Winter Warriors Read Online Free PDF

inside a brassbound chest. He was tall and lean, his long white hair tied at the nape of the neck. The general’s movements were swift and precise as he packed the chest with the expertise of a lifetime soldier. Everything neatly in its place. The maps were stacked in the order they would be needed during the fourteen-hundred-mile journey to the western port. Alongside them were notes listing the names of tribes and their chieftains, way stations, fortresses,and cities along the route. As with everything else he undertook, the journey home would be planned meticulously.
    Across from the broad desk a young officer in full armor of gold and bronze stood watching the general. The old man glanced up and gave a swift grin. “Why so sad, Dagorian?”
    The young man took a deep, slow breath. “This is wrong, sir.”
    “Nonsense. Look at me. What do you see?”
    Dagorian stared at the white-haired general. Leathered by desert sun and winter winds, the White Wolf’s face was seamed and wrinkled. Beneath bristling white brows his eyes were pale and bright—eyes that had seen the fall of empires and the scattering of armies. “I see the greatest general who ever lived,” said the younger man.
    Banelion smiled. He was genuinely touched by the officer’s affection and thought momentarily of the boy’s father. The two were so unalike. Catoris had been a cold, hard man, ambitious and deadly. His son was infinitely more likable, loyal, and steadfast. The only virtue he shared with his father was courage. “Ah, Dagorian, what you should see is a man two years past seventy. But you are looking at what was, boy. Not what is. I will be honest with you. I am disappointed. Even so, I do not believe the king is making a mistake. Like me, the soldiers who first marched against the Ventrian Empire are growing old now. Eighteen hundred men over fifty. Two hundred of those will not even see sixty again. The king is only thirty-five, and he wants to cross the Great River and conquer Cadia. All reports suggest that such a war will last five years or more. The army will have to cross deserts and mountains, wade rivers thick with crocodiles, hack its way through jungles. Young men will be needed for such an enterprise. And some of the older men are yearning for home.”
    Dagorian removed his black and gold helm and absently brushed his hand over the white horsehair plume. “I don’t doubt you are right about the older men, sir. But not you. Without you some of the battles would have been—”
    The White Wolf raised his finger to his lips, the movement sharp and swift. “All my battles have been fought. Now I willgo home and enjoy my retirement. I will breed horses and watch the sun rise over the mountains. And I will wait for news of the king’s victories, and I will celebrate them quietly in my home. I have served Skanda as I served his father: faithfully and well and to the best of my considerable abilities. Now I need a little fresh air. Walk with me in the garden.”
    Swinging a sheepskin cloak around his shoulders, Banelion pushed open the doors and strode through to the snow-covered garden. The paved path could no longer be seen, but the statues that lined it pointed the way. Crunching the snow underfoot, the two men walked out past the frozen fountain. The statues were all of Ventrian warriors, standing like sentries, spears pointed toward the sky. The older man took Dagorian’s arm and leaned in close. “It is time for you to learn to curb your tongue, young man,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Every whisper spoken inside the palace is reported to the king and his new advisers. The walls are hollow, and listeners write down every sentence. You understand?”
    “They even spy on
you
? I cannot believe it.”
    “Believe it. Skanda is no longer the boy-king who charmed us all. He is a man, ruthless and ambitious. He is determined to conquer the world. And he probably will if his new allies are as trustworthy as he