The King Beyond the Gate

9

The council chamber had seen better days; now woodworm pockmarked the inlaid elm around the walls and the painted mosaic showing the white-bearded Druss the Legend had peeled away in ugly patches, exposing the grey of mould growing on the plaster.

Some thirty men and about a dozen women and children were seated on wooden benches, listening to the words of the woman sitting at the Senate chair. She was large, big-boned and broad of shoulder. Her dark hair swept out from her head like a lion's mane and her green eyes blazed with anger.

'Just listen to yourselves!' she roared, pushing herself to her feet and smoothing the folds in her heavy green skirt. 'Talk, talk, talk! And what does it all mean? Throw yourselves on Ceska's mercy? What in hell's name does that mean? Surrender, that's what! You, Petar — stand up!'

A man snuffled to his feet, head bowed and blushing furiously.

'Lift your arm!' bellowed the woman and he did so. The hand was missing and the stump showed evidence still of the tar that had closed the wound.

'That is Ceska's mercy! By all the gods, you cheered loud enough when my men of the mountains swept the soldiers from our lands. You couldn't do enough for us then, could you? But now they are coming back, you want to squeal and hide. Well, there is nowhere to hide. The Vagrians won't let us cross their borders, and for damn sure Ceska won't forgive and forget.'

A middle-aged man rose to his feet alongside the helpless Petar. 'It's no use shouting, Rayvan. What choices do we have? We cannot beat them. We shall all die.'

'Everybody dies, Vorak,' stormed the woman. 'Or had you not heard? I have six hundred fighting men who say we can defeat the Legion. And there are five hundred more who are waiting to join us when we can lay our hands on more weapons.'

'Suppose we do turn back the Legion,' said Vorak, 'what happens when Ceska sends in his Joinings? What use will your fighting men be then?'

'When the time comes, we shall see,' she promised.

'We shall see nothing. Go back where you came from and leave us to make peace with Ceska. We don't want you here!' shouted Vorak.

'Oh, speaking for everyone now, are we, Vorak?' Rayvan stepped from the dais and marched towards the man. He swallowed hard as she loomed over him, then her hand gripped his collar and propelled him towards the wall. 'Look up there and tell me what you see,' she commanded.

'It's a wall, Rayvan, with a picture on it. Now let me go!'

'That's not just a picture, you lump of dung! That's Druss! That's the man who stood against the hordes of Ulric. And he didn't bother to count them. You make me sick!'

Leaving him, she walked back to the dais and turned on the gathering. 'I could listen to Vorak. I could take my six hundred and vanish back into the mountains. But I know what would happen — you would all be killed. You have no choice but to fight.'

'We have families, Rayvan,' protested another man.

'Yes, and they will die too.'

'So you say,' said the man, 'but we are certain to be killed if we resist the Legion.'

'Do what you want, then,' she snapped. 'But get out of my sight — all of you! There used to be men in this land. Get out!'

Petar turned at the door, the last to leave. 'Don't judge us too harshly, Rayvan,' he called.

'Get outl' she bellowed. She wandered to the window and looked out at the city, white under the spring sun. Beautiful, but indefensible. There was no wall. Rayvan put together a string of oaths that rolled from her tongue with rare power. She felt better then. . but not much.

Beyond the window in the winding streets and open squares people thronged, and although Rayvan could not hear their words she knew the subject of every conversation.

Surrender. The possibility of life. And beyond the words, the driving emotion — fear!

What was the matter with them? Had Ceska's terror eroded the strength of the people? She swung round and stared at the fading mosaic. Druss the Legend, squat and powerful with axe in hand, the mountains of Skoda behind him seeming to echo the qualities of the man — white-topped and indestructible.

Rayvan looked at her hands: short, stubby and still ingrained with the soil of her farms. Years of work, cripplingly hard work, had robbed them of beauty. She was glad there was no mirror. Once she had been the 'maid of the mountains', slim of waist and garlanded. But the years — such good years — had been less than kind. Her dark hair was now shot with silver and her face was hard as Skoda granite. Few men now looked on her with lust, which was just as well. After twenty years of marriage and nine children, she had somewhat lost interest in the beast with two backs.

Returning to the window, she looked out beyond the city to the ring of mountains. Whence would the enemy come? And how would she meet them? Her men were confident enough. Had they not defeated several hundred soldiers, losing only forty men in the process? Indeed they had — but the soldiers had been taken by surprise and they were a gutless bunch. This time would be different.

Rayvan thought long and hard about the coming battle.

Different?

They will cut us to pieces. She swore, picturing again the moment when the soldiers had swept into her lands and butchered her husband and two of their sons. The watching crowd had been subdued until Rayvan, armed with a curved meat cleaver, had run forward and hammered it into the officer's side.

Then it was pandemonium.

But now. . Now was the time to pay for the dance.

She walked across the hall to stand with hands on hips below the mosaic.

'I have always boasted that I came from your line, Druss,' she said. 'It's not true — as far as I know. But I wish I had. My father used to talk of you. He was a soldier at Delnoch and he spent months studying the chronicles of the Earl of Bronze. He knew more about you than any man living. I wish you could come back. . Step down from that wall! Joinings wouldn't stop you, would they? You would march to Drenan and rip the crown from Ceska's head. I cannot do it, Druss. I don't know the first thing about war. And, damn it, there is no time to learn.'

The far door creaked open. 'Rayvan?'

She turned to see her son, Lucas, bow in hand. 'What is it?'

'Riders — around fifty of them, heading for the city.'

'Damn! How did they get past the scouts?'

'I don't know. Lake is gathering what men he can find.'

'Why only fifty?'

'They obviously don't hold us in high account,' said Lucas, grinning. He was a handsome lad, dark-haired but grey-eyed; with Lake he was the pick of her litter, she knew.

'They will hold us in higher account when we've met them,' she said. 'Let's move.'

They left the chamber and made their way along the marbled corridor and down the wide stairs to the street. Already the news had spread and Vorak was waiting for them, backed by more then fifty traders.

'That's it, Rayvan!' he shouted as she came into the sunlight. 'Your war is over.'

'What does that mean?' she asked, holding her temper.

'You started all this — it's your fault. Now we're going to hand you over to them.'

'Let me kill him,' whispered Lucas, reaching for an arrow.

'No!' hissed Rayvan, her eyes sweeping the buildings opposite — in every window was an archer, bow bent. 'Go back into the chamber and get out through Bakers' Alley. Fetch Lake and do what you can to get away into Vagria. Sometime, when you can, avenge me.'

'I won't leave you, mother.'

'You will do as you're told!'

He swore, then backed away through the door. Rayvan walked slowly down the steps, her face set, her green eyes locked on Vorak. He backed away.

'Tie her!' he shouted, and several men rushed forward to pin Rayvan's arms behind her back.

'I shall come back, Vorak. From beyond the grave I shall return,' she promised. He hit her across the face with the flat of his hand. She made no sound, but blood trickled from a split in her lip. They dragged her through the crowd as they made their way to the outer city and the plain beyond where the riders had come into view. The leader was a tall man with a cruel face. He dismounted and Vorak ran forward.

'We have taken the traitress, sir. She led the rebellion, if such you can call it. We are innocent men, all of us.'

The man nodded and approached Rayvan. She stared into his slanted violet eyes.

'So,' she said softly, 'even the Nadir ride with Ceska, do they?'

'Your name, woman?' he said.

'Rayvan. Remember it, barbarian, for my sons will carve it on your heart.'

He turned to Vorak. 'What do you suggest we do with her?'

'Kill her! Make an example. Death to all traitors!'

'But you are loyal?'

'I am. I always have been. It was I who first reported the rebels in Skoda. You should know of me — I am Vorak.'

'And these men with you, they are also loyal?'

'None more so. Every one is pledged to Ceska.'

The man nodded, turning once more to Rayvan. 'And how did you come to be captured, woman?'

'We all make mistakes.'

The man lifted his hand and thirty white-cloaked riders moved out to surround the mob.

'What are you doing?' asked Vorak.

The man drew his sword, testing the edge with his thumb. He spun on his heel, the blade flashed out and Vorak's head tumbled from his neck, eyes wide with horror.

The head bounced at the man's feet as Vorak's body collapsed to the grass, blood pumping from his neck. The men in the crowd fell to their knees, begging for mercy.

'Silence!' bellowed a black-masked giant who sat a bay gelding. The noise subsided, though here and there the sound of sobbing could still be heard.

'I have no wish to kill you all,' said Tenaka Khan. 'So you will be taken to the valley and released to make your peace with the Legion. I wish you luck — I sincerely believe you will need it. Now get up and move out.'

Herded by The Thirty, the men began to walk to the east as Tenaka untied Rayvan's arms.

'Who are you?' she asked.

'Tenaka Khan, of the line of the Earl of Bronze,' he answered, bowing.

'I am Rayvan — of the line of Druss the Legend,' she told him, planting her hands on her hips.

Scaler wandered alone in the gardens of Gathere behind the city council hall. He had sat listening as Tenaka and Rayvan talked of the coming battle, but could find no sensible comments to add. So he had slipped out quietly, his heart heavy. He had been a fool to join them. What could he offer? He was no warrior.

He sat on a stone bench, staring into a rock pool and watching the golden fish dart among the lilies. Scaler had been a lonely child. It had not been easy living with the irascible Orrin, knowing how the old man had pinned his hopes on Scaler becoming a worthy successor. The family had proved ill-fated and Scaler was the last of the line — if you discounted Tenaka Khan. And most people did.

But Arvan — as Scaler then was — had taken to the Nadir youngster, seeking his company at every opportunity, relishing the stories of life on the Steppes. His admiration had changed to hero worship on the night when the assassin climbed into his room.

The man, dressed all in black and hooded, had reached across his bed to clamp a gloved hand over his mouth. Arvan, a sensitive, frightened six-year-old, had fainted in fear, awaking only when the cold winter breeze touched his cheek. When his eyes opened he found himself staring down from the battlements to the cobbles far below. He twisted in the man's grip and felt his fingers loosen.

'If you value your life, don't do it!' said a voice.

The assassin cursed softly, but his hold strengthened.

'And if I let him live?' he asked, his voice muffled.

'Then you live,' said Tenaka Khan.

'You are just a boy. I could kill you too.'

"Then go on with your mission,' said Tenaka. 'And try your luck.'

For several seconds the assassin hesitated. Then he slowly pulled Arvan back over the battlements and placed him on the stone steps. The man backed away into the shadows and was gone. Arvan ran to Tenaka and the youth sheathed his sword and hugged him.

'He was going to kill me, Tani.'

'I know. But he's gone now.'

'Why did he want to kill me?'

Tenaka had not known the answer. Neither had Orrin, but thereafter a guard was placed at Arvan's door and his life continued with fear as a constant companion. .

'Good afternoon.'

Scaler looked up to see, standing by the pool, a young woman dressed in a flowing gown of thin white wool. Her hair was dark and gently waved, and her green eyes were flecked with gold. Scaler stood and bowed.

'Why so gloomy?' she asked.

He shrugged. 'I would rather say melancholy. Who are you?'

'Ravenna, Rayvan's daughter. Why are you not in there with the others?'

He grinned. 'I know nothing about wars, campaigns or battles.'

'What do you know about?'

'Art, literature, poetry and all things of beauty.'

'You are out of your time, my friend.'

'Scaler. Call me Scaler.'

'A strange name, Scaler. Do you climb things?'

'Walls, mostly.' He gestured towards the seat. 'Will you join me?' he asked.

'For a little while only. I have errands to run.'

'I am sure they can wait. Tell me, how did a woman come to lead a rebellion?'

'To understand that, you have to know mother. She is of the line of Druss the Legend, you know, and will not be cowed by anyone or anything. She once drove off a mountain lion with a large stick.'

'A formidable lady,' said Scaler.

'Indeed she is. And she also knows nothing about wars, campaigns and battles. But she will learn. So should you.'

'I would sooner learn more about you, Ravenna,' he said, switching on his winning smile.

'I see there are some campaigns that you understand,' she said, rising from her seat. 'It was nice meeting you.'

'Wait! Could we meet again? Tonight, for instance?'

'Perhaps. If you live up to your name.'

That night, as Rayvan lay in her broad bed staring out at the stars, she felt more at peace than at any time during the last few hectic months. She had not realised just how irksome leadership could be. Nor had she ever intended to be a leader. All she had done was to slay the man who killed her husband — but from then on it had been like sliding down an icy mountain.

Within weeks of the campaign Rayvan's slender forces controlled most of Skoda. Those were the heady days of cheering crowds and earneraderie. Then word began to filter into the mountains of an army being gathered, and swiftly the mood changed. Rayvan had felt besieged in the city even before the enemy had arrived.

Now she felt light of heart.

Tenaka Khan was no ordinary man. She smiled and closed her eyes, summoning his image to her mind. He moved like a dancer in perfect control and he wore confidence like a cloak. The warrior born!

Ananais was more enigmatic but, by all the gods, he had the look of eagles about him. Here was a man who had been over the mountain. He it was who had offered to train her fledgling fighters and Lake had taken him back into the hills where they camped. The two brothers Galand and Parsal had travelled with them — solid men, with no give in them.

The black she was unsure of. He looked like a damned Joining, she thought. But for all that, he was a handsome devil. And there was little doubt he could handle himself.

Rayvan turned over, punching a little comfort into the thick pillow.

Send in your Legion, Ceska. We shall stove in their damned teeth!

Down the long corridor, in a room facing east, Tenaka and Renya lay side by side, an uncomfortable silence between them.

Tenaka rolled on to his elbow and looked down at her, but Renya did not return his gaze.

'What is the matter?' he asked.

'Nothing.'

"That is palpably untrue. Please, Renya, speak to me.'

'It was the man you killed.'

'You knew him?'

'No, I didn't. But he was unarmed — there was no need.'

'I see,' he said, swinging his long legs from the bed. He walked to the window, and she lay there staring at his naked form silhouetted against the moonlight.

'Why did you do it?'

'It was necessary.'

'Explain it to me.'

'He led the mob and he was obviously Ceska's man. By killing him suddenly, it cowed them. You saw them — all armed, many with bows. They could have turned on us, but his death stunned them.'

'It certainly stunned me — it was butchery!'

He turned to face her. 'This is not a game, Renya. Many men will die, even before this week is out.'

'It still was not right.'

'Right? This isn't a poem, woman! I am not some gold-armoured hero righting wrongs. I reasoned that his death would allow us to remove a cancer from the city without loss to ourselves. And anyway, he deserved to die.'

'It doesn't touch you, does it? Taking life? You don't care that he might have had a family, children, a mother.'

'You are right; I don't care. There are only two people in the world that I love — you are one and Ananais is the other. That man had made his decision. He chose sides and he died for it. I don't regret it and probably I would have forgotten it within the month.'

'That is a terrible thing to say!'

'You would prefer it if I lied to you?'

'No. I just thought you were. . different.'

'Don't judge me. I am only a man doing my best. I know no other way to be.'

'Come back to bed.'

'Is the argument over?'

'If you want it to be,' she lied.

In the room above them Pagan grinned and moved away from the window.

Women were strange creatures. They fell in love with a man and then sought to change him. Mostly they succeed — to spend the rest of their lives won-dering how they could have married such boring conformists. It is the nature of the beast, Pagan told himself. He thought of his own wives, running their faces past his mind's eye, but he could picture only about thirty of them. You are getting old, he told himself.He often wondered how he had allowed the numbers to become so great. The palace was more crowded than a bazaar. Ego. That was it! There was no getting away from it. Just as there was no getting away from his forty-two children. He shuddered. Then he chuckled.

A faint shuffling noise disturbed his thoughts and he moved back to the window, peering out into the shadows.

A man was climbing the wall some twenty feet to the right — it was Scaler.

'What are you doing?' asked Pagan, keeping his voice low.

'I am planting corn,' hissed Scaler. 'What do you think I'm doing?'

Pagan glanced up to the darkened window above. 'Why didn't you just climb the stairs?'

'I was asked to arrive this way. It's a tryst.'

'Oh, I see. Well, goodnight!'

'And to you.'

Pagan ducked back his head through the window. Strange how much effort a man would make just to get himself into trouble.

'What's going on?' came the voice of Tenaka Khan.

'Will you keep your voice down?' snarled Scaler.

Pagan returned to the window, leaning out to see Tenaka staring upwards.

'He is on a tryst… or something,' said Pagan.

'If he falls he will break his neck.'

'He never falls,' said Belder, from a window to the left. 'He has a natural talent for not falling.'

'Will someone tell me why there is a man climbing the wall?' shouted Rayvan.

'He is on a tryst!' yelled Pagan.

'Why couldn't he climb the stairs?' she responded.

'We have been through all that. He was asked to come this way!'

'Oh. He must be seeing Ravenna then,' she said. Scaler clung to the wall, engaged in his own private conversation with the Senile Eternals.

Meanwhile in the darkened room above. Ravenna bit her pillow to stop the laughter. Without success.

For two days Ananais walked among-the Skoda fighters, organising them into fighting units of twenty and pushing them hard. There were five hundred and eighty-two men, most of them tough and wolf-lean. Men to match the mountains. But they were undisciplined and unused to organised warfare. Given time, Ananais could have produced a fighting to equal anything Ceska could send against them. But he did not have time.

On his first morning with the grey-eyed Lake, he mustered the men and checked their weapons. there were not one hundred swords among them. 'It's not a farmer's weapon,' said Lake. 'But we've plenty of axes and bows.' Ananais nodded and moved on. Sweat trickled under his mask, burning at the scars that would not heal, and his irritation grew.

'Find me twenty men who could make leaders,' he said, then walked swiftly back to the crofter's cottage he had made his quarters. Galand and Parsal followed him.

'What's wrong?' asked Galand as the three men sat down in the cool of the main room.

'Wrong? There are nearly six hundred men out there who will be dead in a few days. That is what's wrong.'

'A little defeatist, aren't you?' said Parsal evenly.

'Not yet. But I am close,' admitted Ananais. 'They are tough and they are willing. But you cannot send a mob against the Legion. We don't even have a bugle. And if we did, there is not one man out there to understand a single call.'

'Then we shall have to cut and run — hit them hard and move away,' proposed Galand.

'You were never an officer, were you?' said Ananais.

'No. I didn't come from the right background,' snapped Galand.

'Whatever the reason, the simple fact is that you were not trained to lead. We cannot hit and run because that would mean splitting our force. Then the Legion would come after us piecemeal and we would have no way of knowing what was happening to the rest of the army. Equally, it would allow the Legion to enter Skoda and embark on a killing campaign against the cities and villages.'

Then what do you suggest?' asked Parsal, pouring water from a stone jug and passing the clay goblets to the other two.

Ananais turned away and lifted his mask, noisily sipping the cool water. Then he turned back to them. 'To be truthful, I don't know yet. If we stay together they will cut us to pieces in a single day. If we split up, they will cut the villagers to pieces. The choices are not attractive. I have asked Lake to supply me with rough maps of the terrain. And we have maybe two days to drill the men so that they will respond to rudimentary calls — we will use hunting horns and work out simple systems. Galand, I want you to go among the men and find the best two hundred — I want men who will stand firm against horsemen. Parsal, you check the bowmen. Again I want the best brought together as one unit. I shall also want to know the finest runners. And send Lake to me.'

As the two men left, Ananais gently removed the black leather mask. Then he filled a bowl with water and dabbed the red, angry scars. The door opened and he swung round, turning his back on the newcomer. Having settled the mask in place, he offered Lake a chair. Rayvan's eldest son was a fine-looking man, strong and lean; his eyes were the colour of a winter sky and he moved with animal grace and the confidence of the man who knows he has limits, but has not yet reached them.

'You are not impressed with our army?' he said.

'I am impressed by their courage.'

'They are mountain men,' said Lake, leaning back in his chair and stretching out his long legs on to the table top. 'But you did not answer my question.'

'It was not a question,' replied Ananais. 'You knew the answer. I am not impressed. But then they are not an army.'

'Can we turn back the Legion?'

Ananais considered the question. With many another man he would have lied, but not with this one. Lake was too sharp.

'Probably not.'

'And will you still stay?'

'Yes.'

'Why?'

'A good question. But I cannot answer it.'

'It seemed simple enough.'

'Why will you stay?' countered Ananais.

'This is my land and they are my people. My family brought them to this.'

'Your mother, you mean?'

'If you like.'

'She is a fine woman.'

'Indeed she is. But I want to know why you will stay.'

'Because it is what I do, boy. I fight. I'm Dragon. Do you understand?'

Lake nodded. 'So the war between good and evil does not concern you?'

'Yes, it does, but not greatly. Most wars are fought for greed but we are luckier here — we fight for our lives and the lives of the people we love.'

'And the land,' said Lake.

'Rubbish!' snapped Ananais. 'No man fights for dirt and grass. No, nor mountains. Those mountains were here before the Fall and they will be here when the world topples again.'

'I don't see it that way.'

'Of course not — you're young and full of fire. Me — I'm older than the sea. I have been over the mountain and looked into the eye of the Serpent. I have seen it all, young Lake. And I am not too impressed.'

'So! We understand one another, at least,' said Lake, grinning. 'What do you want me to do?'

'I want men sent now to the city. We have only seven thousand arrows and that is not enough. We have no armour — get some. I want the city scoured. We need food, oats, meal, dried beef, fruit. And I want horses — up to fifty. More if you can get them.'

'And how will we pay for all this?'

'Give them notes.'

'They will not accept promises from dead men.'

'Use your head, Lake. They will accept — because if they don't, you will take what you want. Any man who refuses will be branded a traitor and dealt with accordingly.'

'I am not going to kill a man because he won't let us rob him.'

"Then go back to your mother and send me a man who wants to win,' stormed Ananais. .

The weapons and food began to arrive on the morning of the third day.

By the morning of the fourth day Galand, Parsal and Lake had chosen the two hundred men Ananais had requested to stand against the Legion. Parsal had also organised the finest of the archers into a single group of just under one hundred.

As the sun cleared the eastern peaks, Ananais gathered the men together in an open meadow below the camp. Many of them now carried swords, by courtesy of the city armourer. All the archers carried two quivers of arrows, and even the occasional breastplate was to be seen among Ananais' new foot soldiers. With Parsal, Lake and Galand flanking him, Ananais climbed to the back of a cart and stood with hands on hips, eyes scanning the warriors seated around him.

'No fine speeches, lads,' he told them. 'We heard last night that the Legion is almost upon us. Tomorrow we will be in position to greet them. They are heading for the lower eastern valley, which I am told you call the Demon's Smile.

'There are about twelve hundred fighting men, all well-armed and well-horsed. Two hundred of them are archers — the rest lancers and swordsmen.' He paused to let the numbers sink in and watched men exchange glances, noting with pleasure the absence of fear in their faces.

'I have never believed in lying to the men under my command, and so I tell you this: our chances of victory are slim. Very slim! It is important we understand that.

'You know me by reputation. As yet you do not know me as a man. But I ask you to listen to what I say now, as if your own fathers were whispering in your ears. Battles are won in many cases by the actions of a single man. Each one of you could represent the difference between victory and defeat.

'Druss the Legend was such a man. He turned the battle for Skein Pass into one of the greatest Drenai victories of all time. But he was just a man — a Skoda man.

'On the day one of you, or ten of you, or a hundred of you, will turn the battle. A moment's panic, or a single second of heroism.' He paused again and then lifted his hand, one finger pointing to the sky. 'One single second!'

'Now I am going to ask for the first act of courage from some of you. If there be any men here who believe they could fail their friends in tomorrow's fight, let them leave the camp before today's end.

'I swear by all I hold precious that I will look down on no man who does this. For tomorrow it is vital that the men who look into the eyes of death should not falter.

'Later today we will be joined by a warrior second to none on the face of this earth — the most skilful general I have ever known and the deadliest fighting man under the sun. He will have with him a group of soldiers having very special talents; these warriors will be split up among you and their orders are to be obeyed without hesitation. And I mean that!

'Lastly, I ask for something for myself. I was the Wing Gan of the finest army in the world — the Dragon. They were my family, my friends, my brothers. And they are dead, betrayed and lost to this nation. But the Dragon was more than an army, it was an ideal. A dream, if you like. It was a force to stand against Darkness, formed by men who would march into Hell with a bucket of water, knowing they would put out the fire.

'But you don't need glittering armour or a battle standard to be the Dragon. You just need to be willing.

'The forces of Darkness are marching against us, like storm winds against a lantern. They think to find us cowering in the mountains like sheep. But I want them to feel the Dragon's breath on their necks and the Dragon's teeth in their guts! I want those black-garbed, high-riding sons of sluts to burn in the Dragon's fire!' He was shouting now, his fists clenched and punching the air for emphasis. He took a deep breath, then another, and suddenly swung out his arm to encompass them all.

'I want you to be the'Dragon. I want you to think Dragon. When they charge I want you to fight like Dragon!

'Can you do it? Well, CAN YOU?' he bellowed, pointing at a man in the front row.

'Damn right!' shouted the man.

'Can you?' said Ananais, pointing to a warrior several rows back. The man nodded. 'Use your voice!' stormed the general.

'I can!' the man called.

'And do you know the Dragon's roar?'

The man shook his head.

"The Dragon's roar is death. Death. DEATH! Let's hear you — you alone!'

The man cleared his throat and began to shout. He was blushing furiously.

'Give him some support, the rest of you!' Ananais, joining in with the man.

'Death, Death, DEATH. .' and the sound grew, rolling across the meadow to echo in the white-capped mountains, growing in strength and confidence, hypnotic as it drew the men together.

Ananais stepped from the wagon, pulling Lake to him.

'Now you get up there, lad. And give them your fighting-for-the-land speech. They're ready for it now, by thunder!'

'No fine speeches, indeed,' said Lake, grinning.

'Get up there, Lake, and lift their blood!'