The Winter Warriors

Chapter Eleven

Nogusta was only vaguely aware that he was riding a horse. Someone was sitting behind him, holding him in the saddle. He opened his eyes and saw that the company was moving slowly across a verdant valley. Up ahead Antikas Karios was riding Starfire. Nogusta felt a stab of irritation, but then remembered he had commanded the Ventrian to take his horse. Starfire was a spirited animal, and Nogusta was in no condition to ride him.

He glanced down at the hands supporting him. They were slender and feminine. Patting the hands he whispered, 'Thank you.'

'Do you need to stop and rest?' Ulmenetha asked him.

'No.' His vision swam and he leaned back into the woman.

Bison was gone, and the pain of loss struck him savagely. He swayed in the saddle and felt Ulmenetha's arms holding him firmly. Then he drifted into dreams of the past. The day passed in a haze. When they stopped to rest the horses Kebra helped him down. Nogusta did not know where he was, only that the sun was warm on his face, the grass cool against his back. It was blissful here, and he wanted to sleep for ever. From somewhere close came the cry of an infant. Then he heard a child singing a song. He seemed to remember the child had been killed by a wagon, but obviously this was not so. He was relieved — as if a burden had been lifted from him.

At some point he was fed a thick soup. He remembered the taste, but could not recall who had fed him, nor why he had not fed himself.

Then he saw his father. They were all sitting in the main room of the house, his brothers and sisters, his mother, and his old aunt. T shall show you some magick,' his father said, rising from the old horse hide chair he cherished. He had lifted the talisman from around his neck. The chain was long, the gold glinting in the lantern light. Father walked to the eldest of Nogusta's brothers and tried to loop the chain over his head. But the chain shrank, and would not pass over the boy's skull. Each of the brothers in turn marvelled at the magick. Then he came to Nogusta. The chain slid easily over his head, the talisman settling to his chest.

'What is the trick?' asked his eldest brother.

'There is no trick,' said father. 'The talisman has chosen. That is all.'

'That is not fair,' said the eldest. 'I am the heir. It should be mine.'

'I was not the heir,' father pointed out. 'Yet it chose me.'

'How does it choose?' asked the youngest brother.

'I do not know. But the man who made it was our ancestor. He was greater than any king.'

That night, alone in their room, his eldest brother had struck him in the face. 'It should have been mine,' he said. 'It was a trick because father loves you more.'

Nogusta could still feel the pain of the blow. Only now, for some strange reason that he could not fathom, the pain was emanating from his shoulder.

He was riding again, and he opened his eyes to see the stars shining in the night sky. A new moon hung like a sickle over the mountains, just like on his talisman. He almost expected to see a golden hand reach out to encircle it. High above him an owl glided by on white wings.

White wings. .

'Poor Bison,' he said, aloud.

'He is at peace,' said a voice. The voice confused Nogusta. Somehow Ulmenetha had transformed into Kebra.

'How did you do that?' he mumbled. Then he slept again, and awoke beside a camp-fire. Kebra had become Ulmenetha again, and her hand was upon his wound. She was chanting softly.

A figure floated before his vision, blurred and indistinct, and Nogusta fell away into a deep dream.

He was sitting in the Long Meadow back at home, and he could hear his mother singing in the kitchen. A tall man was sitting beside him, a black man, but one he did not know.

'This was a peaceful time for you,' said the man.

'It was the best of times,' Nogusta told him.

'If you survive you must come back and rebuild. The descendants of your herds are back in the mountains. There are great stallions there, and the herds are strong.'

'The memories are too painful.'

'Yes they are painful, but there is peace here, if you seek it.'

He looked at the man. 'Who are you?'

'I am Emsharas. And you are the last of my human line.'

'You cast the Great Spell.'

'I began it. It is not complete yet.'

'Will the child die?'

'All of Man's children die, Nogusta. It is their weakness — and their strength. There is great power in death. Rest now, for you have one last test before you.'

Nogusta opened his eyes. The glorious light of a new dawn was edging over the mountains. He groaned as he sat up. Kebra grinned at him.

'Welcome back, my brother,' he said. There were tears in Kebra's eyes as he leaned forward, and, for the first time, embraced Nogusta.

Anharat's anger had cooled now, as he sat in his tent, listening to the reports from his scouts. The renegades had crossed the last bridge before Lem, and were now less than iz miles from the ruins. A five-man scouting party had attacked them, but Antikas Karios had killed two, a third being shot from the saddle by a bowman. 'Bring in the survivors,' ordered Anharat.

Two burly scouts entered the tent, then threw themselves to the floor, touching their brows to the rug at Anharat's feet.

'Up!' he commanded. The men rose, their expressions fearful. 'Tell me what you saw.' Both men began speaking at once, then glanced at one another. 'You,' said Anharat, pointing to the man on the left. 'Speak.'

'They were coming down a long slope, my lord. Antikas Karios was leading them. He was followed by a white-haired man, then by the queen and her servant. There was a small child, and two youngsters. And a black man with a bandage around his chest. There was blood on it. Captain Badayen thought we could surprise them with a sudden charge. So that's what we did. He was the first to die. Antikas Karios wheeled his horse and charged us! The captain went down, then Malik. Then the bowman shot an arrow through the throat of Valis. So me and Cupta turned our horses and galloped off. We thought it best to report what we'd seen.'

Anharat looked deep into the man's dark eyes. They both expected death. The Demon Lord wished he could oblige them. But morale among the humans was low. Most of them had friends and family back in the tortured city of Usa, and they did not understand why they were pursuing a small group across a wilderness. Added to this Anharat had noticed a great wariness among his officers when they spoke to him. At first it had confused him, for even while inhabiting the decaying body of Kalizkan, the Warmth Spell had maintained the popularity the sorcerer had enjoyed. The same spell had little effect on Malikada's men. This, he reasoned, at last, was because Malikada had never been popular. He was feared. This was not a wholly undesirable state of affairs, but with morale suffering Anharat would gain no added support from these humans by butchering two hapless scouts.

'You acted correctly,' he told the men. 'Captain Badayen should not have charged. He should have ridden ahead, as ordered and held the last bridge. You are blameless. Had the captain survived I would have hanged him. Go and get some food.'

The men stood blinking in disbelief. Then they bowed and swiftly backed from the tent. Anharat gazed at his officers, sensing their relief. What curious creatures these humans are, he thought.

'Leave me now,' he told them.

No-one moved. Not a man stirred. All stood statue still, not a flickering muscle, not the blink of an eyelid, As if from a great distance Anharat heard the gentle tinkling music of wind chimes. He spun around to see Emsharas standing by the tent entrance. His brother was wearing a sky-blue robe, and a gold circlet adorned his brow. It was no vision! Emsharas was here in the flesh.

A cold fury grew within Anharat, and he began to summon his power. 'Not wise, brother,' said Emsharas. 'You need all your strength for the completion of the Spell.'

It was true. 'What do you want here?' demanded Anharat.

'Peace between us — and the salvation of our people,' said Emsharas.

'There will never be peace between you and I. You betrayed us all. I will hate you until the stars burn out and die, and the universe returns to the dark.'

'I have never hated you, Anharat. Not now, not ever. But I ask you — as I asked you once before — to consider your actions. The Illohir could never have won. We are few, they are many. Their curious minds grow with each passing generation. The secrets of magick will not be held from them for ever. Where then shall we be? What must we become, save dusty legends from their past? We opened the gateways, you and I. We brought the Illohir to this hostile world. We did not kill when we were Windborn, we did not lust after terror and death.'

Anharat gave a derisive laugh. 'And we knew no pleasures, save those of the intellect. We knew no joys, Emsharas.'

'I disagree. We saw the birthing of stars, we raced upon the cosmic storm winds. There was joy there. Can you not see that we are alien to this planet? It conspires against us. The waters burn our skin, the sunlight saps our strength. We cannot feed here, unless it be from the emotions of humans. We are parasites on this world. Nothing more.'

Emsharas stepped further into the tent, and looked closely at the frozen officers. 'Their dreams are different from ours. We will never live among them. And one day they will destroy us all.'

They are weak and pitiful,' said Anharat, his hand slowly moving towards the dagger at his belt. It would need no magick to plunge a dagger into his brother's heart. Then he too would be cast into Nowhere.

'I offer a new world for our people,' said Emsharas.

'Tell me the source of your power,' whispered Anharat, his fingers curling around the dagger hilt.

Emsharas swung to face him. 'Why have you not already guessed it?' he countered. 'All the clues are there, in the failure of your search spells, and the nature of the Great Spell itself.'

'You found a place to hide. That is all I know.'

'No, Anharat. I am not hiding.'

'You liar! I see you standing before me, drawing breath.'

'Indeed you can. Tonight I opened a gateway, Anharat, to bring me through to you. But where is tonight? It is four thousand years in the past and I am with the army of the Three Kings, and tomorrow you and I will fight above the battlefield. You will lose. Then I will prepare myself for the Great Spell. You can help me complete it. Our people can have a world of their own!'

'This is the world I want!' snarled Anharat, drawing the dagger. Leaping forward he slashed the blade at his brother. Emsharas swayed aside. His form shimmered.

And he was gone.

Bakilas sat quietly in the dark. The Illohir had no need of sleep. There was no necessity to regenerate tissue. All was held in place by magick fuelled by feeding. The Lord of the Krayakin needed no rest. He was waiting in this place only because his horse was weary.

Truth to tell he had not been surprised when his brothers had been defeated. This quest was flawed from the beginning. The priestess was right. It was no coincidence that a descendant of Emsharas should be guarding the baby. There was some grand strategy here, whose significance was lost on Bakilas.

What do I do now, he wondered? Where do I go?

He stood and walked to the brow of the hill and gazed down on the ruins of Lem. He could remember when this city had been like a jewel, shimmering in the night with a hundred thousand lights.

He gazed up at the stars, naming them in his mind, recalling the times when, formless, he had visited them. In that moment he wished he had never been offered the gift of flesh.

Anharat and Emsharas had brought it to the Illohir. The Twins, the gods of glory. Their power combined had created the link between wind and earth. They had been the first. Emsharas had taken human form, while Anharat had chosen wings. The Krayakin had followed.

Who could have guessed then that the gift was also,a curse?

True the sunlight had caused great pain, and the water of the rivers had been deadly, but there were so many other pleasures to be enjoyed, and an eternity in which to enjoy them.

Until Emsharas betrayed them all.

Even now, after 4,000 years of contemplation, Bakilas could not begin to understand his reasons. Nor what had become of him. Where could an Illohir hide? Even now Bakilas could sense all his brothers in the void of Nowhere. Emsharas had shone like the largest star. It was impossible not to know his whereabouts. Bakilas could feel the powerful, pulsing presence of Anharat at his camp a few miles away. Equally, had Anharat been Windborn, he could have felt his spirit across the universe. Where then did Emsharas dwell?

One day the answer will become clear, he thought. One day, when the universe ends and the Illohir die with it.

Bakilas shivered. Death. To cease to be. It was a terrifying thought. Humans could not begin to comprehend the true fear of mortality. They lived always with the prospect of death. They understood its inevitability. A few short seasons and they were gone. Worse yet they tasted death throughout their few heartbeats of existence. Every passing year brought them fresh lines and wrinkles, and the slow erosion of their strength. Their skin sagged, their bones dried out, until toothless and senile they flopped into their graves. What could they know of immortal fear?

Not one of the Illohir had ever known death.

Bakilas recalled the Great Birthing in the Coming of Light, when the first chords of the Song of the Universe rang out across the dark. It was a time of discovery and harmony, a time of comradeship. It was life. Sentient and curious. Everything was born at that time, the stars and then the planets, the oceans of lava, and finally the great seas.

There had been joys then of a different kind; the increase of knowledge and awareness. But there had been no pain, no disappointments, no tragedies. Absolute serenity had been enjoyed — endured? — by all the Illohir. Only with the coming of the flesh did the contrasts begin. How could one know true joy until one had tasted true despair? Contrast was everything. Which was why the Illohir lusted after the life of form.

Bakilas moved back from the hilltop and drew his sword. Moving silently alongside the sleeping horse he beheaded it with one terrible sweep of his blade. As the beast fell Bakilas tore out its heart and held it up to the night sky, calling upon Anharat.

The heart burst into flame.

'I am glad that you called upon me, brother,' said the voice of Anharat. 'Emsharas has returned.'

'I do not sense him.'

'His powers are great. But he is here. He seeks to prevent our destiny.'

'But why?' asked Bakilas. 'You and he are the Twins. Since time began you were One in all things.'

'We are One no longer,' snapped Anharat. 'I will defeat him. I will hold his spirit in the palm of my hand and I will torment it until the end of time.'

Bakilas said nothing. He sensed a joy in Anharat that had been missing since the betrayal. He was pleased that Emsharas had returned! How curious! Bakilas had felt Anharat's pain, and his sense of loss. His hatred of Emsharas had become all consuming. Throughout the centuries he had never given up the hunt for his brother, sending search spell after search spell. His hatred was almost as strong as his love had been. A thought came to Bakilas then. Perhaps hatred and love were, in some ways, the same. Both echoed an intense need in Anharat. His existence without Emsharas had been hollow and empty. Even now the Demon Lord dreamed only of holding his brother's spirit in his hand. Hatred and love. Indistinguishable.

'You must go into Lem,' said Anharat. 'Hide there until the time to strike! When the babe dies, and my power swells, I will find Emsharas and there will be a reckoning.'

Nayim Pallines had always disliked Antikas Karios, though he had wisely kept this information to himself for several years. He had known Kara since childhood, and was one of the guests at her wedding. He had seen her radiant joy, and had envied the look of love she gave her husband as the vows were made, and the ceremonial cord had been looped about their wrists.

Two days later both were dead, the husband slain by the killer Antikas Karios, Kara dead by her own hand. Love, Nayim knew, was far too precious to be so casually destroyed. When the tragedies occurred his dislike of Antikas Karios turned to hatred.

And yet, as a colonel in the Royal Lancers he had been obliged to serve this man, to take his orders, and to bow before him. It had been hard.

But today — with the help of the Source, and the courage of the fifty men riding behind him — he would put an end to both the hatred and the object of it. His scouts had spotted them 3 miles from the ruins of Lem, and Nayim was less than half a mile behind them.

Soon they would see the pursuing riders. Nayim could picture it. The fleeing group would lash at their mounts in a last, desperate attempt to evade capture. But their tired horses would soon be overhauled by the powerful mounts of the lancers. Nayim half hoped that Antikas Karios would beg for his life. Yet even as the thought occurred he knew it would not be so. Antikas, for all his vileness, was a man of courage. He would attack them all.

Nayim was no more than a capable swordsman. He would have to be sure to hang back when the attack began. While not afraid to die he did not wish to miss the capture of Antikas Karios.

His sergeant, Olion, rode alongside him, his white cape fluttering in the breeze. There was a mud stain upon the cape. Olion was a superb horseman, and a fine soldier, but incapable of smartness, no matter what disciplinary measures were taken against him. The high, curved helm of bronze and the ceremonial cape had been designed to add grandeur to the armour of the Lancers. But for Olion, short, stocky, and round shouldered, his face endlessly marked by angry red spots, the end result was comic.

Nayim glanced at the man as he rode alongside. Yet another boil was showing on the nape of Olion's neck. 'The lads are worried, sir,' said the sergeant. 'I don't like the mood.'

'Are you telling me that fifty men are frightened of tackling one swordsman?'

'It's not about them, sir. In fact they'll be relieved to see a little action. No, it's not that, sir.'

'Spit it out, man. You'll not lose your head for it.'

'I could, sir, if you take my meaning?'

Nayim understood perfectly. His face hardened. 'I do indeed. Therefore it will be better to say nothing. Ride up to the top of the slope there and see if you can see them yet.'

'Yes, sir.' Olion galloped off towards the south-east. Nayim glanced back. His men were riding in columns of twos behind him, the butts of their lances resting on their stirrups. Signalling them to continue at their present pace he flicked his heels and rode after Olion.

At the top of the slope he hauled in his mount, and found himself gazing over the distant, ruined city of Lem. Said to be one of the greatest cities ever built it was now a place of ghosts and lost memories. The huge walls had been eroded by time, brought down by earthquakes, many of the stones removed to build houses at the far end of the valley. What remained of the north wall stood before the ghost city like a row of broken teeth.

Then he saw the riders, still around a half mile ahead. At this distance he could not make out individuals, but he could see that their horses were tiring, and they were still some way from the city. Once his men caught up they would ride them down within minutes.

'Be swift and say what you have to say,' he told Olion. 'For then we must do our duty.'

'This is all wrong, sir. The men know it. I know it. I mean, what happened back in the city? There are thousands dead, by all accounts. That's where we ought to be. And why bring the whole army into this wilderness. There's no-one to fight, sir. So why are we here?'

'We are here because we are ordered to be,' said Nayim, anxious to capture the runaways.

'And what about supplies, sir? According to the quartermaster we only have enough food to bring us to Lem. What are we supposed to do then? We've not even been put on half rations. Come the day after tomorrow there'll be no food at all for three thousand men. It's madness!'

'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 sharedàthe 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.

Tt 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. T'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.'

Axiana rose. 'I will think on what you have said, general. But first I would like to bathe and lay aside these garments of travel.' He bowed and one of the soldiers stepped forward to lead the queen and Ulmenetha towards the antechamber.

The White Wolf strode to where Nogusta lay. Antikas Karios and Kebra rose. Banelion gave Antikas a cold look, then knelt beside the wounded warrior. Nogusta opened his eyes as Banelion took his hand. 'Am I always to rescue you, my boy?' he said, fondly.

'It would seem so. It is good to see you, general.' Nogusta's smile faded. 'Bison didn't make it.'

'I know. The priestess showed me his death in a dream. It was valiant, and no less than I would have expected from him. He was an obdurate man, and I liked him not at all. But he had heart. I admired that.'

Nogusta relaxed and closed his eyes. 'It is not over, general. There are three thousand Ventrians riding with the Demon Lord. They think he is Malikada.'

'I wish he was,' said Banelion, sourly. 'I'd have dearly-loved to slit his treacherous throat.'

'A feeling I am sure he would have reciprocated,' said Antikas Karios. The White Wolf ignored him.

'I am not troubled by the numbers of the enemy,' he told Nogusta. 'I am more concerned that they are being duped. Ulmenetha tells me that if the Demon Lord is successful the soldiers riding with him will — like Malikada — be possessed and destroyed. It is bad enough having to kill men in a good cause. But those Ventrians are going to die for the wrong reasons.'

'Good of you to concern yourself,' said Antikas, his words edged with sarcasm.

Once again Banelion ignored him. 'Rest now,' he told Nogusta. 'Regain your strength. I will do all that needs to be done.' Then he rose and his pale eyes rested, for a moment, on Antikas. 'I watched you fight alongside Dagorian on the bridge,' he said. 'I loved that boy, and it was good of you to say that prayer for him. I am not a religious man, but I would like to think that a light did appear for him, and lead him to your palace.' Without waiting for a response he strode away, calling his soldiers after him.

'He hates me, yet he praises me,' whispered Antikas. 'Truly he is a strange man.'

'Maybe he does, maybe he doesn't,' said Kebra. 'One rarely knows what the White Wolf is thinking. That's what makes him the best. There's never been a general like him.'

'You think he genuinely cares about what happens to the Ventrian troops?'

'Oh yes,' Kebra told him. 'He does not revel in slaughter. There is no battle madness in him.'

Antikas looked down. Nogusta was sleeping again. He knelt beside the black man and looked closely at his face. A thin sheen of sweat lay upon the skin, and snow white bristles were showing on his shaven head. 'It is easy to forget how old he is,' said Antikas, with a sigh. He looked up and smiled at Kebra. 'I watched him fight Cerez, and I marvelled at his skill. I thought him to be around forty years of age. Had I known he was this old I would have bent my knee to him.'

Glancing down once more he saw the talisman on Nogusta's chest begin to glow, the silver moon in the golden hand, shining like a tiny lantern.

'What does that mean?' asked Antikas.

'Evil is near,' said Kebra, lifting his hand and making the sign of the Protective Horn.

The White Wolf stood outside the ruins and once more cast his eyes over the landscape. There was a line of hills to the left and right, thinly covered by trees and brush, but the ground was flat and uncluttered between the hills. The Ventrian army was mainly cavalry, and he pictured all possible lines of attack.

He glanced back at the ruins. They could, of course, decline a pitched battle here, and move around the ruins, coming at him from all sides, but he thought this unlikely. Cavalry could not operate effectively in the ruins themselves, and by spreading themselves thin they would hand the advantage to the Drenai foot soldiers. No, the best chance of victory for the enemy lay in a direct frontal assault, seeking to sunder the line and scatter the defenders.

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 towards 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 which 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, save for two lanterns which 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 defence.'

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 towards the heart. Let me see you practise.' 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 to 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 upon 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 near 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 armour 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 armoured swordsmen in black cloaks and breastplates of burnished bronze.

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

The White Wolf glanced to 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 centre 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 towards 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 grey 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 towards 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 towards the ground. Red fire leapt up, flames zo 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 upon a high window and disappear into the temple.

Nogusta stood on the dais and gazed around the temple. Some 30 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 here 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 upon 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.

Nogusta drew the Storm Sword and stepped from the dais. At that moment a figure in black armour moved from the shadows behind the queen's tent. He too held a sword.

'We meet at last,' said Bakilas, removing his helm. 'I commend your bravery.'

Nogusta swayed, and reached out to steady himself. He took a deep breath, and his vision swam.

'You are sick, human,' said Bakilas. 'Stand aside. I have no wish to kill you.'

Nogusta's vision cleared. He wiped the sweat from his eyes. 'Then leave,' he said.

'I cannot do that. My Lord Anharat requires a sacrifice.'

'And I am here to prevent it,' said Nogusta. 'So, come forward and die.'

Beaten back by the pillars of flame surrounding the building Antikas Karios stood with the White Wolf and his men. Ulmenetha ran to stand alongside them. 'Is there nothing your magick can do?' hissed Antikas.

'Nothing,' she said, her voice echoing her despair, Antikas swore, then ran for the horses. Starfire was still saddled and the warrior heeled him back towards the temple. The White Wolf stepped into his path and grabbed the bridle.

'No horse will run into those flames — and even if it did, both horse and rider would be burned to a cinder.'

'Get out of my way!'

'Wait!' shouted Ulmenetha. 'Fetch water. There may yet be something we can do.'

Several soldiers ran and collected buckets of water. Under Ulmenetha's direction they doused the gelding. Antikas pulled off his cloak, and this too was drenched. The priestess reached up and took hold of Antikas's hand. 'Listen to me. I shall lower the temperature around you, but I will not be able to hold the spell for long. You must ride through at full gallop. Even then. .' her words tailed away.

'Do what you can,' he said, drawing his sword.

'The horse will swerve and throw you into the flames!' said Banelion.

Antikas grinned. 'Nogusta told me he would ride through the fires of Hell. Now we will see.' Tugging on the reins he rode the giant gelding back 50 yards, then swung again to face the flames. Swirling his dripping cloak around his shoulders he waited for Ulmenetha's signal.

She gestured towards him, and he felt a terrible chill sweep over him. With a loud battle cry he kicked Starfire into a run. The gelding powered forward, his steel shod hooves striking sparks from the stone.

Soldiers scattered ahead of him. Antikas continued to shout his battle cries as Starfire reached full gallop. As they came closer to the pillars of fire he felt the horse begin to slow. 'On Great Heart!' he shouted. 'On!'

The gelding responded to his call.

And the flames engulfed them.

Bakilas was about to attack when suddenly flames burst around the temple, and a fierce glow shone through the windows bathing the temple in crimson light. Then came the beating of giant wings and Nogusta saw the monstrous form of Anharat glide down from an upper window. The wings beat furiously as his huge form descended, and a great wind blew across the temple sending up a dust storm, and exposing the mosaic at the centre of the floor. It was a surreal sight, for the exposed mosaic depicted a winged creature, with long talons, and blood-red eyes — the mirror image of the creature now hovering above it.

Conalin stood on the dais, the queen and her babe behind him. The boy wanted to run, but in that moment remembered the bravery of Dagorian and the courage of Bison. He drew his sword and stood his ground, tiny against the monstrous creature before him. The beast's talons scrabbled on the mosaic floor and his wings stretched out a full 20 feet in both directions. He gazed at Conalin through blood-red eyes. 'It is fitting that I find you all in my own temple,' he said. He looked beyond the boy, his gaze fixing on Axiana. 'Your work is done, my queen,' he said. 'You have delivered salvation for my people.'

Nogusta was about to attack the beast, but felt a cold blade against his throat. Bakilas spoke. 'You have done all that you can, human. And I respect you for it. Lay down your sword.' Nogusta's blade flashed up, knocking away the Krayakin's sword. He lunged at the black-armoured warrior, but Bakilas sidestepped and parried the Storm Sword, sending a riposte that slammed into Nogusta's ribs. As the blade plunged home, and terrible pain tore through him, Nogusta reached out and grabbed Bakilas's sword arm. Then, with the last of his strength he rammed his own blade into Bakilas's belly. The Krayakin cried out, then fell back, pulling Nogusta with him. They both fell to the ground. Nogusta struggled to rise, but his legs failed him, and he slumped down. Bakilas reared over him, dragging his sword clear of Nogusta's body. Then he rose unsteadily and advanced towards the dais.

Anharat moved towards Conalin, who stood on the dais, holding Bison's sword before him.

'You have only moments to live, child,' said Anharat. 'I shall tear out your heart.'

He started to move, when suddenly there came the sound of distant chimes. Dust motes hung in the air, and the boy stood unblinking before him.

Time stood still and the shining figure of Emsharas appeared on the dais, next to the statue-still queen and the frozen, armoured figure of Bakilas.

'You are in time to see my victory, brother,' said Anharat.

'Indeed I am, brother. And tell me what you will achieve?'

'I will undo your spell, and the Illohir will walk upon the earth.'

'And they will be consigned to the void, one by one. It may take centuries, but in the end you will all be returned to the place that is Nowhere,' said Emsharas.

'And where will you be?' roared Anharat. 'What place of pleasure have you found that you have not shared with your people?'

'You still do not see, Anharat,' said Emsharas, sadly. 'Do you truly not know what became of me? Think, my brother. What could prevent you finding me? We are twin souls. Since the dawn of time we have been together. Where could I go that you could not feel my soul?'

'I have no time for riddles,' said Anharat. 'Tell me, and then be gone!'

'Death,' said Emsharas. 'When I cast the Great Spell in that tomorrow that is already four thousand years past, I shall power it with my life force. I shall die. Indeed, in this time I am already dead. That is why you could not find me. Why you will never find me. From tomorrow I will no longer exist!'

'Dead?' echoed Anharat. 'That is impossible. We cannot die!'

'But we can,' said Emsharas. 'We can surrender our souls to the universe. And when we do so the power we release is colossal. It was that power which dragged the Illohir from the surface of this planet and held them in the limbo that is Nowhere. But it was only the first step, Anharat. Not even my death could propel our people to the world I found, a world where we can take form, and eat and drink, and know the joy of true life.'

'No,' said Anharat, 'you cannot be dead! I will not have it. I… I will not believe it!'

'I do not lie, brother. You know that. But it was the only way I could think of to save our people, and give them a chance of life in the pleasure of the flesh. I did not want to leave you, Anharat. You and I were a part of each other. Together we were One.'

'Aye, we were!' shouted Anharat. 'But now I do not need you. Go then and die! And leave me to my victory! I hate you, brother, more than anything under the stars!'

The shining figure of Emsharas seemed to fade under the power of Anharat's rage, and his voice when he spoke again was distant. 'I am sorry that you hate me, for I have always loved you. And I know how much you want to thwart me, but think on this: With all the power you have amassed what have you achieved? The Krayakin are returned to the void, the gogarin is dead, and an army awaits you outside the temple. Once you have killed the child you will need all your power to draw back the Illohir. After that you will be merely a sorcerer. The army will kill you, and all across the world mankind will unite against our people. But you will have thwarted me. You will have made my death useless and unnecessary. It will be your final victory.'

'Then that will be enough for me!' roared Anharat.

'Will it?' asked Emsharas. 'Our people have two destinies, and both are in your hands, my brother. They can pass to a world of light, or they can return to the void. The choice is yours. My death alone could not complete the spell. But yours will. If you choose to be the third king to die then our people shall know joy. But whatever your choice I shall not remain to see it. We will never speak again. Goodbye, my twin!'

Emsharas stepped back and vanished. Anharat stood very still, and a great emptiness engulfed him. He realized in that moment what Bakilas had sensed the day before. His hatred of Emsharas was almost identical to his love. Without Emsharas there was nothing. There never had been. Throughout the last four thousand years thoughts of Emsharas, and the revenge he would know, had filled his mind. But he had never desired his brother's death. Not to lose him for all time.

'I love you too, my brother,' he said. He looked around the temple, and saw that the humans were still frozen. Against the wall a young girl had her arms around a child, and upon the dais a teenage boy stood holding a sword. Behind him the queen had turned away, shielding her baby with her body. Bakilas was close by, his sword raised. The black warrior was lying sprawled beside the dais, his blood pooling on the mosaic floor.

Anharat blinked and remembered the journeys upon the cosmic winds, when he and Emsharas had been as one, twin souls, inseparable.

To die? The thought filled him with terror. To lose eternity? And yet what joy would there be in immortality now?

Then the music of the chimes began to fade, and the humans started to move.

Conalin watched the beast as it landed on the mosaic floor. 'You have only moments to live, child,' said Anharat. 'I shall tear out your heart.' The beast seemed to flicker for a moment, then it moved slowly forward, towering above the boy. Suddenly it dropped down, arms outstretched, its huge dark head lunging forward. Conalin leapt, plunging the sword deep into the thick, black neck. The talons swept down and settled over Conalin's shoulder. But they did not pierce the skin. Gently the beast pushed Conalin aside. Cream-coloured ichor spilled from the wound as the sword was torn free. Anharat dragged himself up onto the dais. Conalin hacked at his back, the blade slashing open the skin. The demon crawled past the queen and hauled himself up onto the altar. Twisting he spread his wings and lay back. Conalin jumped up and holding his sword with both hands drove it down into Anharat's chest. The boy stared down into the demon's eyes. Only then did he realize that the creature had made no move to attack him.

Confused, Conalin released the sword. Anharat's taloned fingers curled round the hilt. But he made no attempt to draw it forth.

'Emsharas!' whispered the demon.

A black shadow moved alongside Conalin. He swung to see the armoured knight moving towards the queen.

'No!' he shouted. With no weapon he sprang at the knight. A mailed fist hit him with a back handed blow that spun him from his feet.

Bakilas struggled on, the Storm Sword still thrust deep in his belly. Clinging to life he raised his blade. Axiana backed away. 'Do not harm my son,' she pleaded. Twenty feet away Nogusta pushed himself to his knees and drew a knife. His arm snapped forward. The blade flashed through the air, plunging deep into Bakilas's left eye. The Krayakin staggered back, then dragged the knife clear, hurling it to the floor. Nogusta tried to draw another. Then he passed out.

The sound of galloping hoofs filled the air. Bakilas turned to see a horseman with a cloak of fire bearing down upon him. Desperately he swung towards the queen and made one last attempt to reach her. Antikas Karios lifted the Storm Sword high and threw it with all his strength. The blade scythed through the air and slammed through Bakilas's neck. The Krayakin crumpled and fell across the body of Anharat.

Casting aside the blazing cloak Antikas leapt from Starfire. The horse's mane was aflame and the warrior smothered the fire with his hands. The gelding was burned across the lower body, and his legs were blistered and bleeding. Antikas himself had injuries to his arms and hands, and the skin over his cheek bone showed a vivid red burn.

Upon the dais Anharat's body began to glow with a brilliant, blinding light which filled the temple. Temporarily blinded Antikas fell to his knees, his hands over his face.

Behind him he could hear the pounding of feet, and guessed the pillars of fire had vanished.

Hands grabbed him, hauling him upright. He opened his eyes. At first he could see only vague shapes. But then he saw the face of the White Wolf swim into focus.

'That was a fine ride,' said Banelion. Antikas gazed upon the altar. There was no sign now of the Demon Lord, nor of the dead Krayakin. Both had vanished.

Conalin ran to where Nogusta lay, and knelt down beside him. 'I killed it,' he said. 'I killed the beast!'

Nogusta gave a weak smile. 'You did well, my friend. I… am proud of you.' He took the boy's hand and lifted it to the talisman. 'What… do… you see?' he asked, his voice weak and fading.

Conalin closed his eyes. 'I see a strange land, with purple mountains. The Krayakin are there. They are bewildered.'

'What. . else?'

'I see a woman. She is tall and black and beautiful.'

Nogusta leaned against the boy. 'I… see her too,' he said. Kebra ran forward and threw himself down by Nogusta's side.

'Don't you dare die on me!' he said.

Nogusta released Conalin's hand and gripped Kebra's arm. 'No. . choice,' he whispered. 'Take Starfire.. back to the mountains.'

'Ulmenetha!' shouted Kebra.

'I am here,' she said. Conalin moved back and allowed the priestess to kneel beside the dying man.

'You can heal him,' said Kebra. 'Lay your hands on him.'

'I cannot heal him,' she said. 'Not now.'

Kebra looked down into Nogusta's dead eyes. 'Oh no,' he said. 'You can't leave me like this! Nogusta!' Tears fell to his cheeks. 'Nogusta!' Ulmenetha leaned over and closed the bright blue eyes. Kebra hugged the body to him, cradling the head. Ulmenetha moved back, and, as Conalin tried to reach Kebra she took hold of his arm and drew him away.

'Leave them together for a little while,' she said.

'I just wanted to tell him what I saw. He found his wife. On a world with two moons.'

'I know.' Ulmenetha walked to where Starfire was standing. The horse was shivering, and in great pain. She stroked his neck, then went to work on his wounds, healing the blisters and the burns. The worst of the wounds was in his right eye, which was almost blinded. But this too she healed.

Antikas approached her. 'He is a great horse,' he said. 'Nogusta was right.'

'Let me heal your burns,' she said, reaching up towards his blistered face. He shook his head.

'I will carry the pain. It will remind me of what we lost here today.'

She smiled up at him. 'That sounds dangerously like humility, Antikas Karios.'

He nodded. 'Yes it does. How depressing. Do you think it will wear off?'

'I hope not,' she told him.

'I will see that it does not,' he said. Offering her a bow he turned and walked back to the queen.

The White Wolf stood silently gazing down at Kebra and Nogusta, his expression unreadable. Then he moved to the queen's side. 'Where would you like to go, highness?' he asked, his voice weary.

'Back to Usa,' she said. 'And I would like you and your men to help me restore order in the city, and bring peace to the land. Will you do this for me, Banelion?'

'I will, highness.'

Stepping forward she summoned Antikas Karios. He bowed deeply. 'Will you swear allegiance to me, and promise to defend the rights of my son?'

'With my life,' he told her.

'Then you will take command of the Ventrian army.'

Lastly she called Conalin to her. 'What is it I can do for you?' she asked. 'Name it and it is yours.'

'Kebra and I are going to Drenan,' he said. 'We are going to find Nogusta's horses and rebuild his house.'

'I shall see you have gold for the journey,' she said. Conalin bowed then walked to where Pharis was sitting with Sufia.

'Will you come with me to Drenan?' he asked them. Pharis took his hand.

'Where you are I will be,' she said. 'Always.'

'And me! And me!' said Sufia.

Kebra walked out into the night, grief overwhelming him. Ulmenetha stepped out of the shadows and took his arm. 'He knew he was to die,' she said. 'He saw it. But he saw something else, something incredible. He wanted me to tell you. He was descended from Emsharas, and that meant he was part Illohir. As was Ushuru, for they were cousins. He saw himself walking with her in a strange land, under a violet sky. The Krayakin were there, and Dryads and Fauns and many other Illohir. I think he saw it as some kind of paradise.'

Kebra said nothing, and gazed up at the bright stars. 'I know the pain you are feeling,' said Ulmenetha. 'I too have lost loved ones. But the three of you saved us all. None of you will ever be forgotten.'

Kebra turned on her. 'Do you think I care about fame? They were my family. I loved them. I feel their loss as if someone has cut them from me. I wish I had died with them.'

Ulmenetha was silent for a moment. Conalin came out of the temple, holding hands with Pharis and little Sufia. The child broke away and ran to Kebra, who was weeping once more. She reached up and took his hand.

'Don't be sad,' she said. 'Please don't be sad.' Then she too began to cry. Kebra dropped down beside her.

'Sometimes,' he said, 'it is good to be sad.' He brushed her blond hair back from her eyes. Conalin came alongside him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

'You are not alone, Kebra,' said Ulmenetha. 'You have a family to raise. Conalin and Pharis and Sufia. And I shall come with you for a while, for I have an urge to run over mountain trails and see the wild flowers grow.'

'We will find Nogusta's horses,' said Conalin. 'And we will rebuild his house.'

Kebra smiled. 'He would like that.'

THE END