David Gemmell. Winter Warriors

The bowman paused and sighed. ‘What is the truth here, Nogusta?’

The black man leaned in close. ‘You demean the championship by refusing to take part. The new cham­pion will feel he has not earned the title. In part, I fear, this is why you have declined.’

‘And what if it is? He will still earn a hundred gold pieces. He will still be honoured by the king, and carried shoulder high around the Park.’

‘But he will not have beaten the legendary Kebra. I

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seem to recall your delight fifteen years ago when you took the Silver Arrow from the hands of Menion. He was as old as you are now when he stood against you in the final. And you beat him finally only when it came to the distant targets. Could it be that his eyes were fading?’

Bison strolled over to where they stood. ‘Going to be a great day,’ he said, wiping crumbs from his white moustache. ‘The Ventrian sorcerer, Kalizkan, has promised a display no-one will ever forget. I hope he conjures a dragon. I’ve always wanted to see a dragon.’ The bald giant looked from one man to the other. ‘What is it? What am I missing here?’

‘Nothing,’ said Nogusta. ‘We were just involved in a philosophical debate.’

‘I hate those,’ said Bison. ‘I never understand a word. Glad I missed it. By the way I’ve entered the wrestling. I hope you two will be cheering for me.’

Nogusta chuckled. Ts that big tribesman taking part this year?’

‘Of course.’

‘He must have thrown you ten feet last year. It was only luck that you landed head first, and thereby avoided injury.’

Bison scowled. ‘He caught me by surprise. I’ll take him this year – if we’re matched.’

‘How many times have you entered this competition?’ asked Kebra.

‘I don’t know. Almost every year. Thirty times, maybe.’

‘You think you’ll win this time?’

‘Of course I’ll win. I’ve never been stronger.’

Nogusta laid his hand on Bison’s massive shoulder. ‘It doesn’t concern you that you’ve said the same thing for

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more than thirty years? And yet you’ve never even reached the quarter-finals.’

‘Why should it?’ asked Bison. ‘Anyway, I did reach the quarters once, didn’t I? It was during the Skathian campaign. I was beaten by Coris.’ He grinned. ‘You remember him? Big, blond fellow. Died at the siege of Mellicane.’

‘You are quite right,’ said Nogusta. ‘Coris was beaten in the semifinal. I remember losing money on him.’

‘I’ve never lost money on the king’s birthday,’ said Bison, happily. ‘I always bet on you, Kebra.’ His smile faded and he swore. ‘This will be the last year when you pay off all my winter debts.’

‘Not this year, my friend,’ said Kebra. ‘I’m not entered.’

‘I thought you might forget,’ said Bison, ‘so I entered you myself.’

‘Tell me you are joking,’ said Kebra, his voice cold.

‘I never joke about my debts. Shouldn’t you be out there practising?’

The crowds were beginning to gather as Dagorian strolled out onto the meadow. He was uncomfortable in full armour, the gilded black and gold breastplate hang­ing heavy on his slim shoulders. Still, he thought, at least I don’t have to wear the heavy plumed helm. The cheek guards chafed his face and, despite the padded cap he wore below it, the helm did not sit right. Once when the king called out to him Dagorian had turned sharply and the helm had swivelled on his head, the left cheek guard sliding over his left eye. Everyone had laughed. Dagorian had never wanted to be a soldier, but when your father was a hero general – and, worse, a dead hero general -the son was left with little choice.

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And he had been lucky. The White Wolf had taken him on to his staff, and spent time teaching the youngster tactics and logistics. While Dagorian did not enjoy soldiering he had discovered he had a talent for it, and that made a life of campaigning at least marginally tolerable.

The preparations for the king’s birthday were com­plete now, and within the hour the crowds would begin to surge through the gates. The sky was clear, the new day less cold than yesterday. Spring was coming. Only in the evenings now did the temperature drop below freez­ing. Dagorian saw the three old warriors talking by the fence rail. He strolled across to where they stood. As he approached, Kebra the Bowman strode away. He looks angry, thought Dagorian. The black swordsman saw Dagorian approach and gave a salute.