Winter Warriors Read Online Free PDF Page B

thinks.”
    “You doubt Prince Malikada?”
    Banelion grinned and led the young man around the frozen lake. “I have no reason to doubt him. Or his wizard. Malikada’s cavalry is superbly disciplined, and his men fight well. But he is not Drenai, and the king puts great faith in him.” On the far side of the lake they came to a stone arch, beneath which was a bust of a handsome man with a forked beard and a high sloping brow. “You know who this is?” asked Banelion.
    “No, sir. A Ventrian noble of some kind?”
    “This is the general Bodasen. He died three hundred and fifty years ago. He was the greatest general the Ventrians ever had. He it was—with Gorben—who laid the foundations of their empire.”
    The old man shivered and drew his cloak more tightlyabout him. Dagorian stared hard at the white stone of the bust. “I have read the histories, sir. He is described as a plodding soldier. Gorben was said to have led the army to victory.”
    Banelion chuckled. “As indeed has Skanda. And in the months to come you will hear the same of me. That is the way of the world, Dagorian. The victorious kings write the histories. Now let us go back, for this cold is eating into my bones.”
    Once back inside, Dagorian banked up the fire, and the general stood before it, rubbing his hands. “So tell me,” he said, “have they found Bison yet?”
    “No, sir. They are scouring the whorehouses. The man with the cracked skull has regained consciousness. The surgeons say he will not die.”
    “That is a blessing. I would hate to hang old Bison.”
    “He’s been with you from the first, I understand.”
    “Aye, from the first, when the old king was merely a young prince and the kingdom was in ruins. Days of blood and fire, Dagorian. I would not want to live them again. Bison is—like me—a relic of those days. There are not many of us left.”
    “What will you do when we find him, sir?”
    “Ten lashes. But don’t tie him to the post. That’ll hurt his dignity. He’ll stand there and hold to it. His back will bleed, and you’ll not hear a sound from him.”
    “I take it you like the man.”
    Banelion shook his head. “Can’t stand him. He has the strength of an ox and the brains to match. A more irritating, undisciplined wretch I have yet to see. But he symbolizes the strength, the courage, and the will that have brought us across the world. A man to move mountains, Dagorian. Now you best get some rest. We’ll finish in the morning.”
    “Yes, sir. Can I fetch you some mulled wine before you retire?”
    “Wine does not sit well with me these days. Warm milk and honey would be pleasant.”
    Dagorian saluted, bowed, and left the room.

2
     
    R EGIMENTAL DISCIPLINE WAS observed in ritual fashion. Every one of the two thousand men of the regiment, in their armor of black and gold, stood in a giant square around the barracks ground. At the center the twenty senior officers waited, and seated on a dais behind them was the White Wolf. He wore no armor but was dressed in a simple tunic of gray wool, black leggings, and boots. Around his shoulders was a hooded sheepskin cloak.
    The morning was bright and clear as Bison was led out. The lumbering giant had been stripped to the waist, and Dagorian suddenly understood the man’s bizarre nickname. His head was totally bald, but thick curling hair grew from his neck and over his massive shoulders. More like a bear than a bison, though, thought Dagorian. The young officer’s dark gaze flickered to the men walking with Bison. One was Kebra, the famed bowman who had once saved the king’s life, sending a shaft through the eye of a Ventrian lancer. The other was the blue-eyed black man Nogusta, swordsman and juggler. Dagorian had once watched the man keep seven razor-sharp knives in the air, then, one by one, send them flashing into a target. They walked straight and tall. Bison cracked a joke with someone in the first line.
    “Silence!” shouted an officer.
    Bison