David Gemmell. Winter Warriors

‘That is hardly a recommendation for trust.’

7 know. I am hoping that the power of truth will convince you.’

‘My choices appear limited,’ said Antikas. ‘Lead on, wizard!’

High in the palace the Demon Lord raised his arms. Over the city the Entukku, in ecstasy and bloated with feeding, floated aimlessly above the buildings. The Demon Lord’s power swept over them, draining their energies. They began to wail and shriek, their hunger increasing once more.

Stepping back from the window the Demon Lord began to chant. The air before him shimmered. Slowly he spoke the seven words of power. Blue light lanced from floor to ceiling, and a pungent odour filled the room. Where a moment before had been a wall, decorated with a brightly coloured mural, there was now a cave entrance, and a long tunnel.

Faint figures of light moved in the tunnel, floating towards him. As they came closer the Demon Lord held out his hands. Black smoke oozed from his fingers and drifted down the tunnel. The light figures

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hovered and the smoke rose up around them. The lights faded, but the smoke hardened, taking shape.

Ten tall men emerged, wearing dark armour and full-faced helms. One by one they strode into the room. The Demon Lord spoke a single harsh word and the tunnel disappeared.

‘Welcome to the world of flesh, my brothers,’ said the Demon Lord.

‘It is good to feel hunger again,’ said the first of the warriors, removing his helm. His hair was ghost white, his eyes grey and cold. His face was broad, the lipless mouth wide.

‘Then feed,’ said the Demon Lord, raising his hands. This time a red mist flowed from his hands, and floated across the room. The warrior opened his mouth, dis­playing long, curved fangs. The red mist streamed into his open mouth. The others removed their helms and moved in close. One by one they absorbed the mist. As they did so their bone-white faces changed, the skin blushing red. Their eyes glittered, the grey deepening to blue and then, slowly, to crimson.

‘Enough, my brother,’ said the first warrior. ‘After so long the taste is too exquisite.’ Moving to a couch he sank down, stretching out his long, black-clad limbs.

The Demon Lord’s arms dropped to his side. ‘The long wait is almost over,’ he said. ‘Our time has come again.’ The others seated themselves and remained silent.

‘What is it you require of us, Anharat?’

‘In the mountains to the south there is a woman. She carries the child of Skanda. It will be born soon. You must bring it to me. The Spell of Three must be completed before the Blood Moon.’

‘She is guarded well?’

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‘There are eight humans with her, but only four warriors, and three of these are old men.’

‘With respect, brother, such a mission is demeaning. We are all Battle Lords here. The blood of thousands has stained our blades. We have feasted on the souls of princes.’

‘It was not my intention,’ said the Demon Lord, ‘to offer insult to the Krayakin. But if we do not take the babe then all will be lost for another four thousand years. Would you rather I entrusted this task to the Entukku?’

‘You are wise, Anharat, and I spoke hastily. It will be as you order,’ said the warrior. Raising his hand he made a fist. ‘It is good to feel the solidity of flesh once more, to breathe in air, and to feed. It is good.’ His blood-filled eyes gazed on the body of Malikada. ‘How long before you can let fall this decaying form? It is ugly to the eye.’

‘Once the sacrifice is complete,’ Anharat told him. ‘For now I need this obscenity around me.’

A shimmering began in the air around Anharat, and the hissing of many voices. Then it faded.

‘These humans are so perverse,’ said Anharat. ‘I ordered one of my officers to rest in his room. Now he is fleeing the city in a bid to save the queen and her child. It seems he went to a tavern and a priest’ spoke to him.’

‘He understands magick, this officer?’ asked the warrior.