Drenai Saga 02 - The King Beyond the Gate

by David Gemmell

  He began to whistle, but the sound died in an instant as he saw the tent of the khan. There were no guards. He ran forward to Renya, pulling her to a stop.

  “Don’t touch me,” she hissed.

  “Something is wrong,” he said.

  Her head came up, her nostrils catching the scents of the night. But the stench of the Nadir was all around her, and she could detect nothing.

  Dark shadows moved toward the tent.

  “Assassins!” yelled Subodai, dragging clear his sword and running forward. The dark shapes converged on him. Tenaka Khan opened the flap of his tent, sword in hand, to see Subodai hacking and slashing his way forward. Tenaka watched him stumble and go down under the swinging blades.

  He stepped out to meet the killers.

  An eerie howl echoed through the camp, and the assassins slowed in their advance.

  Then the demon was upon them. A backhanded blow sent a man ten feet through the air. A second fell as her taloned hand opened his throat. Her speed was awesome. Tenaka ran forward, parried a thrust from a squat warrior, and slid his own blade between the man’s ribs.

  Ingis raced in with forty warriors, and the assassins lowered their weapons, standing sullen-eyed before the khan.

  Tenaka cleaned his sword and then sheathed it.

  “Find out who sent them,” he told Ingis, then strode to where Subodai lay. The man’s left arm was gushing blood, and there was a deep wound in his side above the hip.

  Tenaka bound the arm. “You’ll live!” he said. “But I am surprised at you, allowing yourself to be overcome by a few night stalkers.”

  “Slipped on some mud,” Subodai muttered defensively.

  Two men came forward to carry the injured warrior to Tenaka’s tent. The khan stood up and looked for Renya, but she was nowhere to be seen. He questioned the warriors nearby, and two of them claimed to have seen her running toward the west. Tenaka called for his horse.

  Ingis approached him. “It is not safe to go after her alone.”

  “No. Yet I must do it.”

  He climbed into the saddle and galloped through the camp. It was too dark to see a trail, but he rode on and out onto the steppes. There was no sign of her.

  Several times he slowed his horse and called out, but there was no response. Finally he stopped his mount and sat quietly, staring at the land around him. Ahead to the left was a small grove of trees, screened by thick bushes. He turned his horse’s head and cantered toward them, but suddenly the horse pulled up, whinnying in fear. Tenaka calmed the beast, stroking its neck and whispering soft words into its ear, but he could not make it move forward. He dismounted and drew his sword.

  Logic told him that whatever was in the bushes could not be Renya, for the horse knew her. Yet something other than logic prevailed in his mind.

  “Renya!” he called. The sound that greeted his call was like nothing he had ever heard: a keening, sibilant wail. He sheathed his sword and walked slowly forward.

  “Renya! It is Tenaka.”

  The bushes exploded outward, and her body hit him with immense force, hurling him from his feet to land on his back. One of her hands was locked about his throat; the other hovered above his eyes, the fingers curved into talons. He lay still, staring into her tawny eyes. The pupils had become slits, long and oval. Slowly he lifted his hand to hers. The feral gleam died in her eyes, and the grip on his throat loosened. Then her eyes closed, and she slumped forward into his arms. Gently he rolled her onto her back.

  The sound of hooves on the steppes caused him to push himself upright. Ingis galloped into sight, his forty warriors behind him, and leapt from the saddle. “Is she dead?”

  “No, sleeping. What news?”

  “The dogs would say nothing. I killed all but one, and he is being questioned now.”

  “Good! And Subodai?”

  “A lucky man. He will heal swiftly.”

  “Then all is well,” said Tenaka. “Now help me get my woman home.”

  “All is well?” echoed Ingis. “There is a traitor at large, and we must find him.”

  “He failed, Ingis. He will be dead by morning.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Wait and see.”

  Tenaka saw Renya safely installed in his tent before accompanying Ingis to the place where the assassin was being questioned. The man had been tied to a tree, and his fingers had been broken one at a time. Now a fire was being prepared beneath his feet. Tenaka walked forward and stopped the torturers.

  “Your master is dead,” he told the man. “There is no further need of this. How do you wish to die?”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Do you have family?”

  “They know nothing of this,” said the man, fear in his eyes.

  “Look in my eyes, man, and believe me. I shall not harm your family. Your master is dead, and you have failed. It is punishment enough. All I want to know is why.”

  “I am pledged to obey,” said the man.

  “You were pledged to me.”

  “Not so. Only my warlord—he was pledged to you, but I broke no oath. How did he die?”

  Tenaka shrugged. “Would you like to see the body?”

  “I would like to die beside it,” said the man. “I will follow him even in death, for he was good to me.”

  “Very well.” Tenaka cut the man loose. “Do you need to be carried?”

  “I can walk, damn you!” spit the man. Followed by Tenaka, Ingis, and the forty warriors, he led them through the camp until he reached the tent of Murapi, where two guards stood at the entrance.

  “I have come to see the body,” said the man. The guards gazed at him nonplussed, and realization hit him like a blow.

  He spun to face Tenaka: “What have you done to me?” he shouted.

  The tent flap opened, and Murapi stood forth. He was past middle age and stockily built. He smiled thinly.

  “Of all men,” he said calmly, “I did not think you could break this one. Life is full of such surprises!”

  The man fell to his knees. “I was tricked, lord,” he sobbed.

  “It doesn’t matter, Nagati. We will speak of it on the journey.”

  Tenaka stepped forward. “You broke a life oath, Murapi. Why?”

  “It was a gamble, Tenaka,” the man replied evenly. “If you are right, the gates of Dros Delnoch will be open to us, and the entire Drenai empire with it. But you merely wish to rescue your Drenai friends. It was just a gamble.”

  “You know the price of failure?”

  “Indeed I do. Will I be allowed to kill myself?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you will not harm my family?”

  “No.”

  “You are generous.”

  “Had you stayed with me, you would have found out how generous.”

  “Is it too late?”

  “Indeed it is. You have one hour.”

  As Tenaka turned to walk back to his tent, Ingis fell into step beside him. “You are a subtle man, Tenaka Khan.”

  “Did you think otherwise, Ingis?”

  “Not at all, my lord. May I give my son, Sember, command of Murapi’s wolves?”

  “No, I will command them.”

  “Very well, my lord.”

  “Tomorrow they will guard my tent.”

  “You like living dangerously?”

  “Good night, Ingis.”

  Tenaka stepped inside the tent and made his way to Subodai’s bed. The warrior was sleeping soundly, and his color was good. Then he moved on into the rear section of the tent, where Renya lay. He touched her brow, and she woke, her eyes returning to normal.

  “Did you find me?” she whispered.

  “I found you.”

  “Then you know?”

  “I know.”

  “Mostly I control it. But tonight there were so many of them, and I thought you would die. I lost control.”

  “You saved me.”

  “How is Subodai? Did he live?”

 
“Yes.”

  “He adores you.”

  “Yes.”

  “So … tired,” she said. Her eyes closed, and, leaning forward, he kissed her lips.

  Her eyes opened. “You are trying to save Ananais, aren’t you?” Her lids drooped once more. He lifted the blanket around her and returned to the center of the tent.

  There he sat down and poured himself a goblet of Nyis, sipping it slowly.

  Was he trying to save Ananais?

  Truly?

  Or was he glad that the decision had been taken from him?

  If Ananais were to die, what would stop him from continuing his war deep into the Drenai lands?

  True, he was not hurrying, but then, what was the point? Decado had told him they could not hold. What purpose would it serve, driving his men day and night to arrive exhausted at the battlefield?

  What purpose?

  He pictured Ananais standing defiantly before Ceska’s hordes, sword in hand, blue eyes blazing.

  He cursed softly.

  And sent for Ingis.

  24

  The legion swept forward, and Lake’s giant bows let fly with the last of the lead shot. Scores of men went down, mostly with leg injuries, for the infantry soldiers were more wary now and advanced with their shields held high. Archers sent a black cloud of arrows into their advancing ranks, then the ladders crashed against the walls.

  The men of Skoda had moved beyond weariness and fought like automatons. Their swords were blunted, their arms aching. Yet still they held.

  Lake swept up a battle-ax, sending the blade through a helm that appeared over the battlements. The ax lodged in the skull and was torn from his grip as the man fell. Another soldier heaved his way over the wall, but Ananais ran forward to pitch the invader headfirst to the ground below. He handed one of his two swords to Lake, then ran to the right, where the line was bending back.

  Balan joined him. And Galand. The defenders steadied and rallied. To the left three legion warriors broke through, leaping from the ramparts to the grass below and sprinting toward the hospital building. The first fell, an arrow piercing his back. The second stumbled as another shaft glanced from his helm, stunning him. Then Rayvan stepped from the building with sword in hand.

  The men grinned as they ran at her.

  With surprising speed she blocked the first blow and then dived into them, her great weight hurling them to the ground. Her sword snaked out, slicing the throat of the first.

  The second man rolled clear. “You fat sow!” he yelled.

  Rayvan heaved herself upright as the man charged forward. Then Thorn loosed an arrow that thudded into the soldier’s thigh; he shouted in pain and swung around. Rayvan’s sword plunged into his back. She watched the battle on the wall for several moments. The line would not hold for much longer.

  Galand fought beside Ananais now, moving where the battle was most deadly. The legion, sensing victory close at hand, did not fall back but milled below the wall, pushing the ladders high. More and more legion men gained the ramparts.

  Ananais could feel the battle ebbing from them, and a cold fury settled over him. Despite the odds against them and his certain knowledge that they could not win, it galled him terribly. He had done little with his life, save never to lose. Now even that small comfort was being stripped from him at the death.

  He blocked a lunge, spun his blade, and plunged it up and under a black helm. The man fell back, dropping his sword, which Ananais swept up as he advanced into the mass, two swords now whirling and killing. He was bleeding from a score of minor cuts, but his strength was unimpaired.

  A tremendous roar went up from behind the wall. Ananais could not turn, but he saw the consternation in the eyes of the invaders. Suddenly Rayvan was beside him, a shield on her arm and a sword in her hand. The legion was being pushed back.

  The women of Skoda had arrived!

  Lacking skill with weapons, they threw themselves forward, lashing out blindly, bearing the invaders before them by sheer weight of numbers.

  The last legion warrior was hurled from the wall, and the Skoda men took up their bows, sending the invaders running back out of range.

  “Clear the dead from the ramparts!” shouted Ananais.

  For several moments there was no movement as men hugged their wives and daughters, sisters and mothers. Others knelt by still bodies, weeping openly.

  “There is no time for this,” said Ananais, but Rayvan caught his arm.

  “There is always time for this, Darkmask. It is what makes us human. Leave them be.”

  Ananais nodded and sagged to the ramparts, pushing his aching back against the wall.

  “You amaze me, woman!”

  “You are easily amazed,” she said, sliding in beside him.

  He glanced at her and grinned. “I’ll bet you were a beauty in your youth.”

  “I’ve heard you were, too!”

  He chuckled and closed his eyes.

  “Why don’t we get married?” he suggested.

  “We shall be dead by tomorrow.”

  “Then we should forget about a long engagement.”

  “You are too old for me, Darkmask.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Forty-six,” said Rayvan.

  “Perfect!”

  “You must be desperate. And you are bleeding. Get off and have those wounds seen to.”

  “One proposal and already you are starting to nag.”

  “Women are like that. Go on with you!”

  She watched him walk to the hospital, then pulled herself to her feet and transferred her gaze to the legion. They were forming up again.

  Rayvan turned to the defenders. “Clear the dead from the walls, you numbskulls!” she shouted. “Come on, now. Move yourselves. You women, grab some swords. And find yourselves some helmets,” she yelled as an afterthought. A dead legion soldier lay close to her, and she tugged loose his helm before rolling the body from the ramparts. The helm was bronze with a black horsehair plume. It fitted well, she thought, as she buckled the chin strap.

  “You look damned fetching, Rayvan,” said Thorn, moving alongside her.

  “Fancy people in helmets, do you, you old stag?”

  “I have always fancied you, woman! Ever since that day in the north meadow.”

  “Ah, you do remember? That is a compliment.”

  Thorn laughed. “I don’t think any man would forget you.”

  “Only you would talk about sex in the middle of a battle.

  You are a goat, old man! At least Ananais had the courtesy to ask me to marry him.”

  “Did he, now? Don’t accept—he has a roving eye.”

  “It won’t rove far in a day,” she said.

  The legion charged again.

  For an hour they fought to gain a toehold on the ramparts, but the defenders had found fresh strength and courage. Lake had gathered sacks of small stones, which he poured into the bowls of his giant bows. Three times the missiles whistled and slashed into the legion before one of the bows snapped under the strain.

  The invaders fell back.

  As the sun fell on the third day, the wall still held.

  Ananais called Balan to him. “What news of Tarsk?”

  “It is strange,” said Balan. “There was one attack this morning, but since then nothing. The army merely sits.”

  “I wish to heaven they would do that here,” said Ananais.

  “Tell me, Darkmask, are you a believer?”

  “In what?”

  “You mentioned heaven.”

  “I don’t know enough to believe,” said Ananais.

  “Decado promised me that I would not be alone. And yet I am. The others have gone. Either they are dead and I am a fool, or they have been taken to the Source and I am refused.”

  “Why should you be refused?”

  Balan shrugged. “I never had faith, I had talents. My faith was part of a corporate faith. You understand? The others believed, and I felt their belief. With the
m gone … I don’t know anymore.”

  “I cannot help you, Balan.”

  “No. No one can.”

  “I think maybe it is better to believe than not to believe. But I couldn’t tell you why,” said Ananais.

  “It creates hope against the evil of the world,” said Balan.

  “Something like that. Tell me, do husbands and wives stay together in your heaven?”

  “I don’t know. That has been a debating point for centuries,” said the priest.

  “But there is a chance?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Then come with me,” said Ananais, pulling the man to his feet. They walked across the grass to the tents of the refugees, where Rayvan sat with her friends.

  She watched them approach, then Ananais halted before her and bowed.

  “Woman, I have a priest with me. Do you wish to wed again?”

  “You fool!” she said, chuckling.

  “Not at all. I have always wanted to find a woman with whom I would like to spend the rest of my life. But I never have. Now it looks as though I am going to spend the rest of my life with you. So I thought I would make an honest woman of you.”

  “This is all well and good, Darkmask,” she said, pushing herself to her feet, “except that I don’t love you.”

  “Nor I you. But once you appreciate my great qualities, I am sure you will come around.”

  “Very well,” said Rayvan with a broad smile. “But there will be no consummation until the third night. Mountain custom!”

  “Agreed,” said Ananais. “Anyway, I have a headache.”

  “This is nonsense,” snapped Balan. “I will have no part in it. It makes a mockery of a sacred bond.”

  Ananais laid his hand on Balan’s shoulder. “No, it does not, priest,” he said softly. “It is a lighthearted moment in the midst of horror. Look around you at the smiles.”

  Balan sighed. “Very well. Both of you approach.”

  Refugees poured from the tents as the word spread and several women gathered flowers that they turned into garlands. Wine was brought forth. Word even reached the hospital, where Valtaya had just finished working; she wandered out into the night, unsure of her feelings.