David Gemmell. Winter Warriors

‘Why do you want to know?’ he demanded.

‘I am making conversation, Conalin. If we are to be friends we need to know one another. That is the way of things. What is Pharis’s favourite food?’

‘Plums. Why?’

She smiled. ‘That is part of knowing a friend. When you go out to steal food you will look for a plum for Pharis, because you know she likes them. Knowing is good among friends. So where did you meet?’

‘Her mother’s a whore who worked Merchant Alley. I first saw Pharis there. Two summers ago. Her mother was drunk, and lying in the gutter. Pharis was trying to lift her, to get her home.’

‘And you helped?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why did you do that?’

‘What do you mean?’

Ulmenetha shrugged. ‘You were helping the weak, Conalin. Why did you not just rob her and walk away?’

‘That’s what I was going to do,’ he snapped. ‘I saw her lying there and I knew she’d have coin from the men she’d doxied. But then Pharis came along. She saw me standing there and she said, “Take her arm.” So I did. Anyway, that’s how we met.’

‘What happened to the mother?’

Now it was his turn to shrug. ‘She’s still around. She sold Pharis to a whorehouse. Where rich men like to fondle young girls. I took her away from that. I climbed

170

through the rear window one night, and I got her out.’

‘That was very brave of you.’ He seemed pleased at the compliment and his hard face relaxed. As it did so he looked younger, and terribly vulnerable. Ulmenetha wanted to reach out and stroke his tangled red hair, to draw him to her. He spoke again.

‘Had to pick the lock on her room. And all the while the Breaker was asleep in a chair next to it.’

‘The Breaker?’ she enquired.

The leg-breaker. The man who watches out for the girls. Well, they say he watches out for them, but if a girl won’t do what she’s told he bashes them.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘I bet he was in real trouble the following morning.’

‘And what about Sufia?’

‘We found her in that wizard’s house. She was hiding under a bed. She was the last of them. Why was he killing children?’ he asked her.

‘He was, I believe, making blood magic,’ said Ulmenetha. ‘It is a vile practice.’

‘There’s a lot of them,’ he said, softly. ‘Vile practices.’

‘Tell me about you,’ she said.

‘No,’ he said, simply. ‘I don’t talk about me. But you are right, I am tired. I think I’ll sleep now for a while.’

Til wake you when Dagorian gets back.’

‘You won’t have to,’ he assured her.

Out on the streets the rioting continued unabated. Dagorian had avoided the guards by climbing over the palace wall, and dropping down onto the broad Avenue of Kings. From here he could see several bodies, sprawled in death. Rioters moved into sight, swilling looted wine. Keeping to the shadows he moved down the Avenue, then darted across it to one of the wide roads

171

leading to the Merchants’ Acre. Here, he knew, were the hauliers who daily distributed the merchants’ wares to shops, homes and market stalls in the city.

He reached the first to find the buildings engulfed by flames, and could see wagons burning on the open ground beyond. Anger swept through him, threatening to engulf his mind. He wanted to draw his sword and run at the rioters, hacking and slashing. His fingers closed around the hilt of his sabre. A voice whispered into his mind, cold and calm, dispelling the fury.

‘Do not let them possess you, Dagorian. They are everywhere.’

Dagorian leaned back against a wall, his hands shaking with the aftermath of rage. ‘Who are you?’ he whispered.

‘A friend. You remember me? I came to you when the demons were rending your soul. And again at the home of the murdered seer.’

‘I remember.’

‘Know this, then, child: The city is possessed, and the demons are feasting on rage and murder. Every hour they grow stronger. By tomorrow no-one will be able to resist them. Do not succumb. Think clearly and coolly. I will be with you, though I will not speak again. Now find a wagon!’