David Gemmell. Winter Warriors

‘A mob does not know of love,’ said Dagorian. ‘They are outside killing each other, raping and looting. It will not be long before they realize that true riches can be found here.’

‘My cousin Malikada will be back soon. He will pro­tect me,’ said Axiana.

‘Please, my dove,’ urged Ulmenetha, ‘trust me! Your life is in danger, and we must flee the city.’

‘The nobility are not given to panic, Ulmenetha. And certainly not in the face of peasant unrest.’

‘It is not merely unrest,’ Dagorian told her. ‘The mobs are possessed.’

‘Possessed? That cannot be!’

‘It is true, highness. I swear it. I discovered the demons while investigating a series of murders. I believe Kalizkan summoned them. I have seen mobs before, and I have been out there among those demented people. There is a difference, believe me.’

‘You are saying this to frighten me,’ insisted Axiana.

Ulmenetha approached the queen. ‘What he says is true, my dove. I have known about these demons for some time. I also know that Kalizkan is a walking corpse. He too is possessed. You saw the creature at his house. It was a zhagul. A dead man. I think we should listen to Dagorian and follow him to the mountains.’

‘I will not!’ insisted Axiana, drawing back, her eyes fearful. ‘Malikada will protect me. I will tell him of Kalizkan’s evil and he will punish him.’

Ulmenetha stepped in close and put her hands on Axiana’s shoulders. ‘Be calm,’ she said, softly. ‘I am here. All will be well.’ Her right hand lifted, as if to stroke the queen’s brow. Dagorian saw a blue light radiate from her

palm. Axiana fell forward into Ulmenetha’s arms. The priestess lowered her to a couch. ‘She will sleep for several hours,’ she said.

‘You are a sorceress?’ whispered Dagorian.

‘I am a priestess!’ she snapped. ‘There is a difference. The little magic I know is used for healing. Now carry her down – and be careful with her.’

Dagorian lifted Axiana to his arms. Despite her pregnancy she was not heavy and he carried her to the wagon, lifting her to the tailboard. Ulmenetha settled her down, rolling an empty sack for a pillow, and covering her with a blanket. Pharis and Sufia scrambled aboard, and Conalin climbed to the driver’s seat. Dagorian stepped up to sit beside him.

Dagorian drove the wagon to the royal stables, and there saddled a warhorse of some seventeen hands. ‘Can you drive the wagon?’ he asked Conalin. The boy nodded.

‘Good. Then I will clear a way to the East Gate. If I go down do not stop. You understand?’

‘Oh, I won’t stop,’ said Conalin. ‘You can count on that.’

‘Then let’s go.’

The Avenue of Kings was deserted now, and eerily quiet. Dagorian led the way, the sound of his horse’s hoof beats like slow beating war drums. He drew his sabre and scanned the Avenue. There was not a sign of life.

The dawn sun cleared the mountains.

The wagon moved on. After half a mile they saw a group of men sitting quietly by the roadside. They were blood smeared, their clothing stained by smoke. They looked up at the wagon, but made no hostile moves. Their eyes were dull, and they seemed weary beyond reckoning.

Dagorian sheathed his sabre.

176

They reached the gate and found themselves waiting in a line of some twenty wagons and coaches, all filled with fleeing families and their possessions. The gate arch was narrow, and it was taking time to manoeuvre the wagons through. A group of riders arrived from outside the city, but could not pass, and Dagorian heard the beginnings of an angry exchange.

Dismounting he tethered his horse and was about to climb onto the wagon when he heard the voice of Antikas Karios, ordering a wagon driver to draw his vehicle aside. Ducking down below the wagon he waited until the group cleared the gate, and thundered their mounts towards the palace.

The wait now to leave the city seemed interminable. Two impatient drivers moved forward at the same time. One of the horses reared, and lashed out at the opposing team. Both drivers leapt down and began a heated argu­ment. Dagorian’s patience snapped. Vaulting to the saddle he rode to the shouting men. Drawing his sabre he held the blade to the neck of the first. ‘Back off,’ he said, ‘or I’ll gut you like a fish!’ The argument died instantly. The man scrambled back to his wagon and hauled on the reins, reversing his team. Swinging in the saddle Dagorian shouted to Conalin. ‘Drive through!’