David Gemmell: The Winter Warriors

'But you did three nights ago,' said Nogusta, moving forward, and drawing his sword.

Orendo lifted a hand. 'If you will permit me I will do the deed myself?'

Nogusta nodded and squatted down on the other side of the fire. Orendo slowly drew his dagger. For a moment he considered hurling it at the black man. Then the image of the girl came to his mind, and he heard her voice begging for life. Swiftly he drew the sharp blade across his left wrist. Blood flowed instantly. 'There is a bottle of brandy in my saddlebag. Would you get it?'

Nogusta did so and Orendo drank deeply. 'I-am truly sorry about the girl,' said the dying man. 'Will she recover?'

'I don't know.'

Orendo drank again, then tossed the bottle to Nogusta. The black man took a deep swallow. 'It all went wrong,' said Orendo. 'Never put your trust in kings. That's what they say. It was all so glorious in those early days. We knew where we were. The Ventrians invaded us and we fought back. We knew what we were fighting for.' Blood was pooling on the snow now. 'Then the boy-king convinced us we should invade Ventria, to force the emperor to end the war. No territorial ambitions, he said. Justice and peace were all he wanted. We believed him, didn't we? Now look at him! Emperor Skanda, would-be conqueror of the world. Now he's going to invade Cadia. But he has no territorial ambitions. Oh no… the bastard!' Orendo lay back and Nogusta moved around the fire to sit alongside him. 'You remember that boy I saved?' asked Orendo.

'Yes. It was a fine deed.'

'You think it will count for me? You know… if there is a paradise?'

'I hope so.'

Orendo sighed. 'I can't feel the cold now. That's a good thing. I've always hated the cold. Tell Bison not to judge me too hard, eh?'

'I am sure that he won't.'

Orendo's voice was slurring, then his eyes flared open. 'There are demons,' he said, suddenly. T can see them. There are demons!'

He died then, and Nogusta rose, collected the pouch of jewels and walked to his horse.

He glanced up at the sky, which was blue, clear and bright. Not a trace of cloud.

Stepping into the saddle he gathered the other three mounts and headed back for the city.

There were demons in the air over the city of Usa, shroud-pale and skinny, their talons long, their teeth sharp. Ordinary eyes could not see them, and they seemed to pose no threat to ordinary folk.

Why then are they here, thought Ulmenetha? Why do they hover close to the palace? The large priestess pushed her thick fingers through her short cropped blond hair. Rising from her bed she poured water into a bowl and washed her face. Refreshed she silently opened the connecting door and stepped through into the queen's bedroom. Axiana was asleep, lying on her back, one white slender arm curled around a satin pillow. Ulmenetha smiled. Only a few years before that arm had, in the same manner, cuddled a stuffed toy — a woollen lioness with only one glass eye.

Now Axiana was a child no longer.

Ulmenetha sighed. Despite her bulk the priestess moved silently across the royal bedroom, casting an affectionate look at the pregnant Axiana. The queen's face shone in the moonlight, and, in sleep, Ulmenetha could just discern the child she had grown to love. 'May your dreams be rich and joyful,' she whispered.

Axiana did not stir. The fat priestess reached the window balcony and stepped out into the moonlight. Her white-streaked blond hair shone like silver beneath the stars, and her voluminous nightdress of white cotton shimmered, as if turned to silk. There was a marble-topped table set on the balcony, and four chairs. Easing herself down she untied her rune pouch and placed it on the table. Ulmenetha gazed up at the night sky. All she could see with the eyes of her body were the stars, shining bright. To her left a crescent moon seemed to be balancing precariously on the uppermost tower of the Veshin temple. Closing the eyes of her body, she opened the eyes of her spirit. The stars remained, brighter and clearer now, robbed of the twinkling illusion caused by human astigmatism and the earth's atmosphere. Tall mountains could clearly be seen on the far-away face of the crescent moon. But it was not the night sky Ulmenetha wished to see.

Above the palace three scaled forms were hovering.

For weeks now their malevolent presence had kept her chained to her flesh, and she longed to fly free. But the last time she had tried they had come for her, screeching across the sky. Ulmenetha had barely made it back to her body.

Who had summoned them, and why?

Closing her eyes she loosened the draw-string of her rune pouch and reached inside, her fingers stroking the stones within. They were smooth and round and flat, and for a while she continued to stir them. At last one stone seemed to call for her, and she drew it from the pouch. Painted upon it was a cracked goblet. Ulmenetha sat back.

The Broken Flagon was a stone signalling mistrust. At best it warned of caution in dealings with strangers. At worst it signalled treachery among friends.

From the pocket of her white dress she produced two leaves. Rolling them into a ball she placed them in her mouth and began to chew. The juices were acrid and bitter. Pain lanced into her head and she stifled a groan. Bright colours danced now on the edge of her vision, and she pictured the Broken Flagon, holding to the image and freeing her mind of conscious thought.

A silver serpent slithered up and around the flagon, slowly crushing it. The flagon suddenly shattered, the pieces exploding outward, ripping through the curtain of time. Ulmenetha saw a tree-shrouded hollow and four men. Axiana was there. Ulmenetha saw herself kneeling beside the queen, a protective arm around her shoulder. The four men were warriors, and they had formed a circle around Axiana, facing outward ready to fight off some unseen threat. A white crow was hovering over them all, his wings beating silently.

Ulmenetha sensed a colossal evil, about to sweep over the hollow. The vision began to fade. She struggled to hold the image, but it collapsed in upon itself and a fresh scene unfolded. A camp-fire beside a dark frozen lake stretching between high mountains. A man — a tall man — sitting with his back to the lake. Behind him a dark, taloned hand reached up through the ice, then a demonic form pulled itself clear. It was colossal and winged and stood blinking in the moonlight. The great wings spread wide and the demon floated closer to the man at the camp-fire. It extended an arm. Ulmenetha wanted to cry out, to warn him, but she couldn't. The talons rammed into the back of the seated man. He reared up and screamed once, then slumped forward.

As Ulmenetha watched the demon began to shimmer, his body became black smoke, which swirled into the bloody wound in the dead man's back. Then the demon was gone, and the body of the man rose. Ulmenetha could not see his face, for he was hooded. He turned towards the lake and raised his arms. Through the surface of the ice a thousand taloned hands rose up to salute him.

Once more the vision faded and she saw an altar. Upon it, held with chains of iron, was a naked man with a golden beard. It was Axiana's father, the murdered emperor. A voice spoke, a soft voice, which she felt she should recognize, but it was blurred somehow, as if she were listening to a distant echo. 'Now,' said the voice, 'the day of Resurrection is at hand. You are the first of the Three.' The chained emperor was about to speak when a curved dagger sliced into his chest. His body arched.

Ulmenetha cried out — and the vision disappeared. She found her gaze focused now only on the bare, moonlit wall of the royal bedchamber.

The visions made no sense. The emperor was not sacrificed. Having lost the last battle he had fled with his aides. He had been slain, so it was said, by officers of his own guard, men disgusted by his cowardice. Why then should she see him sacrificed in this way? Was the vision symbolic?