David Gemmell. Winter Warriors

‘It was those wild onions,’ said Bison, apologetically.

‘Not from you . . . fool!’ she snapped.

The demon drew back and hovered before Nogusta. Starfire whinnied and backed away. Nogusta calmed him. ‘I would like to stay to watch you die,’ said the apparition. ‘But the body I have chosen waits for me some miles back – with the Ventrian army. Be assured, however, your passing will be painful. Not as painful, you understand, as I made it for your family. You should have seen them trying to flee the flames. Your wife was running along a corridor, her hair and her dress ablaze. Her screams were delightful. Her flesh burned like a great candle.’

There was a sudden gust of wind, and the apparition disappeared.

‘That was Anharat, the Demon Lord,’ said Ulmenetha. ‘He it was who possessed Kalizkan, and brought such evil to the city.’

Nogusta did not respond at first. His face was streaked with sweat, and his face was set. When he did speak his voice was colder than the tomb. ‘He killed my family. He watched them burn.’

‘He has killed many families. Thousands upon thou­sands,’ said Ulmenetha. ‘His evil is colossal.’ Nogusta took a deep, calming breath.

‘What did he mean about my ancestor?’

‘He was talking about Emsharas – his own brother. He it was who cast the first Great Spell.’

‘His brother? Are you saying that my ancestor was a demon?’

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‘I have no answers for you, Nogusta. Little is known of Emsharas, save that he is considered the Father of Healers, and that his magick was holy. He was certainly of the Illohir, the Windborn.’

‘Then I have demon blood in my veins?’

‘Forget about demons!’ she snapped. ‘That is not important now. Why do you think he came to us? It was to instil fear, to cause torment and disquiet. You must overcome such thoughts. Any anger or rage you feel will only add to our danger, increasing the chances of the gogarin to sense our presence.’

‘I understand,’ said Nogusta. ‘Let us move on.’

‘When we reach the foot of the slope,’ said Ulmenetha, ‘you must ride close to the wagon. The spell will only extend a few feet. We must be as quiet as possible.’ Nogusta nodded, then rode ahead and retrieved his lance and the thrown dagger.

‘Can we kill this gogarin if necessary?’ Bison asked Ulmenetha.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Could he really give me another hundred years of youth?’

‘I don’t know that either. Does it matter?’

‘Nice thought,’ said Bison, lifting the reins and snap­ping them down to the backs of the waiting team. They lurched forward and the wagon moved slowly on down towards the canyon floor.

In the distance storm clouds were gathering, and a rumble of thunder echoed over the mountains.

At the foot of the slope Ulmenetha climbed down from the wagon and kicked off her shoes, feeling the soft earth beneath her feet. Relaxing she drew on the power of the land. The magick here was weak, and this surprised her.

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It was as if the flow was being blocked. She wondered then if Anharat’s power had affected the magick. Surely not. Squatting down she dug her hand into the earth. Her fingers struck something hard and flat. She smiled with relief. They were upon the old trade road. Over the centuries earth had covered the flagstones, and it was these buried stones that blocked her. Stepping from the old road she walked to a grove of nearby trees. The magick here was strong and ancient, and she drew upon it, feeling it flow through her legs, and up through the veins and arteries, swelling and surging. It was almost too strong, like fine wine, and she reached out to hold fast to the trunk of a tree.

Thunder rumbled to the south. Moving away from the trees she strode to the front of the wagon, and positioned herself to the left of the team. Nogusta, Kebra and Dagorian rode in close upon her command. Raising her hand she cast the spell. It was not especially difficult to create, but once created it needed to be held in place. The air around the wagon shimmered. Ulmenetha glanced back. She could no longer see the others. Reaching up she ran her hand along the sleek, near invisible, neck of the horse beside her, and curled her fingers around the bridle. ‘Let no-one speak from now until I give the word,’ she said. ‘Let us go!’