Winter Warriors

by David Gemmell

  'I stand corrected.'

  'Let us talk of more relevant matters,' said the swords­man. 'These warriors I am to fight are Krayakin, yes?'

  'They are indeed - the greatest fighters ever to walk the earth.'

  'They have not met me yet,' Antikas pointed out.

  'Trust me, my boy, they will not be quaking in their boots.'

  'They ought to,' said Antikas. 'Now tell me about them.'

  Antikas was sitting once more on the bridge wall when the riders emerged from the mist. The black warrior, Nogusta, was leading them. Antikas could see the queen, sitting side saddle, her horse led by a tall, slim, blond-haired woman in a flowing blue robe. Behind them came the man, Bison. Antikas had last seen him tied to the whipping post, on the day that Nogusta slew Cerez. A small, fair-haired child was seated before him. Behind the giant came two more youngsters, riding double, a red-haired boy of around fourteen and a wand-thin girl with long dark hair. Then he saw Dagorian. The officer was holding a small bundle in his arms. Bringing up the rear was the bowman, Kebra.

  Nogusta saw him and left the group, cantering his horse down the shallow slope.

  'Good morning to you,' said Antikas, rising and offer­ing a bow. 'I am pleased to see you alive.'

  Nogusta dismounted and moved closer, his expression unreadable. Antikas spoke again. 'I am not here as an enemy, black man.'

  'I know.'

  Antikas was surprised. 'Kalizkan told you about me?'

  'No. I had a vision.' Slowly the group filed to the bridge. Nogusta waved them on, and they rode past the two swordsmen. Antikas bowed deeply to Axiana, who responded with a smile. She looked wan and terribly weary.

  'Is the queen sick?' he asked Nogusta, after she had passed.

  'The birth was not easy, and she lost blood. The priestess healed her, but she will need time to recover fully.'

  'Is the child strong?'

  'He is strong,' said Nogusta. 'It is our hope that he remains that way. You know that we are followed?'

  Antikas nodded. 'By the Krayakin. Kalizkan told me. I will remain here and bar their path.'

  Nogusta smiled for the first time. 'Not even you can defeat four such warriors. Even with the black swords.'

  'It was a good vision you had,' said Antikas. 'Would you care to share it with me?' Nogusta shook his head.

  'Ah,' said Antikas, with a wide grin, 'I am to die then. Well, why not? It is something I've not done before. Perhaps I shall enjoy the experience.'

  Nogusta remained silent for a moment. Dagorian, Kebra and Bison came running back across the bridge to stand alongside him. 'What is he doing here?' said Dagorian, his face flushed and angry.

  'He is here to help us,' said Nogusta.

  'That's not likely,' hissed Dagorian. 'He sent assassins after me. He is in league with the enemy.'

  'Such indiscipline in your ranks, Nogusta,' said Antikas. 'Perhaps that is why you never gained a commission.'

  'Shall I break his neck?' asked Bison.

  'How novel,' muttered Antikas, 'an ape that speaks.' Bison surged forward. Nogusta threw out his arm. The effort of blocking the giant made him wince, as his injured shoulder flared with fresh pain.

  'Calm down,' he said. 'There is no treachery here. Antikas Karios is one of us. Understand that. The past is of no consequence. He is here to defend the bridge and buy us time. Let there be no more insults.' He turned to Antikas. 'The Krayakin will come tonight. They do not like the sun, and will wait for the clouds to clear and the moon to shine bright. There will be four of them. But riding with them will be a unit of Ventrian cavalry, sent by the demon who inhabits Malikada.'

  'You say I cannot defeat them alone? Will you then stand with me?'

  'I would like nothing more.'

  'No,' said Dagorian, suddenly. 'Your shoulder is injured. I have watched you ride. You are in great pain and your movements are slow and sluggish. I will stay.'

  'I too,' said Kebra.

  Nogusta shook his head. 'We cannot risk everything on one encounter. There are only four of the Krayakin directly behind us. Four more are out there, moving to cut us off. We need to put distance between us. Antikas Karios has chosen to defend this bridge. Dagorian has offered to stand beside him. That is how it will be.' He swung to Kebra. 'You and Bison ride on with the others. Keep heading south. About a mile ahead the road branches. Take the route to the left. You will pass over the highest ridge. Move with care, for it will be cold and treacherous. I will join you soon.'

  The two men moved away and Nogusta sat down on the bridge wall and rubbed his injured shoulder. Ulmenetha's new-found magick had knitted the broken collar bone, and he could feel himself healing fast. But not fast enough to be of use to the two men who would guard the bridge.

  'Bring out the black swords,' he told Antikas. The swordsman moved to his horse and lifted clear the bundle tied to the rear of the saddle. Warning Nogusta and Dagorian to beware of the blades he unwrapped them. They were identical save for the crystal jewels in the pommels. One was blue, the second white as fresh fallen snow, the third crimson. The blue blade Antikas took for himself. Nogusta waited for Dagorian. The young officer chose the sword with the white pommel. Nogusta accepted the last.

  'There is little I can say to advise you,' he told Dagorian. 'Stay close to Antikas Karios, guard his back as best you can.'

  'You have seen the coming fight, haven't you?'

  'Glimpses of it only. Do not ask me about the out­come. You are a good man, Dagorian. Few would have the courage to face the warriors coming against you.'

  'This is all very touching, black man,' said Antikas, 'but why don't you ride on? I will take Dagorian under my wing, as it were.'

  'I don't need your protection,' snapped Dagorian.

  'You Drenai are so touchy. It comes from lacking any sense of true nobility, I expect.' Antikas strode back to his horse, mounted and rode past them down the bridge.

  'Are you sure he can be trusted?' asked Dagorian. Nogusta nodded.

  'Do not be fooled by his manner. He is a man of great honour, and he carries a burden of shame. He is also frightened. What you are seeing is merely a mask. He is of the old Ventrian nobility, and he is drawing on its values in order to face a terrible enemy.'

  Dagorian sat alongside the black swordsman. 'I never wanted to be a soldier,' he said.

  'You told me, you wanted to be a priest. Well, think on this, my friend, is it not a priest's duty to keep a lantern lit against the dark? Is it not his purpose to stand against evil in all its forms?'

  'That is true,' agreed Dagorian.

  'Then today you are a priest, for the demons are coming. They seek the blood of innocence.'

  Dagorian smiled. 'I did not need encouragement, but I thank you for it anyway.'

  Nogusta rose. 'When your mission here is done, head south, follow the high road. You will see the ghost city of Lem in the distance. We will meet you there.'

  Dagorian said nothing, but he gave a knowing smile. Then he held out his hand. Nogusta clasped it firmly. Then he mounted Starfire and rode away.

  Nogusta walked his horse to the far end of the bridge. Ulmenetha stepped in front of his horse.

  'Did you tell him?' she asked.

  'No,' he told her, sadly.

  'Why? Does he not have a right to know?'

  'Would he fight the better if he did?' he countered.

  As the others rode away Dagorian took a deep breath then stared around the bridge. Built of stone it was around 80 feet across and 20 wide. He had seen it on two of Nogusta's maps. Once it must have had a name, for it was a fine structure, carefully constructed. But it was lost to history now, as was the name of the river it spanned. Built when Lem was a thriving city it must have cost a fortune, he thought, picturing the hundreds of men who had laboured here. There had once been statues at both ends of the bridge, but only the plinths remained. It was as Nogusta had said, 'History forgets us all eventually.' Walking to the bridge wall he looked down at the river bank. A stone arm ju
tted from the mud. Dagorian strolled down to it, pushing the earth away, and exposing a mar­ble shoulder. The head was missing. Casting around he saw a section of a stone leg, covered by weeds. Someone had toppled the statues. He wondered why.

  He drank from the river then climbed back to the bridge. 'Time for a little work, Drenai,' said Antikas.

  The area around the north of the bridge was heavy with rocks and boulders. Dagorian and Antikas laboured for two hours, rolling large stones onto the bridge to impede enemy horses. The two men spoke little as they worked, for Dagorian remained uneasy in the presence of the hawk-eyed Ventrian. This man had planned to kill him, and had been instrumental in the destruction of the Drenai army, and the murder of the king. Now he was to stand beside him against a terrible foe. The thought was not a pleasant one.

  Antikas cut several large sections of brush and used his horse to drag them to the bridge, wedging thick branches into the stone side supports, and angling them to jut out over the rocks. At last satisfied he carefully led his horse through the obstacles, tethering him at the far end of the bridge alongside Dagorian's mount.

  'That is all we can do,' he told the young officer. 'Now we wait.' Dagorian nodded and moved away from the man to sit on the bridge wall. The mist was clearing now, and the sun shone clearly in a sky of pale blue.

  'We should practise,' said Antikas.

  'I need no practice,' snapped Dagorian. Antikas Karios said nothing for a moment, then he stepped in close.

  'Your hatred means less than nothing to me, Drenai,' he said, softly. 'But your petulance is irritating.'

  'You are a murderer and a traitor,' said Dagorian. 'It should be enough that I am prepared to stand beside you. I don't need to talk to you, and I certainly have no wish to engage in a meaningless training drill. I already know how to fight.'

  'Is that so?' Antikas drew his sword. 'Observe!' he ordered. Lifting a thick piece of wood he held the black sword to it. The blade slid through the old wood like a hot knife through butter. 'You and I,' said Antikas, softly, 'will be fighting alongside one another. One clumsy sweep, one careless move and one of us could kill the other. How many times, in close order battle, have comrades accidentally caused injury to one another?'

  It was true and Dagorian knew it. Pushing himself from the wall he drew his own blade. 'What do you suggest?' he asked.

  'Which side do you wish to defend, the left or the right?'

  'The right.'

  'Very well, take up your position, and let us rehearse some simple moves.' The two men walked out onto the bridge. The enemy will be forced to advance on foot, clambering over the rocks and brush. We will wait for them, and engage them here,' he said. 'No matter what happens you must stay on my right. Do not cross over. Now you are less skilful than I, so at no time try to move to my defence. If I move to yours I will call out, so that you know where I am.'

  For a while they practised moves, rehearsed signals and discussed strategies. Then they broke off to eat from Dagorian's ration of dried beef. They sat in silence on the rocks, each lost in his own thoughts.

  'I have never fought a demon,' said Dagorian, at last. 'I find the thought unsettling.'

  'It is just a name,' said Antikas. 'Nothing more. They walk, they talk, they breathe. And we have the weapons to kill them.'

  'You sound very sure.'

  'And you are not?'

  Dagorian sighed. 'I do not want to die,' he admitted. 'Does that sound cowardly?'

  'No man wants to die,' responded Antikas. 'But if thoughts of survival enter your mind during the fight, death will be certain. It is vital for a warrior to suspend imagination during a battle. What if I get stabbed, what if I am crippled, what if I die? These thoughts impair a warrior's skills. The enemy will come. We will kill them. That is all you need to focus upon.'

  'Easier said than done,' Dagorian told him.

  Antikas gave a thin smile. 'Do not be frightened by death, Dagorian, for it comes to all men. For myself I would sooner die young and strong, than become a toothless, senile old man talking of the wonders of my youth.'

  'I do not agree. I would like to live to see my children and grandchildren grow. To know love and the joys of family.'

  'Have you ever loved?' asked Antikas.

  'No. I thought. . .' he hesitated. 'I thought I loved Axiana, but it was a dream, an ideal. She looked so fragile, lost almost. But no, I have never loved. You?'

  'No,' answered Antikas, the lie sticking in his throat, the memory of Kara, burning in his mind.

  'Do demons love, do you think?' asked Dagorian, suddenly. 'Do they wed and have children? I suppose they must.'

  'I have never given it much thought,' admitted Antikas. 'Kalizkan told me that Emsharas the Great Sorcerer fell in love with a human woman, and she bore him children. He was a demon.'

  'All I know of him is that he cast the Great Spell thousands of years ago.'

  'Yes, and that I find curious,' said Antikas. 'According to Kalizkan he banished his entire race to a world of nothing, empty and void. Hundreds of thousands of souls ripped from the earth to float for eternity without form. Can there have ever been a crime worse than that?'

  'You call it a crime? I don't understand. Humanity was saved by the action.'

  'Humanity yes, but Emsharas was not human. Why then did he do it? Why not cast a spell that would banish humanity into a void, and leave the earth for his own people? It makes no sense.'

  'It must have made sense to him. Perhaps it was that his people were evil.'

  'Come now,' snapped Antikas, 'that makes even less sense. If we are to judge his actions as good, then we must accept that he was not evil. Why then should he have been the only good demon in the world? What of the Dryads who lived to protect the forest, or the Krandyl who preserved the fields and meadows? These also are creatures of legend, spirit beings, demons.'

  Dagorian suddenly laughed and shook his head. 'What is so amusing?' asked Antikas.

  'You do not find it amusing that two men sitting on a bridge and waiting for death can debate the actions of a sorcerer who died thousands of years ago? It is the kind of conversation I would expect to have sitting in the library at Drenan.' His laughter faded away. 'I don't care why he did it. What does it matter now? To us?'

  'Are you determined to be morbid all day?' countered Antikas. 'If so you will be a less than merry companion. You do not have to stay here, Dagorian. There are no chains.'

  'Why do you stay?' asked the younger man.

  'I like to sit on bridges,' Antikas told him. 'It calms my soul.'

  'Well I am staying because I'm too frightened not to,' said Dagorian. 'Can you understand that?'

  'No,' admitted Antikas Karios.

  'A few days ago I attacked five Ventrian lancers. I thought I was going to die. But my blood was up and I charged them. Then Nogusta and Kebra came to my aid and we won.'

  'Yes, yes,' interrupted Antikas. 'I saw you had Vellian's horse. But what is the point of this tale?'

  'The point?' said Dagorian, his face twisting in anguish. 'The point is that the fear never went away. Every day it grows. There are demons pursuing us. Unbeatable and unholy. And where are we headed? To a ghost city with no hope of rescue. I could not take the fear any more. So here I am. And look at me! Look at my hands!' Dagorian held out his hands, which were trembling uncontrollably.

  'So humour me, Antikas Karios. Tell me why you are here on this cursed bridge?'

  Antikas leaned forward, his hand snaking out, the palm lashing against Dagorian's cheek. The sound of the slap hung in the air. Dagorian surged to his feet, hand scrabbling for his sword. 'Where is your fear now?' said Antikas, softly. The softly spoken words cut through Dagorian's fury, and he stood, hand on sword hilt, staring into the dark, cruel eyes of Antikas Karios. The Ventrian spoke again. 'It is gone, is it not, your fear? Swamped by rage.'

  'Yes, it is gone,' said Dagorian, coldly. 'What was your point?'

  'You were right to stay here, Dagorian. A man would have to be
a contortionist to both face his fear and flee from it.' Antikas stood and walked to the side of the bridge, leaning upon it and staring down into the water below. 'Come and look,' he said. The Drenai officer joined him.

  'What am I looking at?'

  'Life,' answered Antikas. 'It starts high in the moun­tains with the melting of the snow. Small streams bubbling together, merging, flowing down to join larger rivers, then out to the warm sea. There the sun shines upon the water and it rises as vapour and floats back over the mountains, falling as rain or snow. It is a circle, an endless beautiful circle. Long after we are gone, and the children of our grandchildren are gone, this river will still flow all the way to the sea. We are very small creatures, Dagorian, with very small dreams.' He turned to the young officer and smiled. 'Look at your hands. They are no longer shaking.'

  'They will - when the Krayakin come.'

  'I don't think so,' said Antikas.

  His experience within the body form of Kalizkan had given the Demon Lord, Anharat, great insights into the workings of human mechanisms. Unable to halt the cancer spreading through the sorcerer's body Anharat had allowed all the mechanisms to fail, then using magick to maintain the illusion of life. Not so with this body form!

  With Malikada slain and departed Anharat repaired the pierced heart, and kept it pumping, the nutrients in the blood feeding the cells and keeping the form alive - after a fashion. The spell needed to be maintained at all times. If the magick ceased to flow the body would decay immediately. This was not, however, a problem, for the spell was a small one. He had more difficulty with the autonomic responses, like breathing and blink­ing, but, upon experimentation overcame them. Using Kalizkan's corpse had been an effort, especially when corruption and decay accelerated. More and more power had been needed to maintain a cloak spell over the disgusting form. Now, however, he merely needed to keep the blood flowing, and air filling the lung sacs. There were also advantages to this new method. Senses of taste, touch and smell were incredibly heightened.

  Anharat sat now in his tent, sipping a goblet of fine wine, swilling it around his mouth and savouring the taste. Although he preferred his own natural form Anharat considered keeping this one for a few years in order to fully appreciate the pleasures of human flesh. They were so much more exquisite than he could have imagined. Perhaps it was because the humans were so short-lived, he thought, a gift of nature to creatures who were in existence for a few, brief heartbeats. Emsharas had discovered these pleasures, and now Anharat understood them. No wonder his brother had spent so much time with the black woman.