Winter Warriors (22 page)

Now he rode a weary horse on the old Lem road, and all his dreams were dust.

He had watched the Drenai army in its hopeless battle against the Cadians and had felt the enormous weight of shame. None of the junior officers had known of Malikada’s plan, and they had waited, swords drawn, for the signal to attack. The Drenai center had fought bravely, driving a wedge into the Cadian ranks. The battle had been won. Or it would have been if the Ventrian cavalry had moved in on the signal and attacked. Every man saw the signal, and some even began to move forward. Then Malikada had shouted: “Hold firm!”

Vellian had at first believed it to be part of some subtle, superior plan worked out between Skanda and Malikada. But as the hour wore on and the Drenai died in their thousands, the truth revealed itself. Malikada, a man he had served loyally for almost half his life, had betrayed the king.

There was worse to come. Skanda was taken alive and delivered to a cave high in the mountains, where the wizard Kalizkan waited. He was taken inside and sacrificed in some foul rite.

For the first time Vellian considered desertion. He had been raised to value honor and loyalty and the pursuit of the truth. He believed in those things. They were at the heart of any civilized nation. Without them there was anarchy, chaos, and a rapid descent into the dark.

There was no honor in betrayal.

Then Antikas Karios came to him, ordering him to gather his twenty and follow him to Usa to protect the queen. This duty, at least, was honorable.

They found the city in flames, bodies on the streets, and the palace deserted. No one knew where the queen was hiding. Then Antikas questioned a group of men on the Avenue of Kings. They had seen a wagon leave the palace. A redheaded boy had been driving it, and a soldier had been riding beside it. There were women in the wagon, and it was heading toward the west gate.

Antikas split the twenty into four groups and sent Vellian to the south.

“I may not come back, sir,” he told him. “I have a desire to leave the army.”

Antikas pondered the statement, then gestured Vellian to follow him and rode away from the other soldiers. “What is wrong?” Antikas asked him.

“I would say just about everything,” Vellian told him sadly.

“You are referring to the battle.”

“To the slaughter, you mean? To the treachery.” He expected Antikas to draw his blade and cut him down and was surprised when the officer laid a hand on his shoulder.

“You are the best of them, Vellian. You are brave and
honest, and I value you above all other officers. But you betrayed no one. You merely obeyed your general. The weight of responsibility is his alone. So I say this to you: Ride south, and if you find the queen, bring her back to Usa. If you do not find her, then go where you will with my blessing. Will you do this? For me?”

“I will, sir. Might I ask one question?”

“Of course.”

“Did you know of the plan?”

“I did—to my eternal shame. Now go—and do this last duty.”

An hour of hard riding followed, and then Vellian saw the wagon. As the men had said, it was being driven by a youth with red hair. A child was sitting on the seat with him, and in the rear of the wagon were three women.

And one was the queen.

The soldier with them had drawn his saber.

Keeping his hands on the reins, Vellian rode his horse down the slope and halted before the rider. His men rode alongside him. “Good morning,” he said. “I am Vellian, sent by General Antikas Karios to fetch the queen back to her palace. The city is quiet now, and the army will be returning before tomorrow to fully restore order.”

“An army of traitors,” Dagorian said coldly.

Vellian reddened. “Yes,” he agreed. “Now return your saber to its scabbard and let us be on our way.”

“I don’t think so,” said Dagorian. “The queen is in great danger. She will be safer with me.”

“Danger from whom?” asked Vellian, unsure to how to proceed.

“The sorcerer Kalizkan.”

“Then put your fears at rest, for he is dead, killed in a rock fall.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I am not known as a liar, sir.”

“Neither am I, Vellian. But I have pledged my life to protect the queen. This I will do. You ask me to turn her over to you. Did you not pledge your life to protect her husband
the king?” Vellian said nothing. “Well,” continued Dagorian, “since you failed in that, I see no reason to trust you now.”

“Do not be a fool, man. You may be as skilled as Antikas himself with that saber, but you cannot beat five of us. What is the point, then, of dying when the cause is already lost?”

“What is the point of living without a cause worth dying for?” countered Dagorian.

“So be it,” Vellian said sadly. “Take him!”

The four riders drew their sabers. Dagorian gave out a yell and slapped the flat of his saber on his horse’s flanks. The beast leapt forward, straight into the group. One horse went down, and two others reared. Swinging his mount, Dagorian slashed his saber across the shoulder of the nearest rider. The blade sank deep, then sang clear. Vellian stabbed at him, but Dagorian parried the thrust, sending a counterstrike that sliced across Vellian’s chest, cutting through his tunic and opening a shallow wound.

A rider moved in behind Dagorian, his saber raised.

An arrow pierced the man’s temple, pitching him from the saddle.

Then Nogusta came galloping into sight. Dagorian saw his arm go back, then snap forward. A shining blade flashed through the air, sinking deep into the throat of a second rider. Vellian attacked Dagorian, but his blade was parried. Dagorian’s return cut missed him, but in swaying back Vellian almost lost his balance. His horse reared, hurling him to the ground. He landed heavily and was stunned for a moment. Struggling to his knees, he gathered his saber and looked around him. All four of his men were dead.

Dagorian dismounted and approached him. Vellian stood his ground. From the trees came two other warriors, a bald giant with a white mustache and an archer Vellian recognized as Kebra, the former champion.

“It seems,” said Vellian, “that the roles are now reversed.”

“I have no wish to kill you,” said Dagorian. “You may travel with us as our prisoner. You will be released when we reach the coast.”

“I think not,” said Vellian. “How could I fail to follow so bold an example?”

Leaping forward, he launched an attack. Their blades clashed again and again. Just for a moment he felt he could win, but then a murderous riposte from Dagorian sent a spasm of fire through Vellian’s chest. The saber slid clear, and the Ventrian sank to the ground.

He was lying now on the grass, looking up at the blue sky. “I would also have protected the queen with my life,” he heard himself say.

“I know.”

For Axiana the rest of the day had a dreamlike quality, both real and unreal. The lurching of the wagon over the narrow forest trail and the smell of damp earth and green leaves were strong and vital. But as she gazed about her at the faces of her companions, she felt a curious sense of detachment. Apart from little Sufia they all seemed so tense, their movements sharp, their eyes frightened. Well, not all, she realized, her gaze settling on the black warrior. There was no fear in those strange blue eyes.

Dagorian rode silently alongside the wagon, occasionally swinging in the saddle to study the back trail. There was little to be seen, for they were deep in the forest now, the trail snaking through the trees. Yet still he looked. The other three also rode silently. Twice the black man left the group, riding the huge gelding back along the trail. The other two had placed themselves on either side of the wagon, dropping back only when the trail narrowed and the trees closed in.

Axiana remembered the bowman Kebra. He it was who had lost the tournament and caused Skanda such anger. And the other fellow—Kebra called him Bison—was a hulking brute with a drooping white mustache.

The queen had never before been in a forest. Her father had often hunted here. He had killed lion and bear, deer and elk. She recalled seeing the trophies from her window. The bodies had looked so sad slung on the back of the wagon.

Bear and lion.

The thought did not frighten her. All fear had gone now. She was floating in harmony, living in the moment.

“How are you feeling?” asked Ulmenetha, placing her hand on the queen’s arm.

Axiana looked down at the hand. It was an impertinence to touch her, yet she felt no anger. “I am well.” Sunlight broke through the clouds and speared through a gap in the trees ahead, slanted columns of gold illuminating the trail. “How pretty,” Axiana said dreamily. She saw the concern in Ulmenetha’s eyes but did not understand it. “We should be getting back to the city,” she said. “It will be dark soon.”

Ulmenetha did not reply but moved in, drawing her close and cuddling her. She settled her head on Ulmenetha’s shoulder. “I am very tired.”

“You rest, my dove. Ulmenetha will look after you.”

Axiana saw the five horses tied to the rear of the wagon, and her body tensed. Ulmenetha held her close. “What is wrong?” asked the priestess.

“Those horses … where did we get them?”

“We took them from the soldiers who attacked us.”

“That was just a dream,” said Axiana. “No soldiers would attack me. I am the queen. No soldiers would attack me. No one would lock me away. There are no walking dead men. It is all a dream.” She began to tremble and felt Ulmenetha’s hand touch her face. Then she slid gratefully into darkness.

When she opened her eyes, she saw bright stars in the sky. She yawned. “I dreamed I was in Morec,” she said, sitting up. “I grew up there. In the spring palace overlooking the bay. I used to watch the dolphins there.”

“Was it a nice dream?”

“Yes.” Axiana looked around. The trees were shadow-haunted now, and the temperature was dropping. Here and there, in sheltered hollows, the snow still lay on the ground. “Where are we?”

“I’m not sure,” replied Ulmenetha. “But we will be making camp soon.”

“Camp? Are we camping?”

“Yes.”

“Is there no house close by?”

“No,” Ulmenetha said softly. “No house. But it will be safe.”

“From bears and lions,” said Axiana, trying to sound authoritative. “Yes, Highness.”

Dagorian rode alongside the wagon and climbed to the driver’s seat. “Hold tight,” he said, taking the reins from Conalin. “We are leaving the trail.” The wagon lurched to the right and down a shallow slope. Ulmenetha held on to Axiana. Dagorian drove the wagon down to a shallow stream. Kebra and Bison rode their horses across to where the black man waited. There was a fire burning against the cliff wall. The weary horses splashed into the stream, and Dagorian cracked the whip twice as the wagon was slowly hauled across. Once on the other side he turned the team and applied the brake.

Ulmenetha helped the queen climb down and led her to the fire. There were flat rocks close by, and Axiana sat on one of them. Kebra lit a second fire and began to prepare a meal. The children gathered firewood. Everyone seemed so busy. Axiana gazed up at the towering cliff wall. There had been cliffs like this in Morec. She had climbed one once, and her mother had scolded her dreadfully. Suddenly she remembered the Royal Guards who had ridden up to the wagon earlier. What had happened to them? Why had they gone away? She was about to ask Ulmenetha, but then she caught the aroma of meat and spices coming from the pot on the campfire. It smelled delicious!

Rising, she walked to the fire. The bowman, who was kneeling beside the pot, glanced up. “It will be ready soon, Your Highness.”

“It smells wonderful,” she said. She wandered to the moonlit stream, then along the banks, captivated by the glittering lights on the smooth stones beneath the water. They shone like gems. Alone now, she sat down by the waterside and remembered sitting on the beach in Morec, her feet in the water.
Her nurse used to sing a song to her there, a song about dolphins. Axiana tried to remember it. She laughed as the lines came back to her, and began to sing:

The bushes rustled alongside her, and a huge form reared up, towering over her. Axiana clapped her hands and laughed happily. The bear was so large and, unlike the sad carcasses her father had brought back, so full of life. The bear gave a deep, rumbling growl.

“Do you not like my song, Bruin?” she said.

She felt a strong hand on her arm and looked up to see the black warrior beside her. He was holding a burning torch in his left hand. Gently he drew her to her feet. “He is hungry, Highness, and in no mood for song.”

Slowly he backed away, drawing the queen with him. The bear spread his paws wide and lumbered through the bushes toward them. “He is coming with us,” Axiana said brightly. The black man moved carefully in front of her, holding out the burning torch. To her left she saw Kebra the Bowman, a shaft notched to the bowstring.

“Do not shoot,” said Nogusta.

Bison and Dagorian moved in from the right. Bison was also holding a torch. The bear’s great head moved from side to side. “Be off with you!” shouted Bison, darting forward. Surprised by the movement, the bear dropped to all fours and ambled away into the darkness.

“He was so big,” said Axiana.

“Indeed he was, Highness,” the black man told her. “Now let us return to the fire.”

The stew was served on pewter plates, and Axiana ate with relish. She asked for wine, and Ulmenetha apologized for forgetting to bring any. Instead she drank a cup of water from the stream. It was cool and pleasant. Ulmenetha prepared a
bed for her beside the fire. Dagorian made a small hollow for her hip beneath the blankets. Resting her head on a rolled blanket pillow, Axiana lay quietly listening to the conversation around the fire. She heard the words. The child Sufia was asleep beside her, the boy Conalin sitting watching over her.

“I saw a bear today,” Axiana told him sleepily.

“Go to sleep,” said the boy.