Winter Warriors

by David Gemmell

  'Tell me about you,' she said.

  'No,' he said, simply. 'I don't talk about me. But you are right, I am tired. I think I'll sleep now for a while.'

  'I'll wake you when Dagorian gets back.'

  'You won't have to,' he assured her.

  Out on the streets the rioting continued unabated. Dagorian had avoided the guards by climbing over the palace wall, and dropping down onto the broad Avenue of Kings. From here he could see several bodies, sprawled in death. Rioters moved into sight, swilling looted wine. Keeping to the shadows he moved down the Avenue, then darted across it to one of the wide roads leading to the Merchants' Acre. Here, he knew, were the hauliers who daily distributed the merchants' wares to shops, homes and market stalls in the city.

  He reached the first to find the buildings engulfed by flames, and could see wagons burning on the open ground beyond. Anger swept through him, threatening to engulf his mind. He wanted to draw his sword and run at the rioters, hacking and slashing. His fingers closed around the hilt of his sabre. A voice whispered into his mind, cold and calm, dispelling the fury.

  'Do not let them possess you, Dagorian. They are everywhere.'

  Dagorian leaned back against a wall, his hands shaking with the aftermath of rage. 'Who are you?' he whispered.

  'A friend. You remember me? I came to you when the demons were rending your soul. And again at the home of the murdered seer.'

  'I remember.'

  'Know this, then, child: The city is possessed, and the demons are feasting on rage and murder. Every hour they grow stronger. By tomorrow no-one will be able to resist them. Do not succumb. Think clearly and coolly. I will be with you, though I will not speak again. Now find a wagon!'

  The officer moved away from the wall, and ducked down a narrow alley. Smoke, thicker than any fog, hung in the air, burning his lungs. Holding his cloak over his face Dagorian ran on. The sounds of screaming came from all around him now, from the burning buildings where people were trapped, from the alleyways, where victims had been cornered.

  Anger touched him again, but he fought it down.

  He came to the wide gates of a second haulier. They had been burst open and a group of men and women carrying torches were running around the yard, setting the wagons ablaze. Others had thrown torches into the stables, igniting the straw inside. Horses were whinnying in terror. Cutting across the yard Dagorian opened the stable doors, ran inside, freeing all but two of the horses. Panic stricken the freed beasts galloped into the yard, scattering the rioters.

  Moving to the remaining two horses Dagorian calmed them as best he could and led them from the stable. Fear was strong upon them, but they were used to the sure touch of their handlers, and they accepted Dagorian's authority. In the yard he tethered them to a wagon untouched by the rioters. The traces and brasses used to hitch the horses were laid over the back of the wagon. Dagorian moved to them.

  A rioter ran forwards, tossing a torch to the wagon seat. Dagorian spun on his heel and sent a thundering right cross to the man's jaw. He fell without a sound. Hurling the torch aside he moved to the traces. A whoosh of burning air seared across the yard as flames burst through the stables' wall. The horses reared. Once more Dagorian tried to calm them, stroking their long necks, whispering soothing words. The heat was intense and the rioters moved away. Dagorian hitched the horses and climbed to the driver's seat. Releasing the brake he took up the whip and cracked it. The horses surged into the traces and the wagon moved forward. But to exit the yard they had to drive past the burning stables and the horses faltered, unwilling to face the flames again.

  In the back of the wagon were several empty sacks. With his dagger he sliced two strips from one of them. Leaping to the ground he blindfolded the horses. Back in the driver's seat he cracked the whip. Reluctantly the team moved on. He could feel them faltering again as the heat swelled, but lashed them both with the whip and shouted at the top of his voice. The horses powered into the traces and the wagon rolled past the burning build­ing and out into the road beyond.

  Swinging them to the right he took them at speed down towards the Avenue of Kings.

  Another mob was gathered there, but they scattered as the wagon bore down on them. One man ran forward and leapt at him. His face was a twisted mask of hatred, his eyes staring wide. Dagorian lashed out with his foot, kicking the attacker in the chest, and pitching him to the street. Up ahead a group of men tried to block his way, but the horses were galloping now, and would not be stopped. A hurled knife thudded into the backrest behind him, but then he was clear of them, and the palace gates were in sight.

  They were open. And no guards could be seen.

  Dagorian drove through, then dragged on the reins, hauling the horses to a stop.

  Jumping down he struggled with the wrought-iron gates, pulling them closed.

  They would not hold firm against a mob, he knew. Mounting the wagon again he drove it to the main doors.

  The sky was lightening as he ran into the building, and up the long, winding staircase. The queen was awake now, and dressed in a simple woollen gown of blue, edged with white cotton.

  'We must go quickly,' said Dagorian. 'The mob will soon be here.'

  'Go? Where should I go? I am the queen. They will not harm me,' said Axiana. 'They are my people and they love me.' Her slender fingers touched the sleeve of her gown. 'And I will not wear this revolting outfit. It scratches my skin.'

  'A mob does not know of love,' said Dagorian. 'They are outside killing each other, raping and looting. It will not be long before they realize that true riches can be found here.'

  'My cousin Malikada will be back soon. He will pro­tect me,' said Axiana.

  'Please, my dove,' urged Ulmenetha, 'trust me! Your life is in danger, and we must flee the city.'

  'The nobility are not given to panic, Ulmenetha. And certainly not in the face of peasant unrest.'

  'It is not merely unrest,' Dagorian told her. 'The mobs are possessed.'

  'Possessed? That cannot be!'

  'It is true, highness. I swear it. I discovered the demons while investigating a series of murders. I believe Kalizkan summoned them. I have seen mobs before, and I have been out there among those demented people. There is a difference, believe me.'

  'You are saying this to frighten me,' insisted Axiana.

  Ulmenetha approached the queen. 'What he says is true, my dove. I have known about these demons for some time. I also know that Kalizkan is a walking corpse. He too is possessed. You saw the creature at his house. It was a zhagul. A dead man. I think we should listen to Dagorian and follow him to the mountains.'

  'I will not!' insisted Axiana, drawing back, her eyes fearful. 'Malikada will protect me. I will tell him of Kalizkan's evil and he will punish him.'

  Ulmenetha stepped in close and put her hands on Axiana's shoulders. 'Be calm,' she said, softly. 'I am here. All will be well.' Her right hand lifted, as if to stroke the queen's brow. Dagorian saw a blue light radiate from her palm. Axiana fell forward into Ulmenetha's arms. The priestess lowered her to a couch. 'She will sleep for several hours,' she said.

  'You are a sorceress?' whispered Dagorian.

  'I am a priestess!' she snapped. 'There is a difference. The little magic I know is used for healing. Now carry her down - and be careful with her.'

  Dagorian lifted Axiana to his arms. Despite her pregnancy she was not heavy and he carried her to the wagon, lifting her to the tailboard. Ulmenetha settled her down, rolling an empty sack for a pillow, and covering her with a blanket. Pharis and Sufia scrambled aboard, and Conalin climbed to the driver's seat. Dagorian stepped up to sit beside him.

  Dagorian drove the wagon to the royal stables, and there saddled a warhorse of some seventeen hands. 'Can you drive the wagon?' he asked Conalin. The boy nodded.

  'Good. Then I will clear a way to the East Gate. If I go down do not stop. You understand?'

  'Oh, I won't stop,' said Conalin. 'You can count on that.'

  'Then let's go
.'

  The Avenue of Kings was deserted now, and eerily quiet. Dagorian led the way, the sound of his horse's hoof beats like slow beating war drums. He drew his sabre and scanned the Avenue. There was not a sign of life.

  The dawn sun cleared the mountains.

  The wagon moved on. After half a mile they saw a group of men sitting quietly by the roadside. They were blood smeared, their clothing stained by smoke. They looked up at the wagon, but made no hostile moves. Their eyes were dull, and they seemed weary beyond reckoning.

  Dagorian sheathed his sabre.

  They reached the gate and found themselves waiting in a line of some twenty wagons and coaches, all filled with fleeing families and their possessions. The gate arch was narrow, and it was taking time to manoeuvre the wagons through. A group of riders arrived from outside the city, but could not pass, and Dagorian heard the beginnings of an angry exchange.

  Dismounting he tethered his horse and was about to climb onto the wagon when he heard the voice of Antikas Karios, ordering a wagon driver to draw his vehicle aside. Ducking down below the wagon he waited until the group cleared the gate, and thundered their mounts towards the palace.

  The wait now to leave the city seemed interminable. Two impatient drivers moved forward at the same time. One of the horses reared, and lashed out at the opposing team. Both drivers leapt down and began a heated argu­ment. Dagorian's patience snapped. Vaulting to the saddle he rode to the shouting men. Drawing his sabre he held the blade to the neck of the first. 'Back off,' he said, 'or I'll gut you like a fish!' The argument died instantly. The man scrambled back to his wagon and hauled on the reins, reversing his team. Swinging in the saddle Dagorian shouted to Conalin. 'Drive through!'

  And then they were out onto open ground.

  Conalin headed the horses up the long slope towards the mountains. Dagorian rode alongside, constantly looking back, expecting at any moment to see pursuers galloping after them. 'Give them a touch of the whip!' he ordered Conalin. The boy did so and the horses broke into a run. In the back of the wagon Ulmenetha was thrown to one side. The child Sufia began to cry. Ulmenetha gathered her close. There is nothing to fear,' she said, soothingly. The horses were breathing heavily as they reached the crest of the hill, dropping down on the other side. Out of sight of the city Dagorian ordered Conalin to slow down and continue following the road south and west.

  The officer rode back to the rise and dismounted. Minutes later he saw Antikas Karios and his men leave the city. For one dreadful moment he thought they were heading in pursuit, but they turned due west along the merchant road.

  How long before they realized their mistake? An hour? Less?

  Back in the saddle he caught up with the wagon. Axiana was conscious now, and sitting silently, staring out over the mountains. Dagorian hitched his horse to the wagon and climbed aboard. 'We have lost them for now,' he told Ulmenetha. 'Where are the maps?'

  Ulmenetha passed him the first. It was an old, dry scroll, which he carefully unrolled. The city depicted was vastly smaller than the metropolis Usa had become, but the mountain roads were clearly marked. They formed part of a trade route to the ghost city of Lem, zoo miles south. Built around the wealth of nearby silver mines -which had failed more than 200 years ago - Lem was now an abandoned series of ruins. Dagorian studied the map carefully. They would travel south for just over a hundred miles, then swing to the west for another 70 miles, crossing the Carpos mountains and picking up the coast road to Caphis. It was not the nearest of the ports, but the route was less well travelled, and should help them avoid the dangers of bandits and rebel tribesmen. Merchants were constantly harassed by such bands around the closest port, Morec.

  A secondary factor in choosing Caphis, but nonetheless important, was that Malikada was likely to expect them to head for Morec, the intended destination of the White Wolf and his men.

  He showed the route to Ulmenetha. She peered at the map. 'What do the symbols mean?' she asked him, tapping the scroll with her finger.

  They are a form of shorthand taken from High Ventrian. This one, which looks like the head of a ram, is a pictorial representation of three letters, N.W.P. It stands for no winter passage.'

  'And the figures?'

  'Distance between set points, using not the mile, but the Ventrian league. These will not be precise.'

  'How far must we travel?' asked Pharis.

  'Perhaps two hundred and fifty miles, much of it over rough country. We have no spare horses, so we will have to move with care, conserving the animals as best we can. With luck we will be in Caphis within a month. It is but a short trip then across the sea to Dros Purdol - and home!'

  'Whose home?' asked Axiana, suddenly. Dagorian looked across at the queen. Her face was pale, her dark eyes angry. 'It is not my home. My home was raided by Drenai savages from across the sea. These same savages saw my father slain, and forced me to wed their leader. Is Axiana going home? No, she is being kidnapped and taken from her home.'

  The officer was silent for a moment. 'I am sorry, your highness,' he said, at last. 'I am one of those Drenai savages. But I would willingly give my life for you. I have brought you from the city because you are in danger. Kalizkan is a monster. And, for purposes which I do not fully understand, desires to kill the child you carry. He and Malikada are in league. Of that I have no doubt. Malikada delivered your father to him. Kalizkan killed him. Now Malikada's treachery has seen Skanda similarly murdered. If it is in my power to bring you safely to Drenan then I shall. After that you will be free. You will be feted as the queen, and, if it is possible, an army will bring you back to Ventria and establish you once more upon the throne.'

  Axiana shook her head. 'How can you be so naive, Dagorian? You think the Drenai nobility will care about me? I am a foreigner. You think they will support my child? I think not. He will die, poisoned or strangled, and some other Drenai nobleman will take the throne. That is the way it will be. You say Malikada delivered up my father. I can believe that. He loathed him, thought him weak, and blamed him for the losses against Skanda. You say he betrayed Skanda. This I can also believe, for he hated him. But he has always loved me. He is my cousin and would do nothing to harm me.'

  'And the babe you carry?' asked Ulmenetha.

  'I care nothing for him. He is a poisoned gift from Skanda. Let them take him. And as for you, Dagorian, return to your horse. I find your company repulsive.'

  The words hurt him, but he stood, untied the reins of his mount and stepped into the saddle. Ulmenetha gathered up the map. 'You are wrong, highness,' she said, softly.

  'I need to hear no words from you, traitress.'

  A dry chuckle came from Conalin. He glanced back at Ulmenetha. 'You save her from the beast and she calls you names. Gods, how I hate the rich.'

  Axiana made no reply, but stared out over the snow-capped mountains, her face set, her expression unreadable. She wanted to apologize to Ulmenetha, to say that the words were spoken in anger. Ingratitude was not one of Axiana's weaknesses. She knew that the priestess had risked her life to save her from the undead creature in Kalizkan's house. More than this, she knew that Ulmenetha loved her, and would never willingly see her come to harm.

  But Axiana was frightened. Raised at court, her every whim catered to instantly, the events of the past two days had been deeply shocking to her. In the space of forty-eight hours she had been locked in a dank room, witnessed violent death, heard of her husband's murder, and was now in a creaking wagon, heading into the wild lands. She felt as if her mind was unravelling. Kalizkan, whom she had trusted and been fond of, was now revealed as a mass murderer, a child-killing beast. The Source alone knew what he had planned for her. She shuddered.

  'Are you cold, my dove?' Ulmenetha asked her. Axiana nodded dumbly. The priestess moved to her, laying a blanket over her shoulders. Tears welled in Axiana's eyes. The wagon lurched over a rut in the road and Axiana half fell into Ulmenetha. The priestess caught her. Axiana rested her head against Ulmenetha's shoulder.


  'I'm sorry,' she whispered.

  'I know, child.'

  'The baby is due soon. I am very frightened.'

  'I will be here. And you are strong. Everything will be all right.'

  Axiana took a deep breath, then sat upright. She could see Dagorian riding ahead, scanning the trail. They were heading towards a forest that covered the flanks of the hills like a buffalo robe. Axiana glanced back. The city of Usa could no longer be seen behind them.

  The dark-haired Pharis took a red apple from a food sack, and offered it to Axiana. The queen accepted it with a smile, then looked at the girl. She was terribly thin and undernourished, but her face was pretty, her eyes large and brown. Axiana had never been this close to a com­moner. She studied Pharis's thin dress. It was impossible to say what colour it had once been, for it was now a drab, lifeless grey, torn at the shoulder, the hip and the elbow, and badly frayed at the wrists and the neck. It would not have been used as a cleaning rag in the palace. Reaching out she touched the material. It was rough and dirty. Pharis drew back, and Axiana saw her expression change. The girl swung away and moved back to sit with Sufia.

  At that moment the child within her moved. She gave a little cry. Then she smiled. 'He kicked me,' she said. Ulmenetha gently placed her hand over Axiana's swollen belly.

  'Yes, I can feel him. He's lusty and anxious for life.'

  'Can I feel him?' asked little Sufia, scrambling back on her hands and knees. Axiana gazed down into her bright blue eyes.

  'Of course,' she said. Taking the child's small, grimy hand, she placed it over her stomach. For a moment there was no movement, then the baby kicked again. Sufia squealed with delight.

  'Pharis, Pharis, come feel!' she cried.

  Pharis looked up and met the queen's gaze. Axiana smiled and held out her hand. Pharis moved to her, and the baby obediently kicked once more.

  'How did it get in there?' asked Sufia. 'And how will it get out?'

  'Magic,' said Ulmenetha, swiftly. 'How old are you, Sufia?' she added, changing the subject. The child shrugged.