb­ing to the sill.

  The night breeze was cool on his skin, and he leapt lightly to the ground. Behind him the others hastily drew back the table. Antikas ran across the street, ducking into an alley. He had gone no more than a hundred paces when the attack came. The temperature around him plummeted, and he heard whispers on the breeze. They grew louder and louder, filling his ears like angry hornets. Pain roared inside his head. Inside his tunic the rock grew warmer. Antikas staggered and almost fell. Anger surged - but as it did he felt the cold seep into his brain. Voices were hissing at him now in a language he had never heard, and yet he knew what they were saying. 'Give in! Give in! Give in!'

  He lurched against the side of a building and fell to his knees. The pain from striking the cobbles cut through the

  zi4

  discordant shrieking inside his mind. He focused on it -and on the heat from the rock against his skin.

  He wanted to rage against the invasion, to scream. But some deeper instinct overrode his emotions, urging him to stay calm, to fight coolly. Yet he felt like he was drowning in this sea of voices - at one with them, sharing their hunger for blood and pain and death.