David Gemmell. Winter Warriors

A young priest in white robes walked by her, bowing as he passed.

Heaving herself to her feet she entered the building, curtsying towards the High Altar. Dipping her finger into a stone bowl full of holy water she traced a circle upon her brow then walked to the back of the temple, seating herself in an alcove beneath a wreath of elegantly carved vines.

Another priest, a tall, balding young man with a prominent nose and a weak chin, saw her there and approached. ‘What do you seek, mother?’ he asked her. ‘The Oracle Voice is not present.’

‘I need no Voice,’ she told him.

‘Then why are you here at this late hour?’ He was wearing the grey robes of a Senior Brother and his blue eyes looked world-weary and bored.

‘Are you a Seer?’ she asked him.

‘Sadly, no, mother. I am still a student in such matters.

85

But I have hopes that one day the curtain will part for me. What encouragement do you seek?’

‘I seek a place without demons,’ she told him. Instantly his face changed, and he made the sign of the Protective Horn.

‘Such a word should not be used here,’ he admonished her, his voice less friendly.

She smiled. ‘If not here, then where? Never mind,’ she added, seeing his confusion. ‘Is there one among your order who is a Seer?’

‘There was one,’ he told her. ‘Father Aminias. But he died last week. We were all saddened, for he was a fine man.’

‘Was he ill?’

‘No. He was attacked while out on his pastoral duties. A madman, it seems. He was screeching at the top of his voice, and he stabbed poor Aminias many times before he was dragged away.’

‘And there is no-one else?’

‘No, mother. Such Gifts are becoming increasingly rare, I think.’

‘And yet they are ever more important,’ she said, push­ing herself to her feet.

‘You spoke of … unholy beings. Why was that?’ His blue eyes were suddenly fearful. Ulmenetha shook her head.

‘You do not have the power to help me,’ she said.

‘Even so, mother, I would be grateful if you would enlighten me.’

Ulmenetha was silent for a moment. She looked at the grey robed priest. Her first impression had been of a weak man, but as she looked more closely she felt she might have mistaken sensitivity for weakness. And she desperately needed someone to confide in.

86

Ulmenetha took a deep breath, and sat down once more. ‘Someone is summoning demons,’ she said, at last. ‘They are everywhere, and growing in number. I have the eyes to see them, but not the wit to discern their purpose.’ The balding priest sat down beside her.

‘Father Aminias said the same thing,’ he told her. ‘It was his belief that a great spell was being wrought. But I cannot see these . . . these creatures. And I know not how to combat them. Nor even if I should try.’ He gave a wan smile. ‘Who are you, mother?’

‘I am the Priestess Ulmenetha, the companion of Axiana the queen.’

‘And what did you hope to achieve here?’

‘I sought answers. I have had three visions, and can make no sense of any of them.’ She told him of the four warriors and the white crow, of the demon in the lake, and of the sacrifice of the emperor. He listened in silence.

‘I have never been blessed with your Gift,’ he said, ‘but what I have been given is the Gift of Discernment. Your visions are true ones. This I know. You saw three scenes. Three is a number of great power among mystics, and your experience is not unique. What you saw is called a kiraz. The first scene concerns the cause of the problem. The second illuminates how the problem will manifest itself. The third is more complex. It always reveals the protagonists, but also often reveals a clue to the solution of the problem. Now let us examine them in detail. The Demon of the Lake – the cause – is more of a symbolic vision. It came out of the ice, you say. If I read it correctly the lake is a symbol for a gateway between its world and ours. You say it flowed like smoke into the body of a man. This is a man being possessed. But more than that it is a man being possessed after having been slain. What we have is a demon inhabiting a corpse. This