The Winter Warriors

'Tie your chin strap,' he ordered one of the men.

'Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.' Passing his spear to a comrade the man hastily tied the thongs.

'Remain silent and at attention until the last of the guests return to the pavilion. You are the King's Guards. Your discipline is legendary.'

'Yes, sir!' they chorused.

Dagorian stepped into the tent. Food tables had been set all around the huge enclosure, and a score of servants waited, bearing trays on which goblets of wine had been set. Dagorian gestured the servants forward, and they moved in two lines to flank the entrance. Trumpets sounded from the Park. Dagorian moved behind the first line of servants and waited. Within moments the king and queen entered, followed by Skanda's generals and nobles.

Immediately the silent tension within the tent disappeared, as wine was served and the guests made their way to the food tables. Dagorian relaxed, and allowed himself to gaze on the wonder that was Axiana. Her eyes were dark blue, the colour of a sunset sky, just after the sun had fallen. They are sad eyes, he thought. In his young life Dagorian had never given much thought to the status of women, but now he wondered just how the queen had felt when ordered to marry the man who took her father's empire. Had she and her father been close? Had she sat upon his knee as a child and tugged his long beard. Had he doted upon her? Pushing such thoughts from his mind Dagorian was about to leave when a young Ventrian officer approached him. The man gave a slight, almost contemptuous, bow. 'The Prince Malikada would like a word with you, sir,' said the man.

Dagorian eased his way to where Malikada waited. The Ventrian prince was dressed in a black tunic, embroidered with a silver hawk at the shoulder, and his beard was now braided with silver wire to match it. He gave a friendly smile as Dagorian approached and extended his hand. His grip was firm and dry. 'You were Banelion's aide, and I understand you accomplished your tasks with dedication and efficiency.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'I have my own aide, Dagorian, but I wanted you to know that I appreciate your talents, and that I will bear you in mind for promotion when a suitable position arises.'

Dagorian bowed, and was about to step away when the prince spoke again. 'You were fond of Banelion?'

'Fond, sir? He was my general,' replied Dagorian, carefully. 'I respected him for his great talents.'

'Yes, of course. In his time he was a formidable foe. But now he is old and spent. Will you serve me with the same dedication?'

Dagorian found his heart beating faster. He looked into Malikada's dark, cold eyes, and saw again the fierce intelligence there. There would be no point in trying to lie to this man directly. He would read it immediately. Dagorian's mouth was dry, but his words when they came were spoken steadily. 'I am dedicated to the king's service, sir. You are the king's general. Any order you give me will be carried out to the best of my ability.'

'That is all one can ask,' said Malikada. 'Now you may go. Antikas Karios will take over your duties here.' With that he smiled and swung away.

Dagorian turned, and almost collided with the heavily pregnant queen. 'My apologies, my lady,' he stuttered. She gave him a distant smile and moved past him. Feeling like a dolt Dagorian left the tent and wandered back to the open park.

Thousands of people were wandering across the grass, or sitting on blankets and eating prepared lunches. Soldiers and athletes were practising for their events, horse trainers were running their mounts, stretching them for the races ahead. Dagorian looked around for the king's horse, Starfire. It was always entered in the races, and never failed. But, as he scanned the horses he saw that the giant black gelding was not among the mounts being exercised. He strolled to one of the handlers and enquired of the horse.

'Lung rot,' said the man. 'It's a damn shame. Still he's getting old now. Must be eighteen if he's a day.'

Dagorian was saddened to hear it. Every Drenai child knew of Starfire. Bought by the king's father for a fabulous sum it had carried Skanda into all his major battles. Now it was dying. Skanda must be heartbroken, he thought.

Relieved to be free of his duties he wandered back to the officers' rest area and stripped off his armour, ordering a young Cul to return it to his quarters. Then he strolled out to enjoy the festivities. The prospect of becoming Malikada's aide had been an odious one, and he was grateful that the task had been taken from him. I should have gone home with the White Wolf, he thought, suddenly. I hate soldiering. While his father had been a living hero Dagorian had attended the Docian Monastery at Corteswain, studying to become a priest. He had been happy there, his lifestyle humble and almost serene.

Then his father had died, and the world changed.

Moving through the crowd he saw Nogusta sitting on the grass, Bison stretched out beside him. The bald giant had a swollen eye and a purple bruise on his cheekbone. Dagorian joined them. 'How are you faring?' he asked Bison.

'Quarter-finals,' said the giant, sitting up and stifling a groan. 'This is my year.'

Dagorian saw the vivid bruises and the man's obvious fatigue, and masked his scepticism. 'How long before your next bout?'

Bison shrugged and looked to Nogusta. 'An hour,' said the black man. 'He's fighting the tribesman who beat him last year.'

'I'll take him this time,' said Bison, wearily. 'But I think I'll take a nap first.' Lying back the giant closed his eyes. Nogusta covered him with a cloak and rose.

'You saw the general?' he asked Dagorian.

'I did.'

'He advised you to stay away from him.'

'You have a great gift.'

Nogusta smiled. 'No, that was just common sense. He is a wise man. Malikada is not so wise. But that is often the way with ambitious men. They come to believe in tales of their own destiny. Everything they desire, so they believe, is theirs by right. Chosen by the Source.'

'The Source is given credit and blame for many deeds,' said Dagorian. 'Are you a believer?'

'I would like to be,' admitted Nogusta. 'It would certainly make life more complete if one could believe in a grand plan for the universe. If we could be certain that evil men would receive judgement. However, I fear that life is not so simple. Wise men say that the universe is in a state of constant war, a battle between the Source and the forces of chaos. If that is true then chaos commands the most cavalry.'

'You are a cynic,' said Dagorian.

T think not. I am just old and have seen too much.'

The two men sat down beside the sleeping Bison. 'How is it that a black man serves in the army of Drenan?' asked Dagorian.

'I am a Drenai,' answered Nogusta. 'My great-grand-father was a Phocian seaman. He was captured at sea and the Drenai made a slave of him. He was freed after seven years and became an indentured servant. Later he returned to his homeland and took a wife, bringing her back to Drenan. Their first son did the same, bringing my grandmother back to our estates in Ginava.'

'Estates? Your family have done well.'

'My people had a talent with horses,' said Nogusta. 'My great-grandfather bred war mounts for the old king's cavalry. It made us rich at the time.'

'But you are rich no longer?'

'No. A Drenai nobleman became jealous of our success, and fostered stories about us among the local villagers. One night a child went missing. He told them we had taken her for an obscene sacrifice. Our house was burned to the ground, and all my family slaughtered. The child, of course, was not there. It transpired she had wandered into the mountains and fallen down a steep slope. Her leg was broken.'