Page 33 of Winter Warriors

  'I'll tell you what madness is, Olion, it is a soldier in the army of Malikada who starts spouting mutinous words.' Nayim tried to make the threat sound convincing, but he could not. He shared the man's concern. 'Listen,' he said, in a more conciliatory tone. 'We will do our duty here, then return the prisoners to Malikada. We saw the tracks of elk a few miles back. Once we have the prisoners secured you can lead a unit after them. Then at least we'll eat well tonight.'

  'Yes, sir,' said the man, dubiously.

  Nayim cast a nervous glance back. The lancers were almost within earshot. 'I take it there is something else? Make it quick!'

  'Why is the queen running away? Malikada is her cousin. They have always been close, so it's said. And why would a general like Antikas Karios be helping her?'

  'I don't know. Perhaps we shall ask Antikas when we take him.'

  As the troops drew reins behind him Nayim raised his arm. 'Follow me!' he shouted.

  Picking up the pace he cantered his mount along the old road, swiftly closing the distance between himself and the fleeing riders. A red-headed youngster riding the last horse looked back, then kicked his mount into a run.

  Now the chase was on. Nayim drew his sabre. He could see Antikas Karios now, riding a huge black geld­ing. The man swung his horse, and, for a moment, Nayim thought he would charge them. Instead he galloped back to the rear of his group, urging them on. Nayim gently drew back on his reins, allowing some of his men to overtake him.

  The silver-haired bowman swung in the saddle, send­ing a shaft flashing towards him. Nayim swayed and ducked. He heard a man cry out behind him. Glancing back he saw the arrow jutting from a rider's shoulder.

  Nayim was anxious to catch the runaways before they entered the ruins, for once there Antikas and the others could dismount and take cover. They would not last long, but it would cost him men. One of the reasons why Nayim was a popular commander was that he was care­ful with the lives of his soldiers. No reckless charges, no seeking after glory. He was a professional soldier who always thought out his strategies.

  They were closing fast now. Up ahead Antikas Karios was now leading a second horse upon which sat a young woman in a blue dress. It was with some surprise that Nayim recognized the queen. He had always seen her in gowns of silk and satin, looking like a goddess from myth. Now she was merely a woman on a slow horse.

  Only around 40 yards separated them now. Antikas would have no time to seek cover, for they would catch him at the city walls!

  Suddenly one of his men shouted a warning. Nayim soon saw why.

  Armed men were pouring from the ruins of the city, forming a deep fighting line before the broken gates. They were Drenai soldiers, wearing full-faced helms and sporting long, red cloaks. Hundreds of them, moving smoothly into place with the easy discipline of veterans. Nayim could scarce believe his eyes.

  The Drenai army had been destroyed. How then could this be?

  Then he realized with shock that he was charging down towards them. Hauling on the reins he held up his arm. All around him his men slowed their mounts.

  The fleeing group rode towards the fighting line, which parted smoothly before them, allowing them access to the city.

  Ordering his men to wait Nayim rode slowly forward. 'Where is your commander?' he called out. Silence greeted his words. He scanned the line, calculating num­bers. There were close to a thousand men in sight. It was inconceivable!

  The line parted once more and a tall, thin old man walked out to stand before him.

  Nayim felt a sudden chill touch him, as he gazed into the cold eyes of the White Wolf.

  As soon as he rode past the old city wall Conalin jumped down from his horse and ran back, scrambling up a jut­ting stump of stone and squatting down to watch the soldiers. They looked terrifyingly impressive in their bronze breastplates, full-faced bronze helms and crimson cloaks. Their spears were held steady, and their shields presented a strong wall between Conalin and those who had sought to kill him. For the first time in his young life he felt utterly safe. What force on earth could penetrate such a wall of men. He wanted to leap up and dance, to shout his scorn at the waiting Ventrian riders. They looked so puny now. Conalin glanced up at the blue sky, and felt a cool breeze upon his face.

  He was safe - and the world was beautiful.

  Pharis scrambled up to sit beside him. He took her hand. 'Look at them!' he said. 'Are they not the most wonderful soldiers you ever saw?'

  'Yes,' she agreed, 'but where did they come from? Why are they here?'

  'Who cares? We get to live, Pharis. We get to have that house in Drenan.' Conalin fell silent, for the old general was talking to the Ventrian lancer. Conalin strained to hear their words, but they were speaking softly.

  Nayim dismounted and approached Banelion, offering a respectful bow, which the old man acknowledged with a brief nod. 'We are instructed by the Lord Malikada to return the queen to her palace,' said Nayim. 'We have no quarrel with you, sir.'

  'The queen and her son travel with me to Drenan,' said the White Wolf. 'There she will be safe.'

  'Safe? You think I mean to do her harm?'

  Banelion looked into the young man's eyes. 'What you do or do not do is entirely your own affair. Malikada - or the beast who inhabits Malikada - intends to kill the babe. This I know. This I shall prevent.'

  Nayim was taken aback by the words, but, on reflec­tion, was not surprised by them. If Malikada wished to seize the throne then he would certainly see that all rivals were put to the sword. 'Let us assume, sir, for the sake of argument, that you are correct in your assessment. By my judgement you have less than a thousand men here, and no cavalry. A half a day to the north is the Ventrian army. We are three times your number. And we were trained by you, sir. You cannot prevail.'

  Banelion gave a mirthless smile that chilled the younger man. 'I have followed your recent career with interest, Nayim Pallines. You are an efficient, cour­ageous and disciplined officer. Had I remained with the army I would have secured promotion for you. But you are wrong, young man. Armies fight best when they have something to fight for, something they believe in. In such instances numerical advantage is lessened considerably. Do you believe in what you are fighting for, Nayim? Do you believe that two armies should fight over whether a child is put to the knife?'

  'I believe in doing my duty, sir.'

  'Then go back to the Beast, and prepare to die for him. But do not be deceived, Nayim, you are not following Malikada. Malikada is dead. A Demon Lord has possessed his body.'

  'With respect, sir, you do not expect me to believe that?'

  The White Wolf shrugged. Nayim bowed once more and returned to his horse. 'The army will be here by sun­set, sir. It is my hope that you will reconsider your position.' Swinging his horse he rode back to his men, then led them north.

  The White Wolf watched them go, then gave the order to stand down. The troops broke formation and laid down their spears and shields, removing their helms. On the broken wall Conalin watched them, a sick sense of dread flowing through him.

  Old men! They were all old men, grey haired or bald.

  Where moments before had been an invincible force, he now saw them shuffling around on what he perceived to be arthritic limbs, slowly lowering themselves to the ground. Conalin felt betrayed by them. Pharis saw his anger and reached out to him.

  'What is it, Con?'

  He did not reply, could not reply. Emotions surged within him. He jumped down from the wall and walked to his horse. Taking it by the bridle he led it further into the ruins. There was only one building mostly intact, a huge structure built from white marble, and it was here that the other horses had been tethered. A flight of cracked steps led to a huge, arched doorway. Conalin stepped inside. There was an enormous chamber within, with a high domed roof, part of which had collapsed. Fallen stones littered the remains of the mosaic which had once decorated the entire floor. There was no furni­ture here, but against the far wall were several broken benches. Light
was streaming into the building through high, arched windows. Fragments of coloured glass still clung to some of the frames.

  Conalin saw his companions at the far end of the chamber, sitting upon a raised octagonal dais. Kebra saw him and smiled. Conalin strode to where the bowman sat. They are all old men,' he said, bitterly.

  'They were our comrades,' said Kebra. 'Most of them are younger than Bison.'

  'And Bison's dead,' snapped Conalin. Instantly he regretted it, for he saw the pain in Kebra's eyes. 'I'm sorry,' he said, swiftly. 'I didn't mean it like that. It's just . . . they looked so strong when we first saw them.'

  'They are strong,' said Kebra. 'And they have the White Wolf to lead them. He has never lost a battle.'

  'We should ride on,' said the boy. 'Leave the old men to fight.'

  Kebra shook his head. 'This will be the final battle, Con. Here, in this ruined place. I will not run any further.'

  Conalin sat beside the bowman, his shoulders bowed. 'I wish I had never come with you,' he said.

  'I am glad that you did. You have taught me a great deal.'

  'I have? What could I teach you?'

  Kebra gave a sad smile. 'I have always wondered what it would be like to have a son, a boy I could be proud of; someone I could watch grow into manhood. You have shown me what it could have been like. And you are quite right, there is no reason for you to stay here. There is nothing you can do. Why not take Pharis and Sufia, and some supplies and head off into the hills. If you head west you will eventually reach the sea. I will give you money. I do not have much, but it will help.'

  The thought of leaving touched Conalin like the cool breeze that follows a storm, blowing away his anger and his fear. He and Pharis would be safe. And yet, in that moment, it wasn't enough. 'Why can you not come with us? One man won't make a difference.'

  'These are my friends,' said Kebra. 'A true man does not desert his friends in time of need.'

  'You think I am not a man?' asked Conalin.

  'No, no! I am sorry for the way that sounded. You will be a fine man. But you are young yet, and war is not for . . .' He was going to say children, but as he looked into Conalin's young face he saw the man there, waiting to be born. 'I do not want to see you hurt, Con,' he said, lamely.

  'Nor I you. I think I will stay.'

  Kebra cleared his throat and held out his hand. Conalin looked embarrassed, but he gripped it firmly. 'I am proud of you,' said Kebra.

  They sat in pleasant silence for a while and Conalin gazed around the enormous building. 'What was this place?' he asked.

  'I don't know,' admitted Kebra. 'But it has the feel of a temple, don't you think?'

  'I have never been in one,' said Conalin. Sufia was sitting on the floor close by, rubbing at the stones with the ragged sleeve of her dress.

  'There's pictures on the floor,' she said, happily.

  Ulmenetha moved to her side, kneeling down. 'They are called mosaics,' she told the child. 'They are created with lots of coloured stones.'

  'Come look!' Sufia called out to Conalin. He did so. There was no way of telling what the original mosaic had depicted, for many of the coloured stones had been shattered by falling masonry from the ceiling, the rest covered by the dust of centuries. There was a tiny patch of blue, and a line of red. It could have been a flower, or a section of sky.

  'It's very pretty,' he told her.

  'I shall clean it all up,' she said, with the confidence of the very young, and began to scrub at a tiny section.

  'It will take you weeks,' he said, staring around the vast temple.

  'Weeks,' she repeated. 'That's all right.' She rubbed at the stones for a few more seconds then sat back. 'I'm hungry now.'

  Conalin picked her up, and kissed her cheek. 'Then let us find you some food,' he said. Perching her on his shoulders he walked back out into the sunlight. Pharis was sitting on the steps. Off to the left was a line of seven wagons. Cookfires had been lit close by, and the three of them moved off in search of a meal.

  As they approached the cookfires an elderly soldier called out to them. The man had a wicked scar upon his face, and a black patch over what had once been his right eye. Beside him was a trestle table, stacked with pewter plates. 'You look in need of something hot and savoury,' he said. Moving to a huge, black cooking pot he ladled thick stew into three deep plates and handed them to the youngsters. 'Take some spoons,' he said, 'but bring them back, with the plates, when you're finished. Then I've some honey cakes for you.'

  Conalin thanked the man. The soup was thick and nourishing, though with too much salt for the boy's liking. But he was famished, and consumed it with relish. The old soldier did not wait for them to return the utensils, but came over with a plate of honey cakes. Sufia grabbed two, then looked anxiously up at Conalin, wait­ing for a rebuke. When none came she happily devoured them.

  'Why did you come here?' Conalin asked the soldier.

  'White Wolf brought us,' said the man.

  'Yes, but why?'

  'He didn't say. Just offered us twenty gold pieces a man. Said there might be a battle.'

  'There will be,' said Conalin.

  'Good. Wouldn't want to come all this way for nothing,' said the soldier. Collecting the plates and spoons he moved away. Moments later other soldiers began to file past the cookfires, and soon the area was crowded. Everyone seemed at ease, and many of the soldiers took time to speak with the youngsters. Conalin was confused.

  'They seem to be looking forward to fighting,' he said to Pharis. 'I don't understand it.'

  'It is what they do,' replied the girl. 'It is what they are. We should take some food back to the queen.'

  'Can I carry it?' asked Sufia.

  'Of course you can, little one.'

  'I won't spill any,' she promised. 'Not even a drop.'

  Axiana watched as four veteran soldiers erected Banelion's tent at the far end of the temple. Simple furni­ture was carried in, a hinged bed, several canvas-backed chairs and a folding table. Then they swept the floor inside and laid simple rugs upon it. Not once did the men look at her. It was as if she was invisible. While they were working the youngsters returned. The blonde child, Sufia, brought her a bowl of soup. She thanked her with a smile, and turned away from the soldiers while she ate.

  Some distance away Antikas Karios and Kebra were sitting beside the sleeping figure of Nogusta. The black man's wounds were healing, but his continuing weakness was a source of concern.

  As Axiana finished her meal the tall, slim, armoured figure of Banelion entered the temple, followed by two soldiers carrying a wooden chest. The White Wolf approached the queen and bowed low. 'I am pleased to see you safe, your highness,' he said. 'My tent is yours, and I took the liberty of bringing some spare clothes for you.' Gesturing the men forward he had the chest placed on the dais before her, and opened. The first item she saw was a dress of sky blue satin. 'I do not have an eye for fashion, your highness,' said Banelion, 'but I borrowed these from a noble lady in Marain. It is a small town, and there was little to choose from.'

  'It was kind of you, sir, and I thank you.' Ulmenetha appeared alongside her, taking the sleeping baby from the queen's arms. Axiana reached out and stroked the dress. It was wonderfully soft. Then she noticed - against the clean pure satin - how dirty her hands were. For the first time in days she felt embarrassment.

  'There is an antechamber just beyond where the tent is placed,' said Banelion. 'There is a spring there. Some of my men have prepared a fire, and warmed some water. When you are ready you and your maidservant can refresh yourselves. I brought a small amount of scented oil with me to perfume the water.'

  Before Axiana could reply another soldier entered, carrying a rough made crib, and a small, woven mattress. Setting it beside the queen he placed the mattress within it. 'Best I could do in the time, my lady,' he said, with a bow. Ulmenetha placed the babe within it. The child settled contentedly on the mattress, his sleep undisturbed.

  The unexpected kindness left
Axiana close to tears. She smiled at the soldier. 'You are most kind.' The man blushed and backed away.

  The White Wolf gazed down at the babe, a far-away look in his eye. Then he straightened. 'There are some clothes for an infant at the bottom of the chest,' he said.

  'You seem to have thought of everything,' said Axiana. 'I am most grateful. But tell me, how is it that you are here in our hour of need? We are a long way from the sea.'

  He glanced at Ulmenetha. 'First Kalizkan appeared to me in a dream, then this lady came. She told me of your peril, and the threat to your son. She asked me to bring my men to this city. I did so willingly. And, if it is humanly possible I shall take you on to Drenan.'

  Axiana sat quietly for a moment, gathering her thoughts. For the last few days she had been like a straw in the wind, swept along without the benefit of choice. Her life as a queen had meant less than nothing in the wilderness, and she had given birth to her child while kneeling in the mud like a peasant. But, here and now, was the moment of decision. Was she still a queen? Would her son live to find his destiny. She looked into the pale eyes of the White Wolf and saw the strength there, the iron will that had carried Skanda to a score of victories. 'And if I do not wish to go to Drenan?' she said, at last.

  'Drenan would be safest,' he said.

  'You swore an oath to Skanda. Do you accept his son as his rightful heir?'

  'I do, lady.'

  'Then I ask you again, as the mother to the king, what if I do not wish to go to Drenan?'

  She knew this was difficult for him. Continued war between the two nations was more than likely. If Axiana remained in Ventria the Drenai would almost certainly declare independence. If she went to Drenan the Ventrians would find another emperor. At least with her and the child in Drenan the Drenai would have legitimate cause to reinvade Ventria. She held to his iron gaze without flinching. He smiled. 'If not Drenan,' he said, 'then I will escort you to wherever you wish to travel. You are not my hostage, your highness, nor my prisoner. I am your servant, and will do whatever you bid.'