Outside the tent he could hear the sounds of the army settling down for night camp, the rattling of pans and dishes as the men lined up for food, the smell of wood smoke from the fires, and the laughter of soldiers listening to tall tales.
He had dispensed with his undead guards. Their blank, uncomprehending stares had unnerved the officers. Equally he had withdrawn the Entukku from the city, allowing the terrified populace to return to a semblance of normality before the army marched. Thousands had died in the riots, and none of the surviving humans had the least notion of what had caused their own murderous rages. Curiously the Entukku, who normally thrived on terror and pain, had gorged themselves equally on the waves of remorse that had billowed forth. These humans were a constant source of all kinds of nourishment.
Anharat could hardly wait to experiment further upon them.
A faint glow shone on the walls of the tent behind him. His skin prickled, and he swung towards the light, his hands opening, the first words of an incantation upon his lips. A pale figure was forming. Anharat saw that it was merely an image, for the legs of the figure were merging with the iron brazier, filled with hot coals. He relaxed, his curiosity aroused. Was Kalizkan returned?
Then the light began to fade and the features of a man appeared. Anharat's rage grew and he began to tremble. His face twisted and he stepped forward, aching to rip his talons through the heart of the figure. The newcomer was dressed in robes of white. His skin was black, his eyes pale blue. Upon his brow he wore a circlet of gold. 'Greetings, my brother,' he said.
Anharat was almost too angry to speak, but he fought for control. If he could hold the image here for a while he could concoct a search spell that would follow it back to its source. 'Where have you been hiding, Emsharas?' he asked.
'Nowhere,' answered the figure.
'You lie, brother. For I was sentenced to exist in the hell of Nowhere, with all the creatures of the Illohir. And you were not there. Nor were you among the humans, for I have searched for you these last four thousand years.'
'I did not hide, Anharat,' said the figure, softly. 'Nor was it - nor is it - my intention for our people to exist in a void for ever.'
'I care nothing for your intentions, traitor. Did you know that I have destroyed your descendants?'
'Not all of them. One remains.'
'I will see him dead, and I will have the babe. Then your evil will be undone. The people of the Illohir will walk free upon the earth.'
'Aye, they will,' said Emsharas. 'But they will not be able to drink the water or the wine, nor will they laze under the sun.'
Anharat's mind was working furiously, and the search spell was almost complete. 'So, brother, will you not tell me where you have been all these centuries? Have you been enjoying life as a human? Have you tasted fine wines and bedded great beauties?'
'I have done none of these things, Anharat. Where do you think I found the power for the Great Spell?'
'I neither know, nor care,' lied Anharat.
'Oh, you care, brother, for you know that you and I were almost equally matched, and yet I discovered a source of power hitherto unknown. You could use it too.
I will willingly tell it to you - if you will help me complete my work.'
'Complete . . . ? What new horror do you have in mind for the Illohir, brother? Perhaps we could create chains of fire to torture our people down the ages?'
'I offer them a world where they can lie in the sun and swim in the rivers and lakes. A world of their own.'
'Really? How kind you are, Emsharas. Perhaps though you would explain why they are not already there. And why we have waited so long for this little discussion.'
'I did not have the power to complete the Spell. I needed you, Anharat.'
Anharat's finger jabbed out, and the completed search spell flowed around Emsharas, bathing him in a blue light. 'Now I will find you,' hissed Anharat. 'I will find you and I will destroy you. I swear it! But first I will kill the third king, and complete the prophecy.'
Emsharas smiled. 'My prophecy,' he said. 'I left it for you, brother. And it is a true one. Upon the death of the third king the Illohir will rise again. We will speak soon.'
With that the figure vanished.
Anharat closed his eyes and fastened to the search spell. He felt it grow weaker and weaker, as if coming to him across a vast distance. Then it was gone.
The Demon Lord returned to his wine and drank deeply. In all his thousands of years held captive in the void he had used every known spell to locate Emsharas, sending search spells out through the universe. Yet there was nothing. It was as if Emsharas had never been.
And now, with the hour of Anharat's triumph approaching, his brother had returned.
Anharat could have endured threats, but Emsharas had made none. And what did he mean by denying that he had been hiding? A tiny seed of doubt seeped into Anharat's mind. His brother never lied. Refilling his goblet Anharat drank again, recalling again the words of Emsharas. 'Oh, you care, brother, for you know that you and I were almost equally matched, and yet I discovered a source of power hitherto unknown. You could use it too. I will willingly tell it to you - if you will help me complete my work.' What source of power? Anharat moved to the pallet bed and lay down. Tell it to you. That's what Emsharas had said. Not give it to you. Not tell you where it is. The secret power source was not then an object, like a talisman, but something that could be passed on with words alone. It was impossible.
And yet . . . they had been almost equally matched. Where then had his brother found the power to banish an entire race?
There would be time to ponder the question. For now Anharat wished to see his victory draw closer. Allowing his mind to relax, his dark spirit floated free and flew over the mountains towards the stone bridge.
Chapter Ten
Antikas Karios removed his red cloak and neatly folded it, laying it upon the stone work of the bridge. Then he tied his long hair into a tight pony-tail and began moving through a series of routines designed to stretch his back and shoulders and hips. At the beginning the movements were slow, graceful and balletic. Then they grew more swift, becoming a dance, full of leaps and turns. Dagorian watched the man with a growing sense of sadness. Such a dance, he thought, should be to celebrate life and youth, not as a prelude to violence and death.
The sun was falling below the western mountains, and the violet sky was streaked with golden clouds. Antikas strolled across to where Dagorian waited. 'What a beautiful sunset,' he said.
The young officer did not reply. A line of ten riders had appeared from the woods, and were moving towards the bridge. As they cleared the tree line four more riders appeared, tall men, wearing black armour and full-faced helms.
The Ventrian captain rode his horse to the first of the obstacles, then called out to Antikas. 'Give way for the emperor's riders.'
'Which emperor would that be?' Antikas responded.
'Give way, Antikas Karios, you cannot stand against all of us. And I have no orders for your arrest.' The captain shifted nervously on his horse, and continually glanced back towards the black armoured Krayakin.
'I fear I cannot comply, captain,' said Antikas. 'You see I am a servant of the infant king, and I have been ordered to hold this bridge. Might I suggest that you and your men ride away, for you are wrong -' his voice hardened. '- I can stand against you. More than that, I can promise you that any man who steps upon this bridge will die.'
The captain licked his dry lips. 'This is madness,' he said. 'What is your purpose here?'
'I have already told you my purpose. Now attack - or be gone!'
The captain dragged back on the reins and wheeled his horse. Dagorian could see that none of the Ventrian soldiers seemed willing to enter the fray. Such was the awesome - and justified - reputation of the man facing them. Still they dismounted and drew their swords, for they were brave men and disciplined.
'Remember,' whispered Antikas, 'stay to the right.'
'I shall
.'
'Are your hands trembling?'
'No.'
'Good. That is of some relief to me - for I cannot really take ten men alone.' He grinned at Dagorian then drew both his swords, one of shining steel, one darker than the pit, and stepped up to take his place on the left.
The bridge was wide enough for four warriors to walk abreast and still leave room to swing a sword. The Ventrians advanced slowly, picking their way through the rocks. Antikas stood very still. As they got closer he suddenly leapt at them with an ear-splitting battle cry. His steel sword swept out slashing through a soldier's throat, then the black blade sliced through the chest of a second man, killing him instantly. The Ventrians surged forward. Three made it past the swordsman. Dagorian jumped forward. The black blade licked out and a man died. A sword pierced Dagorian's shoulder. He fell back. The swordsman stumbled over a rock and lost his balance. Dagorian killed him with a straight thrust to the heart. Then Dagorian was struck again, this time by the third soldier. He felt as if he had been kicked by a horse, and could not, at first, locate the wound. Ignoring it he leapt to the attack, blocking a wild cut and sending a riposte that swept through the man's ribs. He fell without a sound.
Dagorian looked up to see Antikas battling furiously, his blades a blur as he cut and parried. There was blood on his face and left arm, but five men were down. Only the captain and one other remained.
Antikas ran at them - and they turned and fled.
They did not get far.
The four warriors of the Krayakin blocked the bridge. Two of them stepped forward and slew the fleeing soldiers.
'Hardly sporting,' called out Antikas Karios. 'Do you often kill your own men?'
'You fight well, human,' came a muffled voice. 'And I see you have found a Storm Sword. It should be an interesting encounter.'
'All at once - or one at a time. I care not,' said Antikas.
The sound of laughter greeted his challenge. Then the tallest of the warriors stepped forward. 'I like you, human,' he said. 'But there is blood running into your eyes. Move back and tie a scarf around your brow. I will await you.'
Antikas grinned then backed away to where Dagorian was sitting with his back to the bridge wall. 'Taking a rest, Drenai?' he asked. Then his smile faded as he saw the blood soaking Dagorian's tunic.
'Do not concern yourself with me,' said Dagorian, with a weak smile. 'Do as he bid.' Antikas had been cut just above his left eyebrow. The gash was around 2 inches long and blood was dripping into his eye. With his dagger he slashed through his shirt sleeve, then ripped it clear. Tearing a strip from it he bound his brow.
'Terrible thing to do to a good shirt,' he said. 'My tailor would be most annoyed.'
Then he rose and glanced down at Dagorian. 'Don't go away,' he said. 'I shall be back soon.'
'I don't think I'm going anywhere,' said Dagorian. 'Take the Storm Sword. I have a feeling you'll need it.'
Armed with the two black blades Antikas strode back to the centre of the bridge. 'What is your name?' he asked the tall warrior.
'I am Golbar,' replied the Krayakin.
'Come then, Golbar, let us dance a jig.'
'Bear with me, human,' said Golbar, removing his gauntlets. Slowly he removed the black armour, unbuckling the breastplate and the shoulder guards, the greaves and the forearm protectors. Lastly he removed his helm. His hair was white, his eyes dark, his skin pale. Drawing his sword he turned to one of his comrades, who threw him a second. He caught it cleanly and advanced across the stones. Antikas watched his movements. They were quick and graceful.
Antikas attacked, and as their swords met lightning crackled from the blades. The attack was parried with ease and Antikas only just managed to avoid a murderous riposte that further sliced the ruined satin shirt. The Krayakin came at him with bewildering speed and Antikas found himself fighting for his life. Never had he faced a more skilful opponent, nor met a man with reflexes as fast as this Krayakin. Antikas parried and blocked with increasing desperation, and slowly he was forced further back along the bridge. Anger touched him then, for the Krayakin was toying with him. Twice he had an opportunity to lance a thrust through the human's guard, and twice he merely sliced small cuts in his opponent's chest.
'You are very good,' said Golbar, conversationally, while still attacking. 'Not the best I ever killed, but close. Do let me know when you are ready to die.'
Antikas did not answer. Despite his increasing weariness and desperate battle for survival he had been reading his opponent's moves, seeking out a weakness. The man was ambidextrous - as indeed was Antikas - but he favoured the right, and sought to kill with thrusts rather than cleaving cuts. Antikas leapt back.
'I am ready now,' he said. The Krayakin attacked. Instead of backing away Antikas moved suddenly forward. As he had expected Golbar sent a lightning thrust with his right hand blade. Antikas swayed to the right, his enemy's sword glancing along his ribs. Ignoring the pain he slammed the black blade through the Krayakin's chest, spearing the heart. Golbar's dark eyes widened in pain and shock, his swords falling from his hands. Without a word he fell back to the stone of the bridge.
Antikas moved forward to face the remaining three.
'Who gets to strip next?' he asked.
'No-one,' came the response. 'Golbar always had a taste for the dramatic.'
Hefting their swords they came at him together. Antikas watched them, determined to take at least one more with him.
The moon was shining now over the mountains, and a cool breeze was whispering over the bridge. It would be so easy to sprint back to his horse and ride from here, ready to fight another day. He cast a quick glance at Dagorian. The young officer was sitting very still, his hands locked over the terrible wound in his belly. He had a sudden desire to tell him why he had chosen to fight on this bridge, to speak of redemption, and the loss of Kara. But there was no time.
The Krayakin were picking their way through the debris. Antikas tensed, ready to attack them.
A colossal, white form burst from the undergrowth, smashing aside trees as it came. It thundered towards the bridge, letting forth a terrifying screech. Antikas stared disbelievingly at the monstrous form, with its huge, wedge-shaped head and gaping jaws. It was moving at great speed. Blood was streaming from a wound high in the beast's shoulder, and Antikas could see a broken lance jutting there.
The three Krayakin swung round as the beast bore down upon them. There was nowhere to run, save to hurl themselves into the river. They stood their ground, dwarfed by the monstrosity looming over them. One Krayakin tried to attack, but a sweep from a taloned arm tore his head from his shoulders. The wedge-head lunged down, fastening to the shoulder of a second warrior, lifting him high. The Krayakin plunged his sword deep into the beast's neck. The beast's head flicked and the warrior sailed out over the river, splashing down into the torrent and disappearing below the waves. The third Krayakin had run in and lanced his sword deep into the fish-white belly of the beast, ripping a great wound, from which gushed a prodigious amount of blood. Talons ripped into the knight, smashing through his armour. He was hurled back against the stone supports of the bridge, his sword wrenched from his hand. The beast's head lunged at him. He tried to avoid it, but the terrible teeth caught him in the midsection, ripping him apart.
The monster reared up and the stone work trembled as it let out a howl of pain. The wound in its belly ripped further open, spilling its entrails to the bridge. Twisting its head it saw Antikas standing alone at the centre of the bridge. It made two faltering steps towards him, then stumbled sideways. The side bridge supports crumbled under its weight and it toppled into the rushing river.
Antikas moved to the edge, staring down. The body was moving slowly out of sight, towards the distant falls.
Remembering Kalizkan's warning about the near miraculous healing powers of the Krayakin Antikas ran to the first body and heaved both sections into the river. He paused at the second, and stared down at the decapitated he
ad. The helm visor was still closed. Antikas flipped it open and found himself staring into glowing eyes, that were alive and full of hatred. The mouth moved, but without vocal chords no sound issued forth. Antikas picked up the head and tossed it into the water, then rolled the body after it. Lastly he moved to the armour-less body of Golbar. This too he fed to the river.
Returning to Dagorian he slumped down beside the dying officer. 'How do you feel?' he asked.
'There is no pain, but I can no longer move my legs. I am dying, Antikas.'
'Yes, you are. But we won, Drenai.'
'Perhaps. Then again, perhaps we merely delayed the inevitable. There are four more Krayakin, and the Ventrian army has closed off the road to the sea.'
'Let tomorrow take care of itself, Dagorian. You fought well, and bravely. It was an honour to stand beside you. I do not know much about your religion. Is there a Hall of Heroes contained in it?'
'No.'
'Then you should convert to mine, my friend. In it you will find a palace full of young virgins ready to obey your every whim. There will be wine and song and endless sunshine.'
'It. . . sounds . . . very fine,' whispered Dagorian.
'I will say a prayer for your spirit, Drenai, and that prayer will shine above you like a lantern. Follow it to the palace that awaits me. I will see you there.' Antikas reached across and closed the dead eyes. Then he scabbarded the Storm Swords and walked slowly back to the horses. The cut on his ribs was stinging now as the blood clotted over it. He stepped into the saddle and gazed back along the bridge.
Then he fulfilled his promise and sent a prayer-light to shine for Dagorian.