Here there was a lower wall, no more than 8 feet high. Sheathing his sabre he leapt, curling his fingers over the stone and hauling himself to the top. The street beyond was empty.
Antikas silently lowered himself to the cobbles and ran on.
Emerging onto the Avenue of Kings he raced across the street towards the palace. The mob erupted from alleyways all around him, shrieking and baying. Ducking he sprinted for the gates. The two sentries stood stock still as he approached, showing no sign of alarm. Antikas reached them just ahead of the mob, and realized he could go no further. Angry now he spun to face them.
But they had halted just outside the gates and were now standing silently, staring at him.
The sentries still had not moved, and Antikas stood, breathing heavily, his sabre all but forgotten.
Silently the mob dispersed, moving back into the shadows on the opposite side of the Avenue.
Antikas approached the first of the sentries. 'Why did they not attack?' he asked.
The man's head turned slowly towards him. The eyes were misted in death, the jaw hanging slack. Antikas backed away.
Reaching the stable he moved to the stall where he had left his horse. The beast was on its knees. He noticed someone had changed the blanket with which he had covered the beast. His had been grey, this was black. Opening the stall door he stepped inside.
The black blanket writhed, and scores of bats fluttered up around him, their wings beating about his face.
Then they were gone, up into the rafters.
And the horse was dead.
Angry now Antikas drew his sword and headed for the palace. The priest had said he could not kill the Demon Lord, but, by all the gods in Heaven, he would try. The rock grew warm against his skin, and a soft voice whispered into his mind.
'Do not throw away your life, my boy!'
Antikas paused. 'Who are you?' he whispered.
'You cannot kill him. Trust me. The babe is everything. You must protect the babe.'
'I am trapped here. If I leave the palace the mob will hunt me down.'
'I will guide you, Antikas. There are horses outside the city.'
Who are you?' he repeated.
'I am Kalizkan, Antikas. And all this pain and horror is of my making.'
'That is hardly a recommendation for trust.'
'I know. I am hoping that the power of truth will convince you.'
'My choices appear limited,' said Antikas. 'Lead on, wizard!'
High in the palace the Demon Lord raised his arms. Over the city the Entukku, in ecstasy and bloated with feeding, floated aimlessly above the buildings. The Demon Lord's power swept over them, draining their energies. They began to wail and shriek, their hunger increasing once more.
Stepping back from the window the Demon Lord began to chant. The air before him shimmered. Slowly he spoke the seven words of power. Blue light lanced from floor to ceiling, and a pungent odour filled the room. Where a moment before had been a wall, decorated with a brightly coloured mural, there was now a cave entrance, and a long tunnel.
Faint figures of light moved in the tunnel, floating towards him. As they came closer the Demon Lord held out his hands. Black smoke oozed from his fingers and drifted down the tunnel. The light figures hovered and the smoke rose up around them. The lights faded, but the smoke hardened, taking shape.
Ten tall men emerged, wearing dark armour and full-faced helms. One by one they strode into the room. The Demon Lord spoke a single harsh word and the tunnel disappeared.
'Welcome to the world of flesh, my brothers,' said the Demon Lord.
'It is good to feel hunger again,' said the first of the warriors, removing his helm. His hair was ghost white, his eyes grey and cold. His face was broad, the lipless mouth wide.
'Then feed,' said the Demon Lord, raising his hands. This time a red mist flowed from his hands, and floated across the room. The warrior opened his mouth, displaying long, curved fangs. The red mist streamed into his open mouth. The others removed their helms and moved in close. One by one they absorbed the mist. As they did so their bone-white faces changed, the skin blushing red. Their eyes glittered, the grey deepening to blue and then, slowly, to crimson.
'Enough, my brother,' said the first warrior. 'After so long the taste is too exquisite.' Moving to a couch he sank down, stretching out his long, black-clad limbs.
The Demon Lord's arms dropped to his side. 'The long wait is almost over,' he said. 'Our time has come again.' The others seated themselves and remained silent.
'What is it you require of us, Anharat?'
'In the mountains to the south there is a woman. She carries the child of Skanda. It will be born soon. You must bring it to me. The Spell of Three must be completed before the Blood Moon.'
'She is guarded well?'
'There are eight humans with her, but only four warriors, and three of these are old men.'
'With respect, brother, such a mission is demeaning. We are all Battle Lords here. The blood of thousands has stained our blades. We have feasted on the souls of princes.'
'It was not my intention,' said the Demon Lord, 'to offer insult to the Krayakin. But if we do not take the babe then all will be lost for another four thousand years. Would you rather I entrusted this task to the Entukku?'
'You are wise, Anharat, and I spoke hastily. It will be as you order,' said the warrior. Raising his hand he made a fist. 'It is good to feel the solidity of flesh once more, to breathe in air, and to feed. It is good.' His blood-filled eyes gazed on the body of Malikada. 'How long before you can let fall this decaying form? It is ugly to the eye.'
'Once the sacrifice is complete,' Anharat told him. 'For now I need this obscenity around me.'
A shimmering began in the air around Anharat, and the hissing of many voices. Then it faded.
'These humans are so perverse,' said Anharat. 'I ordered one of my officers to rest in his room. Now he is fleeing the city in a bid to save the queen and her child. It seems he went to a tavern and a priest' spoke to him.'
'He understands magick, this officer?' asked the warrior.
'I do not believe so.'
'Then why have the Entukku failed to seize him?'
'There are spells around the tavern, ancient spells. It is not important. He will afford you some pleasure, for he is the foremost swordsman in the land. His name is Antikas Karios, and he has never lost a duel.'
'I shall kill him slowly,' said the warrior. 'The taste of his terror will be exquisite.'
'There is one other of the group to be considered. His name is Nogusta. He is the last of the line of Emsharas the Sorcerer.'
The warrior's eyes narrowed, and the others tensed at the sound of the name. 'I would give up eternity,' said the warrior, 'for the chance to find the soul of Emsharas the Traitor. I would make it suffer for a thousand years, and that would not be punishment enough. How is it that one of his line still lives?'
'He carries the Last Talisman. Some years ago one of my disciples inspired a mob to destroy him and his family. It was a fine night, with great terror. Pleasing to the eye. But he was not there. Many times I have tried to engineer his death. The Talisman saves him. That is why he must be considered with care.'
'He is one of the old ones guarding the woman?'
'Yes.'
'I do not like the sound of it, Anharat. It is not a coincidence.'
'I do not doubt that, at all,' said Anharat. 'But does it not show how far the enemy has fallen in power that his only defence is a group of old men? All but one of his priests here are slain, his temples deserted, his forces routed. He has become to this world a pitiful irrelevance. Which is why it will pass to us before the Blood Moon.'