The King Beyond the Gate

10

Pagan took the village woman Parise to an inn at the southern quarter of the city, where he passed three gold coins to the innkeeper. The man's eyes bulged at the sight of the small fortune glittering in his palm.

'I want the woman and the babe to receive your best,' said Pagan softly. 'I will leave more gold with friends, should this amount prove insufficient.'

'I will treat her like my own sister,' said the man.

'That is good,' said Pagan, smiling broadly and leaning over him. 'Because if you do not, I shall eat your heart.'

'There is no need to threaten me, black man,' said the stocky balding innkeeper, drawing back his shoulders and clenching his powerful fists. 'I require no instructions on how to treat a woman.'

Pagan nodded. 'These are not good times to rely on trust alone.'

'No, that's true enough. Will you join me for a drink?'

The two men sat together nursing their ale, while Parise fed the babe in the privacy of her new room. The innkeeper's name was Ilter and he had lived in the city for twenty-three years, ever since his farm failed during the great drought.

'You know you have given me too much money, don't you?' he said.

'I know,' answered Pagan. Ilter nodded and drained the rest of his ale.

'I have never seen a black man before.'

'In my land, beyond the dark jungles and the Mountains of the Moon, the people have never seen a white man, though there are legends that speak of such.'

'Strange world, isn't it?' said Ilter.

Pagan stared into the golden depths of his drink, suddenly homesick for the rolling veldt, the sunsets of scarlet and the coughing roar of the hunting lion.

He remembered the morning of the Day of Death. Would he ever forget it? The ships with black sails had beached in White Gold Bay and the raiders had swiftly made their way inland to his father's village. The old man had gathered his warriors swiftly, but there were not enough and they had been butchered at the last before the old king's kraal.

The raiders had come in search of gold, for legends were many concerning the people of the bay, but the old mines had been long worked out and the people had turned to the growing gold of maize and corn. In their fury the raiders took the women and tortured many, raping and murdering them at the last. In all four hundred souls passed over on that day — among them Pagan's father, mother, three sisters, a younger brother and four of his daughters.

One child escaped during the opening moments of the attack and ran like the wind, finding Pagan and his personal guard hunting in the High Hills.

With sixty men he raced barefoot over the veldt, his long-bladed spear resting on his shoulder. They reached the village soon after the raiders had left. Taking in the scene at a glance Pagan read the tracks. Three hundred men or more had attacked his father's kraal — too many for him to handle. Taking his spear, he snapped it across his knee, discarding the long shaft and hefting the stabbing blade like a short sword. His men followed suit.

'I want many dead — but one alive,' said Pagan. 'You, Bopa, will take the live one and bring him to me. For the rest, let us drink blood.'

'We hear and obey, Kataskicana,' they shouted, and he led them into the jungle and on to the bay.

Moving like black ghosts, they came upon the party singing and laughing as they made their way back to their ships. Pagan and his sixty fell upon them like demons of hell, hacking and stabbing. Then they were gone into the jungle.

Eighty raiders died in that one attack and one man was missing, presumed dead. For three days he wished that were so.

Pagan took the man to the ruined village and there he used all the barbarous skills of his people until at last the thing that had been a man gave up his soul to the void. Then Pagan had the carcass burned.

Returning to his palace, he called his counsellors to him and told them of the attack.

'My family blood calls to me for revenge,' he told them, 'yet our nation is too distant for war. The killers came from a land called Drenai, sent by their king to gather gold. I am a king and I carry the heart of my people in my hand. Therefore I alone shall carry this war to the enemy. I shall seek out their king and destroy him. My own son, Katasi, will sit on my throne until I return. If I am gone for longer than three years. .' He turned to the warrior beside him. 'It is time for you to rule, Katasi. I was king at your age.'

'Let me go in your place, father,' pleaded the young man.

'No. You are the future. If I do not return, I do not wish my wives to burn. It is one thing for them to follow a king on the day of his death and at the place of his passing. But if I am to die it may be that it will happen soon. I cannot have my wives waiting three years only to be lost in the mists. Let them live.'

'To hear is to obey.'

'Good! I believe I have taught you well, Katasi. Once you hated me for sending you to Ventria to study — even as I hated my father. Now I think you will find those years to your benefit.'

'May the Lord Shem rest his soul upon your sword,' said Katasi, embracing his father.

It had taken Pagan more than a year to reach the lands of the Drenai, and cost him half the gold he carried. He had soon realised the enormity of his task. Now he knew the gods had given him his chance.

Tenaka Khan was the key.

But first they must defeat the Legion.

For the last forty hours Tenaka Khan had been camped in the Demon's Smile, riding and walking over the terrain, studying each curve and hollow, memorising details of cover and angles of possible attack.

Now he sat with Rayvan and her son Lucas at the highest point of the curving valley, staring out on to the plain beyond the mountains.

'Well?' said Rayvan, for the third time. 'Have you come up with anything?' Rubbing his tired eyes, Tenaka discarded the sketch he had been working on and turned to the warrior woman, smiling. Her ample frame was now hidden beneath a long mailshirt and her dark hair was braided beneath a round black helm.

'I hope you are not still intending to stand with the fighters, Rayvan,' he said.

'You cannot talk me out of it,' she replied. 'My mind is made up.'

'Don't argue, man,' advised Lucas. 'You will be wasting your breath.'

'I got them into this,' she said, 'and I will be damned if I let them die for me without being with them.'

'Make no mistake about it, Rayvan, there will be a deal of dying. We can achieve no cheap victory here; we shall be lucky if we don't lose two-thirds of our force.'

'That many?' she whispered.

'At least. There is too much killing ground.'

'Can't we just pepper them with arrows from the high ground as they enter the valley?' asked Lucas.

'Yes. But they would just leave half their force to keep us pinned down and then attack the city and the villages. The bloodshed would be terrible.'

'Then what do you suggest?' said Rayvan.

He told her and she blanched. Lucas said nothing. Tenaka folded the parchment notes and sketches and tied them with a strip of leather. The silence grew between them.

'Despite your tainted blood,' said Rayvan at last, 'I trust you, Tenaka. From any other man, I would say it was madness. Even from you. .'

'There is no other way to win. But I accept it is fraught with dangers. I have marked out the ground where the work must be done, and I have made maps and charted distances for the archers to memorise. But it is up to you, Rayvan. You are the leader here.'

'What do you think, Lucas?' she asked her son.

He waved his hands. 'Don't ask me! I'm not a soldier.'

'You think I am?' snapped Rayvan. 'Give me an opinion.'

'I don't like it. But I cannot give you an alternative. As Tenaka says, if we cut and run we open Skoda to them. And we cannot win that way. But two-thirds. .'

Rayvan pushed herself to her feet, grunting as her rheumatic knee half gave way beneath her. She walked away down the slope to sit beside a ribbon stream that rushed over white pebbles, glinting like pearls inches below the surface.

Burrowing in the pocket of her mailshirt she found a hard-cake biscuit. It had broken into three pieces against the iron rings.

She felt a fool.

What was she doing here? What did she know of war?

She had raised fine sons and her husband had been a prince among men, big and gentle and soft as goosedown. When the soldiers cut him down she had reacted in an instant. But from then on she had lived a lie — revelling in her new role as a warrior queen, making decisions and directing an army. But it was all a sham, just like her claim to Druss' line. Her head bowed and she bit the knuckle of her thumb to stop the tears flowing.

What are you, Rayvan? she asked herself.

A fat, middle-aged woman in a man's mailshirt.

Tomorrow, or at most the day after, four hundred young men would die for her… their blood on her hands. Among them would be her surviving sons. Dipping her hands into the stream, she washed her face.

'Oh, Druss, what should I do? What would you do?'

There was no answer. Nor did she expect one. The dead were dead — no golden shades in ghostly palaces gazing fondly down on their descendants. There was no one to hear her cry for help, no living thing. Unless the stream itself and the pearl-like stones beneath could hear her, or the soft spring grass and the purple heather. She was alone.

In a way this had always been so. Her husband, Laska, had been a great comfort arid she had loved him well. But never with that all-consuming love she had dreamed about. He had been like a rock, a solid steadfast mountain of a man she could cling to when no others could see her. He had inner strength, and he didn't mind when she lorded it over him in public and appeared to be making all the family decisions. In reality she listened to his advice in the quiet of their room and, more often than not, acted upon it.

Now Laska was gone, and with him her other son, Geddis, and she sat alone in a ridiculous mailshirt. She gazed out at the mountains at the opening of the Demon's Smile, picturing the dark-cloaked Legion riders as they rode into the valley, remembering again the blow that had felled Laska. He had not expected an attack and was sitting by the well talking to Geddis. There must have been two hundred Skoda men in the area, waiting for the cattle auction. She had not heard what passed between the officer and her husband, for she was thirty feet away, chopping meat for the barbecue. But she had seen the sword flash into the air and watched the blade as it cut deep. Then she had been running, the meat cleaver in her hand. .

Now the Legion were coming back for revenge — not just on her but on the innocents of Skoda. Anger flickered inside her — they thought to ride into her mountains and stain the grass with the blood of her people!

Pushing herself to her feet, she slowly made her way back towards Tenaka Khan. He sat motionless like a statue, watching her without emotion in those violet eyes. Then he rose. She blinked, for his movement was swift and fluid; one moment he was still, the next in motion. There was perfection in that movement and it gave her confidence, though she could not imagine why.

'You have made a decision?' he asked.

'Yes. We will do as you advise. But I stay with the men in the centre.'

'As you wish, Rayvan. I shall be at the mouth of the valley.'

'Is that wise?' she asked. 'Is that not very dangerous for our general?'

'Ananais will take the centre, Decado the right flank. I shall come back to cover the left. If I fall, Galand shall cover for me. Now I must seek Ananais, for I want his men working through the night.'

The leaders of The Thirty met together in a sheltered hollow on the eastern slopes of the Demon's Smile. Below in the bright moonlight four hundred men were toiling, stripping turf and digging channels into the soft black earth beneath.

The five priests sat in a tight circle, saying nothing as Acuas travelled, receiving reports from the ten warriors watching over the preparations. Acuas soared high into the night sky, revelling in the freedom of the air; there was no gravity here, no necessity for breath, no chains of muscle and bone. Here, above the world, his eyes could see for ever and his ears hear the sweet song of the solar winds. It was intoxicating and his soul swelled with the extravagance of the beauty of the universe.

It was an effort to return to his duties, but Acuas was a man of discipline. He thought-flew to the outer scouts holding the shield against the Templars, and felt the malice beyond the barrier.

'How goes it, Oward?' he pulsed.

'It is hard, Acuas. They are growing in strength all the time. We will not be able to hold them for much longer.'

'It is imperative the Templars do not see the preparations.'

'We are almost at our limits, Acuas. Much more and they will be through. Then the deaths will begin.'

'I know. Hold them!'

Acuas sped down and on past the mouth of the valley to where the Legion were camped. Hovering there was the warrior Astin.

'Greetings, Acuas!'

'Greetings. Any change?'

'I don't believe so, Acuas, but the Templars have now closed us off and I can no longer intercept the leader's thoughts. But he is confident. He does not expect serious opposition.'

'Have the Templars tried to get through to you?'

'Not as yet. The shield holds. How fare Oward and the others?'

'They are being pushed to the limit. Do not wait too long, Astin. I do not want to see you cut off.'

'Acuas,' pulsed Astin as the other made to leave.

'Yes?'

'The men we escorted from the city. .'

'Yes?'

'They have all been slain by the Legion. It was ghastly.'

'I feared it would be so.'

'Are we responsible for their deaths?'

'I don't know, my friend; I fear so. Be careful.'

Acuas returned to his body and opened his eyes. He outlined the situation to the others and waited for Decado to speak.

'There is no more we can do,' said Decado, 'it is set. It will be dawn in less than three hours and the Legion will strike. As you know, Tenaka requires five of us to join his forces. The choice of men I will leave to you, Acuas. The rest of us will stand with Ananais at the centre. The woman, Rayvan, will be with us — Ananais wishes her protected at all costs.'

'No easy task,' said Balan.

'I didn't say it was easy,' answered Decado. 'Merely to try. Psychologically she is vital, for the Skoda men fight for her as well as for the land.'

'I understand that, Decado,' said Balan smoothly. 'But we can guarantee nothing. We will be on open ground with no horses and nowhere to run.'

'Do you imply criticism of Tenaka's plan?' asked Abaddon.

'No,' said Balan. 'We are all students of war here, and tactically his battle strategy is sound — technically brilliant, in fact. However, at best it has a thirty-per-cent chance of success.'

'Sixty,' said Decado.

Balan lifted an eyebrow. 'Really? Explain.'

'I accept you have skills beyond ordinary men. I accept also that your understanding of strategy is exceptional. But beware of pride, Balan.'

'In what way?' asked Balan, the hint of a sneer on his face.

'Because your training has been merely that — training. If we mapped out the battle as a game of chance, then thirty per cent is correct. But this is not a game. Down there you have Ananais, the Golden One. His strength is great and his skill greater. But more than this he has a power over men that comes close to your own psychic talents. Where he stands others will stand — he holds them with the power of his will. It is what makes him a leader. Any estimate of success in such a scheme will depend on the willingness of the line to hold, and the men to die. They may be beaten and slain, but they will not run.

'Add to this the speed of thought of Tenaka Khan. Like Ananais he has great skill and his understanding of strategy is beyond compare. But his timing is immaculate. He does not have Ananais' leadership qualities, but only because of his mixed blood. Men of the Drenai will think twice before following a Nadir.

'Lastly there is the woman, Rayvan. Her men will fight the stronger because she is with them. Revise your estimate, Balan.'

'I will reconsider, adjusting the points to incorporate your suggestions,' said the priest.

Decado nodded and then turned to Acuas. 'How far away are the Templars?'

'They will not arrive for tomorrow's battle, thank the Source! There are one hundred of them two days' ride from here. The rest are in Drenan while the leaders, the Six, meet with Ceska.'

'Then that is a problem for another day,' said Decado. 'I think I will rest now.'

Dark-eyed Katan spoke for the first time. 'Will you not lead us in prayer, Decado?'

Decado smiled gently. There was no hint of criticism from the young priest.

'No, Katan. You are closer to the Source than I and you are the Soul of The Thirty. You pray.'

Katan bowed and the group closed their eyes in silent communion. Decado relaxed his mind, listening for the faint sea roar. He drifted until the 'voice' of Katan grew and he floated towards it. The prayer was short and perfect in its sincerity, and Decado was touched to hear the young priest mention him by name, calling on the Lord of the Heavens to protect him.

Later, as Decado lay staring up at the stars, Abaddon came and sat beside him. The slim warrior sat up and stretched his back.

'Are you looking forward to tomorrow?' the Abbot asked.

'I am afraid that I am.'

The old man leaned back against a tree and closed his eyes. He looked tired, drained of all strength; the lines on his face — once as delicate as web threads — now seemed chiselled deep.

'I have compromised you, Decado,' whispered the Abbot. 'I have drawn you into a world you would not otherwise have seen. I have prayed about you constantly. It would be pleasant to know I was right. But that is not to be.'

'I cannot help you, Abaddon.'

'I know that. Every day I watched you in your garden and I wondered. In truth it was more hope than certainty. We are not a true Thirty — we never were. The Order was disbanded in my father's day but I felt — in my arrogance — that the world had need of us. So I scoured the continent, seeking out those children of special gifts. I did my best to teach them, praying the Source would guide me.'

'Perhaps you were right,' said Decado softly.

'I don't know any more. I have watched them all tonight, joined them in their thoughts. Where there should be tranquillity there is excitement, and even a lust for battle. It began when you killed Padaxes and they joyed in your victory.'

'What did you expect of them? There is not a man among them over twenty-five years of age! And they have never lived ordinary lives. . been drunk. . kissed a woman. Their humanity has been suppressed.'

'Think you so? I would prefer to think their humanity has been enhanced.'

'I am out of my depth in this conversation,' admitted Decado. 'I don't know what you expect from them. They will die for you — is that not enough?'

'No. Not by far. This grimy little war is meaningless against the vast scope of human endeavour. Don't you think these mountains have seen it all before? Does it matter that we may all die tomorrow? Will the world spin any less fast? Will the stars shine any more brightly? In a hundred years, not a man here today will still be alive. Will that matter? Many years ago, Druss the Legend stood and died on the walls of Dros Delnoch to stop a Nadir invasion. Does that matter now?'

'It mattered to Druss. It matters to me.'

'But why?'

'Because I am a man, priest. Simply that. I don't know if the Source exists and I don't really care. All I have is myself, and my own self-respect.'

'There must be more. There must be the triumph of Light. Man is so beset by greed, lust and the pursuit of the ephemeral. But kindness, understanding and love are equally parts of humanity.'

'Are you now saying we should love the Legion?'

'Yes. And we must fight them.'

'That is too deep for me,' said Decado.

'I know. But I hope one day you will understand. I shall not be there to see it. Yet I pray for it.'

'Now you are getting morbid. That happens on the eve of a battle.'

'I am not morbid, Decado. Tomorrow is my last day on this earth. I know it. I have seen it. It doesn't matter… I just hoped that tonight you could convince me that I was right — at least with you.'

'What do you want me to say?'

'There is nothing you can say.'

'Then I cannot help you. You know what my life was before I met you. I was a killer and I revelled in death. I do not wish to sound weak, but I never asked to be that way — it was just me. I had neither the strength nor the inclination to change. You understand? But then I almost killed a man I loved. And I came to you. You gave me a place to hide and I was grateful. Now I am back where I belong, with a sword near to hand and an enemy close by.

'I don't deny the Source. I just don't know what game He is playing — why he allows the Ceskas of this world to survive. I don't want to know. While my arm is strong I shall oppose Ceska's evil, and at the end of all things if the Source says to me, "Decado, you do not deserve immortality," then I shall reply, "So be it." There will be no regrets.

'You could be right. You might die tomorrow. If the rest of us survive, I shall look after your young warriors. I shall try to keep them to your path. I think they will not let you down. But then you will be with your Source, and you must ask Him to lend a hand.'

'And what if I was wrong?' asked the Abbot, leaning forward and gripping Decado's arm. 'What if I resurrected The Thirty because of my own arrogance?'

'I don't know, Abaddon. But you acted in faith with no thought of gain. Even if you are wrong, your God should forgive you. If he does not, then he is not worth following. If one of your priests commits an indiscretion, do you not forgive him? Are you then more forgiving than your God?'

'I don't know. I'm not certain of anything any more.'

'You once told me that certainty and faith do not belong together. Have faith, Abaddon.'

'It is not easy, Decado, to be confident on the day of your death.'

'Why did you seek me out with this? I cannot help you to find faith. Why did you not speak to Katan, or Acuas?'

'I felt you would understand.'

'Well, I do not. You were always so sure — you radiated harmony, tranquility. You had stars in your hair and your words were wisdom. Was it all a fagade? Are these doubts so sudden?'

'I once accused you of hiding in your garden. Well, I also hid. It was easy to suppress doubts when the monastery walls were firm around us. I had my books and I had my pupils; it seemed then a grand project of the Light. But now men are dead and the reality is different. Those fifty men who sought to capture Rayvan: they were frightened and they wanted to live, but we marched them from the city and out on to the plain to be slaughtered. We did not let them say farewell to their wives and children. We just led them like cattle to the slaughterhouse.'

'Now I understand,' said Decado. 'You saw us as White Templars marching against evil, cheered by the crowds: a small band of heroes in silver armour and white cloaks. Well, it could never be like that, Abaddon. Evil lives in a pit. If you want to fight it — you must climb down in the slime to do so. White cloaks show the dirt more than black, and silver tarnishes. Now leave me and commune with your God — He has more answers than I.'

'Will you pray for me, Decado?' pleaded the Abbot.

'Why should the Source listen to me if he does not want to listen to you? Pray for yourself, man!'

'Please! Do this for me.'

'All right. But go and rest now.'

Decado watched the old man move away into the darkness. Then he lay back and gazed up at the lightening sky.