David Gemmell - The Winter Warriors

'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 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 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!'

'Where 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.'

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