Drenai Series 08 - Winter Warriors by David Gemmell Read Free Book Online Page A

well. Tell me how is the White Wolf?' he asked, suddenly.
    'He is well, and preparing plans for the return home. Why do you ask?'
    'Malikada will try to kill him.' The words were spoken softly, but with great authority. The black man was not venturing an opinion, but stating a fact.
    'This is what you saw?'
    'I need no mystic talent to make that prediction.'
    'Then I think you are wrong,' said Dagorian. 'Malikada is the king's general now. Banelion does not stand in his way. Indeed he will be going home in three days, to retire.'
    'Even so his life is in danger.'
    'Perhaps you should speak to the general about this?' said Dagorian, stiffly.
    Nogusta shrugged. There is no need. He knows it as well as I. Cerez was Malikada's favourite. He believed him to be almost invincible. Yesterday he learned a hard lesson. He will want revenge.'
    'If that is true will he not seek revenge against you also?'
    'Indeed he will,' agreed Nogusta.
    'You seem remarkably unperturbed by the prospect.'
    'Appearances can be deceiving,' Nogusta told him.
*
    As the morning wore on Nogusta's words continued to haunt the young officer. They had been spoken with such quiet certainty that the more Dagorian thought of them, the more convinced he became of the truth they contained. Malikada was not known as a forgiving man. There were many stories among the Drenai officers concerning the Ventrian prince and his methods. One story had it that Malikada once beat a servant to death for ruining one of his shirts. As far as Dagorian knew there was no evidence to support the tale, but it highlighted the popular view of Malikada.
    Such a man would indeed nurse a grudge against Banelion.
    With at least another two hours before the start of his duties Dagorian decided to seek out the general. He loved the old man in a way he had never learned to love his own father. Often he had tried to work out why, but the answer escaped him. Both were hard, cold men, addicted to war and the methods of war. And yet with
    Banelion he could relax, finding words easy and conversation smooth. With his father his throat would tighten, his brain melt. Clear and concise thoughts would travel from his mind to his mouth, appearing to become drunken on the way, spilling out - at least to himself - as stuttering gibberish.
    'Spit it out, boy!' Catoris would yell, and the words would dry up, and Dagorian would stand very still, feeling very foolish.
    In all his life he could only recall one moment when his father had shown him affection. And that was after the duel. A nobleman named Rogun had challenged Dagorian. It was all so stupid. A young woman had smiled at him, and he had returned the compliment. The man with her stormed across the street. He slapped Dagorian across the face, and issued a challenge.
    They had met on the cavalry parade-ground at dawn the following day. Catoris had been present. He watched the fight without expression, but when Dagorian delivered the killing stroke he ran forward and embraced him clumsily. He remembered the incident now with regret, for instead of returning the embrace he had angrily pulled clear and hurled his sword aside. 'It was all so stupid!' he stormed. 'He made me kill him for a smile.'
    'It was a duel of honour,' said his father, lamely. 'You should be proud.'
    'I am sick to my stomach,' said Dagorian.
    The following day he had entered the monastery at Corteswain, and pledged his life to the Source.
    When his father died at Mellicane, leading a charge that saved the king's life, Dagorian had known enormous grief. He did not doubt that his father loved him, nor indeed that he loved his father. But - apart from that one embrace - the two of them had never been able to show their affection for one another.
    Shaking off the memories Dagorian approached the gates, and saw the crowds waiting patiently outside. They parted and cheered as the Ventrian sorcerer, Kalizkan, made his entrance. Tall and dignified, wearing robes of silver satin, edged with