Winter Warriors

by David Gemmell

  Malikada forced the image of the man from his mind, picturing again the moment when Skanda had signalled the charge. Oh, how he wished he could have been closer, to see the expression on the bastard's face, to witness the realization that he was doomed, that Malikada was ending his dreams of empire. Oh, how that must have eaten into Skanda's soul.

  Irritation flared again within him. When Skanda had been dragged unconscious from the battlefield Kalizkan had refused permission for Malikada to witness the sacrifice. He would like to have seen that; to see the living heart cut from the body. A truly magnificent moment it would have been to stand over the king, their gaze locked together, watching the death agony, feeling Skanda's dying hatred. Malikada shivered with pleasure at the thought.

  But then Kalizkan was a secretive man. Malikada had not been allowed to watch the old emperor's sacrifice either.

  The corpses were being tumbled into the pit now, and covered with oil and dry wood. As the flames spread and black smoke spiralled up Malikada turned away. It was almost noon, and he needed to see Kalizkan. This was only the beginning. There were other Drenai garrisons along the coast, and there was still the problem of the White Wolf.

  Also there was the question of Malikada's coronation.

  Emperor Malikada! Now that had a fine sound. He would order Kalizkan to create an even greater illusion in the night skies over Usa - something that would dwarf the display Skanda had enjoyed.

  He strolled back through the Ventrian camp towards the cliffs beyond. Red dust rose up around him as he walked, staining his highly polished boots. The cave entrance was dark, but he could see lantern light further inside. Stepping into the cave he felt a momentary fear. Kalizkan had become so withdrawn lately, and had ceased to treat him with his customary respect. Malikada had allowed the discourtesy, for he needed the man. His spells and his wizardry had been vital.

  Had been vital.

  The thought struck him that he no longer needed Kalizkan.

  I need no-one, he realized. But I shall keep him with me. His skills will be more than useful when it comes time to invade the lands of the Drenai. But first there is Axiana. I shall wait until she has birthed the child, see it strangled, and then wed her myself. Who can then deny me the crown?

  His good humour restored he continued on his way.

  The body of Skanda was laid on a stone altar, the chest cut open. A linen cloth had been laid over his face. Kalizkan was sitting by a small fire, his blue satin robes stained with blood.

  'Did he scream as he died?' asked Malikada.

  Kalizkan rose. 'No, he did not scream. He cursed you with his last breath.'

  'I would like to have heard that,' said Malikada.

  There was a foul odour in the cave, and Malikada pulled a perfumed handkerchief from his pocket, holding it to his nose. 'What is that smell?' he asked.

  'It is this form,' said Kalizkan. 'It has served its purpose, and is now rotting. And I have no wish to waste my enhanced powers sustaining it any longer.'

  'Form? What are you talking about?'

  'Kalizkan's body. It was already dying when I in­habited it. That was why he summoned me. To take away his cancer. I took him instead. His arrogance was overwhelming. How could he think to control Anharat, Lord of the Night?'

  'You are making no sense, wizard.'

  'On the contrary, Malikada. It all makes perfect sense, depending, of course, upon your perspective. I listened to your conversation with the swordsman. You were quite right. It is all a question of perspectives. Skanda believed you betrayed him, whereas you and I know you remained true to the one cause you believed in, the restoration of the Ventrian throne. Naturally with you to sit upon it. I, on the other hand, have no interest in the throne. And I have also remained true to my cause -the restoration of my people to the land which was once theirs by right and by force of arms.'

  Malikada was suddenly frightened. He tried to back away, but found that his legs would not obey him. The perfumed handkerchief dropped from his fingers, and his arms fell uselessly to his sides. He was paralysed. He tried to shout for help, but, as his mouth opened, no sound came forth.

  'I don't suppose,' said the creature within Kalizkan, 'that you are interested in my cause, save that to tell it will extend your life by a few moments.' The body of the wizard seemed to shimmer, and Malikada found himself gazing upon a rotting corpse. Half the flesh of the face had disappeared, the other half was grey-green and maggot infested. Malikada tried to shut his eyes, but even that was lost to him. 'My people,' said Kalizkan, 'lost a war. We were not killed. We were banished, to a grey, soulless world alongside your own. A world with­out colour, without taste, without hope. Now, thanks in small part to you, Malikada, we have the chance to live again. To feel the cold, heady night winds upon our faces, to taste the sweet joys that spring from human fear.'

  Kalizkan came closer, and reached out his hand. Talons sprouted from the fingers. 'Oh yes, Malikada, let your terror flow. It is like wine, soft upon the tongue.' With an agonizing lack of speed the talons slowly pierced Malikada's chest.

  'And now you can help me complete my mission. The queen, you see, has escaped from my home, and I need your form in order to use your men to hunt her down.'

  The fierce pain of fire flowed through Malikada, sear­ing its way across his chest, down into his belly, and up the spinal cord, exploding into his brain. It was an agony beyond enduring, and Kalizkan shivered with pleasure at it.

  The talons ceased their probing as they closed around Malikada's heart. 'If I had more time,' said Anharat, 'I would hold you like this for some hours. But I have no time. So die, Malikada. Die in despair. Your world is ruined, and soon your people will be food for the Windborn.' The Ventrian's corpse twitched. The rotting body of Kalizkan fell to the floor.

  Within Malikada now the demon stretched out his new arms. Kalizkan's body burst into flames.

  Stepping back the new Malikada strode to the cave entrance. Lifting his hand he focused his concentration on the rocks above him. Dust filtered down, the rocks groaned. Malikada stepped into the sunlight.

  And the cave ceiling crashed down behind him, block­ing the entrance.

  He strode down to where his men were waiting, paus­ing only to sniff the smoke rising from the great pyre. There was a delicious sweetness to it.

  Back at his tent he summoned Antikas Karios. The swordsman bowed low.

  'Go to the city and find the queen,' said Malikada. 'Protect her until my arrival.'

  'Yes, my lord. Protect her from whom?'

  'Just make sure she is there when I arrive.'

  'I shall leave immediately, my lord.'

  'Do not fail me, Antikas.'

  An angry look came into the swordsman's deep, dark eyes. 'When have I ever failed you, cousin?'

  'Never,' replied Malikada, 'and now is not the time to start.'

  Antikas said nothing for a moment, but the demon within Malikada felt the swordsman's piercing gaze. Coolly he cast a small spell, which radiated from him, surrounding Antikas. The swordsman relaxed.

  'It will be as you command,' he said.

  'Take spare horses and ride all night. Be there before the dawn,'

  The carriage moved slowly through the city streets. Crowds were everywhere now, and as dusk deepened, the riots began in the poorer quarters of the city. Several buildings were set afire. 'Why do they do this?' asked Axiana, watching the distant smoke, and hearing the far-off screams. 'What purpose does it achieve?'

  Dagorian shrugged. 'That is hard to explain, your highness. Some people are in a state of panic. They fear the Cadians will descend on them with fire and sword. Others know that with the army destroyed they are free to commit crimes they would otherwise have been punished for. They see the disaster as an opportunity to obtain wealth they could not hope to earn. I do not know all the reasons. But there will be many deaths tonight.'

  The carriage pulled into the palace grounds, where it was stopped by an officer of the guards, and a squad of s
pear men. The man opened the door, saw the queen, and bowed low.

  'Thank the Source you are safe, your highness,' he said. She gave him a wan smile, and the carriage moved on.

  Inside the queen's apartments Axiana sank to a couch, resting her head on a satin pillow, and fell asleep. Ulmenetha began to gather clothes for the queen, pack­ing them carefully into an ornate wooden chest. Then she went with the children to the deserted kitchens, where she gathered food: sides of ham, some hard cheese wrapped in muslin, and several small sacks of flour, sugar and salt. The children sat close by, gorging them­selves on bread and preserves, washed down with fresh milk. Ulmenetha paused and watched them.

  'What happened in that orphanage?' she asked the red-headed boy.

  His bright blue eyes were suddenly fearful, but his expression remained set and hard. 'Children died,' he said. 'Everybody said Kalizkan was kind. You could be sure of a meal there. Lots of my friends had already gone. We went there ten days ago.' The boy closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 'Most of my friends were dead by then, but I didn't know. They used to take them underground, but you could still hear the screams.' He opened his eyes. 'I don't want to talk about it.'

  'I understand,' said the priestess. Moving opposite the children she sat down. 'Listen to me. We are leaving the city. Tonight. You can come with us if you wish, or you can stay in Usa. It is up to you.'

  'Where are you going?' asked the older girl, her deep, dark eyes holding to Ulmenetha's gaze.

  'We will try to find a way to the coast, and then a ship to Drenan. It is a long way, and I think it will be a perilous journey. You may be safer here.'

  'I am Drenai,' said the girl. 'Or at least my father was Drenai. I will come with you. There is nothing here for me. I do not want to stay.'

  'You won't leave me here!' wailed the small blonde child, taking hold of the girl's hand.

  'I won't leave you, little one. You can come with us.'

  'Why should we go?' asked the boy. 'I can steal food for all of us.'

  Reaching out she ran her fingers through his tangled red hair. 'Maybe in Drenan you won't have to steal food. We could live in a house.'

  The boy swore. 'Who's going to give us a house, Pharis? Nobody gives anyone anything. You get nothing for nothing. That's the way of it.'

  'You found food for me, Conalin. And you looked after Sufia when she was sick. You got nothing in return.'

  'You're my friends and I love you. That's different. How do you know you can trust this fat woman?'

  The girl looked up again into Ulmenetha's eyes. 'She came to rescue her friend. And she fought the beast. I trust her.'

  'Well, I don't want to go,' said the boy, stubbornly.

  'If you don't come, who will protect little Sufia?' she said.

  'Oh, please come with us, Con,' pleaded Sufia. 'Please!'

  He sat silently for a moment, then stared up at Ulmenetha, his eyes angry. 'Why should we trust you?' he asked her.

  'I can offer no reason, Conalin. Save that I never lie. And I promise you this: If we reach Drenan safely the queen will buy you a house.'

  'Why should you? You owe us nothing.'

  'That is not true. Your bravery, and that of your sister, helped to kill the . . . beast, as you call it. Had you not helped me I would have been killed.'

  'She's not my sister. She's Pharis, my friend. And if she and Sufia are going, I'll come too. But I don't believe you about the house.'

  'Wait and see,' said Ulmenetha. 'Now let's find some sacks for supplies, and fill them. We don't want to be hungry when we reach the mountains.'

  Back in the apartments the queen was asleep on the couch, and Dagorian had swapped his beggar's rags for one of Skanda's grey woollen tunics. It was emblazoned with a rearing white horse at the shoulder. He stood now on the balcony, watching the glow from the fires in the western quarter.

  The rioting would die down during the night, and their best chance of escape lay in the hour before dawn, when the rioters were asleep, and the soldiers of the Watch were busy with the aftermath of the chaos.

  Escape?

  How long before the pursuit began? And how fast could they travel? The queen was heavily pregnant, the child due within days. She could not ride a horse at speed. The threat of miscarriage was too great. That meant taking a wagon. Hard-riding horsemen would catch them within hours.

  Perhaps it would be wiser to try to reach Banelion. The White Wolf and his men could not be further than a few days' ride to the west.

  He dismissed the idea. That would be the enemy's first thought. And anyway what could a few hundred old men do against Malikada's Ventrian army? Joining Banelion would merely serve a death warrant on more Drenai soldiers.

  What then?

  Some deception was necessary. Something that would give them time.

  He heard the queen give out a soft moan in her sleep and moved back into the apartment. Sitting down beside her he gently took her hand. 'I will defend you with my life,' he whispered.

  Ulmenetha watched him from the doorway. He was holding her hand with great tenderness and she realized, in that moment, that the young man was in love with Axiana. Sadness touched her. In a just world they would have met two years ago, when both were free. Even if she returned his love Axiana was carrying the heir to the throne of two nations. Her life would remain ruled by men of power. And they would never sanction a marriage to a junior officer like Dagorian.

  Clearing her throat she stepped into the room, the children following her, bearing sacks of supplies.

  'What now?' she asked Dagorian.

  Releasing the queen's hand he rose. 'Are the children coming with us?' Ulmenetha nodded. 'Good,' he said. >'We will need a wagon and extra horses. I will find them. The queen must be disguised. No silks nor satins. No jewellery. We will leave the city as a poor family, fleeing from the riots. There will be many such over the next few days. With luck we will pass unnoticed among them. This will slow down the pursuit.'

  'What can I do while you are fetching a wagon?'

  'Find maps of the mountains. There will be many box canyons, broken trails, and treacherous areas. It would be helpful if we could plan a route, and not move blindly on faith alone.'

  Swirling a dark cloak around his shoulders Dagorian left them. The youngest child, Sufia, was exhausted, and Pharis led her to a couch, where she lay down and fell asleep. Leaving the children in the apartment Ulmenetha took a lantern and made her way to the Royal Library on the ground floor. There were thousands of books here, and hundreds of scrolls. She searched for some time through the index, locating three ancient maps of the mountains, and also a traveller's diary that told of the trek from Usa to Perapolis in the south. If the Source was with them they would be following this route for at least part of the way.

  Returning to the apartment she found the red-headed boy, Conalin, sitting on the balcony. Pharis and Sufia were cuddled together on the couch, fast asleep. She covered them with a blanket then moved to Axiana. The queen stirred, opened her eyes, and smiled sleepily. 'I had a terrible dream,' she said.

  'Rest, my lady. You will need your strength in the morning.' Axiana closed her eyes.

  Ulmenetha walked out onto the balcony. The western quarter of the city was ablaze, and she could hear distant screams. 'Are you not tired?' she asked Conalin.

  'I am strong,' he said.

  'I know that. But even the strong need sleep.'

  'They are killing one another,' he said, gesturing towards the distant flames. 'Robbing, looting, raping. Slaughtering the weak.'

  'Does it sadden you?'

  'It is what the weak are for,' he said, solemnly. 'That is why I shall never be weak.'

  'How did you come to meet Pharis and the child?'

  'Why do you want to know?' he demanded.

  'I am making conversation, Conalin. If we are to be friends we need to know one another. That is the way of things. What is Pharis's favourite food?'

  'Plums. Why?'

  She smiled. '
That is part of knowing a friend. When you go out to steal food you will look for a plum for Pharis, because you know she likes them. Knowing is good among friends. So where did you meet?'

  'Her mother's a whore who worked Merchant Alley. I first saw Pharis there. Two summers ago. Her mother was drunk, and lying in the gutter. Pharis was trying to lift her, to get her home.'

  'And you helped?'

  'Yes.'

  'Why did you do that?'

  'What do you mean?'

  Ulmenetha shrugged. 'You were helping the weak, Conalin. Why did you not just rob her and walk away?'

  'That's what I was going to do,' he snapped. 'I saw her lying there and I knew she'd have coin from the men she'd doxied. But then Pharis came along. She saw me standing there and she said, "Take her arm." So I did. Anyway, that's how we met.'

  'What happened to the mother?'

  Now it was his turn to shrug. 'She's still around. She sold Pharis to a whorehouse. Where rich men like to fondle young girls. I took her away from that. I climbed through the rear window one night, and I got her out.'

  'That was very brave of you.' He seemed pleased at the compliment and his hard face relaxed. As it did so he looked younger, and terribly vulnerable. Ulmenetha wanted to reach out and stroke his tangled red hair, to draw him to her. He spoke again.

  'Had to pick the lock on her room. And all the while the Breaker was asleep in a chair next to it.'

  'The Breaker?' she enquired.

  'The leg-breaker. The man who watches out for the girls. Well, they say he watches out for them, but if a girl won't do what she's told he bashes them.' He grinned suddenly. 'I bet he was in real trouble the following morning.'

  'And what about Sufia?'

  'We found her in that wizard's house. She was hiding under a bed. She was the last of them. Why was he killing children?' he asked her.

  'He was, I believe, making blood magic,' said Ulmenetha. 'It is a vile practice.'

  'There's a lot of them,' he said, softly. 'Vile practices.'