David Gemmell - The Winter Warriors

'Why does anyone kill themselves?' countered Banelion. 'Have the body removed.'

Dagorian and Zani stabled their mounts. The ride had been a silent one, and now, as they walked through the dusk shadowed streets, the little Ventrian moved in close to the taller officer. 'I think you should tell me what happened back there,' he said.

The Drenai warrior nodded, then led Zani to a small tavern just off the Market Square. It was almost empty and they took a window table. Dagorian ordered wine, added a little water, then sipped the drink. There were demons,' he said, at last, keeping his voice low. 'Scores of them. Perhaps hundreds. They filled the house — all except for the room with the ward spell. They tore at me with talons and teeth. I thought my flesh was being ripped from my bones.'

'But there were no wounds. Perhaps it was just the drug.'

Dagorian shook his head. 'There were wounds, Zani. I can still feel them. They were tearing at my spirit — my soul, if you like. They were even outside, in the trees. Worse, I sensed they were everywhere. They are probably here even now, in the shadows of the ceiling, by the walls.'

Zani glanced around nervously. But he could see nothing. 'What were they like?' Dagorian described them, their bone-white faces and bulging eyes, their sharp teeth and talons. Zani shivered. It sounded like the ravings of a madman í which Zani would have infinitely preferred to be true. But they were investigating more than a score of bizarre murders, and everything Dagorian described had the ring of truth to it. Even so it was wildly beyond Zani's understanding. The Drenai officer fell silent. Zani spoke againì keeping his voice low. 'What does this all mean, Drenai?'

'I do not know. It is far beyond what I was taught. But there was something else. I was rescued by a shining figure with a sword of fire. He it was who made me recite the holy verses.'

'A shining figure,' repeated Zani. 'An angel, you mean?'

Dagorian saw scepticism swell once more in the Ventrian's expression. 'I am sorry, Zani. Were I you I would also be deeply suspicious. Is the man mad? Did the lorassium merely swell his delusions?' Zani relaxed and smiled. 'Well, the man is not mad. But he is frightened. And he does have a theory, of sorts.'

'That, at least, sounds promising,' said Zani.

'All the people killed — or fled — were seers. They could see the demons.'

'Which means?'

'Think of an army on the march in enemy territory. The scouts are the eyes. Therefore the first objective is to kill the scouts. The army is now blind.'

'But these demons cannot kill. They did not aicack me. And once the drug wore off you were also safe.'

'They cannot kill directly . But they can influence emotions. That much I was taught back at the Temple. If their malevolence is directed by a power magus they can inspire great malice and hatred. That is the key to the killings. The boy who killed his mother, the dogs who attacked their master. All of them.'

'I know little of demons — and I wish I knew less,' said Zani. 'But what I do know is that this is far beyond my talents. We must consult Kalizkan.'

'Before this morning I would have agreed with you,' said Dagorian. 'I will think on it.'

'What is there to think about? He is the greatest sorcerer in the empire.'

'I know. That is what worries me.'

'You make no sense.'

'I have read stories about sorcerers summoning demons. In ones or twos. Here we have hundreds. Only the greatest of the magi could even consider such a spell. A sorcerer of such power would not be unknown. He would be famous, rich and powerful. Is there another such sorcerer in Usa?'

Zani's face darkened. 'I have met Kalizkan many times,' he said, coldly. 'He is a fine man, and much admired. He rescues children from the streets. He is kind and greatly loved. To speak of him summoning demons is a slander. And I'll hear no more of it. I think the drug addled your senses, Drenai. I suggest you return to the barracks and rest. Perhaps tomorrow you will be clear headed again.'

The Ventrian pushed back his chair and strode for the door. Dagorian made no attempt to call him back. If the situation were reversed he too would be sceptical. Zani reached the door, pulled it open and stepped outside. Dagorian heard him scream. The Ventrian officer stumbled back into the tavern, blood pumping from a terrible wound in his throat. Three dark-clad warriors moved inside. They were hooded and masked. The first thrust a sword deep into Zani's belly. The other two ran at Dagorian. The Drenai warrior up-ended the table in their path, slowing them, then drew his own blade. A sword lunged for his throat. Dagorian swayed aside and launched an overhand cut that chopped deep into his opponent's neck, slicing through the bone beneath. He was dead before he hit the floor. As his sabre came clear Dagorian leapt backwards. The second assassin's sword sliced air. Bringing up his sabre in a reverse cut Dagorian slashed the blade into the assassin's arm. It cut deep. The man screamed and dropped his sword. The killer who had stabbed Zani threw a knife, which missed Dagorian and clattered against the far wall.

The man with the wounded arm scrambled back and ran for the door. His companion hesitated — then joined him, and the two escaped into the night. Dagorian ran to Zani, but the little Ventrian, lying in a spreading pool of blood, was dead.

Anger rose in the Drenai officer, and he ran from the tavern, trying to catch the killers.

The streets were dark now, and there was no sign of them. Sheathing his sabre he returned to where the bodies lay. The tavern keeper approached him. 'I have sent for the Watch,' he said. Dagorian nodded and moved to the rear of the room, where the dead assassin lay. Flipping the body with his foot he knelt down and wrenched away the mask and hood. The man was unknown to him. He heard a soft curse from the tavern keeper and swung round.

'You know this man?'

The tavern keeper nodded dumbly. 'He has been in here several times — usually in uniform.'

'Who is he?'

'I don't know his name. But he's an aide to Antikas Karios.'

For the third time that afternoon Nogusta signalled a halt to rest the horses. The two mares ridden by Kebra and Bison did not need rest, but Nogusta's huge black gelding was breathing heavily and sweat bathed its flanks. Nogusta stroked its sleek neck. 'Do not be downhearted, Great One,' he whispered, soothingly. 'You have been ill, and you need time to regain your strength.' The black man led him through the stand of pine and up the last rise. On the crest he paused and gazed down at the verdant valley below.

'I still can't believe it,' said Bison, moving alongside Nogusta. 'Sold for his hide! There must have been a mistake.'

'No mistake. He has a lung infection, and the king decided he was no longer of use.'

'But this is Starfire. He's been the king's warhorse for years. The king loves this horse.'

'Beware the love of kings,' said Nogusta, coldly. 'Starfire is like us, Bison. He's at least eighteen years old, and not as strong and fleet as once he was. Skanda had no more use for him. So he was sold for hide and meat and glue.'

'If he's useless why did you buy him?'

'He deserved better.'

'Maybe he did, but what will you do when he drops dead?' argued Bison. 'I mean. . look at the state he's in! Horses don't survive lung rot.'

'The diagnosis is wrong. There is no wasting of the muscles. It is just an infection and he will improve in the mountain air. But if he does die it will be under the sky, free and proud, among friends who care for him.'

'He's just a horse,' persisted Bison. 'Do you really think he cares?'

'I care.' Taking up the reins Nogusta started the long walk down into the valley. Bison and Kebra rode ahead and by the time the black warrior led the warhorse to level ground his two companions had made camp beside a stream. Bison had collected dry wood for a fire and Kebra had unpacked pots and plates for the evening meal.