David Gemmell. Winter Warriors

Bakilas spoke, but not to the man. ‘Kill them all – save for the leader,’ he said.

Instantly the four Krayakin warriors leapt at the startled men. One bowman loosed a shaft, but Bakilas’s sword flashed in the night air, snapping the arrow in two. Then he was among the robbers, his sword cleaving left and right. One man died, his neck severed, a second fell to the ground, his chest gaping open. Mandrak blocked a savage cut from the leader’s sword, then stepped inside and hammered a straight left to the man’s face, breaking his nose. The leader staggered. Mandrak leaned back, then leapt, his right foot thundering against the leader’s chin. The man went down as if poleaxed. Drasko killed two men, then lanced his sword through the back of another as the man turned to run.

Within moments the battle was over. Four survivors had fled into the forest, and seven men lay dead upon the grass. Bakilas moved to the unconscious leader, flipping the man with his foot. The leader grunted and struggled to sit up. Still dazed he rubbed his chin. Then, incon­gruously he cast around for his fallen helm. Setting it upon his head he pushed himself to his feet. He saw the dead men lying where they had fallen. He tried to run, but Mandrak was quicker, grabbing him by his jerkin and hurling him to the ground. ‘What are you going to do with me?’ he wailed.

Bakilas stepped up to the man, hauling him to his feet.

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‘We need to contact our leader,’ he said, softly. ‘You can help us with that task.’

‘Anything,’ said the man. ‘Just ask.’

Bakilas took hold of the man’s shirt and ripped it open, exposing his naked chest. He traced a line down the skin, locating the man’s sternum. Slamming his fingers into the man’s chest he split the skin beneath the breast bone. His hand drove in like a blade, then opened for his long fingers to encircle the still beating heart. With one wrench he tore the organ free. Letting the body sink to the grass he held up the dripping heart. ‘Anharat!’ he called. ‘Speak to your brothers!’

The heart rose from Bakilas’s hand and burst into a bright flame which soared up above the clearing. Then it coalesced into a ball and slowly dropped to hover above the warriors.

‘I am here,’ said a voice that whispered like a cold wind across a graveyard.

The Krayakin sat in a circle around the flame. ‘Two of our company are Windborn once more,’ said Bakilas. ‘We would appreciate your guidance.’

‘The child is born,’ said the voice of Anharat. ‘The route to the sea is cut off, and they must journey south. I am marching with the army to the city of Lem. There we will sacrifice the child. His blood will flow upon my own altar.’

‘What of the wizard who is helping them?’ asked Drasko.

‘There is no wizard. The soul of Kalizkan possessed the child, but he is now gone to the Halls of the Dead. He will not return. Continue south. I have also returned a gogarin to the forest ahead of them. They will not pass him.’

‘We need no help, brother,’ said Bakilas. ‘And a gogarin could kill them all – the babe included.’

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‘They will not be foolish enough to attempt to pass the beast,’ said Anharat. ‘Not once they know it is there. And I shall see that they do.’

‘You are taking a great risk, Anharat. What if it does kill the babe?’

‘I have already begun the Spell,’ said the voice of the Demon Lord. ‘It hangs in the air awaiting only the death of the third king. If the babe is killed before the time of sacrifice there will still be enough power released to bring back more than two-thirds of the Illohir. Now find them, and bring the babe to my altar.’

The flame faded, becoming thick, black smoke, which drifted in the air before slowly dispersing.

‘The city of Lem,’ said Drasko. ‘Not a place of good omens.’

‘Let us ride, brothers,’ said Bakilas.

Nogusta drew rein at the mouth of the great canyon, and for several moments all his fears and tensions dis­appeared, swamped by the awesome beauty before him. The ancient map had shown a canyon here, and a trade road winding through it, but nothing etched on paper could have prepared Nogusta for the sheer majesty before him. Towering peaks, cloaked with trees and crowned by snow, deep valleys, full of lush grass and glittering streams and rivers, filled his field of vision.