Winter Warriors Read online

  'The high mountain lily,' she told him.

  'The white lily with blue stripes?'

  'Yes.'

  Kalizkan reached down and lifted a handful of dirt. Then his pale eyes narrowed in concentration. A tiny stem appeared in the dark earth, then grew, putting out slender leaves. A bud appeared and opened slowly, exposing long white petals, striped with the blue of a summer sky. Reaching out he offered her the flower. Ulmenetha's fingers touched it, and it became smoke, dispersing on the breeze. 'Is that not wonderful?' said Axiana.

  Ulmenetha nodded. 'You have a great talent, sir,' she said.

  'I have studied long and hard,' he told them. 'But it pleases me to bring pleasure to my friends.'

  'Is your orphanage prospering, Kalizkan?' asked the queen.

  'It is, dear lady, thanks to the kindness of the king and your good wishes. But there are so many more children living on the streets, close to starvation. One wishes one could help them all.'

  As the two talked on, oblivious to Ulmenetha, the priest­ess found herself once more thinking of the demons in the air. Quietly she made her way back to the swinging chair and settled her back against the cushions. The sun had reached noon and was shining down with painful bright­ness. She closed her eyes — and a thought came to her.

  Demons had no love of bright light. Perhaps now she could soar unobserved.

  With a last look at the chatting couple she took a deep breath, reaching for the inner calm that precipitated flight. Then she released her spirit and fled towards the sun like an arrow. High above the city she floated, and gazed down. The roof garden was tiny now, the size of her thumbnail, the river flowing through the city no more than a thin web-thread of glistening blue and white. No demons were flying now, but she could see them in the shadows, under the eaves of buildings. There were hundreds of them. Perhaps thousands. They were writhing over the city like white maggots on rotting pork.

  Three detached themselves from the shadows of the palace, and swept up towards her, their talons reaching out. Ulmenetha waited, frozen in terror. They closed upon her, and she could see their opal eyes and their sharp teeth. There was nowhere to run. They were between her and the safety of her flesh.

  A shining figure of bright light appeared alongside her, a sword of flame in his hands. Ulmenetha tried to look into his face, but the brilliance of the light forced her to turn away. The demons veered away from him. A voice whispered into her mind. It was strangely familiar. 'Go now, swiftly!' he urged her.

  Ulmenetha needed no urging. With the demons fallen back she fled for the sanctuary of her flesh.

  She swept over the roof garden and saw the queen sitting beside . . . sitting beside . . .

  The eyes of her body flared open, and a strangled cry burst from her lips. Axiana and Kalizkan moved swiftly to her side. 'Are you well, Ulmenetha?' asked Axiana, reaching out to stroke her friend's cheek.

  'Yes, yes. I had a bad dream. So stupid. I am sorry.'

  'You are trembling,' said Kalizkan. 'Perhaps you have a fever.'

  'I think I will go inside,' she said, 'and lie down.'

  She left them there and returned to her own room alongside the queen's apartments. Her mouth was dry and she poured a cup of water and drank deeply. Then she sat down and tried to picture what she had seen in the roof garden.

  The image had been fleeting, and she found that the more she concentrated upon it the less clear it became.

  Silently she returned to the roof garden, pausing in the doorway, unseen. From here she could see the kindly wizard and the queen sitting together. Closing the eyes of her body she gazed upon them both with the eyes of spirit.

  Her heart hammered, and she began to tremble once more.

  Kalizkan's face was grey and dead, his hands only partly covered in flesh. Bare bone protruded from the ends of his fingers. And as Ulmenetha looked more closely she saw a small maggot slither out from a hole in the wizard's cheek and drop to the shoulder of his blue satin robes.

  Backing away she returned to her room, and prayed.

  Dagorian stood in the centre of the small room. Blood had splashed to the white walls, and the curved dagger that caused the terrible wounds had been tossed to the floor, where it had smeared a white goatskin rug. The body of the old woman had been removed before Dagorian arrived, but the murderer was still sitting by the hearth, his head in his hands. Two Drenai soldiers stood guard over him.

  'It seems fairly straightforward,' Dagorian told Zani, the slender Ventrian official. 'In a rage this man killed his mother. There are no soldiers involved. No threat to the king. I do not see why you called me to the scene.'

  'You are the Officer of the Watch for last night,' said Zani, a small man, with close cropped dark hair and a pronounced widow's peak. 'We are to report all cases of multiple killings.'

  'There was more than one body?'

  'Yes, sir. Not here, but elsewhere. Look around you. What do you see?'

  Dagorian scanned the room. Shelves lined the walls, some bearing jars of pottery, others bottles of coloured glass. On the low table beside the hearth he saw a set of rune stones, and several papyrus charts of the heavens. 'The woman was a fortune-teller,' he said.

  'Indeed she was - and a good one, by all accounts.'

  'This is relevant?' asked Dagorian.

  'Four such people were killed last night in this quarter of the city alone. Three men and a woman. Two were murdered by customers, a third by his wife, and this woman by her son.'

  Dagorian crossed the room and opened the back door, stepping out into the narrow garden beyond. The Ventrian followed him. The sun was bright in the sky, the warmth welcome. 'Did the victims know one another?' asked Dagorian.

  'The son told me he knew one of the dead.'

  'Then it remains coincidence,' concluded Dagorian.

  The Ventrian sighed and shook his head. 'Twenty-seven in the last month. I do not think coincidence will stretch that far.'

  'Twenty-seven fortune-tellers?' Dagorian was aston­ished.

  'Not all were fortune-tellers. Some were mystics, others priests. But their talent was the common factor. They could all walk the path of Spirit. Most could read fragments of the future.'

  'Not very well, apparently,' Dagorian pointed out.

  'I disagree. Come, let me show you.' Dagorian followed the small Ventrian back to the door. Zani pointed to recent scratches upon the wood, in the shape of an inverted triangle, with a snake at the centre. 'All the entries to the room bear this sign. It is part of a ward spell, protective sorcery. The old woman knew she was in danger. When we found her she was clutching an amulet. This too was a protective piece.'

  'Protection against sorcery,' said Dagorian, patiently. 'But she wasn't killed by sorcery, was she? She was murdered by her son. He admits to the crime. Does he claim he was demon possessed? Is that his defence?'

  'No,' admitted Zani. 'But perhaps it ought to be. I have spoken to the neighbours. He was devoted to his mother. And even he no longer knows why his rage exploded.'

  Dagorian approached the distraught young man sitting by the hearth. 'What do you recall of the crime?' he asked him. The man looked up.

  'I was sitting in my room, and I just got angrier and angrier. The next thing I knew I was here . . . in this room. And I was stabbing, and stabbing . . .' He broke down and hid his face in his hands.

  'What made you angry?'

  It seemed at first that the young man had not heard the question, but the sobbing subsided and he wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. 'I can't remember now. I really can't.'

  'Why did your mother make the ward signs on the doors?'

  'She was frightened. She wouldn't see any customers and she wouldn't come out of the room. We were run­ning out of money. I think, maybe, that's why I got angry. We couldn't afford fuel, and my room was so cold. So terribly cold.' He began to sob once more.

  'Take him away,' Dagorian told the soldiers. They lifted the man to his feet and marched him from the house. A sma
ll crowd had gathered outside. Some of them shouted abuse at the prisoner.

  'There is something very wrong here,' said Zani.

  'Send me the details of the other crimes,' Dagorian told him. 'I will look into them.'

  'You think you will solve the mystery in a day?' asked Zani. 'Or will you not be marching with the army tomorrow?'

  'I leave tomorrow,' said Dagorian. 'But still I wish to see the reports.'

  Leaving the house he mounted his horse and rode back to the new barracks. Once there he waited for the reports, read them carefully, then requested a meeting with his immediate superior, the Ventrian swordsman Antikas Karios.

  He was kept waiting outside the Ventrian's office for an hour, and when he was at last ushered inside, he saw Antikas walk in from the garden beyond, where he had been exercising. Stripped to the waist he was sweating heavily. A servant brought him a towel. Antikas sat down behind the broad desk and drank a cup of water. Then he towelled his dark hair. The servant moved behind him with a brush and a jar of oil. Lightly he massaged the Ventrian's scalp, before brushing his hair back and tying it in a pony-tail. With a flick of his hand Antikas dismissed the man, then turned his dark eyes on Dagorian.

  'You wished to see me?'

  'Yes, sir.' Swiftly he told the officer of the spate of murders, and the concerns of the official Zani that some orchestrated campaign of killing might be under way.

  'Zani is a good man,' said Antikas. 'He has been a city official for fourteen years, and served with distinction. He has a fine mind. What is your opinion?'

  'I have read the reports, sir. In each case the killers have been apprehended, and confessed, without torture. But I do share Zani's concern in one respect.'

  'And that is?'

  'Twenty-seven mystics in sixteen days. And, according to the reports, every one of them was living in fear.'

  Antikas rose from his desk, crossed the room and took a fresh shirt from a drawer. Shaking the rose petals from it he pulled it over his head. Then he returned to the desk. 'You are a good swordsman,' he said. 'Your moves are well executed.'

  'Thank you, sir,' said Dagorian, confused by the change of subject.

  'It is your footwork that lets you down.'

  'So Nogusta told me, sir.'

  'Yes,' said Antikas, with a cold smile. 'If he were twenty years younger I would challenge him. He is exceptional.' Antikas sat down and took a second drink from the water cup. 'I see from your dossier that you were training for the priesthood.'

  'I was, sir. Until my father died.'

  'Yes, a man must uphold family honour. Did your teaching incorporate mysticism?'

  'Only briefly, sir. But no sorcery.'

  'I think you will find that these crimes are based on rivalry among petty wizards. Even so, such actions can­not be tolerated. Find out which mystics are still alive. The true source of the murders will be one of those.'

  'Yes, sir, I will try, but I cannot do this in a day.'

  'Indeed so. You will remain here. I will send for you when we have crossed the Great River.'

  'Yes, sir. Is this a punishment, sir?'

  'No. Merely an order.' Antikas began to shuffle papers on his desk, but Dagorian stood his ground. 'There was something else?' he asked.

  'Yes, sir. I was wondering if the Lord Kalizkan could help us. His powers are great, and it would save time.'

  'The Lord Kalizkan is busy preparing spells to aid the king in his coming battle with the Cadians. But I will convey your request to him.' Dagorian saluted crisply and took one step back, before spinning on his heel and marching to the door. The Ventrian's voice halted him. 'Trust me, Dagorian, you will never need to ask if I am punishing you. You will know.'

  Dagorian and Zani rode to three addresses in the north of the city, each said to be the home of an astrologer or seer. All were empty. Neighbours were unable to supply information. The fourth address was a house in a rich area called Nine Oaks. The houses here stood in several acres of landscaped gardens, with fountains and walk­ways meandering through cultivated woodland.

  The two men rode their horses through the woods, coming at last to a tall house, the outer walls faced with blocks of green marble. No servant moved out to greet them as they made their way to the front of the building. Dagorian and Zani dismounted and tied the reins of their mounts to a hitching rail.

  The main doors were locked and barred, the green wooden shutters of the windows closed tight. A one-eyed old man wearing a green patch and pushing a wheel­barrow came into sight, moving slowly across the garden. He stopped as he saw them. Dagorian approached him. 'We are looking for the master of the house,' he said.

  'Gone,' the old man told him.

  'Gone where?'

  'Just gone. Had all his valuables packed into three wagons and left.'

  'When was this?'

  'Four days ago. No . . . five now.'

  Zani moved alongside the old man. 'What is your name?'

  'I am Chiric, the head gardener. The only gardener now, come to think of it.'

  'Did your master seem troubled?' asked Dagorian.

  'Aye, that would be one word to describe it. Troubled.'

  'What other words might you use?' put in Zani.

  The old man gave a crooked grin. 'I might say terrified.'

  'Of what?' queried Dagorian. Chiric shrugged.

  'Don't know and don't care. Spring's coming and I've too much planting to do to worry about what frightens the likes of him. Can I go now?'

  'In a moment,' the Ventrian told him. 'Do you live in the house?'

  'No. Got a small cabin back in the woods. Warm and snug. Suits me, anyway.'

  'Has anything strange happened here recently?' asked Dagorian.

  The old man gave a dry, rasping laugh. 'Strange things happen here all the time. That's the way with wizards. Coloured lights, flashes of fire. Groups of them used to come round. They'd chant late into the night. Then he asks me why the hens have stopped laying. Asked me to join in one night. Said they were one short of some mystic number. No thank you, said I.'

  'What was it that terrified him?' persisted Dagorian.

  'Do I get paid for all this information?' asked Chiric. 'If not I've got better things to do than stand around jaw­ing all day.'

  Zani's anger overflowed. 'You could spend a few weeks in the Watch dungeons,' he said, 'for obstructing officers of the king. How does that sound?'

  Dagorian stepped in swiftly, dipping his hand into his money pouch and producing a small silver coin. The old man pocketed it with incredible speed, then cast a surly glance at Zani. 'Labourers get paid,' he said. 'That's why they labour. Anyway, you were asking about his fear. Well I was away for a few days last month. My youngest got wed to a farmer from Captis. When I got back some of the servants had gone. And the master had bought three big black wolfhounds, teeth like knives. Hated the bastards, I did. I asked Sagio about it. . .'

  'Sagio?' put in Zani.

  'My under gardener. Good lad. He quit too - after­wards! Anyways, he said that the master wouldn't come out of the house. Claimed someone had put a death spell on him. He spent days and days in his library poring over scrolls and the like. And always the dogs were padding around the house. Then, last week, the dogs attacked him. Went mad by all accounts. He managed to lock himself in the library. When he came out the dogs had torn each other to pieces. Blood everywhere. I had to clear it up. Well, me and Sagio had to clear it up. Still, horrible it was. But then if you're going to keep wild dogs you've got to expect trouble, haven't you. I reckon it was the cold got to 'em. Marble houses, pah! Can't keep them warm, can you? Room they were in was freezing.'

  'And he left the city?'

  'The same day. You should have seen him.' Chiric chuckled. 'He was covered in charms and talismans. And he was chanting all the way to the coach and four. You could still hear him as it drove through the gates.'

  Dagorian thanked the man and walked back to his horse. Zani came alongside. 'What now, Drenai?'

&
nbsp; 'We break in,' said Dagorian, moving to one of the shutters on the ground floor and drawing his sword.

  'Hey, what are you doing?' shouted the old man.

  'We are officers of the king,' Zani told him. 'You are welcome to observe our investigation. But if you seek to hinder us I will keep my promise about that dungeon.'

  'It was only a question,' grumbled Chiric, grasping the handles of his wheelbarrow. Clearing his throat the old man spat on the path, then trundled the wheelbarrow off towards the woods.

  Dagorian slid his sabre between the shutters and lifted the bar beyond. It fell clear with a hollow thud. Opening the shutters Dagorian sheathed his blade and climbed inside. The interior was gloomy and he opened two other windows. Zani clambered into the building. 'What are we looking for?' he asked. Dagorian spread his hands.

  'I have no idea.' They were standing now in a beauti­fully decorated sitting-room, with seven sofas and a splendid mosaic floor and painted walls. Passing through it they entered a hall, and searched the rooms beyond. The furniture throughout was expensive. The library was shelved from floor to ceiling, the shelves bent under the weight of books, scrolls and parchments. The north wall was still blood-stained, as was the pale green carpet.

  'I hope Chiric is a better gardener than a cleaner,' said Zani.

  A door at the back of the library led to a study. This too had shelves on all four walls, most of them bearing glass jars, filled with viscous liquids. In one floated a human hand, in another a small, deformed foetus. Others contained organs. There was a large cupboard set into the western wall. Dagorian opened it. More jars were stored here, this time filled with herbs. The Drenai officer scanned them, finally selecting one and carrying it to a narrow desk, upon which was a human skull, re-sculpted into a container for two ink wells. Dagorian placed the jar on the desk and broke the wax seal around the lid.

  'What is it?' asked Zani.

  'Lorassium leaves. They have great healing powers, but lorassium is essentially a heavy narcotic used by mys­tics to aid their visions.'

  'I have heard of it. It is very expensive.'