“How are you feeling?” asked the giant.
“Good. I needed the rest.”
“Has the pain gone?”
“Yes. Did you bring food?”
“Of course. You had me worried for a while. You turned ghostly white, and your pulse was slow as death.”
“I’m all right now.” Tenaka sat up, and Ananais tossed him a canvas sack containing dried meat and fruit. They ate in silence. The waterfall glittered like diamonds on sable in the moonlight. Finally Ananais spoke.
“Four hundred of the legion have joined us. Decado says they will fight true, claims his priests have read their minds. Only three did they turn away. Two hundred others chose to return to Ceska.”
Tenaka rubbed his eyes. “And?”
“And what?”
“And what happened to those who chose to return?”
“I sent them out of the valley.”
“Ani, my friend, I am back now. I am all right. So tell me.”
“I had them slain in the valley. It was necessary, for they could have given information about our numbers.”
“This was known anyway, Ani. The Templars are watching over us.”
“All right. But even so, it is still two hundred fewer men they will send against us in the days to come.”
Silence descended again, and Ananais lifted his mask gently, probing at the angry scar tissue.
“Take the thing off,” said Tenaka. “Let the air get to the skin.”
Ananais hesitated, then he sighed and removed the leather. In the red firelight he seemed like a demon, inhuman and terrible. His blue eyes were fixed on Tenaka in a piercing stare, as if he were trying to discern some evidence of revulsion.
“Give me your view of the battle,” said Tenaka.
“It went according to plan. I was pleased with Rayvan’s men, and her son Lake is an asset. The black man fought well. He is a fine warrior. Given a year, I could rebuild the Dragon around these Skoda men.”
“We don’t have a year.”
“I know,” said Ananais. “I reckon two months.”
“We cannot beat them like this, Ani.”
“You have a plan?”
“Yes. But you won’t like it.”
“If it means our winning, I will like it,” promised Ananais. “What is it?”
“I mean to bring the Nadir.”
“You are right—I don’t like it. In fact, it stinks like rotting meat. If Ceska is bad, the Nadir are worse. Gods, man, at least with Ceska we are still Drenai. Are you out of your mind?”
“It is all we have left, my friend. We have almost a thousand men. We cannot hold Skoda and would be hard-pressed to withstand a single charge.”
“Listen to me, Tani! You know I have never held your blood against you. Not personally. I love you better than a brother. But I hate the Nadir as I hate nothing else on this earth. And I am not alone. No man here will fight alongside them. And suppose you do bring an army? What the hell happens when we win? Do they just go home? They will have beaten the Drenai army; the land will be theirs, and we shall have another bloody civil war.”
“I don’t see it that way.”
“And how will you bring them? There are no secret ways through the mountains, not even through the Sathuli passes. No army can come from the north save through Delnoch, and even Ulric failed to pass those gates.”
“I have asked Scaler to take Dros Delnoch.”
“Oh, Tani, you have gone mad! He is a fop and a runner who has not joined in one battle so far. When we rescued the village girl, he just buried his head in his hands and lay in the grass. When we found Pagan, he remained with the women. When we were planning yesterday’s sortie, he was shaking like grass in a breeze and you told him to stay behind. And he will take Delnoch?”
Tenaka added wood to the fire, discarding the blanket from his shoulders. “I know all these things, Ani. But it can be done. Scaler is like his ancestor, the Earl of Bronze. He doubts himself, and he has great fears. But beyond those fears, if he ever sees it, there waits a fine man, a man of courage and nobility. And he is bright and quick-thinking.”
“Our hopes then rest on him?” asked Ananais.
“No. They rest on my judgment of him.”
“Don’t play with words. It is the same thing.”
“I need you with me, Ananais.”
Ananais nodded. “Why not? We are only talking about death. I will stay with you, Tani. What is life if a man cannot count on his friends when he has gone mad?”
“Thank you, Ani. I mean that.”
“I know. And I am worn out. I shall sleep for a while.”
Ananais lay back, resting his head on his cloak. The night breeze felt good on his scarred face. He was tired, more tired than he could ever remember being. It was the weariness of disappointment. Tenaka’s plan was a nightmare, yet there were no alternatives. Ceska held the land within the talons of his Joinings, and maybe, just maybe, a Nadir conquest would cleanse the nation. But Ananais doubted it.
From tomorrow on he would train his warriors as they had never been trained before. They would run until they fell, fight until their arms ached with weariness. He would drill them hard, preparing a force that not only would withstand Ceska’s legions but, he hoped, would live on to battle the new enemy.
Tenaka Khan’s Nadir.
* * *
At the center of the valley the bodies of the fallen were placed in a hastily dug ditch and covered with earth and rocks. Rayvan said a prayer, and the survivors knelt before the mass grave, whispering their own farewells to friends, brothers, fathers, and kin.
After the ceremony the Thirty moved away to the hills, leaving Decado and Rayvan and her sons. It was some time before he noticed their absence.
Decado left the fire and went in search of them, but the valley was large and soon he realized the extent of the task. The moon was high in the sky when he finally came to the conclusion that they had left him behind intentionally: they did not want to be found.
He sat down by a white marble boulder and relaxed his mind, floating down into the whispering realms of the subconscious.
Silence.
Anger nagged at him, dislodging his concentration, but he calmed himself and sought the sanctuary once more.
Then he heard the scream. It came at first as a soft, muted cry and grew into a soul-piercing expression of agony. Decado listened for a while, struggling to identify the source of the sound. Then it came to him. It was Abaddon.
And he knew where the Thirty had traveled: to rescue the Abbot of Swords and free him to die. He also knew that this was folly of the worst kind. He had promised Abaddon that he would look after his charges, and now, within a day of the old man’s death, they had left him in order to embark on a futile journey, traveling into the realms of the damned.
A terrible sadness assailed Decado, for he could not follow them. So he prayed, but no answer came to him and he expected none.
“What kind of a god are you?” he asked in his despair. “What do you expect from your followers? You give them nothing and ask for everything. At least with the spirits of darkness there is some communion. Abaddon died for you and still suffers. Now his acolytes will suffer in their turn. Why do you not answer me?”
Silence.
“You do not exist! There is no force for purity. All a man has is his will to do good. I reject you. I want no more to do with you!”
Decado relaxed then and probed deeper into his mind, seeking the mysteries Abaddon had promised him throughout his years of study. He had tried in the past, but never with this sense of desperation. He traveled yet deeper, tumbling and spinning through the roaring of his memories, seeing again the battles and skirmishes, the fears and the failures. On, on, through the bitter sadness of his childhood, back to his first stirrings in his mother’s womb and beyond into separation: seed and egg, driving, waiting.
Darkness.
Movement. The snapping of chains, the soaring freedom.
Light.
Decado floated free, drawn to the pure silver light of the full moon. He halted his rise with an effort of will and gazed down on the curving beauty of the Demon’s Smile, but a dark cloud drifted beneath him and obscured the view. He glanced down at his body, white and naked in the moonlight, and joy flooded his soul.
The scream froze him. He remembered his mission, and his eyes blazed with cold fire. But he could not travel naked and unarmed. Closing his spirit eyes, he pictured armor, the black and silver of the Dragon.
And it was there. But no sword hung at his side, no shield on his arm.
He tried again. Nothing.
The long-ago words of Abaddon drifted back over the years. “In spirit travel a Source warrior carries the sword of his faith, and his shield is the strength of his belief.”
Decado had neither.
“Damn you!” he shouted into the cosmic night. “Still you thwart me, even when I am on your business.” He closed his eyes once more. “If it is faith I need, then I have faith. In myself. In Decado, the Ice Killer. I need no sword, for my hands are death.”
And he flew like a shaft of moonlight, drawn to the scream. He left the world of men with awesome speed, soaring over dark mountains and gloomy plains; two blue planets hovered over the land, and the stars were dim and cold.
Below him an ebony castle squatted on a low hill. He halted in his flight, hovering above the stone ramparts. A dark shadow leapt at him, and he swerved as a sword blade flashed by his head. His hand lanced out, gripping the swordsman’s wrist, spinning his enemy around. Decado’s left hand chopped down at his opponent; the man’s neck snapped, and he vanished. Decado spun on his heel as a second attacker surged at him. The man wore the dark livery of the Templars. Decado leapt back as the sword cut a glittering semicircle past his belly. As a backhand slash hissed at his neck, Decado ducked and dived forward under the blade, ramming his skull under the man’s chin. The Templar staggered.
Decado’s hand stabbed out, the fingers burying themselves in the Templar’s throat. Once more his opponent vanished.
Ahead was a half-open door leading to a deep stairwell. Decado ran forward but then stopped, his senses urging caution. Launching himself feetfirst, he smashed the door back on its hinges and a man groaned and slumped forward into view. Rolling to his feet, Decado hammered his foot into the man’s chest, caving in the breastbone.
Running on, he took the stairs three at a time to emerge into a wide circular hall. At the center the Thirty stood in a tight circle, surrounded on all sides by dark-cloaked Templars. Swords clashed silently, and no sound issued from the battle. Outnumbered more than two to one, the Thirty were fighting for their lives.
And losing!
They had only one choice left: flight. Even as he realized this, Decado noticed for the first time that he could no longer soar into the air: As soon as he had touched these grim battlements, his powers had left him. But why? In that instant he knew the answer; it lay in the words he had used to Abaddon: “Evil lives in a pit. If you want to fight it, you have to climb down into the slime to do so.”
They were in the pit, and the powers of light were lessened here, even as the powers of darkness failed against the hearts of strong men.
“To me!” yelled Decado. “Thirty to me!”
For a moment the battle ceased as the Templars paused to check the source of the sound. Then six of them peeled off from the battle to charge him. Acuas cut his way into the gap and led the warrior-priests toward the stairs.
The Thirty cut and slashed a path, their silver blades shining like torches in the gloom. No bodies lay on the cold stones; any pierced by sword blade in that bloodless battle merely vanished as if they had never been. Only nineteen priests still stood.
Decado watched death bear down on him. His skill was great, but no man alive could tackle six men unarmed and survive. But he would try. A great calm settled upon him, and he smiled at them.
Two swords of dazzling light appeared in his hands, and he attacked with blistering speed. A left cut, a parry and riposte, a right slash, a left thrust. Three down and gone like smoke in the breeze. The remaining three Templars fell back into the eldritch blades of the Thirty.
“Follow me!” shouted Decado. Turning, he ran up the stairs ahead of them and out on to the battlements. Leaping to the wall, he gazed down on the jagged rocks so far below. The Thirty came out into the open.
“Fly!” ordered Decado.
“We shall fall!” shouted Balan.
“Not unless I tell you to, you son of a slut! Now, move!”
Balan hurled himself from the battlements, swiftly followed by the other sixteen survivors. Last of all Decado leapt to join them.
At first they fell, but once clear of the pull of the castle, they soared into the night, hurtling back to the realities of Skoda.
Decado returned to his body and opened his eyes. Slowly he walked toward the eastern woods, drawn by the pulsing mood of despair emanating from the young priests.
He found them in a clearing between two low hills. They had laid out the eleven bodies of the slain, and now they prayed, heads bowed.
“Get up!” ordered Decado. “On your feet!” Silently they obeyed him. “My, how ridiculous you are! For all your talents, you are but children. Tell me, how did the rescue go, children? Have we freed Abaddon? Are we going to have a celebration party? Look me in the eyes, damn you!”
He moved to Acuas. “Well, yellowbeard, you have exceeded yourself. You have achieved what neither the Templars nor the forces of Ceska could accomplish. You have destroyed eleven of your comrades.”
“That is not fair!” shouted Katan, tears in his eyes.
“Be silent!” thundered Decado. “Fair? I am talking about reality. Did you find Abaddon?”
“No,” Acuas said softly.
“Have you worked out why?”
“No.”
“Because they never had his soul; that would be a feat beyond them. They lured you into their trap by deceit, which is something at which they excel. Now eleven of your brothers are slain. And you carry that burden.”
“And what about you?” said Katan, his normally serene face shaking with fury. “Where were you when we needed you? What sort of a leader are you? You don’t believe in our faith. You are just an assassin! There is no heart in you, Decado. You are the Ice Killer. Well, at least we fought for something we believed in and traveled to die for a man we loved. All right, we were wrong, but we had no leader once Abaddon was dead.”
“You should have come to me,” Decado replied defensively.
“Why? You were the leader, and you should have been there. We did seek you. Often. But even when you discovered your talents—talents we had prayed for—you hovered on the edge of our prayers. You never came forward. When do you eat with us or talk with us? You sleep alone, away from the fire. You are an outsider. We are here to die for the Source. What are you here for?”
“I am here to win, Katan. If you want to die, just fall on your sword. Or ask me—I will do it for you, I will end your life in an instant. You are here to fight for the Source, to ensure that evil does not triumph in this land. But I will talk no more. I am the leader chosen, and I require no oaths from you. No promises. Those who will obey me will come to me in the morning. We will eat together—aye, and pray together. Those who wish to follow their own road may do so. And now I leave you to bury the dead.”
Back in the city the populace cheered the victorious army from the fields a half mile south, right through to the city center and the makeshift barracks. But the cheers were muted, for the question remained on everyone’s mind: What now? When will Ceska come with his Joinings?
Tenaka, Rayvan, Ananais, Decado, and other leaders of the new army met together in the senate hall, while Rayvan’s sons, Lake and Lucas, produced maps of the terrain to the east and south.
After an afternoon of heated discussion it became obvious that much of Skoda was indefensible. The pass at the Demon’s Smi
le could be walled and manned, but it would need a thousand men to hold it for any length of time, while to the north and south some six other passes gave entrance to the valleys and meadows of Skoda.
“It’s like trying to defend a rabbit warren,” said Ananais. “Ceska, even without his Joinings, can put into battle fifty times as many men. They could hit us on any of sixteen fronts. We simply cannot cover the ground.”
“The army will grow,” said Rayvan. “Even now more men are coming down from the mountains. Word will spread outside Skoda, and rebels will flock to join us.”
“Yes,” Tenaka admitted, “but in that there is a problem. Ceska will send spies, agents, alarmists—they will all filter in.”
“The Thirty will help where they can and ferret out traitors,” said Decado. “But if too many are allowed in, we will not be able to deal with them.”
“Then we must man the passes, spread the Thirty among the men,” said Tenaka.
And so it went on. Some men wanted to return to their farms to ready the fields for summer; others merely wished to return home with news of their victory. Lake complained that the food supplies were inadequate. Galand told of fights breaking out between Skoda men and the new legion volunteers.
Throughout the long afternoon and into dusk the leaders sought answers to the problems. It was agreed finally that half the men would be allowed home so long as they promised to work on the farms of those who stayed behind. At the end of the month the first half would return, to be replaced at home by the others.
Ananais bristled with anger. “And what of training?” he stormed. “How in the devil’s name do I get them ready for war?”
“They are not regular soldiers,” Rayvan said softly. “They are working men with wives and children to feed.”
“What about the city treasury?” Scaler asked.
“What about it?” queried Rayvan.
“How much is there?”
“I have no idea.”
“Then we should check. Since we rule Skoda, the money is ours. We could use it to buy food and stores from the Vagrians. They may not let us pass their borders, but they will not turn back our money.”
The King Beyond the Gate Page 17
