Winter Warriors (46 page)

Banelion summoned his officers to him and began to give out orders. They listened without comment, then moved back to their men.

The sun was sinking toward the mountain peaks, and there was perhaps an hour before dusk.

Ulmenetha walked out to stand alongside the old man. “How is Nogusta?” he asked.

“A little better, I think.”

“Good. It is bad enough that Dagorian had to die. I dearly want Nogusta to survive.”

“Did you mean what you said to the queen?” she asked him, her frank blue eyes meeting his iron gaze.

“I always mean what I say,” he told her. “I think she would be safer in Drenan, but I am her servant, and it is not for me to gainsay her wishes.”

“But you do foresee problems if she decides to remain in Ventria?”

“Of course. The Drenai nobles will either elect a new king or declare for a new republic. As for the Ventrians—will they accept Skanda’s heir without an army to back his claim? I doubt it.” He raised his arm and gestured to the surrounding land. “But then the mountains will still be here, and the rivers will run to the sea. It does not matter to nature who rules or who dies. However, these are problems for another day.”

“Indeed they are,” she agreed. “I have not thanked you for coming to our aid. I do so now. My gratitude is more than my words can convey.”

“You needn’t thank me, lady. All my life has been occupied by thoughts of duty and responsibility. I am too old to change now.”

“Even so, you have pledged most of your fortune to the men who now follow you. Not many would have done that.”

“I think you would be surprised at how many would do exactly that. It has become fashionable to believe that all actions have a cynical base. That’s what comes of believing the lies of politicians. I have lived long, Ulmenetha, and I have seen much. There is among many people a desire to help others. Perhaps it is this that binds us all together. Dagorian and Bison gave their lives to protect the mother and child. They did it willingly, with no thought of profit.”

“You say that, and yet your men have followed you here for the promise of gold. Is this not at odds with your philosophy?”

“Not at all. I offered them the gold because a soldier is worth his pay. But had I been penniless and asked them to follow me, most would have. Now let us speak of more pressing matters. I have seen your magick but not your power. Is there any way in which you might help us tonight?”

“I cannot kill,” she explained. “Land magick is of a healing nature. If I drew fire from the land and used it against the Ventrians, the power would vanish from me instantly.”

“I was not thinking about using it against a human foe,” he said.

“There is nothing I can do to hurt Anharat. He is too powerful.”

Banelion fell silent, staring out once more over the battleground. “There is no doubt that we can withstand their charges,” he said. “They will impale themselves on our spears, seeking to break through. They will not succeed. But I would like to avoid unnecessary casualties.”

“I do not see how that can be achieved,” she admitted.

“I think I do,” he told her, “but I do not know whether your power can achieve it.”

Nogusta awoke just before dusk. His mouth was dry, and his left shoulder throbbed with pain. He winced as he sat up. The interior of the temple was gloomy now except for two lanterns that burned in a tent by the far wall. Nogusta pushed
himself to his feet and for a moment felt light-headed and dizzy. Twenty feet away Conalin was sitting on some rubble, drinking water from a pottery cup. Nogusta called him over.

The black man sat down as the boy moved alongside. “I want you to take Bison’s sword,” he said.

“Why?”

“If the enemy breaks through, then we will be the last line of defense.”

Conalin gazed up at the black warrior, noting his weakness. “I’ll get you some water,” he said. The boy ran off to the antechamber and returned with a full cup of cool, clear water. Nogusta drank gratefully. Then he handed Conalin the scabbarded short sword. The boy flipped the belt around his waist, but it was too big. Using his dagger, Nogusta made a new hole and shortened the sword belt. Conalin buckled it into place.

“Draw it,” said Nogusta.

The boy did so. “It is heavier than I thought,” said Conalin.

“Remember, it is a stabbing blade, not a cleaver. When your enemy is close, thrust toward the heart. Let me see you practice.” Conalin made several clumsy lunges. “That’s good,” said Nogusta. “We’ll make a fine swordsman of you, given time. But thrust off your lead foot. That will put your body weight behind the movement.”

Conalin grinned and tried again. This time the thrust was smooth and swift. He looked at Nogusta. “Your talisman is glowing,” he said.

“I know.”

Pharis and Sufia ran in the doorway of the temple. “They’re here! So many!” shouted Pharis. They ran back outside.

Conalin went to join them, but Nogusta called him back. “I want you to wait with me,” he said softly.

“I just wanted to see them.”

“It is important that you stay.” Nogusta turned away from the boy and climbed to the octagonal dais, then sat back on the stone altar placed there. “This is one of the oldest buildings anywhere in the world. Most of the city was built after it. Like the palace back in Usa it was said to have been erected in
a single night by a giant. I don’t believe it, of course, but it is a pretty tale when heard in full.” He took a deep breath. “This wound is bothersome,” he said.

“Why do you not want to see the battle?” asked Conalin, stepping up to the dais. “Antikas, Kebra, and Ulmenetha are all there. Why should we not go?”

“I have seen battles, Conalin. I had hoped never to see another. Kebra tells me you want to work with horses. Is that right?”

“Yes, I do.”

“It is my plan to return to the northern mountains of Drenan and find the descendants of the herds my father raised. I will rebuild our house. It was set in a beautiful location. My wife loved it there, especially in spring, when the fruit trees were in blossom.”

“Did she die?”

“Yes, she died. All my family died. I am the last of my line.” He could see that the boy was anxious to leave and decided to distract him. “Would you like to see some magick?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Carefully Nogusta lifted the talisman from around his neck and looped it over the boy’s head. It settled neatly into place around his neck. “Where is the magick?” said the boy.

Nogusta was surprised but did not show it. Pharis and the child had returned looking for Conalin. He called them over. “Try to place it around Sufia’s neck,” he said. Conalin lifted the talisman clear, but when he tried to put it on the child, he found that the golden chain was too short by several inches.

“I don’t understand,” he said.

“Put it back on me,” said Nogusta. The boy stepped forward and found to his amazement that it was still too short. “It is yours now,” said the warrior. “It has chosen you.” Softly he spoke the words his father had used. “A man greater than kings wore this charm, and while you wear it make sure that your deeds are always noble.”

“How do I do that?” asked Conalin.

“A good question. Follow your heart. Listen to what it tells
you. Do not steal or lie; do not speak or act with malice or hatred.”

“I will try,” promised the boy.

“And you will succeed, for you are chosen. This talisman has been in my family for many generations. Always it chooses its owner. One day, when your sons are nearly grown, you will play the magick game, and you will see it choose again.”

“Why didn’t you keep it?” asked Conalin. “You are still young enough to sire sons. You could take a wife.”

“It is done,” said Nogusta. “And I am pleased. You are a fine lad, brave and intelligent. If you wish to come back to Drenan with me, we will build the house together. Then we can hunt the horses.”

“Will Kebra come, too?”

“I hope that he will.”

From outside came the sound of war horns blaring. Axiana emerged from her tent, wearing a shimmering dress of blue satin. Her dark hair was drawn up, and a string of pearls had been braided there. Pharis gasped to see her. The queen approached Nogusta. She was holding the sleeping babe close to her chest.

“If I am to die,” she said, “I shall die
looking
like a queen.”

Conalin felt heat upon his chest. The talisman was glowing with a bright light now. A sudden vision came to him: a man in black armor moving through the ruins.

“What did you see?” asked Nogusta.

“The last of the Krayakin is coming,” said Conalin.

“He will soon be here,” said the warrior.

“You knew?”

“It was the last of my visions. You now have the gift. Use it wisely.”

“You cannot beat him. You are wounded and weak.”

“A great evil is coming,” said Nogusta. “You will need all your courage. Never lose heart. You hear me, boy? Never lose heart!”

The Ventrian cavalry appeared on the hills on either side, lancers in their white cloaks and curved bronze helms, light
cavalry with wicker shields and wooden spears, mounted archers in garish red shirts, and heavily armored swordsmen in black cloaks and breastplates of burnished bronze.

The Drenai soldiers waited. Not a man moved. They stood silently, their spears pointing toward the sky, their long rectangular shields held to their sides.

The White Wolf glanced to the left and right and felt a surge of pride in the fighting men who stood ready. The sun was dipping low now, the sky golden, the mountains crowned with fire. At the center of the Ventrians came Anharat-Malikada riding a white stallion. He raised his arm, ready to order the attack.

“Prepare!” bellowed the White Wolf. A thousand shields swept up, and a thousand spears dropped down to face the enemy. The movement was perfectly coordinated.

The Ventrians rode slowly down from the hills, creating a fighting wedge.

Anharat galloped his horse to the front of the line, then drew rein.

From the highest point of the ruined wall Ulmenetha watched him. Her concentration grew as she summoned the power of the land, feeling it swell inside her. Her body began to shake, and she felt her heart beating faster and faster. Still the power flowed into her. Pain, terrible pain burst in her head, and she cried out. But even through the pain she continued to draw on the power of the earth. Tears flowed, and her vision misted. Raising her arms, she released the fire of
halignat
.

A huge ball of white flame flew from her hands, screeching above the Drenai defenders and passing through the Ventrian riders. Not one of them was harmed, though their horses reared in panic. The blazing
halignat
swept on, curling around Anharat, swelling into a white globe that hid him from his army. Slowly the
halignat
faded away. Anharat’s horse was unharmed, and the demon lord laughed aloud.

“I am safe,” he told the officers around him. “Attack now and kill them all!”

But no one moved. Anharat looked at the closest man. His eyes were wide, and he was staring in horror. “What is it, man?” he said. He looked at the others. They were all staring at him. Several made the sign of the protective horn.

Then he saw the White Wolf walking toward him. Antikas Karios was beside him, and the silver-haired bowman Kebra. “There is the enemy!” he shouted, lifting his arm to point at the three warriors. Only then did he see what had terrified his men. The flesh of his hand was gray and rotting. The
halignat
had burned away the spell, and the body of Malikada was decaying fast.

“He is not Malikada,” he heard Antikas shout. “He is a demon. Look at him!”

All around Anharat riders were pulling away.

The sun fell behind the mountains, and the moon shone in the darkening sky.

Anharat suddenly laughed and spread his dead arms wide. The body of Malikada burst open, the clothes ripping and falling away. The head fell back, then split from the brow to the chin, and black smoke billowed up into the night sky. Slowly it solidified, forming two wide black wings around a powerful body. The wings began to beat, and the grotesque beast flew above the waiting armies.

Kebra reacted first, notching an arrow to his bow and sending a shaft flashing into the sky. It pierced Anharat’s side but did not stop his flight.

He flew on over the ruined walls toward the ancient temple.

Antikas Karios ran to the nearest horseman and dragged him to the ground. Then he vaulted into the saddle and kicked the horse into a run. He thundered through the Drenai line and into the ghost city. The winged beast hovered above the temple.

His taloned hand gestured toward the ground. Red fire leapt up, flames twenty feet high encircling the building. Antikas Karios tried to ride through them, but the horse reared and turned away. Antikas leapt to the ground and tried to run through the flames. His shirt caught fire, and he fell back, hurling himself to the ground and rolling through the dirt.
Two soldiers ran to him, covering him with their cloaks and beating out the flames.

Antikas glanced up and saw the winged demon land on a high window and disappear into the temple.

Nogusta stood on the dais and gazed around the temple. Some thirty feet to his left was the queen’s tent, and beyond that the entrance to the antechamber. Two hundred feet ahead of him were the main doors. He glanced up at the high arched window above the doors. From there would come the winged terror.

The queen emerged from her tent. Nogusta smiled at her. Carrying the babe, she walked to the dais. There was in her movement now a renewed pride and strength, and her bearing was once more regal. Nogusta bowed.

“I thank you for your service to me,” she said. “And I apologize for any apparent lack of gratitude on the journey.”

“Stay close to the dais, Your Highness,” he told her. “The last hour is upon us.” Pharis and Sufia were sitting close by. Nogusta ordered them to move to the far wall.

“Where do you want me?” asked Conalin.

“Stand before the queen. The beast will come from that high window.”

Conalin looked up fearfully but then strode to the dais and took up his position.