The King Beyond the Gate

by David Gemmell

  “Will you join us in prayer?” said Acuas.

  “No. You pray for me! I have spent too many years wasting my time in that fruitless exercise.”

  “We have always prayed for you,” said Katan.

  “Pray for yourselves! Pray that when you meet these Dark Templars your bowels do not turn to water.”

  With that he had left them. Now he raised his arms and led the troop through the temple gates and out over the Sentran Plain.

  “Are you sure this choice is wise?” Katan mind-pulsed to Abaddon.

  “It is not my choice, my son.”

  “He is a man consumed by anger.”

  “The Source knows our needs. Do you remember Estin?”

  “Yes, poor man. So wise—he would have been a good leader,” said Katan.

  “Indeed he would. Courageous yet kind, strong yet gentle, and possessed of intellect without arrogance. But he died. And on the day he died Decado appeared at our gates seeking sanctuary from the world.”

  “But suppose, Lord Abbot, that it was not the Source that sent him?”

  “ ‘Lord Abbot’ no longer, Katan. Merely ‘Abaddon.’ ”

  The older man severed the mind link, and it was some moments before Katan realized his question had not been answered.

  The years fled from Decado. Once more he was in the saddle, the wind in his hair. Once more the drumming of hooves sounded on the plain and the stirring in his blood brought his youth pounding back to his mind …

  The Dragon sweeping down on the Nadir raiders. Chaos, confusion, blood, and terror. Broken men and broken screams and crows shrieking their joy in the dark skies above.

  And then later, in one mercenary war after another in the most far-flung nations of the world. Always Decado walked away from the battle, not a wound on his slender form, while his enemies journeyed to whatever hells they believed in, shadowed and forgotten.

  The image of Tenaka Khan floated in Decado’s mind.

  Now, there was a warrior! How many times had Decado fallen asleep dreaming of a battle with Tenaka Khan? Ice and shadow in the dance of blades.

  They had fought many times. With wooden blades or tipped foils. Even with blunted sabers. Honors were even. But such contests were meaningless. Only when death rested on the blades could a true victor emerge.

  Decado’s thoughts were interrupted as the yellow-bearded Acuas cantered alongside.

  “It will be close, Decado. The Templars have found their trail at some devastated village. They will have made their move by morning.”

  “How soon can we reach them?”

  “Dawn at the earliest.”

  “Back to your prayers, then, yellowbeard. And make them powerful.”

  He spurred his horse to a gallop, and the Thirty followed him.

  It was close to dawn, and the companions had ridden through most of the night, stopping only for an hour to rest the horses. The Skoda range loomed ahead, and Tenaka was anxious to reach their sanctuary. The sun, hidden now beyond the eastern horizon, was stirring, and the stars faded as a pink glow painted the sky.

  The riders left a grove of trees and emerged onto a broad grassland swirling in mist. Tenaka felt a sudden chill touch his bones; he shivered and drew his cloak about him. He was tired and discontented. He had not spoken to Renya since their fight in the forest, yet he thought of her constantly. Far from removing her from his mind by turning on her, he had succeeded only in bringing himself fresh misery. And yet he was incapable of crossing the gulf he had opened between them. He glanced back to where she rode alongside Ananais, laughing at some jest, then turned away.

  Ahead, like dark demons out of the past, twenty riders waited in a line. They sat their horses immobile, black cloaks flapping in the breeze. Tenaka reined his mount some fifty paces from the center of their line, and his companions rode alongside.

  “What in hell’s name are they?” asked Ananais.

  “They are seeking me,” answered Tenaka. “They came at me in a dream.”

  “I don’t wish to appear defeatist, but there are rather too many for us to handle. Do we run?”

  “From these men you cannot run,” Tenaka said tonelessly as he dismounted.

  The twenty riders followed course, walking forward slowly through the mist, and it seemed to Renya that they moved like the shades of the dead on a ghostly sea. Their armor was jet, helms covered their faces, dark swords were in their hands. Tenaka went forward to meet them, hand on sword hilt.

  Ananais shook his head. A strange trancelike state had come upon him, leaving him a powerless observer. He slid from the saddle, drew his sword, and joined Tenaka.

  The Dark Templars halted, and their leader stepped forward.

  “We have no commission to kill you yet, Ananais,” he said.

  “I don’t die easily,” said Ananais. He was about to add an insult, but the words froze in his mouth as a terrible fear struck him like a blast of icy air. He began to tremble, and the urge to run rose in him.

  “You die as easily as any other mortal,” said the man. “Go back! Ride away to whatever doom awaits you.”

  Ananais said nothing; he swallowed hard and looked at Tenaka. His friend’s face was bone-white, and it was obvious that the same fear had washed over him.

  Galand and Parsal moved alongside them, swords in hand.

  “Do you think to stand against us?” said the leader. “A hundred men could not stand against us. Listen to my words and hear the truth—feel it through your terror.”

  The fear increased, and the horses grew skittish, whinnying their alarm. Scaler and Belder leapt from the saddles, sensing that the beasts were about to bolt. Pagan leaned forward, patting his horse’s neck; the beast settled down, but its ears were flat against its skull and he knew it was close to panic. Valtaya and Renya jumped clear as their horses bolted, then helped the village woman, Parise, dismount.

  Shielding her baby, who had begun to scream, Parise lay down on the ground, shaking uncontrollably.

  Pagan dismounted and drew his sword, walking forward slowly to stand beside Tenaka and the others. Belder and Scaler followed.

  “Draw your sword,” whispered Renya, but Scaler ignored her. It was all he could do to muster enough courage to stand alongside Tenaka Khan. Any thoughts of actually fighting beside him were buried under the weight of his terror.

  “Foolish,” said the leader contemptuously, “like lambs to the slaughter!” The Dark Templars advanced.

  Tenaka struggled to overcome his panic, but his limbs felt leaden as his confidence drained away. He knew dark magic was being used against him, but the knowledge was not enough. He felt like a child stalked by a leopard.

  Fight it! he told himself. Where is your courage?

  Suddenly, as in his dream, the terror passed and strength flowed to his limbs. He knew without turning that the white knights had returned, this time in the flesh.

  The Templars halted their advance, and Padaxes cursed softly as the Thirty moved into sight. Outnumbered now, he considered his options. Calling on the power of the spirit, he probed his enemies, meeting a wall of force that resisted his efforts … Except around the warrior at the center—this man was no mystic. Padaxes was no stranger to the legends of the Thirty—his own temples had been built to parody theirs—and he recognized the rune on the man’s helm.

  A nonmystic as leader? An idea formed in his mind.

  “Much blood will be shed here today,” he called, “unless we settle this as captains.”

  Abaddon grasped Decado’s arm as he moved forward. “No, Decado; you do not understand his power.”

  “He is a man; that is all,” answered the other.

  “No, he is far more—he has the power of chaos. If someone must fight him, let it be Acuas.”

  “Am I not leader in this force of yours?”

  “Yes, but …”

  “There are no buts. Obey me!” Pulling himself free, Decado moved on, halting a few feet from the black-armored Padaxes.

 
“What do you suggest, Templar?”

  “A duel between captains, the loser’s men leaving the field.”

  “I want more,” said Decado coldly. “Far more!”

  “Name it.”

  “I have studied much of the ways of mystics. It is … was … part of my former calling. It is said that in ancient wars champions carried the souls of their armies within them, and when they died, their armies died.”

  “That is so,” Padaxes said, disguising his joy.

  “Then that is what I demand.”

  “It shall be so. I swear it by the spirit!”

  “Swear nothing to me, warrior. Your oaths count for nothing. Prove it!”

  “It will take a little time. I shall conduct the rites first and trust your word that you will follow,” said Padaxes. Decado nodded and walked back to the others.

  “You cannot do this thing, Decado,” said Acuas. “You doom us all!”

  “Suddenly the game is not to your liking?” snapped Decado.

  “It is not that. This man, your enemy, has powers you do not possess. He can read your mind, sense your every move before you make it. How on earth can you defeat him?”

  Decado laughed. “Am I still your leader?”

  Acuas flicked a glance at the former abbot. “Yes,” he said, “you are the leader.”

  “Then, when he has finished his ritual, you will align the life force of the Thirty to mine.”

  “Tell me this before I die,” said Acuas gently. “Why are you sacrificing yourself in this way? Why do you doom your friends?”

  Decado shrugged. “Who can say?”

  The Dark Templars fell to their knees before Padaxes as he intoned the names of the lower demons, calling on the chaos spirit, his voice rising to a scream. The sun breasted the eastern horizon, yet strangely, no light fell upon the plain.

  “It is done,” whispered Abaddon. “He has kept his word, and the souls of his warriors are within him.”

  “Then do likewise,” ordered Decado.

  The Thirty knelt before their leader, heads bowed. Decado felt nothing, yet he knew they had obeyed him.

  “Dec, is it you?” called Ananais. Decado waved him to silence and advanced to meet Padaxes.

  The black sword hissed forward, to be parried instantly by the silver steel in Decado’s hand. The battle had begun. Tenaka and his companions watched in awe as the warriors circled and struck, blades clashing and clanging.

  Time wore on, and desperation became apparent in every move Padaxes made. Fear crept into his heart. Though he anticipated his opponent’s every move, such was the speed of the assault that it availed him nothing. He mind-pulsed a terror thought, but Decado laughed, for death held no terror for him. And then Padaxes knew his doom was sealed, and it irked him greatly that a mortal man could bring about his death. Launching a final savage assault, he experienced the horror of reading Decado’s mind at the last moment, seeing the riposte in the fraction of a second before it was launched.

  The silver steel whiplashed his own sword aside and buried itself in his groin. He sank to the ground, his lifeblood pumping to the grass … and the souls of his men died with him.

  Sunlight blazed through the darkness, and the Thirty rose to their feet, amazed that life still flowed in their veins.

  Acuas walked forward.

  “How?” he asked. “How did you win?”

  “There is no mystery, Acuas,” said Decado softly. “He was only a man.”

  “But so are you!”

  “No. I am Decado. The Ice Killer! Follow me at your peril.”

  Decado lifted his helm and sucked in a deep breath of cool dawn air. Tenaka shook his head to clear the webs of fear still clinging there.

  “Dec!” he called. Decado smiled and walked to him; the men gripped wrists in the warrior’s greeting. Ananais, Galand, and Parsal joined them.

  “By all the gods, Dec, you look fine. Very fine!” said Tenaka warmly.

  “And you, General. I am glad we were in time.”

  “Would you mind telling me,” said Ananais, “just why all those warriors died?”

  “Only if you will explain about that mask. It’s ridiculous for someone as vain as you to hide such classical good looks.”

  Ananais looked away while the others stood uneasily, the silence growing.

  “Will no one introduce me to our rescuer?” said Valtaya, and the moment passed. The Thirty stood aloof as the conversation began, then split into groups of six and moved about collecting wood for camp fires.

  Acuas, Balan, Katan, and Abaddon chose a position by a solitary elm. Katan started the fire, and the four of them sat around it, seemingly silent and watching the dancing flames.

  “Speak, Acuas,” pulsed Abaddon.

  “I am saddened, Abaddon, for our leader is not one of us.

  I do not mean that arrogantly, but our order is an ancient one, and always we have sought high spiritual ideals. We do not go to war for the joy of killing but to die in defense of the light. Decado is purely a killer.”

  “You are the heart of the Thirty, Acuas, for you have always been emotionally charged. You are a fine man—you care … you love. But sometimes our emotions can blind us. Do not judge Decado yet.”

  “How did he kill the Templar?” asked Balan. “It was inconceivable.”

  “The eyes of the Thirty and yet you cannot see, Balan. But I will not explain it to you. In time you will tell me. I believe the Source sent Decado to us, and I accepted him. Will one of you tell me why he is the leader?”

  Dark-eyed Katan smiled. “Because he is the least among us.”

  “But more than that,” said Abaddon.

  “It is his only role,” said Acuas.

  “Explain, Brother,” Balan asked.

  “As a knight he could not communicate with us or travel with us. Every move we made would have been a humiliation for him. Yet we go to a war that he understands. As our leader, his lack of talent is counterbalanced by his authority.”

  “Very good, Acuas. Now let the heart tell us where danger lies.”

  Acuas closed his eyes and remained mind-silent for several minutes, focusing his concentration.

  “The Templars will respond. They cannot suffer this defeat at our hands and allow the deed to go unavenged.”

  “And?”

  “And Ceska has sent a thousand men to crush the Skoda rebellion. They will arrive in less than a week.”

  Some thirty paces from their fire Decado sat with Tenaka, Ananais, Pagan, and Scaler.

  “Come on, Dec,” said Ananais. “How did you become the leader of a gang of warrior wizards? There must be a story to it.”

  “How do you know I am not a wizard?” countered Decado.

  “No, seriously,” Ananais whispered, glancing at the white-cloaked knights. “I mean, they are an eerie bunch. None of them is saying anything.”

  “On the contrary,” Decado told him. “They are all talking—mind to mind.”

  “Nonsense!” said Ananais, curling his fingers into the sign of the protective horn and holding his hand across his heart.

  Decado smiled. “I speak truly.” Turning, he called to Katan, who joined them. “Go on, Ani—ask something,” he ordered.

  “I feel foolish,” muttered Ananais.

  “Then I shall ask,” said Scaler. “Tell me, my friend, is it true you knights can talk … without talking?”

  “It is true,” said Katan softly.

  “Would you give us a demonstration?”

  “Of what nature?” asked Katan.

  “The tall man over there,” said Scaler, pointing and lowering his voice. “Could you ask him to remove his helm and put it on again?”

  “If it would please you,” said Katan, and all eyes turned to the warrior some forty paces distant. Obligingly he removed his helm, smiled, and replaced it.

  “That’s uncanny,” said Scaler. “How did you do it?”

  “It is hard to explain,” said Katan. “Please excuse me.” Bowing to
Decado, he rejoined his companions.

  “See what I mean?” said Ananais. “Eerie, inhuman.”

  “We have men in my land with similar talents,” said Pagan.

  “What do they do there?” Scaler asked.

  “Very little. We burn them alive,” said Pagan.

  “Is that not a little excessive?”

  “Perhaps,” answered the black man. “But then, I don’t believe in interfering with tradition.”

  Tenaka left them talking and moved across to where Renya sat with Valtaya, Parsal, and the village woman. As Renya watched him approach, her heartbeat quickened.

  “Will you walk with me awhile?” he asked. She nodded, and they moved away from the fires. The sun was clear and strong, and its light glinted on the silver streaks in his hair. She longed to reach out and touch him, but instinct made her wait.

  “I am sorry, Renya,” he said, reaching out and taking her hand. She looked into the slanted violet eyes and read the anguish there.

  “Did you speak the truth? Would you have used that dagger on me?”

  He shook his head.

  “Do you want me to stay with you?” she asked softly.

  “Do you want to stay?”

  “I desire nothing else.”

  “Then forgive me for being a fool,” he said. “I am not skilled in these things. I have always been clumsy around women.”

  “I am damned glad to hear it,” she said, smiling.

  Ananais watched them and his gaze slid to Valtaya. She was talking to Galand, and laughing.

  I should have let the Joining kill me, he thought.

  8

  The journey to Skoda took three days, for the company traveled warily. Acuas told Decado that following the slaying of the soldiers, the Delnoch fortress commander had sent patrols throughout Skultik and the surrounding countryside, while to the south legion riders scouted the lands for rebels.

  Tenaka took time to speak with the leaders of the Thirty, for despite the many legends, he knew little of their order. According to the stories, the Thirty were semigods with awesome powers who chose to die in wars against evil. The last time they had appeared had been at Dros Delnoch, when the albino Serbitar had stood beside the Earl of Bronze and defied the hordes of Ulric, the greatest Nadir warlord of all time.