Winter Warriors (35 page)

For an hour they plodded on. Ulmenetha was tired now and found it difficult to maintain the spell. The flagstones beneath the earth of the road did not allow her to replenish her power, and twice the spell faltered. She halted the team and softly called out to Nogusta.

“Does your talisman glow?”

“No,” came the response.

“I must draw power from the land. I need to leave the road.”

Releasing the bridle, she ran to the roadside. Immediately the wagon and the surrounding riders became visible. Ulmenetha sank to her knees, pushing her hands into the earth. Unlike before, the power seeped slowly, and she felt the tension rise in her. Her fear slowed the flow even more. She fought for calm, but it eluded her. “Be swift!” called Nogusta, “The talisman grows warm!”

Ulmenetha sucked in a deep breath and sent up a swift prayer. The energy she sought had touched her blood, but it was not enough! Rising, she ran toward the wagon and took
hold of the bridle once more. She could hear the beast’s approach now as it crashed through the undergrowth. Fear made her falter on the third line of the spell, and she began it again.

The magick surged from her, flowing over the wagon and riders.

In the bright moonlight the
gogarin
emerged from the trees to the road ahead. Now they could all see it fully. It was over twenty feet long. Nogusta had earlier described it as having six legs, but Ulmenetha saw that this was not quite so. The hind and middle legs were powerful and triple-jointed, but the limbs at the beast’s shoulders were more like long arms equipped with murderous talons, each as long as a cavalry saber. Rearing up on its hind legs, it sniffed the night breeze. One of the spare horses, tied to the rear of the wagon, reared in terror, snapping its reins. Turning, it galloped from the road and into the forest.

The
gogarin
reacted with sickening speed, dropping to all six limbs and propelling itself forward with incredible power. Ulmenetha stood stock still as it raced toward the wagon. Then it veered after the horse. Its mighty shoulder struck a young tree, uprooting it. Then it was gone behind them.

The horse galloped on, then Ulmenetha heard its death cry.

She could not move and stood trembling beside the team. Nogusta dismounted and carefully felt his way to her side. “We must move,” he whispered. Ulmenetha did not reply. Yet even through her terror she maintained the spell. Nogusta led her to the front of the wagon and lifted her to the seat beside the nearly invisible Bison. Remounting his horse, Nogusta rode to the head of the team and reached down for the bridle. At his encouragement the horses moved forward.

Ulmenetha could not stop the trembling in her hands. Her eyes were tightly shut, and she almost cried out as Bison’s large hand reached out and patted her leg. He leaned in to her and whispered. “Big whoreson, wasn’t he?”

His voice was so calm, and the strength of the man seemed to flow with the sound. Ulmenetha felt herself growing calmer. She swung on her seat, gazing fearfully back down the trail. The wagon was moving very slowly, and with every
moment that passed the priestess expected to see the huge white form of the
gogarin
lumbering out behind them.

They covered another half mile. Slowly the road began to rise, and they climbed to a second ridge road. The wagon filled almost two-thirds of it. The horses were tired, and twice Bison was forced to lash them with the reins, forcing them on. The power was almost gone from Ulmenetha now. She tried to draw fresh strength from the mountains, but the old stone would not surrender its magick.

Licking her finger, she raised it to the wind. It was blowing from behind them. Their scent could no longer carry back to the forest. With relief she let fall the spell.

“By heaven, that’s better,” whispered Bison.

The ridge road leveled out, and Bison paused the team, allowing them to catch their breath. The moon was shining brightly now, and the forest was far below them.

A thin piping cry came from the back of the wagon as the hungry babe awoke. Bison swore and swung around. Axiana was unbuttoning her dress. The babe’s cries echoed in the mountains. The queen tore at the last two buttons, exposing her left breast. The infant calmed down and began to suckle. Bison swore again and pointed back to the forest.

Far behind them the
gogarin
had emerged from the trees and was moving swiftly along the road.

Nogusta leapt from the saddle. “Everyone out of the wagon!” he yelled. “Kebra, help me unhitch the horses.” The bowman urged his horse forward, then dismounted. He did not even try to release the traces but drew his dagger and cut them clear. Dagorian edged his horse around the wagon, then jumped down to assist him. Pharis helped the queen down, while Conalin swept up little Sufia and climbed over the side. Bison scrambled into the back of the wagon, picking up food sacks and blankets and hurling them to the roadside.

The giant glanced back down the steep incline. The
gogarin
was running toward them. It seemed small at this distance, a white hound against the moonlit gray of the rock road. The team clattered clear. Nogusta climbed to stand
alongside Bison. In his hand was the heavy lance tipped with a razor-sharp throwing knife.

“You know what needs to be done,” said Nogusta.

Bison looked into his friend’s pale blue eyes. “I know. Let me take the spear.”

“No! The talisman will protect me from the terror it radiates. Now get down—and set the wagon rolling on my signal.”

Bison jumped to the roadside and summoned Kebra and Dagorian. “What is he doing?” asked the young officer as Nogusta settled himself in the back of the wagon.

“He’s going to ram it,” said Bison. Stepping back, he dropped down behind the front wheels, judging the line that the wagon would follow once they started it down the slope. There was a slight curve to the right some sixty yards ahead. That would be the point where—if they misjudged the speed—the wagon would roll over the edge and plunge hundreds of feet down the mountainside. Sweat beaded Bison’s brow, and he wiped his sleeve across his face.

“Get ready!” shouted Nogusta. The three men put their shoulders to the vehicle.

On the rear of the wagon Nogusta hefted the lance. He, too, could see the curve in the road and was trying to judge the speed of the approaching beast. There was little room for error. If the wagon rolled too fast, it would reach the curve before the
gogarin
, and Nogusta would die uselessly. If they were too late, the wagon might not pick up enough speed to hurl the creature out over the abyss. Nogusta’s mouth was dry, and his heart was beating fast.

“Start her moving,” he called. The three men threw their weight against the wagon. It did not budge.

“The brake is on!” shouted Bison.

Nogusta ran to the headboard and vaulted to the driver’s seat, pulling the brake clear. The wagon jolted forward. Nogusta almost fell but then righted himself and ran back to the rear, taking up his lance. Valuable seconds had been lost.

“Push harder!” he commanded. The wagon began to gather speed. The
gogarin
rounded the curve and saw the rumbling wagon approaching. Rearing up on its hind legs, it let out a
hideous screech. Nogusta felt the wave of terror strike him like a physical blow. It ripped through his mind and belly, and he screamed and fell to his knees. In all his life he had never known fear such as this. The spear dropped from his trembling fingers, and he wanted to fall with it, burying his head in his hands and squeezing shut his eyes. He could feel the talisman warm on his skin, but it offered no help. In that moment, when despair threatened to unman him, he saw again the face of his wife and remembered the demon lord’s words about how she had run through the flames. Anger came to his rescue, flaring in his belly and burning into his brain. Grabbing the lance, he surged to his feet.

The wagon was almost upon the beast. The
gogarin
reared up high, then dropped to all six limbs and charged. Nogusta braced himself for the impact. At the last second the
gogarin
reared again, its talons lashing out. The wooden side of the wagon exploded. Then the full weight of the vehicle struck the beast. Lance extended, Nogusta was catapulted forward. The dagger strapped to the lance sliced into the beast, the weapon driving deep into its shoulder. Nogusta’s weight powered it on, the wood plunging deeper still. Then it snapped. Nogusta’s flying body struck the
gogarin’s
neck, then sailed on to collide with the cliff wall. Searing pain burst through his shoulder as he fell to the road and slid toward the edge. His legs went over the side, and he scrabbled for a handhold. Glancing down, he saw pine trees far below. His shoulder was numb, and there was no strength in his left hand. Fear touched him, but he quelled it and relaxed. Then he slowly hauled himself back up to the ridge.

The
gogarin
had been driven to the lip of the road, and the beast was flailing at its wooden enemy, its sweeping talons ripping at the wagon, smashing it to shards. Nogusta pushed himself to his feet, staggered, then drew his sword and prepared to attack.

Bison came running into sight carrying a lance, followed by Kebra and Dagorian. The bowman sent a shaft slamming into the
gogarin
’s neck. Then Bison scrambled over the remains of the wagon and hurled himself at the beast. As the
gogarin
swung to meet this new attack, its right hind foot slipped on the rock. The beast staggered and tried to right itself. Bison’s spear slammed against its chest, barely breaking the skin. But the giant’s weight tipped the balance, and the lance propelled the creature back. The
gogarin
fell, tumbling through the air. Twice it crashed against the mountainside, then it soared clear and plunged through the branches of a tall pine, snapping the tree in two.

Bison leapt clear as the ruined wagon slid over the edge. He ran to Nogusta. “Are you all right?” he asked.

The black man groaned as he tried to move his left shoulder. “Just bruised, I hope,” he said. “Is it dead?” Bison peered over the edge.

“I can’t see it,” he said. “But nothing could have survived that fall.”

Antikas Karios was not a man usually given to regrets. Life was life, and a man made the best of it. Yet strangely, on this misty morning, as he sat on the stone wall of the old bridge, he found himself haunted by the ghosts of lost dreams. He had never before given much thought to the opinions of other men or their criticisms of him. They had called him cruel, vengeful, and merciless. The insults were never said to his face, but Antikas had heard them nonetheless and had believed himself immune to them. No strong man would be affected by the sneers of lesser beings. As his father used to say, “A lion is always followed by jackals.”

Antikas Karios had been a man with a mission, single-mindedly following a narrow road. There had been no time for introspection. No time for the casual niceties. No time for friendship. His mind and his time had been fully occupied with thoughts of freeing Ventria from the aggressor.

Not so now, as he gazed into the mist that rolled across the hills. Here in this lonely country there was time for little else but introspection.

He had been waiting by the bridge for two days now, directed there by the spirit of the sorcerer Kalizkan. “Why do you not lead me directly to them?” he had asked.

“This is where you will be needed most.”

“Wherever they are, they will be in peril. My sword could sway the balance.”

“Trust me, Antikas. Wait at the bridge. They will be with you in two days.”
The spirit had left him then, and Antikas Karios had waited.

At first the beauty of the mountains had been pleasant to the eyes, and he had felt calm and ready to give his life to the cause of the queen. But as the hours passed on that first day, he had found himself reappraising his life. It happened without conscious thought. He was sitting on the bridge, and he suddenly thought of Kara and the plans they had made to build a home by the sea. Sweet, soft, gentle Kara. He had made her many promises and had kept none of them. It was not that he had meant to lie. But the war with the Drenai had taken precedence. She should have understood that.

Dreams of love and family had been washed away in a tidal wave of patriotism and then replaced by the dream of independence. Now both dreams were dust.

During the last five years memories of Kara had come often to him, but as busy as he was, it had been easy to suppress them. Always there were plans and schemes that required his attention. But here, during these two lonely, soul-searching days, he had found it increasingly difficult to avoid his guilt.

He remembered the last time he had seen her.

“It was not cruelty or vengeance,” he said aloud. “She brought humiliation upon me. What, then, could she expect?” The words hung in the air and echoed unconvincingly in his mind. Kara had written to him, ending their engagement. She had, she wrote, waited three years. She had pointed out that Antikas had promised to return home within one year. He had not done so. Nor had he written for more than eight months. It was obvious that he no longer loved her, and she had now fallen in love with a young nobleman from a neighboring estate. They were to be married within the month.

And married they were. Antikas had arrived late for the ceremony. He had approached them both as they walked hand in hand from the church, garlands of flowers around their
necks. He had removed his heavy riding glove and had struck the groom across the face with it. The duel had taken place that evening, and Antikas killed him.

That night he was summoned to Kara’s home. He found her sitting in a darkened room, the lanterns unlit, heavy velvet curtains blocking out the moonlight. A single candle burned on a small table, and by its flickering light he saw her, a heavy blanket wrapped around her slender frame. Antikas remembered how hard his heart had felt and how he had decided to make no apology for her loss. Hers was the blame, not his. He was planning to make her aware of this. But she did not rail at him. She merely looked up in the gloom and stared at his face. There was no hatred in her, he realized, merely a great sadness. In the candlelight she looked exquisitely beautiful, and he had found himself wondering how he could ever have left her for so long. In his arrogance he believed that she had never truly loved the other man but had accepted his offer knowing that Antikas would come for her. Now he had, and if she begged him, he would take her back despite the humiliation. He was prepared to be forgiving. But this scene was not what he had expected. Tears, yes. Anger? Of course. But this eerie silence was intolerable.