David Gemmell - The Winter Warriors

'You say that spells are held in the stone. Perhaps this will shield me from the demons.'

'I cannot say that for sure,' said the priest. 'What you have is a tiny fragment.'

'I have no choice but to try, priest. The queen is in the mountains, guarded by only four men.'

'And you think a fifth will make a difference?'

'I am Antikas Karios, priest. I always make a difference.'

Tucking the rock into his tunic Antikas returned to the upper room. Moving to the upturned table which blocked the window he peered out into the street. All was silent. His mouth was dry, his heart beating fast. Antikas Karios feared no living man, but the thought of the demons waiting threatened to unman him. Placing his hand on the table he prepared to draw it aside.

'Don't go out there!' pleaded Canta, echoing the voice in Antikas's own heart.

'I must,' he said, wrenching the table aside and climbing to the sill.

The night breeze was cool on his skin, and he leapt lightly to the ground. Behind him the others hastily drew back the table. Antikas ran across the street, ducking into an alley. He had gone no more than a hundred paces when the attack came. The temperature around him plummeted, and he heard whispers on the breeze. They grew louder and louder, filling his ears like angry hornets. Pain roared inside his head. Inside his tunic the rock grew warmer. Antikas staggered and almost fell. Anger surged — but as it did he felt the cold seep into his brain. Voices were hissing at him now in a language he had never heard, and yet he knew what they were saying. 'Give in! Give in! Give in!'

He lurched against the side of a building and fell to his knees. The pain from striking the cobbles cut through the discordant shrieking inside his mind. He focused on it — and on the heat from the rock against his skin.

He wanted to rage against the invasion, to scream. But some deeper instinct overrode his emotions, urging him to stay calm, to fight coolly. Yet he felt like he was drowning in this sea of voices — at one with them, sharing their hunger for blood and pain and death.

'No,' he said, aloud. 'I am. .' For a moment there was panic. Who am I? Scores of names surged through his mind, shouted by the voices within. He fought for calm. 'I am. . Antikas Karios. I am ANTIKAS KARIOS!' Over and over, like a mantra, he said his name. The voices shrieked louder still, but with less power, until they receded into dim, distant echoes.

Antikas pushed himself to his feet and ran on. The shrieking of human voices could be heard now, some distance to his left. Then to his right. Then ahead.

Unable to possess him the demons were gathering their human forces to cut him off.

Antikas paused and looked around. To his left was a high wall, and, close by, a wrought-iron gate. He ran to it, and climbed the gate, stepping out onto the wall some 15 feet above the ground. Nimbly he moved along it, to where it joined the side of a house. There was an ivy covered trellis here and Antikas began to climb. Below him a mob gathered, shouting curses. A hurled hammer crashed against the wall by his head. He climbed on. A piece of rotten wood gave way beneath his foot, but he clung on, drawing himself towards the flat roof. He heard the creaking of the iron gate below, and glanced back. Several of the mob were climbing the wall.

Easing himself onto the roof Antikas gazed around in the moonlight. There was a door to the building. Moving swiftly to it he forced it open. As he entered the stairwell beyond he heard the sound of boots upon the stairs. With a soft curse he backed out onto the roof, and ran to the edge of the building.

Some 60 feet below was a narrow alleyway. He glanced at the roof opposite, gauging the distance. Ten feet at least. On the flat he could make the jump with ease, but there was a low wall around the rooftop.

Pacing his steps he moved back to the door then turned and ran at the wall. He leapt, his left foot striking the top and propelling him out over the alleyway. For one terrifying moment he thought he had misjudged his leap. But then he landed and rolled on the opposite rooftop. The hilt of his sabre dug into his side, tearing the skin. Antikas swore again. Rising he drew the blade. The golden fist guard was dented, but the weapon was still usable.

The door on the second roof burst open and three men ran out. Antikas spun towards them, the sabre slicing through the throat of the first. His foot lashed out into the knee of the second, spinning the man from his feet. The third died from a sabre thrust to the heart. Antikas ran to the doorway and listened. There was no sound upon the stairs, and he moved down into the dark, emerging into a narrow corridor. There were no lanterns lit, and the swordsman moved forward blindly, feeling his way. He stumbled upon a second stair and descended to the first level. Here there was a window with the curtains drawn back, and faint moonlight illuminated a gallery. Opening the window he clambered out, and dropped the 10 feet to the garden below.

Here there was a lower wall, no more than 8 feet high. Sheathing his sabre he leapt, curling his fingers over the stone and hauling himself to the top. The street beyond was empty.

Antikas silently lowered himself to the cobbles and ran on.

Emerging onto the Avenue of Kings he raced across the street towards the palace. The mob erupted from alleyways all around him, shrieking and baying. Ducking he sprinted for the gates. The two sentries stood stock still as he approached, showing no sign of alarm. Antikas reached them just ahead of the mob, and realized he could go no further. Angry now he spun to face them.

But they had halted just outside the gates and were now standing silently, staring at him.

The sentries still had not moved, and Antikas stood, breathing heavily, his sabre all but forgotten.

Silently the mob dispersed, moving back into the shadows on the opposite side of the Avenue.

Antikas approached the first of the sentries. 'Why did they not attack?' he asked.

The man's head turned slowly towards him. The eyes were misted in death, the jaw hanging slack. Antikas backed away.

Reaching the stable he moved to the stall where he had left his horse. The beast was on its knees. He noticed someone had changed the blanket with which he had covered the beast. His had been grey, this was black. Opening the stall door he stepped inside.

The black blanket writhed, and scores of bats fluttered up around him, their wings beating about his face.

Then they were gone, up into the rafters.

And the horse was dead.

Angry now Antikas drew his sword and headed for the palace. The priest had said he could not kill the Demon Lord, but, by all the gods in Heaven, he would try. The rock grew warm against his skin, and a soft voice whispered into his mind.

'Do not throw away your life, my boy!'

Antikas paused. 'Who are you?' he whispered.

'You cannot kill him. Trust me. The babe is everything. You must protect the babe.'

'I am trapped here. If I leave the palace the mob will hunt me down.'

'I will guide you, Antikas. There are horses outside the city.'

Who are you?' he repeated.

'I am Kalizkan, Antikas. And all this pain and horror is of my making.'

'That is hardly a recommendation for trust.'

'I know. I am hoping that the power of truth will convince you.'

'My choices appear limited,' said Antikas. 'Lead on, wizard!'

High in the palace the Demon Lord raised his arms. Over the city the Entukku, in ecstasy and bloated with feeding, floated aimlessly above the buildings. The Demon Lord's power swept over them, draining their energies. They began to wail and shriek, their hunger increasing once more.