David Gemmell - The Winter Warriors

Clearing her throat she stepped into the room, the children following her, bearing sacks of supplies.

'What now?' she asked Dagorian.

Releasing the queen's hand he rose. 'Are the children coming with us?' Ulmenetha nodded. 'Good,' he said. >'We will need a wagon and extra horses. I will find them. The queen must be disguised. No silks nor satins. No jewellery. We will leave the city as a poor family, fleeing from the riots. There will be many such over the next few days. With luck we will pass unnoticed among them. This will slow down the pursuit.'

'What can I do while you are fetching a wagon?'

'Find maps of the mountains. There will be many box canyons, broken trails, and treacherous areas. It would be helpful if we could plan a route, and not move blindly on faith alone.'

Swirling a dark cloak around his shoulders Dagorian left them. The youngest child, Sufia, was exhausted, and Pharis led her to a couch, where she lay down and fell asleep. Leaving the children in the apartment Ulmenetha took a lantern and made her way to the Royal Library on the ground floor. There were thousands of books here, and hundreds of scrolls. She searched for some time through the index, locating three ancient maps of the mountains, and also a traveller's diary that told of the trek from Usa to Perapolis in the south. If the Source was with them they would be following this route for at least part of the way.

Returning to the apartment she found the red-headed boy, Conalin, sitting on the balcony. Pharis and Sufia were cuddled together on the couch, fast asleep. She covered them with a blanket then moved to Axiana. The queen stirred, opened her eyes, and smiled sleepily. 'I had a terrible dream,' she said.

'Rest, my lady. You will need your strength in the morning.' Axiana closed her eyes.

Ulmenetha walked out onto the balcony. The western quarter of the city was ablaze, and she could hear distant screams. 'Are you not tired?' she asked Conalin.

'I am strong,' he said.

'I know that. But even the strong need sleep.'

'They are killing one another,' he said, gesturing towards the distant flames. 'Robbing, looting, raping. Slaughtering the weak.'

'Does it sadden you?'

'It is what the weak are for,' he said, solemnly. 'That is why I shall never be weak.'

'How did you come to meet Pharis and the child?'

'Why do you want to know?' he demanded.

'I am making conversation, Conalin. If we are to be friends we need to know one another. That is the way of things. What is Pharis's favourite food?'

'Plums. Why?'

She smiled. 'That is part of knowing a friend. When you go out to steal food you will look for a plum for Pharis, because you know she likes them. Knowing is good among friends. So where did you meet?'

'Her mother's a whore who worked Merchant Alley. I first saw Pharis there. Two summers ago. Her mother was drunk, and lying in the gutter. Pharis was trying to lift her, to get her home.'

'And you helped?'

'Yes.'

'Why did you do that?'

'What do you mean?'

Ulmenetha shrugged. 'You were helping the weak, Conalin. Why did you not just rob her and walk away?'

'That's what I was going to do,' he snapped. 'I saw her lying there and I knew she'd have coin from the men she'd doxied. But then Pharis came along. She saw me standing there and she said, "Take her arm." So I did. Anyway, that's how we met.'

'What happened to the mother?'

Now it was his turn to shrug. 'She's still around. She sold Pharis to a whorehouse. Where rich men like to fondle young girls. I took her away from that. I climbed through the rear window one night, and I got her out.'

'That was very brave of you.' He seemed pleased at the compliment and his hard face relaxed. As it did so he looked younger, and terribly vulnerable. Ulmenetha wanted to reach out and stroke his tangled red hair, to draw him to her. He spoke again.

'Had to pick the lock on her room. And all the while the Breaker was asleep in a chair next to it.'

'The Breaker?' she enquired.

The leg-breaker. The man who watches out for the girls. Well, they say he watches out for them, but if a girl won't do what she's told he bashes them.' He grinned suddenly. 'I bet he was in real trouble the following morning.'

'And what about Sufia?'

'We found her in that wizard's house. She was hiding under a bed. She was the last of them. Why was he killing children?' he asked her.

'He was, I believe, making blood magic,' said Ulmenetha. 'It is a vile practice.'

'There's a lot of them,' he said, softly. 'Vile practices.'

'Tell me about you,' she said.

'No,' he said, simply. 'I don't talk about me. But you are right, I am tired. I think I'll sleep now for a while.'

'I'll wake you when Dagorian gets back.'

'You won't have to,' he assured her.

Out on the streets the rioting continued unabated. Dagorian had avoided the guards by climbing over the palace wall, and dropping down onto the broad Avenue of Kings. From here he could see several bodies, sprawled in death. Rioters moved into sight, swilling looted wine. Keeping to the shadows he moved down the Avenue, then darted across it to one of the wide roads leading to the Merchants' Acre. Here, he knew, were the hauliers who daily distributed the merchants' wares to shops, homes and market stalls in the city.

He reached the first to find the buildings engulfed by flames, and could see wagons burning on the open ground beyond. Anger swept through him, threatening to engulf his mind. He wanted to draw his sword and run at the rioters, hacking and slashing. His fingers closed around the hilt of his sabre. A voice whispered into his mind, cold and calm, dispelling the fury.

'Do not let them possess you, Dagorian. They are everywhere.'

Dagorian leaned back against a wall, his hands shaking with the aftermath of rage. 'Who are you?' he whispered.

'A friend. You remember me? I came to you when the demons were rending your soul. And again at the home of the murdered seer.'

'I remember.'

'Know this, then, child: The city is possessed, and the demons are feasting on rage and murder. Every hour they grow stronger. By tomorrow no-one will be able to resist them. Do not succumb. Think clearly and coolly. I will be with you, though I will not speak again. Now find a wagon!'

The officer moved away from the wall, and ducked down a narrow alley. Smoke, thicker than any fog, hung in the air, burning his lungs. Holding his cloak over his face Dagorian ran on. The sounds of screaming came from all around him now, from the burning buildings where people were trapped, from the alleyways, where victims had been cornered.

Anger touched him again, but he fought it down.

He came to the wide gates of a second haulier. They had been burst open and a group of men and women carrying torches were running around the yard, setting the wagons ablaze. Others had thrown torches into the stables, igniting the straw inside. Horses were whinnying in terror. Cutting across the yard Dagorian opened the stable doors, ran inside, freeing all but two of the horses. Panic stricken the freed beasts galloped into the yard, scattering the rioters.

Moving to the remaining two horses Dagorian calmed them as best he could and led them from the stable. Fear was strong upon them, but they were used to the sure touch of their handlers, and they accepted Dagorian's authority. In the yard he tethered them to a wagon untouched by the rioters. The traces and brasses used to hitch the horses were laid over the back of the wagon. Dagorian moved to them.

A rioter ran forwards, tossing a torch to the wagon seat. Dagorian spun on his heel and sent a thundering right cross to the man's jaw. He fell without a sound. Hurling the torch aside he moved to the traces. A whoosh of burning air seared across the yard as flames burst through the stables' wall. The horses reared. Once more Dagorian tried to calm them, stroking their long necks, whispering soothing words. The heat was intense and the rioters moved away. Dagorian hitched the horses and climbed to the driver's seat. Releasing the brake he took up the whip and cracked it. The horses surged into the traces and the wagon moved forward. But to exit the yard they had to drive past the burning stables and the horses faltered, unwilling to face the flames again.