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

by Winter Warriors (v1. 0) [lit]

  What can I do, she asked herself? The first answer, as always, was to run, to leave the palace and make the long journey back to Drenan and the convent. The thought of running, putting these fears behind her, was immensely seductive. She had money, and could book passage on a caravan to the coast, and then take a ship to Dros Purdol. Sea air on her face. The thought of flight brought calm to her mind.

  Then she pictured Axiana's face, the large, childlike eyes, and the sweet smile. And with it the memory of Kalizkan's rotting, maggot-ridden flesh.

  I cannot leave her! The panic began again. What can you do against the power of demons, whispered the voice of flight. You are a fat priestess with no arcane skills. Kalizkan is a sorcerer. He could blast your soul from your overweight body. He could consign you to the Void. He could send assassins to plunge their knives into your obese belly!

  Ulmenetha rose from her chair and moved to the table by the window. From a drawer she took a silver-rimmed oval mirror and held it up to her face. For years she had avoided mirrors, hating the bloated image they portrayed. But now she looked beyond the flesh, and deep into the grey eyes, recalling the girl who had run the mountain paths - the girl who had run for joy and not for fear.

  At last calm, her mind set, she returned the mirror to the drawer. First she must tell Axiana of her discoveries concerning Dagorian. The officer was innocent, and the true villain, she was sure, was Kalizkan. Then realization

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  struck her. Kalizkan was not the enemy. Kalizkan was dead! Something had taken over the body; something powerful enough to cast a sweet and reassuring spell, enchanting all who came into contact with it.

  If she were to tell Axiana the simple truth the queen would think her mad. How then to convince her of the perils that lay in wait?

  You must walk with care down this road, she warned herself.

  Gathering her thoughts she was about to find Axiana when a servant tapped at her door. Ulmenetha called for her to enter. The girl stepped inside and curtsied.

  'What is it, child?'

  'The queen wishes you to prepare your belongings. They will be taken to Kalizkan's house in the morning.'

  Ulmenetha fought for calm. 'Is the queen in her apart­ments?'

  'No, my lady. She left this afternoon. The Lord Kalizkan came for her.'

  At noon on the second day Dagorian found his hunger overriding his caution. Leaving his sabre behind, but hiding his hunting knife beneath the beggar's rags, he left his hiding place and risked the short walk to the market. The sun was bright in a clear sky, the market square packed with people. Easing his way through the crowd he stopped at a meat stall, where a spit of beef was being turned over a charcoal grill. The cook looked at him sourly, but Dagorian produced two copper coins and the man cut several thick slices, placing them on a wooden platter. The smell of the roasting meat was divine. It was almost too hot to hold and Dagorian burned his fingers. He blew on the meat, then tore off a chunk. It was exquisite. Juices ran down his stubbled

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  chin. The cook's expression softened. 'Good?' he enquired.

  The best,' agreed Dagorian.

  A commotion began at the far end of the market place. Instantly alert Dagorian prepared to run. Had he been spotted? Were they coming for him? The crowd milled, and word spread like a fire through dry brush. An old man pushed his way through them, coming to the stall.

  'The army's been crushed,' he told the cook. 'The king is dead.'

  'Dead? The Cadians are coming here?'

  The old man shook his head. 'Apparently Prince Malikada forced them back across the river. But all the Drenai perished.'

  The crowd surged around Dagorian, everyone talking. Skanda dead? It was unthinkable.

  His hunger gone he felt sick with anguish. Turning from the stall he stumbled back into the crowd.

  Everywhere people were talking, theorizing, wonder­ing. How had Malikada repulsed the Cadians? How could all the Drenai have been wiped out, and yet Malikada's force remain intact? Dagorian was a soldier - albeit a reluctant one - and he knew the answer.

  Treachery.

  The king had been betrayed.

  Sick at heart he made it back to the seer's home and slumped down in a chair.

  The dream came back to him. Two kings slain. The third - the unborn child - in terrible danger.

  What can I do, he thought? I am alone, trapped at the centre of a hostile city. How can I get to the queen? And even if I can how do I convince her of the danger she is in. He recalled trying to tell Zani of his fears concerning Kalizkan. The little man had rounded on him instantly. The sorcerer was probably the most

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  popular man in the city, loved by all for his good works.

  Dagorian took a deep breath. A phrase his father used came to his mind. 'If a man has a boil on his arse, you don't heal it by lancing the foot.'

  Strapping his sabre belt to his waist Dagorian opened the back door, walked through the small garden, and out onto the crowded streets.

  Kalizkan's house was an old one, originally built for Bodasen, the general who had led the Immortals in the time of Emperor Gorben. The facade was of white marble, inlaid with statues, and fronted by four tall columns. The building was three storeys high, with more than a hundred rooms, the grounds around it beautifully landscaped, with flowering trees and willows clustered on the banks of a small lake.

  A high wall surrounded the estate, and a wrought-iron double gate ensured privacy for the master of the house.

  Ulmenetha's carriage drew up outside the gate, and a soldier climbed down to open it. The carriage moved on, coming to a halt before the marble steps leading to a high, arched doorway. A second soldier opened the door of the carriage and Ulmenetha stepped down.

  'Stay with me until I have spoken to the queen,' Ulmenetha told the two soldiers. Both bowed. They were strong men, tall and broad shouldered, and the priestess felt more comfortable knowing they were to be close.

  She strode up the marble steps and was about to knock when the door opened. A hooded man stood in the shadows beyond. She could not see his face clearly.

  'What is it you want?' he asked her, his voice deep, and curiously accented.

  Ulmenetha was unprepared for such a cold greeting, and she bridled. 'I am the queen's companion, and here

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  at her invitation.' The hooded man said nothing for a moment, then he stepped aside. Summoning the soldiers Ulmenetha walked inside. Curtains were drawn every­where, and the interior was gloomy.

  'Where is the queen?' she demanded.

  'Upstairs . . . Resting,' replied the man, after a moment's thought.

  'Which rooms?'

  'Go to the top of the stairs and turn right. You will find them.'

  Turning to the soldiers she said: 'Wait here. I will be down presently.'

  There was the smell of strong perfume in the air, cloying and strangely unpleasant, as if it masked some dank, underlying odour. Ulmenetha began to climb the wide, red-carpeted staircase. Her footfalls raised dust on the carpet and she shivered. Fear was strong in her now. This gloomy, shadow-haunted place was cold and unwelcoming. Glancing back she saw the soldiers standing by the open door, sunlight streaming through and shining on their armour. Fortified by the sight she walked on. Ulmenetha was breathing heavily by the time she reached the top of the stairs. There was a gallery here, the walls covered with old paint­ings, most of them landscapes. She noticed one of them was torn. She shivered again. This was no place for Axiana!

  Reaching the first of the doors she found it was locked. A large key was still in the lock and she turned it. The door opened, the dry hinges creaking.

  Dressed in a gown of blue and white satin Axiana was sitting on a couch in front of a barred window. She looked startled as Ulmenetha entered.

  'Oh!' she cried, running to Ulmenetha and throwing

  her arms around the priestess's shoulders. 'Take me away from here! Now. This is an awful place!'

  'W
here are your servants?' asked Ulmenetha.

  'He sent them away. The hooded man. He locked me in! He locked me in, Ulmenetha! Can you believe it?' The priestess stroked the queen's hair.

  'There are soldiers downstairs to bring you home. I shall send them to you to fetch your belongings.'

  'No. Never mind them. Leave them. Let us just go!'

  Taking the queen by the hand Ulmenetha returned to the gallery.

  She glanced down. One of the soldiers was leaning against the far wall, the other sitting in a chair. The hooded man was standing by the door, which was now closed.

  'The queen wishes her clothes to be packed, and the chests taken to the carriage,' said Ulmenetha, supporting Axiana to the first of the steps. Her words hung in the dusty air. The soldiers did not respond.

  'The queen must remain here,' said the hooded man. 'It is the will of my lord.'

  'You men! Come here!' called Ulmenetha. Still there was no movement. It was not that they had ignored her, she realized with horror. They had not heard her. Both remained still and silent. Axiana gripped her arm.

  'Get me away from here!' she whispered.

  Ulmenetha continued to walk down the stairs. Halfway down she saw a glint of metal in the standing soldier's throat. It was a knife hilt and it had pinned him to the wooden panelling beyond. Transferring her gaze to the seated man, she saw that he too was dead. The queen saw it too.

  'Sweet Heaven,' whispered Axiana. 'He has killed them both.'

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  The hooded man advanced to the foot of the stairs. 'Take the queen back to her room,' he ordered. Ulmenetha's right hand, hidden until now in the folds of her voluminous white dress, came into sight. Even in the gloomy half-light the blade of the hunting knife shone bright.

  'Get out of my way,' she told the hooded man. He laughed and continued to climb the stairs.

  'You think to frighten me, woman? I can taste your fear. I will feed upon it.'

  'Feed on this!' said Ulmenetha. Her hand shot up in an underarm throw which sent the blade slamming into the hooded man's throat. He stumbled, then righted himself, dragging the knife clear. Black blood gushed to the front of his dark tunic, streaming down his chest. He tried to speak, but the words were drowned in a bubbling dark froth. Ulmenetha waited for him to fall.

  But he did not. He continued to advance. Axiana screamed. Ulmenetha pushed her back up the stairs, then swung to meet the threat from below. The flow of blood from his ruined throat had now drenched the man's dark leggings, but still he came on.

  In that moment the priestess knew what she was facing. A demon clothed in human flesh. And yet there was no fear in her, no rising panic. For this was no disease, to slip past her guard and kill her mother, no icy ledge to rob her of her husband. This was flesh and bone, and seeking to harm a girl that she loved like a daughter.

  She was calmer than at any time she could remember, her mind focused, her senses sharp.

  Closer and closer he climbed. Ulmenetha waited until he raised the knife, then leapt forward, hammering her foot into his chest. He was catapulted back, his body

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  arching in the air. His head struck the stair, his neck snapping. The body crashed to the floor.

  Ulmenetha was not surprised as he struggled to his feet, his head flopping grotesquely to his shoulder. The hood had fallen away to reveal a pale, ghostly face, with a lipless mouth and protruding, blood-red eyes.

  'Run, AxianaF shouted the priestess, pointing to the gallery on the left and the far door. Axiana stood rooted to the spot. Tearing her gaze from the advancing man Ulmenetha moved swiftly to the queen, grabbing her arm and hauling her along the gallery. The far door was locked, but, as with Axiana's rooms, there was a key. Opening the door she pulled the key clear, pushed Axiana through, then locked the door behind them. A fist thundered against the door panel, causing it to vibrate. Twice more it struck, and a long, narrow crack appeared in the panelling.

  'How do we get out?' asked Axiana, the tremble of panic in her voice.

  Ulmenetha had no idea. The house was like a warren, and the corridor in which they stood had many doors, but no obvious stairway to take them back to ground level. 'This way,' said Ulmenetha, moving along the darkened corridor, and through two more doors. There were no keys here, and from far behind them the women heard a splintering crash.

  Ulmenetha looked around. They were in a dormitory, a dozen beds on both sides of the room. All the beds were empty. The priestess moved to a window and dragged back the heavy curtains. The window was barred. Light filled the room now, and she could see several toys on the dusty floor, and by the far wall was a straw-filled doll, looking forlorn against the bare, dusty boards. 'Keep moving,' she told the queen. At the far end

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  of the dormitory was another door. It was held shut by a locking bar between two brackets. Ulmenetha lifted the bar clear and pulled open the door. Within was a second dormitory.

  Three children sat huddled against the far wall. A red­headed boy of around fourteen or fifteen stepped in front of the two girls, a small knife in his hand. He was painfully thin, and Ulmenetha could see open sores on his skinny arms. One of the girls moved forward. Perhaps a year older than the boy she was also waif thin, and dressed in rags, but she held a long piece of jagged wood, torn from one of the beds. Together they formed a protective shield in front of the youngest child, a small blonde girl of around four.

  'Come any closer and we'll kill you,' said the waif with the jagged wooden spear.

  There was no other exit from the room.

  A floorboard creaked behind them. Ulmenetha swung to see the broken-necked man moving, knife in hand, across the dormitory.

  Reaching down she took up the long wooden bar that had secured the door. As the demonic creature approached she rushed at him, swinging the wood like a club. He took the force of the blow on his shoulder. His arm snapped up, his fist cannoning into Ulmenetha's face. Thrown back she lost control of the wooden club and it clattered to the floor. The demon was upon her. Leaping back she avoided his first thrust, and scrambled over a bed. His red eyes stared at her, but as he moved forward the head lolled on the broken neck. He staggered. Then gripped the head with his left hand, dragging it by the hair until the eyes focused once more on the priestess. Then he advanced.

  The young red-headed boy leapt at the creature,

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  slashing at his face with the knife blade. The demon swatted him aside. As he did so the waiflike girl crept up behind him and thrust the splintered wood into his back. He arched up. Ulmenetha crouched down, swept up the wooden bar, and charged forward, using it as a ram which hammered into his chest, hurling him into the far wall. As he struck the wall it seemed to Ulmenetha that his chest exploded. She blinked - and saw that the makeshift spear used by the girl had been driven through his back, tearing a huge hole in his chest. The body slid down the wall, then pitched forward to the boards.

  Immediately the room was filled with the stench of rotting meat, and Ulmenetha saw maggots writhing through the dead flesh. The waif girl put her hand to her mouth and gagged.

  'Let us get out of here,' said Ulmenetha. 'Quickly.'

  Despite her revulsion Ulmenetha gathered her knife from beside the rotting corpse and, taking the shocked queen by the arm, led her back along the corridor, out onto the gallery, and down the stairs. The red-headed boy picked up the four-year-old and followed.

  Not knowing where to go Ulmenetha moved down a set of stairs to what she thought must be the ground floor. A locked door barred her way at the bottom. A large key was hanging on a rusted hook. Lifting it clear she opened the door and stepped inside. Light was streaming in from two windows on the far side of the chamber, and shining down onto a sea of small bodies, carelessly heaped around a blood-drenched altar. The sight froze her blood. Though never having been blessed with the gift of a child Ulmenetha's maternal instincts were powerful, and the sight of so many murdered children filled her with an aching sadness.<
br />
  Closing her eyes against the horror Ulmenetha stepped

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  backwards, just as the pregnant queen was about to enter. 'There is no way through,' said Ulmenetha. 'We must go back the way we came.'

  A cold and terrible fury grew in her as she led the group back up the stairs. There must have been over a hundred children in that chamber, a hundred lives ended in torment and terror. This was evil on a scale Ulmenetha could scarcely imagine.

  Moving back to the landing she came to the broken door and emerged onto the gallery above the front door. A tall figure stepped from the shadows. Axiana screamed, and Ulmenetha swung round, the knife flash­ing up and stabbing out. The blade was parried, then a calm voice spoke. 'I am no danger, lady. I am Dagorian.'

  Ulmenetha looked into his face, recognizing it from her lorassium vision. Fear surged again in her. The scene in the woods, four men - three old, one young - pro­tecting the queen from a hidden evil. Dagorian was the young man from the dream. 'Why are you here?' demanded Ulmenetha.

  'I came to kill Kalizkan."

  'He is with the army,' said Ulmenetha. 'Now let us get out of this dreadful place.'

  The sun was shining outside and the queen's carriage was still there, the driver stretched out asleep on the grass. Ulmenetha looked up at the bright, clean, blue of the sky with a gratitude she could scarce believe.

  As the group approached the coachman yawned and stretched. Seeing the queen he scrambled to his feet and bowed.

  'At your bidding, your highness,' he said.

  'Take us to the palace,' ordered Ulmenetha.

  Helping the queen into the carriage she glanced back at the two girls and the boy. All three were badly under-

  nourished, clothed in rags. 'Get in,' she ordered them.

  'Where you taking us?' asked the boy, suspiciously.

  'Somewhere safer than this,' Ulmenetha replied.

  They crowded in, followed by Dagorian. As the carriage moved away the young officer leaned in close to Ulmenetha. 'There is nowhere safe in the city,' he said, keeping his voice low.

  'What do you suggest?'

  'We must get to the coast, and find a ship. And we must do it before Malikada returns. We should head for the mountains.'