Winter Warriors (18 page)

Kalizkan’s house was an old one, originally built for Bodasen, the general who had led the Immortals in the time of Emperor Gorben. The facade was of white marble, inlaid with statues and fronted by four tall columns. The building was three stories high with more than a hundred rooms, the grounds around it beautifully landscaped with flowering trees and willows clustered on the banks of a small lake.

A high wall surrounded the estate, and a wrought-iron double gate ensured privacy for the master of the house.

Ulmenetha’s carriage drew up outside the gate, and a soldier
climbed down to open it. The carriage moved on, coming to a halt before the marble steps leading to a high arched doorway. A second soldier opened the door of the carriage, and Ulmenetha stepped down.

“Stay with me until I have spoken to the queen,” Ulmenetha told the two soldiers. Both bowed. They were strong men, tall and broad-shouldered, and the priestess felt more comfortable knowing they were to be close.

She strode up the marble steps and was about to knock when the door opened. A hooded man stood in the shadows beyond. She could not see his face clearly.

“What is it you want?” he asked her, his voice deep and curiously accented.

Ulmenetha was unprepared for such a cold greeting, and she bridled. “I am the queen’s companion and here at her invitation.” The hooded man said nothing for a moment, then stepped aside. Summoning the soldiers, Ulmenetha walked inside. Curtains were drawn everywhere, and the interior was gloomy.

“Where is the queen?” she demanded.

“Upstairs … resting,” the man replied, after a moment’s thought.

“Which rooms?”

“Go to the top of the stairs and turn right. You will find them.”

Turning to the soldiers, she said: “Wait here. I will be down presently.”

There was the smell of strong perfume in the air, cloying and strangely unpleasant, as if it masked some dank underlying odor. Ulmenetha began to climb the wide, red-carpeted staircase. Her footfalls raised dust on the carpet, and she shivered. Fear was strong in her now. This gloomy, shadow-haunted place was cold and unwelcoming. Glancing back, she saw the soldiers standing by the open door, sunlight streaming through and shining on their armor. Fortified by the sight, she walked on. Ulmenetha was breathing heavily by the time she reached the top of the stairs. There was a gallery here, the walls covered with old paintings, most of them landscapes.
She noticed one of them was torn. She shivered again. This was no place for Axiana!

Reaching the first of the doors, she found it was locked. A large key was still in the lock, and she turned it. The door opened, the dry hinges creaking.

Dressed in a gown of blue and white satin, Axiana was sitting on a couch in front of a barred window. She looked startled as Ulmenetha entered.

“Oh!” she cried, running to Ulmenetha and throwing her arms around the priestess’s shoulders. “Take me away from here! Now. This is an awful place!”

“Where are your servants?” asked Ulmenetha.

“He sent them away. The hooded man. He locked me in! He locked me in, Ulmenetha! Can you believe it?”

The priestess stroked the queen’s hair. “There are soldiers downstairs to bring you home. I shall send them to you to fetch your belongings.”

“No. Never mind them. Leave them. Let us just go!”

Taking the queen by the hand, Ulmenetha returned to the gallery.

She glanced down. One of the soldiers was leaning against the far wall, the other sitting in a chair. The hooded man was standing by the door, which was now closed.

“The queen wishes her clothes to be packed and the chests taken to the carriage,” said Ulmenetha, supporting Axiana to the first of the steps. Her words hung in the dusty air. The soldiers did not respond.

“The queen must remain here,” said the hooded man. “It is the will of my lord.”

“You men! Come here!” called Ulmenetha. Still there was no movement. It was not that they had ignored her, she realized with horror. They had not heard her. Both remained still and silent.

Axiana gripped her arm. “Get me away from here!” she whispered.

Ulmenetha continued to walk down the stairs. Halfway down she saw a glint of metal in the standing soldier’s throat. It was a knife hilt, and it had pinned him to the wooden paneling
beyond. Transferring her gaze to the seated man, she saw that he, too, was dead. The queen saw it, too.

“Sweet heaven,” whispered Axiana. “He has killed them both.”

The hooded man advanced to the foot of the stairs. “Take the queen back to her room,” he ordered. Ulmenetha’s right hand, hidden until now in the folds of her voluminous white dress, came into sight. Even in the gloomy half light, the blade of the hunting knife shone bright.

“Get out of my way,” she told the hooded man.

He laughed and continued to climb the stairs. “You think to frighten me, woman? I can taste your fear. I will feed upon it.”

“Feed on this!” said Ulmenetha. Her hand shot up in an underarm throw that sent the blade slamming into the hooded man’s throat. He stumbled, then righted himself, dragging the knife clear. Black blood gushed to the front of his dark tunic, streaming down his chest. He tried to speak, but the words were drowned in a bubbling dark froth. Ulmenetha waited for him to fall.

But he did not. He continued to advance. Axiana screamed. Ulmenetha pushed her back up the stairs, then swung to meet the threat from below. The flow of blood from his ruined throat had now drenched the man’s dark leggings, but still he came on.

In that moment the priestess knew what she was facing: a demon clothed in human flesh. And yet there was no fear in her, no rising panic. For this was no disease to slip past her guard and kill her mother, no icy ledge to rob her of her husband. This was flesh and bone and seeking to harm a girl she loved like a daughter.

She was calmer than at any time she could remember, her mind focused, her senses sharp.

Closer and closer he climbed. Ulmenetha waited until he raised the knife, then leapt forward, hammering her foot into his chest. He was catapulted back, his body arching in the air. His head struck the stair, his neck snapping. The body crashed to the floor.

Ulmenetha was not surprised as he struggled to his feet,
his head flopping grotesquely to his shoulder. The hood had fallen away to reveal a pale, ghostly face with a lipless mouth and protruding blood-red eyes.

“Run, Axiana!” shouted the priestess, pointing to the gallery on the left and the far door. Axiana stood rooted to the spot. Tearing her gaze from the advancing man, Ulmenetha moved swiftly to the queen, grabbing her arm and hauling her along the gallery. The far door was locked, but as with Axiana’s rooms, there was a key. Opening the door, she pulled the key clear, pushed Axiana through, then locked the door behind them. A fist thundered against the door panel, causing it to vibrate. Twice more it struck, and a long, narrow crack appeared in the paneling.

“How do we get out?” asked Axiana, the tremble of panic in her voice.

Ulmenetha had no idea. The house was like a warren, and the corridor in which they stood had many doors but no obvious stairway to take them back to ground level. “This way,” said Ulmenetha, moving along the darkened corridor and through two more doors. There were no keys, and from far behind them the women heard a splintering crash.

Ulmenetha looked around. They were in a dormitory, a dozen beds on both sides of the room. All the beds were empty. The priestess moved to a window and dragged back the heavy curtains. The window was barred. Light filled the room now, and she could see several toys on the dusty floor, and by the far wall there was a straw-filled doll, looking forlorn against the bare, dusty boards. “Keep moving,” she told the queen. At the far end of the dormitory was another door. It was held shut by a locking bar between two brackets. Ulmenetha lifted the bar clear and pulled open the door. Within was a second dormitory.

Three children sat huddled against the far wall. A redheaded boy of around fourteen or fifteen stepped in front of the two girls, a small knife in his hand. He was painfully thin, and Ulmenetha could see open sores on his skinny arms. One of the girls moved forward. Perhaps a year older than the boy, she was also waif-thin and dressed in rags, but she held a long
piece of jagged wood torn from one of the beds. Together they formed a protective shield in front of the youngest child, a small blond girl of around four.

“Come any closer and we’ll kill you,” said the waif with the jagged wooden spear.

There was no other exit from the room.

A floorboard creaked behind them. Ulmenetha swung to see the broken-necked man moving, knife in hand, across the dormitory.

Reaching down, she took up the long wooden bar that had secured the door. As the demonic creature approached, she rushed at him, swinging the wood like a club. He took the force of the blow on his shoulder. His arm snapped up, his fist cannoning into Ulmenetha’s face. Thrown back, she lost control of the wooden club, and it clattered to the floor. The demon was upon her. Leaping back, she avoided his first thrust and scrambled over a bed. His red eyes stared at her, but as he moved forward, the head lolled on the broken neck. He staggered. Then he gripped the head with his left hand, dragging it by the hair until the eyes focused once more on the priestess. Then he advanced.

The young redheaded boy leapt at the creature, slashing at his face with the knife blade. The demon swatted him aside. As he did so, the waiflike girl crept up behind him and thrust the splintered wood into his back. He arched up. Ulmenetha crouched down, swept up the wooden bar, and charged forward, using it as a ram that hammered into his chest, hurling him into the far wall. As he struck the wall, it seemed to Ulmenetha that his chest exploded. She blinked—and saw that the makeshift spear used by the girl had been driven through his back, tearing a huge hole in his chest. The body slid down the wall, then pitched forward to the boards.

Immediately the room was filled with the stench of rotting meat, and Ulmenetha saw maggots writhing through the dead flesh. The waif girl put her hand to her mouth and gagged.

“Let us get out of here,” said Ulmenetha. “Quickly.”

Despite her revulsion, Ulmenetha gathered her knife from beside the rotting corpse and, taking the shocked queen by
the arm, led her back along the corridor, out onto the gallery, and down the stairs. The redheaded boy picked up the four-year-old and followed.

Not knowing where to go, Ulmenetha moved down a set of stairs to what she thought must be the ground floor. A locked door barred her way at the bottom. A large key was hanging on a rusted hook. Lifting it clear, she opened the door and stepped inside. Light was streaming in from two windows on the far side of the chamber and shining down onto a sea of small bodies carelessly heaped around a blood-drenched altar. The sight froze her blood. Though never having been blessed with the gift of a child, Ulmenetha had powerful maternal instincts, and the sight of so many murdered children filled her with an aching sadness.

Closing her eyes against the horror, Ulmenetha stepped backward just as the pregnant queen was about to enter. “There is no way through,” said Ulmenetha. “We must go back the way we came.”

A cold and terrible fury grew in her as she led the group back up the stairs. There must have been over a hundred children in that chamber, a hundred lives ended in torment and terror. This was evil on a scale Ulmenetha could scarcely imagine.

Moving back to the landing, she came to the broken door and emerged onto the gallery above the front door. A tall figure stepped from the shadows. Axiana screamed, and Ulmenetha swung around, the knife flashing up and stabbing out. The blade was parried, then a calm voice spoke. “I am no danger, lady. I am Dagorian.”

Ulmenetha looked into his face, recognizing it from her
lorassium
vision. Fear surged again in her. The scene in the woods, four men—three old, one young—protecting the queen from a hidden evil. Dagorian was the young man from the dream. “Why are you here?” demanded Ulmenetha.

“I came to kill Kalizkan.”

“He is with the army,” said Ulmenetha. “Now let us get out of this dreadful place.”

The sun was shining outside, and the queen’s carriage was
still there, the driver stretched out asleep on the grass. Ulmenetha looked up at the bright, clean blue of the sky with a gratitude she could scarcely believe.

As the group approached, the coachman yawned and stretched. Seeing the queen, he scrambled to his feet and bowed.

“At your bidding, Your Highness,” he said.

“Take us to the palace,” ordered Ulmenetha.

Helping the queen into the carriage, she glanced back at the two girls and the boy. All three were badly undernourished, clothed in rags. “Get in,” she ordered them.

“Where you taking us?” the boy asked, suspiciously.

“Somewhere safer than this,” Ulmenetha replied.

They crowded in, followed by Dagorian. As the carriage moved away, the young officer leaned in close to Ulmenetha. “There is nowhere safe in the city,” he said, keeping his voice low.

“What do you suggest?”

“We must get to the coast and find a ship. And we must do it before Malikada returns. We should head for the mountains.”

“There are forests there,” whispered Ulmenetha.

“You fear forests?” he asked, surprised by her reaction.

“The white crow will be there,” she told him. He was confused, but she turned away from him.

As the carriage made its way along the broad avenues, Axiana saw the crowds milling. “What is happening?” she asked. “Why is everyone gathering so?”

“They have heard the news, Highness. They are wondering what will happen to them now,” Dagorian explained.

“The news? What news?” she asked, mystified. Dagorian blinked and transferred his gaze to Ulmenetha. She, too, was none the wiser.

The officer rubbed his hand over his stubbled jaw. “I am truly sorry, Your Highness. But word has reached the city that our army was defeated by the Cadians.”

“That is not possible,” said Axiana. “Skanda is the greatest warrior alive. You must be mistaken. This is just a rumor.”