The Winter Warriors

Chapter Four

The old barracks building was three hundred years old, built to house the Immortals, the Emperor Gorben's elite regiment. At the time of its construction it was one of the wonders of the world. Famous artists and sculptors had been summoned from all over the empire to paint its ceilings, and sculpt the masterpieces that surrounded it. Now most of the statues had been removed, and shipped to Drenan, or sold to collectors to raise money for the king's wars. The painted ceilings and walls were chipped, cracked and faded. Most of the Drenai soldiers of the king's new army were housed in the north of the city, in three new barracks.

Here, off the Avenue of Light, the old building was slowly surrendering to the ravages of time and lack of care. Already there were plans to demolish it, and erect a colosseum. But for now it remained the temporary quarters of the old men being sent home. Discipline was already non-existent, and there were no guards at the gates, no bugle call to announce the dawn, no officers to oversee drills or exercises.

Nogusta shivered as he walked across the deserted parade-ground and on into the east wing where he shared a room with Bison and Kebra.

Once upon a time architects from all over the world visited this barracks, to marvel at its design.

Now it was a dying place, full of decaying memories no-one wanted to share.

Wearily Nogusta climbed the stairs. There were no lanterns here now, the interior lit only by the shafts of moonlight spearing through the high windows of each landing. Slowly Nogusta made his way to the fourth floor.

Kebra and Bison were sitting in stony silence within the room. Nogusta guessed the question of winter debts had been discussed. He moved past his comrades towards a blazing fire in the hearth. Its warmth was comforting.

Nogusta removed his black shirt and allowed the heat to bathe his upper body. The gold and silver charm he wore glittered in the firelight. Something cold touched his back, like the whisper of a frozen wind. He stood and turned, expecting to see the door or the window open. But they were closed tight.

'Did you feel that breeze?' he asked the silent men. They did not answer him. Kebra was sitting on his bed, his face stony, his pale eyes glaring at Bison. Suddenly an icy chill enveloped the room, the heat from the fire dying away. Nogusta stared at the flames, which were high and bright. No warmth came from them. The only heat he could feel was radiating from the crescent moon charm upon his breast. It glowed with a bright light. In that moment a terrible fear settled on the black man, for he knew why the charm was glowing.

Bison surged to his feet with a menacing growl. 'You slagging traitor!' he shouted at Kebra. His huge hand snatched his sword from its scabbard. The slender bowman drew a curved dagger and rose to meet him.

'No!' shouted Nogusta, leaping towards them. The sound of his voice, deep and powerful, cut through the tension. Kebra hesitated. But Bison moved in for the kill. 'Bison!' yelled Nogusta. For a moment only the giant hesitated. His eyes were glittering strangely, and his mouth was frozen into a snarl.

'Look at me! Now!' bellowed Nogusta. Bison paused again. The cold was now almost intolerable, and Nogusta began to shiver uncontrollably. Bison turned towards him, his eyes distant. 'Take my hand,' said Nogusta, reaching out. 'Do it for friendship, Bison. Take my hand!'

Bison blinked, and his expression softened for an instant. Then his anger blazed again. Tm going to kill him!'

'Take my hand first, then do what you must,' urged Nogusta. For a fraction of a moment he thought Bison would refuse, but then the big man reached out. Their fingers touched, their hands gripped. Bison let out a long, shuddering sigh and fell to his knees. Kebra leapt at him. Nogusta caught the movement at the last moment. Dragging Bison back he leapt between them, his left hand snaking out to grab Kebra's wrist. The bowman's face was twisted into an evil grimace, his pale eyes bulging. Nogusta hung on to the knife wrist. 'Be calm, Kebra,' he said. 'Be calm. It is Nogusta. It is your friend, Nogusta.'

Kebra's twisted face relaxed, the madness ebbing away. He shuddered and dropped the knife. The room grew warmer. Nogusta released his grip on the two men. Kebra sagged to the bed.

'I… I don't know what came over me,' said Bison. He stumbled towards Kebra. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'Truly.' Kebra said nothing. He merely sat and stared at the floor.

The glowing light of Nogusta's charm faded, leaving only the simple silver crescent and the golden hand which held it.

'We have been attacked,' he said, softly. 'You are not at fault, Bison. Nor is Kebra.'

The white-haired bowman glanced up. 'What are you talking about?'

'Sorcery. Did you not feel the cold in the room?' Both men shook their heads. Nogusta pulled up a chair and sat. Kebra and Bison were staring at him now. He touched the crescent charm. 'This is what saved us.'

'Have you gone mad?' asked Kebra. 'It was just rage, that's all. Bison kept on and on about me losing the tournament. We just got angry.'

'Can you really believe that?' asked Nogusta. 'You have been friends for thirty years. Never have you drawn weapons against each other. I urge you to trust me on this, my friends. Orendo told me the same thing. He said when they were in the merchant's house a terrible cold came upon the room, and they became full of rage and lust. That's when they killed and raped. He said there were demons in the air. I did not believe him. I believe him now. Do you remember how you felt when you ran at Bison?'

'I wanted to cut his heart out,' admitted Kebra.

'And you believe now that it was really what you wanted?'

'It felt real then,' said Kebra. He shook his head and wiped his hand across his face. 'What did you mean about the charm saving us?'

'Simply that. It is a "ward charm". A talisman. It has been in my family for generations.'

'It was glowing when you reached out for me,' said Bison. 'It shone like a huge diamond.'

'I saw that,' said Kebra. 'But, gods, man, who would want to use sorcery against us?'

'Malikada perhaps. Had I not been wearing the charm my rage would have surged also. We could have killed each other.'

'Well, let's kill Mahkada,' said Bison.

'Good idea,' said Kebra. 'Then we'll grow our magic wings and fly away free over the mountains.'

'Well, what then?' asked the giant.

'We leave the city,' said Nogusta. 'We won't travel with the White Wolf. We'll head south into the mountains until the army marches on the Cadian border, then we'll join the other returnees.'

'I don't like the idea of running away,' said Bison.

'As I recall,' said Kebra, drily, 'I once saw you racing like a sprinter to get out of the way of a flash flood. And are you not the man who had his arse scarred while fleeing from that lioness outside Delnoch?'

That was different,' argued Bison.

'No it wasn't,' said Nogusta. 'Malikada is the king's general. We cannot fight him. It would be like fighting a storm or, indeed, a flash flood. Pointless. Added to which we do not know for sure that this was Malikada's work. No, the safest and most sensible plan is to leave the city. In two days the army marches and Malikada will have other problems to consider. He will forget about us.'

'What will we do in the mountains?' asked Bison.

'Hunt a little meat, pan for gold in the streams, perhaps,' Nogusta told him.

'Gold. I like the sound of that,' said Bison, tugging on his white walrus moustache. 'We could get rich.'

'Indeed we could, my friend. Tomorrow I will purchase horses and supplies.'

'And pans for the gold,' Bison reminded him.

The giant moved to his own bed and pulled off his boots. 'I still say you shouldn't have let that Ventrian shoot again,' he said.

Kebra looked up at Nogusta and shook his head. Then he smiled. 'I would feel a lot better if I didn't agree with him,' he said. 'I still can't believe I did it.'

'I can, my friend. It was noble,' said Nogusta, 'and no more than I would expect from you.'

Ulmenetha took hold of the iron chains, leaned back upon the swinging wicker chair and gazed out over the distant mountains. She could feel them calling to her, like a mother to a lost child. In the mountains of her home she had known great happiness. There was ancient wisdom there, and serenity radiated from the eternal peaks. These were not her mountains, but they called nonetheless. Ulmenetha resisted the pull and turned her attention to her immediate surroundings. The roof garden of the late emperor's palace was a wondrous place in summer, its terraces ablaze with colour, and filled with the scent of many perfumed flowers. High above the city it seemed an enchanted place. In winter it was less so, but now, with spring but days away, the yellow and purple polyanthuses were flowering, and the cherry trees were thick with blossom, gossamer thin petals of faded coral. Sitting here alone in the bright sunshine thoughts of demons seemed far away, like a child's dream in a darkened bedroom. Ulmenetha had enjoyed her early childhood. Wrapped in love, and full of joy, she had played in the mountains, living wild and free. The memory lifted her, and — just for a moment — she felt like a child again. Ulmenetha swung the chair around and around on its iron chains. Then she let go and watched the mountains spin before her eyes. She giggled and closed her eyes.

'You look foolish,' said Axiana, sternly. 'It does not become a priestess to play on a child's swing.'

Ulmenetha had not heard the queen's approach. She leaned forward, her feet thumping to the ground, halting the swing. 'Why do you say that?' she asked. 'Why is it that so many people believe that religion and joy have little in common?'

Ulmenetha eased her large frame upright and walked with the pregnant queen to a wide bench seat beneath the cherry trees. Already they were rich with blossom of coral and white. 'There is no dignity in such behaviour,' the young woman told her. Ulmenetha said nothing for a moment. Axiana settled herself down, her slender hands over her swollen belly. You never laugh, child, thought Ulmenetha, and your eyes radiate sorrow.

'Dignity is much overrated,' she said, at last. 'It is a concept, I think, devised by men to add gravitas to their strutting.' A flicker of a smile touched Axiana's beautiful face. But it passed as swiftly as a noonday shadow. 'Men are ridiculous creatures,' continued the priestess, 'arrogant and vain, insensitive and boorish.'

'Is this why you became a priestess? To avoid contact with them?'

Ulmenetha shook her head. 'No, dear heart. I had a jewel among men. When I lost him I knew there would never be another.' She took a deep breath and stared out over the southern mountains. She could just make out three riders heading into the high country.

'I am sorry, Ulmenetha,' said the queen. 'My question brought you sadness.'

'Not at all,' the priestess assured her. 'It brought me remembered joy. He was a fine man. He spent two years trying to woo me, and became convinced that if he could beat me to the top of Five Rise mountain I would marry him.' The queen looked mystified. 'I used to run through the mountains. I was slimmer then, and I could run for ever. No man could best me on the longer races. Vian tried for two years. He trained so hard. That's when I grew to love him.'

'And did he beat you?'

'No, but he won me. Good days.' They lapsed into silence for several minutes, enjoying the warmth of the morning sun.

'What is it like to be in love?' asked Axiana. Ulmenetha felt sadness swell in her, not for the love she had lost, but for the lovely young woman at her side. How sad it was that a woman only weeks from giving birth should still wonder about love.

'Sometimes it arrives like a flash flood, but at other times it grows slowly until it becomes a great tree. Perhaps it will be that way for you and the king.'

Axiana shook her head. 'He thinks nothing of me. I am an ornament of no more worth than any of the other ornaments he owns.'

'He is a great man,' said Ulmenetha, aware of the shallowness of her response.

'No, he is not. He is a great killer and destroyer. Men worship him as if he were a god, but he is not. He is a plague, a cancer.' The words were not spoken with passion, but with a quiet resignation that somehow added to their power.

'He has a good side,' said Ulmenetha. 'His people love him, and he is often generous. And I have seen him weep. When he was younger and it was thought that Starfire was lame, he was inconsolable.'

'Inconsolable?' queried Axiana. 'He did not appear inconsolable when Starfire went to the tannery. I understand they use the hides for furniture, the meat for food, and the hoofs and bones for glue. Is that right?'

'You must be mistaken, my pet.'

'I am not mistaken. I heard him on his birthday. All the older horses — including Starfire — were sold. The money received went into the war chest. The man is without a soul.'

'Do not speak this way, dear heart,' whispered Ulmenetha, feeling a sudden chill.

'No-one can hear us. There are no secret passages in the garden, no hollow walls for clerics to hide behind with their quill pens. Skanda cares only for war, and he will never be satisfied. The world could fall to him and he would know only despair, for there would be no more battles to fight. So, tell me, Ulmenetha, about love.'

The priestess forced a smile. 'There is an old legend. I am rather partial to it. In the beginning the old gods created a herd of perfect animals. They had four legs, four arms and two heads. And they were blissfully happy. The gods looked upon this perfection of happiness and grew jealous. So one day the Chief of the Gods cast a mighty spell. And in an instant all the animals were ripped in half and scattered across the world. Now each of the beasts only had one head, two arms and two legs. And they were destined for ever to search the earth for their other halves, seeking that perfect fit.'

'That is a vulgar story,' chided Axiana.

A young, female servant approached them and curtsied deeply. 'You have a visitor, my lady,' she said. 'The Lord Kalizkan.' Axiana clapped her hands together in delight.

'Send him out to us,' she said.

Moments later the tall wizard made his entrance. He was wearing robes now of sky blue satin, and a matching wide-brimmed hat of stiffened silk. Sweeping off the hat he made an elaborate bow. 'And how is the queen today?' he asked, with a wide, enchanting smile.

'I am well, sir. All the better for seeing you.' Ulmenetha rose and offered the wizard her seat. He gave her a dazzling smile and sat beside the queen. Ulmenetha moved back to allow them privacy and returned to her seat in the swinging chair. It was a pleasure to see Axiana in such high spirits. Kalizkan was good for her, and Ulmenetha liked him. The wizard leaned in close to the queen and the two talked for some time. Then Axiana called out. 'Come here, Ulmenetha, you must see this!'

The priestess obeyed and stood before the white-bearded wizard. 'What is your favourite flower?' he asked her.

'The high mountain lily,' she told him.

'The white lily with blue stripes?'

'Yes.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Backing away she returned to her room, and prayed.

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

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

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

'There was more than one body?'

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

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

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

'This is relevant?' asked Dagorian.

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

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

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

'Then it remains coincidence,' concluded Dagorian.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'What made you angry?'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'You wished to see me?'

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

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

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

'And that is?'

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

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

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

'It is your footwork that lets you down.'

'So Nogusta told me, sir.'

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

'I was, sir. Until my father died.'

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

'Only briefly, sir. But no sorcery.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Gone,' the old man told him.

'Gone where?'

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

'When was this?'

'Four days ago. No. . five now.'

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

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

'Did your master seem troubled?' asked Dagorian.

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

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

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

'Of what?' queried Dagorian. Chiric shrugged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Sagio?' put in Zani.

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

'And he left the city?'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'What is it?' asked Zani.

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

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

The young Drenai officer sat down, dipped his hand into the jar, pulling two leaves from it. They were a dark, lustrous green, and a heady scent filled the air. 'What are you doing?' asked Zani.

For a moment Dagorian said nothing, then he looked up at the Ventrian. 'There is a force working here that is outside the realm of normal human senses. We could stumble around the city for days and never find the answer. Perhaps it is time to use the eyes of the spirit.'

'Are you versed in these things?'

'Not entirely. But I know the procedure.'

Zani shook his head. 'I know nothing of sorcery — nor do I wish to. But there have been a lot of deaths, Drenai. I think the risk is too great for one who only — as you openly admit — knows the procedure. I think it might be wiser to take the problem to the Lord Kalizkan. There is no greater wizard than he.'

'I have already set that in motion, Zani,' said the officer. 'But arrogance compels me to try to solve this mystery myself.'

As he finished speaking he rolled the two leaves and placed them in his mouth.

Bright colours flashed before his eyes, and a sharp pain lanced from his neck, down his arms and into his fingers. Calming himself Dagorian began to recite in his mind the Mantra of Dardalion, the simplest of the Three Levels. He felt as if he were floating inside his own body, twisting and turning. But there was no release, and he did not soar free as he had hoped. Slowly he opened his eyes. Zani's blue tunic was shining now with ethereal lights and dancing colours. A bright aura flickered around the man. Dagorian realized that it was not the tunic which was shining, but the man himself. Over his heart there was violet light, tinged with red, which deepened into maroon over his belly. This then was the aura mystics spoke of. How beautiful it was. He looked at Zani's round face. Honesty, loyalty and courage shone there, and he had a vision of the Ventrian sitting in a small room, three children playing at his feet. A young woman was close by, plump and raven haired. She was smiling.

Transferring his gaze he glanced at the walls. Ward spells had been placed over the windows and the doors, and these he could see now, glowing faintly red. Turning in the chair he looked out of the east window at the shadowed garden. He blinked. A face was staring in, a ghost white face, with large dark, protruding eyes and a lipless mouth. The skin was scaled like a fish, the teeth sharp as needles. Other faces clustered around it, and a long skinny arm pushed into the room. The ward spell flared and the arm was hastily withdrawn.

'There are demons at the window,' he said, huskily, his words echoing inside his head.

'I see no demons,' said Zani, his voice trembling.

'Yet they are there.'

'It is getting cold in here,' said Zani. 'Can you feel it?'

Dagorian did not answer. Rising from the desk he walked to the inner door and looked out into the library and the stairs beyond. White forms were floating close to the ceiling, others were huddled together away from the sunlight lancing through the western windows.

Fear touched the officer. There were scores of them.

They flew at him, their talons lashing out. The pain was great and he stumbled back. 'What is it?' shouted Zani.

In panic Dagorian ran for the front door. The demons were covering him now, tearing at him. He screamed aloud, blundered into the door, then scrabbled for the handle. It was locked. He fell to his knees, the pain indescribable. Zani grabbed his arm, hauling him to the western window. Bright light bathed him, and the demons withdrew. Zani helped him climb out into the garden. Dagorian stumbled out to the grass, then fell and rolled to his back under the shadows of the trees.

White, translucent forms dropped from the branches above, talons and teeth ripping at his face. Wildly he thrashed his arms at them, but his fingers passed through them.

A shining sword of fire swept out. The demons fell back. A voice whispered to him. 'The Prayer of Light! Recite it you fool, or you will die here.'

Pain and terror were blocking Dagorian's memory. The voice spoke again. 'Say it with me: Oh Lord of Light, Source of All Life, be with me now in this hour of peril and darkness. . Say it aloud!'

Dagorian began to recite the prayer. The demons withdrew, but hovered close by, their dark malevolent eyes glaring at him.

Rising to his knees Dagorian watched them. Slowly the power of the lorassium began to fade, and with it his spirit sight. The demons became more and more translucent, until, at last, they appeared no more than shapeless wisps of wood smoke. Then they were gone.

Safe now he stared down at his arms and hands, amazed that there was no blood. The talons had ripped into him so many times. He slumped back exhausted. 'What happened here?' whispered Zani. 'What were you struggling against?'

Dagorian did not answer. The lorassium did not merely increase visual powers, but also enhanced perception and cognitive skills. As the effects faded he fought to hold to the impressions he had gained, even during his panicked flight.

The demons were not sentient — at least not in a way any human could understand. They were.. the word 'Feeders' came to his mind. Yes, that was it. Like a hungry pack they sought to devour.. what? What was the source of his pain? It was not physical, and yet it would have killed him. The lorassium was almost gone now, and he struggled to hold to the knowledge he had gained.

Though not sentient the creatures had a purpose that was beyond their own desires. Their violence was directed.

The sun was setting behind the mountains. Soon the dark would come. Fear rose again in Dagorian. 'We must get away from here,' he said.