David Gemmell. Winter Warriors

3×0

stood them. No wonder his brother had spent so much time with the black woman.

Outside the tent he could hear the sounds of the army settling down for night camp, the rattling of pans and dishes as the men lined up for food, the smell of wood smoke from the fires, and the laughter of soldiers listen­ing to tall tales.

He had dispensed with his undead guards. Their blank, uncomprehending stares had unnerved the officers. Equally he had withdrawn the Entukku from the city, allowing the terrified populace to return to a semblance of normality before the army marched. Thousands had died in the riots, and none of the surviving humans had the least notion of what had caused their own murderous rages. Curiously the Entukku, who normally thrived on terror and pain, had gorged themselves equally on the waves of remorse that had billowed forth. These humans were a constant source of all kinds of nourishment.

Anharat could hardly wait to experiment further upon them.

A faint glow shone on the walls of the tent behind him. His skin prickled, and he swung towards the light, his hands opening, the first words of an incantation upon his lips. A pale figure was forming. Anharat saw that it was merely an image, for the legs of the figure were merging with the iron brazier, filled with hot coals. He relaxed, his curiosity aroused. Was Kalizkan returned?

Then the light began to fade and the features of a man appeared. Anharat’s rage grew and he began to tremble. His face twisted and he stepped forward, aching to rip his talons through the heart of the figure. The newcomer was dressed in robes of white. His skin was black, his eyes pale blue. Upon his brow he wore a circlet of gold. ‘Greetings, my brother,’ he said.

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Anharat was almost too angry to speak, but he fought for control. If he could hold the image here for a while he could concoct a search spell that would follow it back to its source. ‘Where have you been hiding, Emsharas?’ he asked.

‘Nowhere,’ answered the figure.

‘You lie, brother. For I was sentenced to exist in the hell of Nowhere, with all the creatures of the Illohir. And you were not there. Nor were you among the humans, for I have searched for you these last four thousand years.’

‘I did not hide, Anharat,’ said the figure, softly. ‘Nor was it – nor is it – my intention for our people to exist in a void for ever.’

‘I care nothing for your intentions, traitor. Did you know that I have destroyed your descendants?’

‘Not all of them. One remains.’

‘I will see him dead, and I will have the babe. Then your evil will be undone. The people of the Illohir will walk free upon the earth.’

‘Aye, they will,’ said Emsharas. ‘But they will not be able to drink the water or the wine, nor will they laze under the sun.’

Anharat’s mind was working furiously, and the search spell was almost complete. ‘So, brother, will you not tell me where you have been all these centuries? Have you been enjoying life as a human? Have you tasted fine wines and bedded great beauties?’

‘I have done none of these things, Anharat. Where do you think I found the power for the Great Spell?’

‘I neither know, nor care,’ lied Anharat.

‘Oh, you care, brother, for you know that you and I were almost equally matched, and yet I discovered a source of power hitherto unknown. You could use it too.

I will willingly tell it to you – if you will help me complete my work.’

‘Complete . . . ? What new horror do you have in mind for the Illohir, brother? Perhaps we could create chains of fire to torture our people down the ages?’

‘I offer them a world where they can lie in the sun and swim in the rivers and lakes. A world of their own.’

‘Really? How kind you are, Emsharas. Perhaps though you would explain why they are not already there. And why we have waited so long for this little discussion.’