David Gemmell - The Winter Warriors

'What are we going to do?' he asked Nogusta.

'About what?' countered the black man.

'About all this!' said Bison, gesturing towards the sleepers.

'We'll take them to the coast and find a ship bound for Drenan.'

'Oh, really? Just like that?' snapped Bison, his anger growing. 'We've probably got the entire Ventrian army on our heels and demons to boot. And we're travelling with a pregnant woman who's lost her mind. Oh. . and did I mention the fact that we're also saddled with the slowest wagon in Ventria?'

'She hasn't lost her mind, you oaf,' said Ulmenetha, icily. 'She is in shock. It will pass.'

'She's in shock? What about me? I was kicked out of the army. I'm not a soldier any more. That was a shock I can tell you. But I haven't started singing to bears yet.'

'You are not a sensitive seventeen-year-old girl, heavily pregnant,' said Ulmenetha, 'who has been torn from her home.'

'I didn't tear her from her home,' objected Bison. 'She can go back for all I care. So can you, you fat cow.'

'What do you suggest, my friend?' asked Nogusta, softly.

The question threw Bison. He was not used to being asked for opinions, and he didn't really have one. But he was angry at the fat woman for calling him an oaf. 'We ought to ride on. She's not Drenai, is she? None of them are.'

'I am,' said Ulmenetha, her voice edged with contempt. 'But then that is not the issue, is it?'

'Issue? What's she talking about?' Bison demanded.

'This isn't about nationalities,' said Dagorian. 'The demons desire to sacrifice the queen's child. You understand? If they succeed the world will slide down into horror. All the evils we know from legends, the Shape-Shifters, the Hollow Tooths, the Krandyl… all will return. We must protect her.'

'Protect her? There are four of us! How are we going to protect her?'

'The best way we can,' said Nogusta. 'But you do not have to stay, my friend. Your life is free. You can ride away. You are not held here by chains.'

The conversation was heading along a path Bison didn't like. He had no wish to leave his friends, and was surprised that Nogusta would even suggest it. 'I can't read maps,' he objected. 'I don't even know where we are now. I want to know why we should stay with her.'

Kebra returned to the fire, and carefully stowed away the clean plates. Then he sat down beside Bison. He said nothing, but his expression was one of amusement.

'Why we should stay?' stormed Dagorian. 'What kind of a question is that from a Drenai warrior? Evil threatens to kill a child. Never mind that the child is the heir to the throne, and that his mother is the queen. When evil threatens good men stand against it.'

Bison hawked and spat into the fire. 'Just words,' he said, dismissively. 'Just like all that high sounding bull that Skanda used to spout before battles. Justice and right, forces of Light against the Dark tyranny. And where did it get us, eh? Army's gone, and we're sitting in a cold forest waiting to be struck down by demons.'

'He is quite right,' said Kebra, with a wink to Nogusta. There is no point in arguing the issue. I don't much care about wealth and glory. Never did. The thought of getting back to Drenan and attending parades and banquets in my honour means nothing to me. And I do not need to live in a palace, surrounded by beautiful women. All I require is a simple farm on a nice plot of land. And I'll best achieve those dreams by heading for the coast on a fast horse.'

'My point exactly,' said Bison, triumphantly. Then he faltered. 'What was that about wealth?'

Kebra shrugged. 'Meaningless baubles. But you can imagine the kind of reception given to the small band of heroes who rescued the queen? Showered with gold and praise. Probably given a commission in the avenging army that would return to Ventria. Who needs it? You and I will head for Caphis tomorrow. We'll sail home quietly and retire. You can have a place on my farm.'

'I don't want to live on a farm,' insisted Bison. 'I want to be in the. . what did you call it?… the avenging army.'

'You probably can,' Kebra assured him. 'You could dye your moustache black and pretend to be forty again. Now I'm for bed. It's been a long and tiring day.'

Rising from the fire he strolled to his blankets. 'Would they really give us riches and fame?' Bison asked Dagorian.

'I fear so.'

'They'd probably write songs about you,' said Nogusta.

'A pox on songs! Can't buy a whore with a song. But can we fight demons, Nogusta? I mean, can we actually beat them?'

'Have you ever seen me lose?' countered Nogusta. 'Of course we can beat them.'

'Then I think you are right,' said Bison. 'Can't let evil get its own way. I'm with you.' Pushing himself to his feet he walked back to his blankets and lay down. Within moments he was snoring softly.

'Sweet Heaven, he makes me sick,' said Dagorian.

'Don't judge him so harshly,' Nogusta told him. 'Bison is not a complex man, but he has a little more depth than you give him credit for. He may have trouble with the concepts, but the realities are different. You will see. Now you get some sleep. I'll take the first watch. And I'll wake you in around three hours.'

When Dagorian had gone Ulmenetha moved alongside Nogusta. 'Do you believe we can make it to the coast?' she asked him.

'Do you believe in miracles?' he countered.

Nogusta sat alone, enjoying the solitude. There was no real need to keep watch. They could do nothing if attacked here, save fight and die. But he had always enjoyed forest nights, the wind whispering in the leaves, the filtered moonlight, and the sense of eternity emanating from the ancient trees around him. Forests were never silent. Always there was movement; life. Bison's gentle snoring drifted to him and he smiled. Dagorian and Ulmenetha had gazed at the giant scornfully when he decided to travel with them for the wealth and the glory. Nogusta knew better. Bison needed an excuse for heroism. Like all men of limited intelligence he feared being tricked or manipulated. There was never any doubt that he would journey with them. Kebra had known this, and had given Bison the excuse he needed. The giant would stand beside his friends against any foe.

Do you believe in miracles, Nogusta had asked Ulmenetha?

Well, a miracle would be needed, he knew. Lifting Dagorian's map he turned it towards the fire. The symbols stood out well in the flickering light. Some 2.0 miles to the south was the line of the River Mendea. Three fords were marked. If they could reach the first by late tomorrow they would have a chance to cross the water and lose themselves in the high country. After that there was another 70 miles of rugged terrain. Old forts were indicated along the southern route, but these would be deserted now. There might be villages along the way, from which they could obtain supplies. But probably not. This was inhospitable land. Then they would reach the plains, and face a further 150 miles west to the coast. Even with the five spare horses it would be a month of hard, slow travel. We cannot make such a journey undetected, he realized. Despair struck him.

Ruthlessly he suppressed the emotion. One step at a time, he cautioned himself. First the river.

'Why are you doing this for us?' Ulmenetha had asked him.

'It is enough that I do,' he told her. 'It needs no explanation.'

He thought about it now, recalling the dread day he had arrived home to find his family murdered, seeing their bodies, carrying them to graves he dug himself. He had buried them, and with it had buried his dreams and theirs. All their hopes and fears had been consigned to the earth, and a part of him had remained there with them, in the cold, worm-filled ground.

He glanced around the camp. Ulmenetha was asleep in the wagon. Nogusta liked the priestess. She was a tough woman, and there was no give in her. Rising he walked round the fire and stood over the sleeping children. Conalin was a sullen boy, but there was steel in him. The two girls were cuddled together under one blanket. The child, Sufia, had her thumb in her mouth, and was sleeping peacefully.