David Gemmell. Winter Warriors

It was true and Dagorian knew it. Pushing himself from the wall he drew his own blade. ‘What do you suggest?’ he asked.

‘Which side do you wish to defend, the left or the right?’

The right.’

‘Very well, take up your position, and let us rehearse some simple moves.’ The two men walked out onto the

bridge. The enemy will be forced to advance on foot, clambering over the rocks and brush. We will wait for them, and engage them here,’ he said. ‘No matter what happens you must stay on my right. Do not cross over. Now you are less skilful than I, so at no time try to move to my defence. If I move to yours I will call out, so that you know where I am.’

For a while they practised moves, rehearsed signals and discussed strategies. Then they broke off to eat from Dagorian’s ration of dried beef. They sat in silence on the rocks, each lost in his own thoughts.

‘I have never fought a demon,’ said Dagorian, at last. ‘I find the thought unsettling.’

‘It is just a name,’ said Antikas. ‘Nothing more. They walk, they talk, they breathe. And we have the weapons to kill them.’

‘You sound very sure.’

‘And you are not?’

Dagorian sighed. ‘I do not want to die,’ he admitted. ‘Does that sound cowardly?’

‘No man wants to die,’ responded Antikas. ‘But if thoughts of survival enter your mind during the fight, death will be certain. It is vital for a warrior to suspend imagination during a battle. What if I get stabbed, what if I am crippled, what if I die? These thoughts impair a warrior’s skills. The enemy will come. We will kill them. That is all you need to focus upon.’

‘Easier said than done,’ Dagorian told him.

Antikas gave a thin smile. ‘Do not be frightened by death, Dagorian, for it comes to all men. For myself I would sooner die young and strong, than become a toothless, senile old man talking of the wonders of my youth.’

T do not agree. I would like to live to see my children

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and grandchildren grow. To know love and the joys of family.’

‘Have you ever loved?’ asked Antikas.

‘No. I thought. . .’ he hesitated. ‘I thought I loved Axiana, but it was a dream, an ideal. She looked so fragile, lost almost. But no, I have never loved. You?’

‘No,’ answered Antikas, the lie sticking in his throat, the memory of Kara, burning in his mind.

‘Do demons love, do you think?’ asked Dagorian, suddenly. ‘Do they wed and have children? I suppose they must.’

‘I have never given it much thought,’ admitted Antikas. ‘Kalizkan told me that Emsharas the Great Sorcerer fell in love with a human woman, and she bore him children. He was a demon.’

‘All I know of him is that he cast the Great Spell thousands of years ago.’

‘Yes, and that I find curious,’ said Antikas. ‘According to Kalizkan he banished his entire race to a world of nothing, empty and void. Hundreds of thousands of souls ripped from the earth to float for eternity without form. Can there have ever been a crime worse than that?’

‘You call it a crime? I don’t understand. Humanity was saved by the action.’

‘Humanity yes, but Emsharas was not human. Why then did he do it? Why not cast a spell that would banish humanity into a void, and leave the earth for his own people? It makes no sense.’

‘It must have made sense to him. Perhaps it was that his people were evil.’

‘Come now,’ snapped Antikas, ‘that makes even less sense. If we are to judge his actions as good, then we must accept that he was not evil. Why then should he have been the only good demon in the world? What of

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the Dryads who lived to protect the forest, or the Krandyl who preserved the fields and meadows? These also are creatures of legend, spirit beings, demons.’

Dagorian suddenly laughed and shook his head. ‘What is so amusing?’ asked Antikas.

‘You do not find it amusing that two men sitting on a bridge and waiting for death can debate the actions of a sorcerer who died thousands of years ago? It is the kind of conversation I would expect to have sitting in the library at Drenan.’ His laughter faded away. ‘I don’t care why he did it. What does it matter now? To us?’