David Gemmell - The Winter Warriors

Leaving the palace he crossed the Avenue of Kings. Canta's Tavern was but a short walk, and the food there was always good.

When he arrived he found the doors locked, but he could hear signs of movement within. Angry now he hammered his fist on the wood. All movement inside ceased. 'Open up, Canta! There is a hungry man out here,' he called.

He heard the bolts being drawn back. The door swung open. Within were two men. One, the owner, Canta, a short, fat, balding man with a heavy black moustache, had a kitchen knife in his hand, the other man was holding a hatchet. 'Come in quickly,' said Canta. Antikas stepped inside. They slammed shut the door and bolted it.

'What are you afraid of?' asked Antikas. The men looked at one another.

'How long have you been back in the city?' asked Canta.

'I just rode in.'

There have been riots,' said the tavern keeper, dropping his knife to a table and slumping down. 'Riots like you've never seen. People hacking and stabbing their neighbours. Last night the baker murdered his wife and ran along the street with her head in his hands. I saw it with my own eyes, Antikas, through the window slats. There is madness everywhere. Tomorrow I'm getting out.'

'And what of the Militia?' asked Antikas.

'They're out there with them, burning and looting. I tell you, Antikas, it beggars belief. By day everything is quiet, but when the sun goes down the nightmare begins again. There is a great evil at work here. I feel it in my bones.'

Antikas rubbed his weary eyes. 'The army is back now. They will restore order.'

'The army is camped a mile from the city,' said the other man, a stocky figure with a greying beard. 'The city is defenceless.'

The tavern was gloomy and dark, lit only by a fading log fire in the hearth. 'Do you have any food?' asked Antikas. 'I have not eaten since yesterday.'

Canta nodded and moved away to the kitchen. The other man sat opposite the swordsman. 'There is sorcery here,' he said. 'I think the city is dying.'

'Nonsense,' snapped Antikas.

'You haven't seen it, man. Outside. After dark. I have. I'll not forget it. The mob becomes possessed. You can see it in their eyes.'

'That is the way with mobs,' said Antikas.

'Maybe it is, soldier. But yesterday. .' his voice tailed away. The man rose and walked away to the fire, slumping down beside it and staring into the flames. Canta returned with a plate of cold beef and cheese and a jug of watered wine.

'It is the best I can offer,' said Canta. Antikas reached for his money pouch. 'Don't concern yourself with that,' said Canta. Take it as a gift.'

The sound of sobbing came from the hearth. Antikas looked at the weeping man with distaste. Canta leaned in close. 'Last night he killed his wife and daughters,' whispered the innkeeper. 'And he loved them dearly. He came to me this morning, covered in blood. He could not believe what he had done.'

'He will be arrested and hanged,' said Antikas, coldly.

'Wait until you've lived through the night before making judgements,' advised Canta.

Antikas did not reply. Slowly he ate the meal, savouring the taste of the cold beef and the texture of the smoked cheese. At last replete he sat back. A stair board creaked. Antikas glanced up and saw a tall, thin priest, in robes of white, moving down the stairs. 'He has been here two days,' said Canta. 'He says little, but he is mightily afraid.'

The priest acknowledged Antikas with a curt nod and moved past him to sit at a table at the far wall.

'What is he doing at a tavern?' asked Antikas.

'He says that this place was built on the ruins of a shrine, and that demons will avoid it. He is leaving with us tomorrow.'

Antikas rose and moved across the room. The priest glanced up. He had a thin, ascetic face, with a prominent nose and a receding chin. His eyes were pale and watery. 'Good evening to you, Father,' said Antikas.

'And to you, my son,' answered the priest.

'What is it you fear?'

'The end of the world,' said the priest, his voice dull and toneless.

Antikas leaned forward on the table, forcing the man to meet his gaze. 'Explain,' he ordered him.

'Words are useless now,' said the priest, once more averting his gaze. 'It has begun. It will not be stopped. The demons are everywhere, and growing stronger each night.' He lapsed into silence. Antikas found it hard to suppress his irritation.

'Tell me anyway,' he said, sitting down on the bench seat opposite the man.

The priest sighed. 'Some weeks ago Father Aminias, the oldest of our order, told the Abbot he had seen demons over the city. He maintained the city was in great danger. Then he was murdered. A few days ago a woman came to me in the temple. She was a priestess, and midwife to the queen. She had been blessed with a kiraz — a threefold vision. I spoke with her, and tried to interpret it. After she had gone I began to study the ancient scrolls and grimoires in the temple library. There I came upon a prophecy. That prophecy is being fulfilled now.'

'What are you saying?' persisted Antikas. 'You think the sun will fall from the sky, that the oceans will rise up and destroy us?'

'Nothing so natural, my son. Both the old emperor and Skanda were, I believe, descended from the line of three ancient kings. These kings, and a wizard, fought a war long ago. It was not a war against men. There are few details of it now, and those that remain are hopelessly distorted, and full of bizarre imagery. What is clear, however, is that it was a war against non-humans

— demons, if you like. All the ancient tomes tell of a period when such creatures walked among us. The three kings ended that period, banishing all demons to another world. There are no details now of the spell that was wrought, but one of the tomes tells of the patterns of planets in the sky that awesome night. A similar pattern is in the heavens now. And I believe — with utter certainty

— that the demons are returning.'

'Tomes, stars, demons — I understand none of this, priest,' snapped Antikas. 'Offer me proofs!'

'Proofs?' The priest laughed aloud. 'What proofs would be sufficient? We are in a city being torn apart every night by those possessed. The prophecy talks of the Sacrifice of Kings. The priestess told me her vision showed the old emperor was killed in such a manner. Now Skanda is dead. You are a soldier. Were you there when his army was destroyed?' Antikas nodded. 'Was he slain on the battlefield, or taken to a secret place, and then killed?'

'It is not my place to discuss these things,' said Antikas. 'But, for the sake of argument, let us assume he was. What do you take it to mean?'

'It means the fulfilment of prophecy. Two of three kings sacrificed. When the third dies the gateways will open, and the demons will be back among us. In the flesh.'

'Pah!' snorted Antikas. 'And there your argument falters, for there is no third king.'

'Not so,' said the priest. 'In the words of the prophecy the sacrifices will consist of an owl, a lion and a lamb. The owl represents wisdom and learning. The old emperor was, as you will recall, a learned man, who founded many universities. Skanda, may his soul burn, was a ravening lion, a destroyer. The third? A lamb is a newborn creature. A child, therefore, or a babe. I am not a seer. But I do not need to be, for I saw Queen Axiana recently, and her child is soon due. He will be the third king.'

Antikas leaned back in his chair and drew in a long breath. 'You speak of spells and grimoires, but only one man had such power. Kalizkan. And he is dead. Killed in a rockfall.'

'I do not speak of men,' said the priest. 'No man could summon such magic. I knew Kalizkan. He was a caring man, thoughtful and sensitive. Two years ago he came to the temple to be healed of a terrible cancer. We could not help him. He had but days to live. He spent two of those days studying ancient texts in our library. After the visit of the priestess I studied those same texts myself. One of the spells contained there was of a merging. If a sorcerer had enough power — so it maintained — he could draw a demon into himself for the purposes of prolonging his life. Shared immortality.' The priest fell silent, then sipped water from a pewter tankard. Antikas waited patiently. The priest spoke again. 'We were all surprised when Kalizkan continued to survive. But he did not come to the temple again, nor visit any holy place. It is my belief — though I can offer you no further proofs — that Kalizkan, in a bid to heal himself, allowed his body to be possessed. But either the promise of the spell was a lie, or Kalizkan was not powerful enough to withstand the demon. Whatever, I think Kalizkan died long ago. And, if I am right, no rockfall would have killed him.'