Winter Warriors (19 page)

Dagorian said nothing, but his gaze met that of Ulmenetha.
The queen was looking out the window again. Ulmenetha mouthed a question.

“The king?”

Dagorian shook his head. “Then we must brave the forest,” said Ulmenetha.

Irritation crept into Malikada—a small dark cloud in the clear blue sky of his joy. He stood on the hillside gazing down on the Drenai dead. Now that they had been stripped of armor and weapons, gone was their arrogance and their might. They were merely pale corpses ready to be rolled into the huge pit being dug by Ventrian soldiers.

It was Malikada’s moment of triumph. The army that had destroyed the empire of his ancestors was now ruined. He had always known revenge would be sweet but had never guessed just how exquisite the taste would be.

Yet it was marred.

He swung to the swordsman Antikas Karios. “Now we will rebuild Ventria,” he said. “And we will burn away the Drenai presence.”

“Yes, my lord,” Antikas replied, dully.

“What is wrong with you, man? Do you have the toothache?”

“No, my lord.”

“Then what?”

“They fought well and bravely, and it does not sit well with me that we betrayed them.”

Malikada’s irritation flared into anger. “How can you talk of betrayal? That would be their perspective. We fought them, you and I. We risked our lives to prevent Skanda’s victories. The old emperor was weak and indecisive, and yet we stood by him. We served him faithfully and well. At the last, Skanda conquered us. We had two choices, Antikas. You remember that? We could have died, or we could have gone on fighting a different kind of war. We both chose the latter. We have remained true to our own cause. We are not traitors, Antikas. We are patriots.”

“Perhaps so, lord. But this leaves a bad feeling in my stomach.”

“Then take your stomach elsewhere,” stormed Malikada. “Go! Leave me to my pleasure.” Antikas bowed and walked away. Malikada watched the swordsman. He moved with such grace. The deadliest bladesman Malikada had ever seen, yet beneath it all, it now transpired, he was soft and weak! He had always envied Antikas, yet now he felt only contempt.

Malikada forced the image of the man from his mind, picturing again the moment when Skanda had signaled the charge. Oh, how he wished he could have been closer to see the expression on the bastard’s face, to witness the realization that he was doomed, that Malikada was ending his dreams of empire. Oh, how that must have eaten into Skanda’s soul.

Irritation flared again within him. When Skanda had been dragged unconscious from the battlefield, Kalizkan had refused permission for Malikada to witness the sacrifice. He would have liked to have seen that, to see the living heart cut from the body. A truly magnificent moment it would have been to stand over the king, their gazes locked together, watching the death agony, feeling Skanda’s dying hatred. Malikada shivered with pleasure at the thought.

But then, Kalizkan was a secretive man. Malikada had not been allowed to watch the old emperor’s sacrifice, either.

The corpses were being tumbled into the pit now and covered with oil and dry wood. As the flames spread and black smoke spiraled up, Malikada turned away. It was almost noon, and he needed to see Kalizkan. This was only the beginning. There were other Drenai garrisons along the coast, and there was still the problem of the White Wolf.

Also there was the question of Malikada’s coronation. Emperor Malikada! Now, that had a fine sound. He would order Kalizkan to create an even greater illusion in the night skies over Usa—something that would dwarf the display Skanda had enjoyed.

He strolled back through the Ventrian camp toward the cliffs beyond. Red dust rose up around him as he walked, staining his highly polished boots. The cave entrance was
dark, but he could see lantern light farther inside. Stepping into the cave, he felt a momentary fear. Kalizkan had become so withdrawn lately and had ceased to treat him with his customary respect. Malikada had allowed the discourtesy, for he needed the man. His spells and his wizardry had been vital.

Had
been vital.

The thought struck him that he no longer needed Kalizkan.

I need no one, he realized. But I shall keep him with me. His skills will be more than useful when it comes time to invade the lands of the Drenai. But first there is Axiana. I shall wait until she has birthed the child, see it strangled, and then wed her myself. Who can then deny me the crown?

His good humor restored, he continued on his way.

The body of Skanda was laid on a stone altar, the chest cut open. A linen cloth had been laid over his face. Kalizkan was sitting by a small fire, his blue satin robes stained with blood.

“Did he scream as he died?” asked Malikada.

Kalizkan rose. “No, he did not scream. He cursed you with his last breath.”

“I would like to have heard that,” said Malikada.

There was a foul odor in the cave, and Malikada pulled a perfumed handkerchief from his pocket, holding it to his nose. “What is that smell?” he asked.

“It is this form,” said Kalizkan. “It has served its purpose and is now rotting. And I have no wish to waste my enhanced powers sustaining it any longer.”

“Form? What are you talking about?”

“Kalizkan’s body. It was already dying when I inhabited it. That was why he summoned me. To take away his cancer. I took him instead. His arrogance was overwhelming. How could he think to control Anharat, Lord of the Night?”

“You are making no sense, wizard.”

“On the contrary, Malikada. It all makes perfect sense, depending, of course, on your perspective. I listened to your conversation with the swordsman. You were quite right. It is all a question of perspectives. Skanda believed you betrayed him, whereas you and I know you remained true to the one cause you believed in, the restoration of the Ventrian throne.
Naturally, with you to sit upon it. I, on the other hand, have no interest in the throne. And I have also remained true to my cause—the restoration of my people to the land that was once theirs by right and by force of arms.”

Malikada was suddenly frightened. He tried to back away but found that his legs would not obey him. The perfumed handkerchief dropped from his fingers, and his arms fell uselessly to his sides. He was paralyzed. He tried to shout for help, but as his mouth opened, no sound came forth.

“I don’t suppose,” said the creature within Kalizkan, “that you are interested in my cause, save that to tell it will extend your life by a few moments.” The body of the wizard seemed to shimmer, and Malikada found himself gazing on a rotting corpse. Half the flesh of the face had disappeared, and the other half was gray-green and maggot-infested. Malikada tried to shut his eyes, but even that was lost to him. “My people,” said Kalizkan, “lost a war. We were not killed. We were banished to a gray, soulless world alongside your own. A world without color, without taste, without hope. Now, thanks in small part to you, Malikada, we have the chance to live again. To feel the cold, heady night winds upon our faces, to taste the sweet joys that spring from human fear.”

Kalizkan came closer and reached out his hand. Talons sprouted from the fingers. “Oh, yes, Malikada, let your terror flow. It is like wine, soft upon the tongue.” With an agonizing lack of speed the talons slowly pierced Malikada’s chest.

“And now you can help me complete my mission. The queen, you see, has escaped from my home, and I need your form in order to use your men to hunt her down.”

The fierce pain of fire flowed through Malikada, searing its way across his chest, down into his belly, and up the spinal cord, exploding into his brain. It was an agony beyond enduring, and Kalizkan shivered with pleasure at it.

The talons ceased their probing as they closed around Malikada’s heart. “If I had more time,” said Anharat, “I would hold you like this for some hours. But I have no time. So die, Malikada. Die in despair. Your world is ruined, and soon your
people will be food for the Windborn.” The Ventrian’s corpse twitched. The rotting body of Kalizkan fell to the floor.

Within Malikada now, the demon stretched out his new arms. Kalizkan’s body burst into flames.

Stepping back, the new Malikada strode to the cave entrance. Lifting his hand, he focused his concentration on the rocks above him. Dust filtered down, and the rocks groaned. Malikada stepped into the sunlight.

And the cave ceiling crashed down behind him, blocking the entrance.

He strode down to where his men were waiting, pausing only to sniff the smoke rising from the great pyre. There was a delicious sweetness to it.

Back at his tent he summoned Antikas Karios. The swordsman bowed low.

“Go to the city and find the queen,” said Malikada. “Protect her until my arrival.”

“Yes, my lord. Protect her from whom?”

“Just make sure she is there when I arrive.”

“I shall leave immediately, my lord.”

“Do not fail me, Antikas.”

An angry look came into the swordsman’s deep, dark eyes. “When have I ever failed you, Cousin?”

“Never,” replied Malikada, “and now is not the time to start.”

Antikas said nothing for a moment, but the demon within Malikada felt the swordsman’s piercing gaze. Coolly he cast a small spell, which radiated from him, surrounding Antikas. The swordsman relaxed.

“It will be as you command,” he said.

“Take spare horses and ride all night. Be there before the dawn.”

The carriage moved slowly through the city streets. Crowds were everywhere now, and as dusk deepened, the riots began in the poorer quarters of the city. Several buildings were set afire. “Why do they do this?” asked Axiana, watching the distant
smoke and hearing the far-off screams. “What purpose does it achieve?”

Dagorian shrugged. “That is hard to explain, Your Highness. Some people are in a state of panic. They fear the Cadians will descend on them with fire and sword. Others know that with the army destroyed they are free to commit crimes they would otherwise have been punished for. They see the disaster as an opportunity to obtain wealth they could not hope to earn. I do not know all the reasons. But there will be many deaths tonight.”

The carriage pulled into the palace grounds, where it was stopped by an officer of the guards and a squad of spearmen. The man opened the door, saw the queen, and bowed low.

“Thank the Source you are safe, Your Highness,” he said. She gave him a wan smile, and the carriage moved on.

Inside the queen’s apartments Axiana sank to a couch, resting her head on a satin pillow, and fell asleep. Ulmenetha began to gather clothes for the queen, packing them carefully into an ornate wooden chest. Then she went with the children to the deserted kitchens, where she gathered food: sides of ham, some hard cheese wrapped in muslin, and several small sacks of flour, sugar, and salt. The children sat close by, gorging themselves on bread and preserves washed down with fresh milk. Ulmenetha paused and watched them.

“What happened in that orphanage?” she asked the redheaded boy.

His bright blue eyes were suddenly fearful, but his expression remained set and hard. “Children died,” he said. “Everybody said Kalizkan was kind. You could be sure of a meal there. Lots of my friends had already gone. We went there ten days ago.” The boy closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Most of my friends were dead by then, but I didn’t know. They used to take them underground, but you could still hear the screams.” He opened his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I understand,” said the priestess. Moving opposite the children, she sat down. “Listen to me. We are leaving the city.
Tonight. You can come with us if you wish, or you can stay in Usa. It is up to you.”

“Where are you going?” asked the older girl, her deep, dark eyes holding to Ulmenetha’s gaze.

“We will try to find a way to the coast and then a ship to Drenan. It is a long way, and I think it will be a perilous journey. You may be safer here.”

“I am Drenai,” said the girl. “Or at least my father was Drenai. I will come with you. There is nothing here for me. I do not want to stay.”

“You won’t leave me here!” wailed the small blond child, taking hold of the girl’s hand.

“I won’t leave you, little one. You can come with us.”

“Why should we go?” asked the boy. “I can steal food for all of us.”

Reaching out, she ran her fingers through his tangled red hair. “Maybe in Drenan you won’t have to steal food. We could live in a house.”

The boy swore. “Who’s going to give us a house, Pharis? Nobody
gives
anyone anything. You get nothing for nothing. That’s the way of it.”

“You found food for me, Conalin. And you looked after Sufia when she was sick. You got nothing in return.”

“You’re my friends, and I love you. That’s different. How do you know you can trust this fat woman?”

The girl looked up again into Ulmenetha’s eyes. “She came to rescue her friend. And she fought the beast. I trust her.”

“Well, I don’t want to go,” the boy said stubbornly.

“If you don’t come, who will protect little Sufia?” she said.

“Oh, please come with us, Con,” pleaded Sufia. “Please!”

He sat silently for a moment, then stared up at Ulmenetha, his eyes angry. “Why should we trust you?” he asked her.

“I can offer no reason, Conalin, save that I never lie. And I promise you this: If we reach Drenan safely, the queen will buy you a house.”

“Why should you? You owe us nothing.”

“That is not true. Your bravery and that of your sister helped
to kill the … beast, as you call it. Had you not helped me, I would have been killed.”

“She’s not my sister. She’s Pharis, my friend. And if she and Sufia are going, I’ll come, too. But I don’t believe you about the house.”

“Wait and see,” said Ulmenetha. “Now let’s find some sacks for supplies and fill them. We don’t want to be hungry when we reach the mountains.”

Back in the apartments the queen was asleep on the couch, and Dagorian had swapped his beggar’s rags for one of Skanda’s gray woolen tunics. It was emblazoned with a rearing white horse at the shoulder. He stood now on the balcony, watching the glow from the fires in the western quarter.