Drenai Saga 02 - The King Beyond the Gate

by David Gemmell

  Cesak had grown fat over the years, and his skin was pasty and blotched. His dark eyes glittered with feral intelligence, and it was said that he had learned the ways of the Dark Templars and could read minds. His captains lived in a state of cold dread around him, for often he would suddenly point at a man and scream “Traitor!” That man would die horribly.

  Darik was his most trusted warrior, a general of great guile, second only to the legendary Baris of the Dragon. A tall man in his early fifties, slender and wiry, Darik was clean-shaven and looked younger than his years.

  Having heard the reports and the numbers of the slain, Darik spoke: “The raids seem casual, haphazard, yet I sense unity of thought behind them. What do you say, Maymon?”

  The Dark Templar nodded. “We are almost through their defenses, but already we can see a great deal. They have walled the two passes known as Tarsk and Magadon. And they expect aid from the north, though without great confidence. The leader, as you expected, is Ananais, though it is the woman Rayvan who binds them together.”

  “Where is she?” asked the emperor.

  “Back in the mountains.”

  “Can you get to her?”

  “Not from the void. She is protected.”

  “They cannot protect all her friends,” suggested Ceska.

  “No, my lord,” agreed Maymon.

  “Then soul-take someone close to her. I want the woman dead.”

  “Yes, my lord. But first we must break through the void wall of the Thirty.”

  “What of Tenaka Khan?” snapped Ceska.

  “He escaped to the north. His grandfather, Jongir, died two months ago, and there is civil war brewing.”

  “Send a message to the Delnoch commander, ordering him to watch closely for any Nadir army.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Leave me now,” said the emperor. “All except Darik.”

  The captains gratefully obeyed, walking out into the night. Around the tent stood fifty Joinings, the largest and most ferocious beasts in Ceska’s army. The captains did not look at them as they passed.

  Inside the tent Ceska sat silently for several minutes.

  “They all hate me,” he said. “Small men with small minds. What are they without me?”

  “They are nothing, sire,” said Darik.

  “Exactly. And what of you, General?”

  “Sire, you can read men like an open book. You can see into their hearts. I am loyal, but the day you doubt me I shall take my life the instant you order it.”

  “You are the only loyal man in the empire. I want them all dead. I want Skoda to be a charnel house that will be remembered for eternity.”

  “It shall be as you command, sire. They cannot hold against us.”

  “The spirit of chaos rides with my forces, Darik. But it needs blood. Much blood. Oceans of blood! It is never satisfied.”

  Ceska’s eyes took on a haunted look, and he lapsed into silence. Darik sat very still. The fact that his emperor was mad worried him not at all, but Ceska’s deterioration was another matter. Darik was a strange man. Almost totally single-minded, he cared only for war and strategy, and what he had told the emperor was the literal truth. When the day came—as come it must—that Ceska’s madness turned on him, he would kill himself. For life would have nothing more to offer. Darik had never loved a single human being or been entranced by things of beauty. He cared not for paintings, poetry, literature, mountains, or storm-tossed seas.

  War and death were his concerns. But even these he did not love—they merely maintained his interest.

  Suddenly Ceska giggled. “I was one of the last to see his face,” he said.

  “Who, my lord?”

  “Ananais, the Golden One. He became an arena warrior and a great favorite with the crowds. One day as he stood there acknowledging their cheers, I sent in one of my Joinings. It was a giant beast, a three-way breed of wolf, bear, and man. He killed it. All that work and he killed it.” Ceska giggled again. “But he lost face with the crowd.”

  “How so, sire? Did they like the beast?”

  “Oh no. He just lost face. It’s a jest!”

  Darik chuckled dutifully.

  “I hate him. He was the first to sow seeds of doubt. He wanted to lead the Dragon against me, but Baris and Tenaka Khan stopped him. Noble Baris! He was better than you, you know.”

  “Yes, sire. You have mentioned it before.”

  “But not as loyal. You will stay loyal, won’t you, Darik?”

  “I will, sire.”

  “You wouldn’t want to become like Baris, would you?”

  “No, sire.”

  “Isn’t it strange how certain qualities remain?” mused Ceska.

  “Sire?”

  “I mean, he is still a leader, isn’t he? The others still look to him. I wonder why?”

  “I don’t know, sire. You look cold. Can I fetch you some wine?”

  “You wouldn’t poison me, would you?”

  “No, sire, but you are right—I ought to taste it first.”

  “Yes. Taste it.”

  Darik poured wine into a golden goblet and drank a little. His eyes widened.

  “What is it, General?” asked Ceska, leaning forward.

  “There is something in it, sire. It is salty.”

  “Oceans of blood!” said Ceska, giggling.

  Tenaka Khan awoke in the hour before dawn and reached for Renya, but the bed was empty. Then he remembered and sat up rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He seemed to recall someone saying his name, but it must have been a dream.

  The voice called again, and Tenaka swung his legs from the bed and gazed around the tent.

  “Close your eyes, my friend, and relax,” said the voice.

  Tenaka lay back. In his mind’s eye he could see the slender, ascetic face of Decado.

  “How long before you reach us?”

  “Five days. If Scaler opens the gates.”

  “We will be dead by then.”

  “I can move no more swiftly.”

  “How many men do you bring?”

  “Forty thousand.”

  “You seem changed, Tani.”

  “I am the same. How fares it with Ananais?”

  “He trusts you.”

  “And the others?”

  “Pagan and Parsal are dead. We have been forced back to the last valleys. We can hold for maybe three days—no more. The Joinings are everything we feared.”

  Tenaka told him of his ghostly meeting with Aulin and the words of the old man. Decado listened in silence.

  “So you are the khan,” he said at last.

  “Yes.”

  “Farewell, Tenaka.”

  Back at Tarsk, Decado opened his eyes. Acuas and the Thirty sat in a circle around him, linking their powers.

  Each of them had heard the words of Tenaka Khan, but more important, each had entered his mind, sharing his thoughts.

  Decado took a deep breath. “Well?” he asked Acuas.

  “We are betrayed,” answered the warrior-priest.

  “Not yet,” said Decado. “He will come.”

  “That is not what I meant.”

  “I know what you meant. But let tomorrow look after itself. Our purpose here is to aid the people of Skoda. None of us will live to see the events thereafter.”

  “But what is the point?” asked Balan. “Some good should come of our deaths. Are we merely helping them to exchange tyrants?”

  “And what if we are?” said Decado softly. “The Source knows best. If we do not believe that, then it is all for nothing.”

  “So you are now a believer?” said Balan skeptically.

  “Yes, Balan, I am a believer. I think I always was. For even in my despair I railed at the Source. That itself was an admission of belief, though I could not see it. But tonight has convinced me.”

  “Betrayal by a friend has convinced you?” asked Acuas, astonished.

  “No, not betrayal. Hope. A glimmer of light. A sign of love. But we w
ill talk of this tomorrow. Tonight there are farewells to be said.”

  “Farewells?” said Acuas.

  “We are the Thirty,” said Decado. “Our mission is near completion. As the voice of the Thirty I am the Abbot of Swords. But I am to die here. Yet the Thirty must live on. We have seen tonight that a new threat is growing and that in the days to come the Drenai will have need of us again. As in the past, so shall it be now. One of us must leave, take on the mantle of abbot, and raise a new group of Source warriors. That man is Katan, the soul of the Thirty.”

  “It cannot be me,” said Katan. “I do not believe in death and killing.

  “Exactly so,” said Decado. “Yet you are chosen. It seems to me that the Source always chooses us to perform tasks against our natures. Why, I do not know … but he knows.

  “I am a poor man to be a leader. And yet the Source has allowed me to see his power. I am content. The rest of us will obey his will. Now, Katan, lead us in prayer for the last time.”

  There were tears in Katan’s eyes as he prayed, and a great sadness rested upon him. At the end he embraced them all and walked away into the night. How would he manage? Where would he find a new Thirty? He mounted his horse and rode into the high country toward Vagria.

  On a ridge overlooking the refugee settlement he saw the boy Ceorl sitting by the path. He reined in his horse and stepped down.

  “Why are you here, Ceorl?”

  “A man came to me and told me to be here, to wait for you.”

  “What man?”

  “A dream man.”

  Katan settled down beside the boy. “Is this the first time the man has come to you?”

  “This man, you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, it is. But often I see others. They talk to me.”

  “Can you do magical things, Ceorl?”

  “Yes.”

  “Such as?”

  “Sometimes when I touch things, I know where they came from. I see pictures. And sometimes, when people are angry with me, I hear what they are thinking.”

  “Tell me of the man who came to you.”

  “His name is Abaddon. He said he was the Abbot of Swords.”

  Katan bowed his head and covered his face with his hands.

  “Why are you sad?” asked Ceorl.

  Katan took a deep breath and smiled. “I am not sad … not anymore. You are the first, Ceorl. But there will be others. You are to ride with me, and I will teach you many things.”

  “Are we to be heroes, like the black man?”

  “Yes,” said Katan. “We are to be heroes.”

  The armies of Ceska arrived with the dawn, marching in ranks ten deep and led by the legion riders. The long column wound across the plain, splitting into two as it breasted the valley pass of Magadon. Ananais had ridden in with Thorn, Lake, and a dozen men only an hour before. Now he leaned on the ramparts, watching the force spread out and pitch its tents. Half the army rode on toward Tarsk.

  Twenty thousand battle-hardened veterans remained. But there was no sign yet of the emperor or his Joinings.

  Ananais squinted against the rising sun. “I think that’s Darik—there in the center. Now that’s a compliment!”

  “I don’t think I would be comfortable with too many of his compliments,” muttered Thorn. “He’s a butcher!”

  “More than that, my friend,” said Ananais, “he is a warmaster. And that makes him a master butcher.”

  For a while the defenders watched the preparations in grim, silent fascination. Wagons followed the army, piled high with crudely made ladders, iron grappling hooks, vine ropes, and provisions.

  An hour later, as Ananais was sleeping on the grass, the Joinings of Ceska marched into the plain. A young warrior woke the sleeping general, and he rubbed his eyes and sat up.

  “The beasts are here,” whispered the man.

  Seeing his fear, Ananais clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, lad! Keep a stick in your belt.”

  “A stick, sir?”

  “Yes. If they get too close to the wall, hurl the stick and shout, ‘Fetch!’ ”

  The joke did not help, but it cheered Ananais, who was still chuckling as he mounted the rampart steps.

  Decado was leaning on the wooden shaft of the giant bow when Ananais joined him. The leader of the Thirty looked haggard and drawn; his eyes were distant.

  “How are you feeling, Dec? You look tired.”

  “Just old, Darkmask.”

  “Don’t you start with the Darkmask nonsense. I like my name.”

  “The other suits you better,” said Decado, grinning.

  The Joinings had settled down beyond the tents, creating a vast circle around a single black tent of silk.

  “That will be Ceska,” said Ananais. “He’s taking no chances.”

  “It seems we are to keep all the Joinings to ourselves,” concluded Decado. “I see no sign of them splitting the force.”

  “Lucky us!” said Ananais. “It makes sense from their viewpoint, though. It doesn’t matter which wall they take—just one and we are finished.”

  “Tenaka will be here in five days,” Decado reminded him.

  “We shall not be here to see him.”

  “Perhaps, Ananais …?”

  “Yes?”

  “It doesn’t matter. When do you think they will attack?”

  “I hate people who do that. What were you going to say?”

  “It was nothing. Forget it!”

  “What the hell is the matter with you? You look sadder than a sick cow!”

  Decado forced a laugh. “Yes, as I grow older, so I become more serious. It’s not as if there’s anything to worry about, after all—a mere twenty thousand warriors and a pack of hellbeasts.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” agreed Ananais. “But I’ll bet Tenaka mops them up in a damned hurry.”

  “I would like to be here to see it,” said Decado.

  “If wishes were oceans, we would all be fish,” said Ananais.

  The huge warrior wandered away to the grass once more, settling down to finish his nap. Decado sat on the ramparts and watched him.

  Was it wise to withhold from Ananais the fact that Tenaka was now the khan of the Drenai’s greatest enemy? But what would it achieve to tell him? He trusted Tenaka, and when a man like Ananais gave his trust, it was forged stronger than silver steel. It would be inconceivable to Ananais that Tenaka could betray him.

  It was a kindness to let him die with his belief intact.

  Or was it?

  Did a man not have a right to know the truth?

  “Decado!” called a voice in his mind. It was Acuas, and Decado closed his eyes, concentrating on the voice.

  “Yes?”

  “The enemy has arrived at Tarsk. There is no sign of the Joinings.”

  “They are all here!”

  “Then we will travel to you. Yes?”

  “Yes,” answered Decado. He had kept eight priests with him at Magadon and sent the other nine to Tarsk.

  “We did as you suggested and entered the mind of one of the beasts, but I don’t think you will like what we found.”

  “Tell me.”

  “They are Dragon! Ceska began rounding them up fifteen years ago. Some of the more recent came from among men captured when the Dragon re-formed.”

  “I see.”

  “Does it make a difference?”

  “No,” said Decado. “It only increases the sorrow.”

  “I am sorry. Does the plan go ahead?”

  “Yes. Are you sure we must be close?”

  “I am,” said Acuas. “The closer, the better.”

  “The Templars?”

  “They have breached the void wall. We almost lost Balan.”

  “How is he?”

  “Recovering. Have you told Ananais about Tenaka Khan?”

  “No.”

  “You know best.”

  “I hope so. Get here as soon as you can.”

  On the grass
below Ananais slept dreamlessly. Valtaya saw him there and prepared a meal of roast beef and hot bread. She carried it to him after about an hour, and together they walked into the shade of some trees, where he lifted his mask and ate.

  She couldn’t watch him eat and moved away to gather flowers. When he had finished, she returned to him.

  “Put on your mask,” she said. “Someone might come by.”

  His bright blue eyes burned into hers, then he looked away and pulled on the mask.

  “Someone just did,” he said sadly.

  22

  Toward the middle of the morning bugles sounded in the enemy camp, and some ten thousand warriors began to move purposefully around the wagons: pulling ladders clear, tying ropes to grappling hooks, hitching shields in place.

  Ananais ran to the wall where Lake was bent over the giant bow, checking the ropes and ties.

  The army lined up across the valley, sunlight flashing from swords and spears. A drumbeat began, and the force moved forward.

  On the wall defenders licked dry lips with dry tongues and wiped sweating palms on their tunics.

  The slow drumbeat echoed in the mountains.

  Terror hit the defenders like a tidal wave. Men screamed and jumped from the wall, rolling onto the grass below.

  “The Templars!” screamed Decado. “It’s only an illusion.”

  But panic continued to well up in the Skoda ranks. Ananais tried to rally them, but his own voice was shaking with fear. More men leapt from the walls as the drums grew closer.

  Hundreds of men now streamed back, skidding to a halt as they saw the woman standing before them in her rusty mail shirt.

  “We don’t run!” bellowed Rayvan. “We are Skoda! We are the sons of Druss the Legend. We don’t run!”

  Drawing a short sword, she walked through them toward the walls. Only a handful of men remained by the ramparts, and they were ghost-faced and trembling. Rayvan mounted the steps, fear growing as she reached the battlements.

  Ananais staggered toward her, holding out his hand, which she accepted gratefully.

  “They can’t beat us!” she said through gritted teeth, her eyes wide.

  The Skoda men turned and saw her standing defiantly at the center. Gathering their swords, they moved forward again, pushing against the wall of fear before them.