Free Stormrider by David Gemmell Page A

cutthroats roaming the countryside.”
    “It will be little better in the spring, my friend. This war is a long way from being won or lost.”
    “I shall miss your company. So few of my parishioners play an adequate game of Shahmak.”
    Mulgrave laughed. “I have only beaten you once, Master Standfast.”
    “Ah, but you have also drawn three games. It wounds my ego not to win.”
    A comfortable silence grew as Mulgrave watched the flames dance among the coals. Then he sighed and returned his gaze to the priest. “They are not men,” he said. “Their faces are gray and scaled, and their eyes are floating in blood.”
    Ermal sat very quietly for a moment. “Do they have circlets of iron on their brows?”
    “Aye, they do,” answered Mulgrave, surprised.
    “Wait for a moment,” said Ermal, rising from his chair and walking through to his small study. He returned moments later with a slim silver chain. Hanging upon it was a small medallion, also silver, encased in a slender golden band. The medallion had been stamped on one side with the image of a tree. The reverse was embossed with a three-sided Keltoi rune. “These were carried by the original tree cultists back in the time of Stone. Each coin was blessed by the Veiled Lady, so it was said, and after her by Persis Albitane himself.” He placed the chain over Mulgrave’s head, tucking the medallion inside his shirt. “Wear it always, my boy.”
    “Thank you. Do I take it you no longer believe that the dreams are a trick of the mind?”
    Ermal spread his hands. “I am not certain. The creatures you described are written of in the oldest scrolls. They were called the
Dezhem Bek
. Have you heard the name?”
    “No.”
    “It may be that you heard of them when you were a child in Shelsans and the memory is what causes the dreams. I hope so.”
    “What are they?” asked Mulgrave.
    “I would imagine that depends on your perspective. To those who follow the Source of all Harmony the
Dezhem Bek
were men who had embraced the shadow, given themselves over to evil in return for great powers. Some scrolls call them necromancers; others describe them as eaters of souls. In the old tongue
Dezhem Bek
means simply the ravenous ravens. Yet there are other books, written by those whose philosophies—shall we say—were at odds with the Source. In these the
Dezhem Bek
are described as achieving perfection of form and strength beyond that of ordinary men. They were also said to be extremely long-lived.”
    Mulgrave laughed. “Perfection of form? I think not. Unless scaled flesh has become fashionable in the cities.”
    “What you see in your dreams is their spirit form. You have heard of the Orb of Kranos?”
    “Of course,” answered Mulgrave. “A mythic vase—or some such—from ancient times.”
    “No, not a vase,” said Ermal. “Some say it was a globe of crystal through which men could see their futures. Others claim it was the magical pommel stone of a great sword. There is even a legend that it is the severed head of a necromancer. The
Dezhem Bek
were said to be guardians of the orb. It made them nearly immortal.”
    “I am not a great believer in magic,” said Mulgrave. “I do not mock men who have faith. It gives them comfort and often times leads them to help others. Yet I have also seen great evils committed in the name of the Source. And never have I witnessed a miracle. Until I do I shall remain skeptical.”
    “I cannot argue with that,” said Ermal Standfast. “Nor will I try. What I will say is that I have heard rumors that the orb was hidden in Shelsans. The knights of the Sacrifice found it.”
    Mulgrave sighed. “My father used to talk of a great secret that was guarded in Shelsans. But then, he used to tell many wonderful stories, fabulously embellished. He said that it was vital that we all learn to love. He said that love made friends of enemies and enriched the world. I wonder if he still believed that when the knights came and massacred