The King Beyond the Gate

14

For six days there was no sign of hostile activity on the eastern Skoda borders. Refugees poured in to the mountains, bringing tales of torture, starvation and terror. The Thirty screened the refugees as best they could, turning away those found to be lying or secretly sympathetic to Ceska.

But, day by day, the numbers swelled as the outer lands bled of people. Camps were set up in several valleys and the problems of food supply and sanitation plagued Ananais. Rayvan took it in her stride, organising the refugees into work parties to dig latrine trenches and build simple shelters for the elderly and infirm.

Young men came forward hourly to volunteer for the army and it was left to Galand, Parsal and Lake to sift them and find them duties among the Skoda militia.

But always they asked for Darkmask, the black-garbed giant. 'Ceska's Bane', they called him, and among the newcomers were saga poets whose songs floated out in the night from the valley camp-fires.

Ananais found it irksome but he hid it well, knowing how valuable the legends would be in the days to come.

Every morning he rode out into the mountains to study the valleys and the slopes, seeking the passes and gauging distances and angles of attack. He set men to work digging earth-walls and ditches, moving rocks to form cover. Caches of arrows and lances were hidden at various points, along with sacks of food hung high in the branches of trees, screened by thick foliage. Each section leader knew of at least three caches.

At dusk Ananais would call the section leaders to his fire and question them about the day's training, encouraging them to come forward with ideas, strategies and plans. He carefully noted those who did so, keeping them with him when others were dismissed. Lake, for all his idealistic fervour, was a sound thinker who responded intelligently. His knowledge of terrain was extensive and Ananais used him well. Galand too was a canny warrior and the men respected him; he was solid, dependable and loyal. His brother Parsal was no thinker, but his courage was beyond question. To these of the inner circle Ananais added two others; Turs and Thorn. Solitary men who said little, both were former raiders who had earned their living crossing Vagrian lands and stealing cattle and horses to trade in the eastern valleys. Turs was young and full of fire; his brother and two sisters had been killed in the raid that saw Rayvan rebel. Thorn was an older man, leather-tough and wolf-lean. The Skoda men respected them both and listened in silence when they spoke.

It was Thorn who brought news of the herald on the seventh day after Tenaka's departure.

Ananais was scouting the eastern slopes of the mountain Carduil, when Thorn found him and he rode east at speed. Thorn alongside him.

Their horses were well-lathered when Ananais finally reached the valley of the Dawn, where Decado and six of The Thirty waited to greet him. Around them were some two hundred Skoda men, dug into position overlooking the plain beyond.

Ananais walked forward to climb a craggy outcrop of rock. Below him were six hundred warriors wearing the red of Delnoch. At the centre on a white horse sat an elderly man in bright blue robes. His beard was white and long. Ananais recognised him and grinned sourly.

'Who is it?' asked Thorn.

'Breight. They call him the Survivor. I am not surprised — he has been a counsellor for over forty years.'

'He must be Ceska's man,' said Thorn.

'He is anybody's man, but a wise choice to send for he is a diplomat and a patrician. He could tell you that wolves lay eggs and you would believe him.'

'Should we fetch Rayvan?'

'No. I will talk to him.'

At that moment six men rode forward to flank the aged counsellor. Their cloaks and armour were black. As Ananais watched them look up and felt their eyes upon him, ice flowed into his veins.

'Decado!' he shouted as the fear hit him. Instantly the warmth of friendship blanketed him as Decado and his six warriors turned the power of their minds to protect him.

Angry now, Ananais bellowed for Breight to approach. The old man hesitated, but one of the Templars leaned in to him and he spurred his horse forward, riding awkwardly up the steep slope.

'That is far enough!' said Ananais, moving forward.

'Is it you, Golden One?' asked Breight, his voice deep and resonant. The eyes were brown and exceedingly friendly.

'It is I. Say what you have to say.'

"There is no need for harshness between us, Ananais. Was I not the first to cheer when you were honoured for your battle triumphs? Did I not secure your first commission with the Dragon? Was I not your mother's troth-holder?'

'All these things and more, old man! But now you are a lick-spittle lackey to a tyrant and the past is dead.'

'You misjudge my lord Ceska — he has only the good of the Drenai in his heart. These are hard times, Ananais. Bitter hard. Our enemies wage a silent war upon us, starving us of food. Not one kingdom around us wishes to see the enlightenment of the Drenai prosper, for it signals the end of their corruption.'

'Spare me this nonsense, Breight! I cannot be bothered to argue with you. What do you want?'

'I see your terrible wounds have made you bitter and I am sorry for that. I bring you a royal pardon! My lord is deeply offended by your actions against him, yet your past deeds have earned you a place in his heart. In your honour, he has pardoned every man who stands against him in Skoda. Further, he promises to review personally every grievance you have, real or imagined. Can he be fairer than that?'

Breight had pitched his voice to carry to the listening defenders and his eyes scanned the line watching for their reactions.

'Ceska would not know "fair" if it burned his buttocks,' said Ananais. 'The man is a snake!'

'I understand your hatred, Ananais — look at you. . scarred, deformed, unhuman. But surely there is a shred of humanity left in you? Why should your hatred carry thousands of innocent souls to terrible deaths? You cannot win! The Joinings are now assembling and there is no army on the face of the earth which can stand against them. Will you bring this devastation upon these people? Look into your heart, man!'

'I will not argue with you old man. Down there your men wait, and among them are the Templars — they who feed on the flesh of children. Your semi-human beasts gather in Drenan, and daily thousands of innocents pour into this small bastion of freedom. All of this gives the lie to your words. I am not even angry with you, Breight the Survivor! You sold your soul for a silk-covered couch. But I understand you — you are a frightened old man who has never lived because you never dared to live.

'In these mountains there is life and the air tastes like wine. You are right when you say we may not stand against the Joinings. We know that for we are not fools. There is no glory here; but we are men and the sons of men, and we bend the knee to no one. Why don't you join us, and learn even now of the joys of freedom?'

'Freedom? You are in a cage, Ananais. The Vagrians will not let you move east into their lands, and we wait in the west. You delude yourself. What price your freedom? In a matter of days the armies of the emperor will gather here, filling the plain. You have seen the Joinings of Ceska — well, there are more to come. Huge beasts, blended from the apes of the east, from the great bears of the north, from the wolves of the south. They strike like lightning and they feed on human flesh. Your pitiful force will be swept aside like dust before a storm. Tell me then of freedom, Ananais. I desire not the freedom of the grave.'

'And yet it comes to you, Breight, in every white hair, every decaying wrinkle, death will stalk you and lay his cold hands upon your eyes. You cannot escape! Begone, little man, your day is done.'

Breight looked up at the defenders and opened his arms.

'Don't let this man deceive you!' he shouted. 'My lord Ceska is a man of honour and he will abide by his promise.'

'Go home and die!' said Ananais, turning on his heels and striding back to his men.

'Death will come to you before me,' screamed Breight, 'and his coming will be terrible.' Then the old man wheeled his horse and cantered downhill.

'I think the war will start tomorrow,' muttered Thorn.

Ananais nodded and waved Decado to him. 'What do you think?'

Decado shrugged. 'We could not pierce the screen the Templars mounted.'

'Did they pierce ours?'

'No.'

'Then we start even,' said Ananais. 'But they have tried to win us with words. Now it will be swords and they will try to demoralise us by a sudden attack. The question is where, and what are we going to do about it?'

'Well,' said Decado, 'the great Tertullian was once asked what he would do if he was attacked by a man stronger, faster and infinitely more skilful than he.'

'What did he say?'

'He said he would cut off his damned head for being a liar.'

'Sounds good,' put in Thorn, 'but words are not worth pigs' droppings now.'

'You are right there,' said Ananais, grinning. 'So what do you suggest, mountain man?'

'Let's cut off their damned heads!'

The hut was bathed in a soft red glow as the log fire burned low. Ananais lay on the bed, his head resting on his arm. Valtaya sat beside him rubbing oil into his shoulders and back — kneading the muscles, loosening the knots of tension around his spine. Her fingers were strong and the slow rhythmic movements of her hands soothing. He sighed and fell into a half-sleep, dreaming dreams of brighter days.

As her fingers began to burn with fatigue, she lifted them from his broad back, pushing pressure on to her palms for a while. His breathing deepened. She covered him with a blanket and then pulled a chair alongside the bed and sat staring at his ruined face. The angry scar below his eye seemed cooler now, and dry; she gently smoothed oil on the skin. His breath made a snuffling sound as it was sucked through the oval holes where his nose should have been. Valtaya leaned back, sadness a growing ache within her. He was a fine man and did not deserve his fate. It had taken all her considerable nerve just to kiss him, and even now she could not gaze on his features without feeling revulsion. Yet she loved him.

Life was cruel and infinitely sorrowful.

She had slept with many men in her life. Once it had been a vocation, once a profession. During the latter time many ugly men had come to her and with them she had learned to hide her feelings. She was glad now of the lessons, for when she had removed Ananais' mask two sensations had struck her simultaneously. One was the awful horror of his mutilated face. The other was the terrible anxiety in his eyes. Strong as he was, in that moment he was made of crystal. Now she transferred her gaze to his hair — tightly curled gold thread, laced with silver. The Golden One! How handsome he once must have been. Like a god. She pushed a hand through her own fair hair, sweeping it away from her eyes.

Tired, she stood and stretched her back. The window was part open and she pushed it wide. Outside the valley was silent beneath a scimitar moon.

'I wish I was young again,' she whispered. 'I would have married that poet.'

Katan soared above the mountains and wished that his body could fly as high as his spirit. He wanted to taste the air, feel the harsh winds upon his skin. Below him the mountains of Skoda reared like spear-points. He flew higher and now the mountains took on another image. Katan smiled.

Skoda had become a stone rose with jagged petals on a field of green. Rings of towering granite, interlinking to create a gargantuan bloom.

To the north-east Katan could just make out the fortress of Delnoch, while to the south-east were the glittering cities of the Drenai. It was all so beautiful. From here there was no cruelty, no torture, no terror. No room here for men with small minds and limitless ambition.

He turned again to the rose of Skoda. The outer petals concealed nine valleys through which an army could march. He scanned them all, gauging the contours and the gradients, picturing lines of fighting men, charging horsemen, fleeing infantry. Committing the facts to memory, he moved on to the second ring of mountains. Here there were only four main valleys, but three treacherous passes threaded their way through to the open pastures and woodlands beyond.

At the centre of the rose the mountains bunched with only two access points from the east — the valleys known as Tarsk and Magadon.

His mission completed, Katan returned to his body and reported to Decado. He could offer no hope.

'There are nine main valleys and a score of other narrow passes on the outer ring. Even on the inner ring around Carduil there are two lines of attack. Our force could not hold even one. It is impossible to plan a defence that stands a one-in-twenty chance of success. And by success I mean standing off one attack.'

'Say nothing to anyone,' ordered Decado. 'I will speak to Ananais.'

'As you wish,' said Katan coolly.

Decado smiled gently. 'I am sorry, Katan.'

'For what?'

'For what I am,' answered the warrior, moving away up the hill until he reached the high ground overlooking several spreading valleys. This was good country — sheltered, peaceful. The ground was not rich, like the Sentran Plain to the north-east, but treated with care the farms prospered and the cattle grew fat on the grass of the timberlands.

Decado's family had been farmers far to the east and he guessed that the love of growing things had been planted in him at the moment of conception. He crouched down, digging his strong fingers into the earth at his feet. There was clay here and the grass grew lush and thick.

'May I join you?' asked Katan.

'Please do.'

The two men sat in silence for a while, watching distant cattle grazing on fertile slopes.

'I miss Abaddon,' said Katan suddenly.

'Yes. he was a good man.'

'He was a man with a vision. But he had no patience and only limited belief.'

'How can you say that?' asked Decado. 'He believed enough to form The Thirty once more.'

'Precisely! He decided that evil should be met with raw force. And yet our faith claims that evil can only be conquered by love.'

'That is insane. How do you deal with your enemies?'

'How better to deal with them than to make them your friends?' countered Katan.

'The words are pretty, the argument specious. You do not make a friend of Ceska — you become a slave or die.'

Katan smiled. 'And what does it matter? The Source governs all things and eternity mocks human life.'

'You think it doesn't matter if we die?'

'Of course it does not. The Source takes us and we live for ever.'

'And if there is no Source?' asked Decado.

'Then death is even more welcome. I do not hate Ceska. I pity him. He has built an empire of terror. And what does he achieve? Each day brings him closer to the grave. Is he content? Does he gaze with love on any single thing? He surrounds himself with warriors to protect him from assassins, then has warriors watching the warriors to sniff out traitors. But who watches the watchers? What a miserable existence!'

'So,' said Decado, 'The Thirty are not Source warriors at all?'

'They are if they believe.'

'You cannot have it all ways, Katan.'

The young man chuckled. 'Perhaps. How did you become a warrior?'

'All men are warriors, for life is a battle. The farmer battles drought, flood, sickness and blight. The sailor battles the sea and the storm. I didn't have the strength for that, so I fought men.'

'And who does the priest fight?'

Decado turned to face the earnest young man. 'The priest fights himself. He cannot look at a woman with honest lust without guilt burning into him. He cannot get drunk and forget. He cannot take a day just to soak in the glory of the world's beauty, without wondering if he should be engaged on some worthy deed.'

'For a priest, you have a low opinion of your brothers.'

'On the contrary, I have a very high opinion of them,' said Decado.

'You were very hard on Acuas. He really believed he was rescuing Abaddon's soul.'

'I know that, Katan. I admire him for it — all of you, in fact. I was angry with myself. It was not easy for me, for I don't have your faith. For me the Source is a mystery I cannot solve. And yet I promised Abaddon I would see his mission fulfilled. You are fine young men and I am merely an old warrior in love with death.'

'Do not be too hard on yourself. You are chosen. It is a great honour.'

'Happenstance! I came to the Temple and Abaddon read more into it than he should.'

'No,' said Katan. "Think on this: you came on the day when one of our brothers died. More than that — you are not just a warrior, you are possibly the greatest swordsman of the age. You defeated the Templars single-handed. Even more, you developed talents with which the rest of us were born. You came to our rescue in the Castle of the Void. How can you not be the natural leader? And if you are. . what brought you to us?'

Decado leaned back, staring at the gathering clouds.

'I think we are in for rain,' he remarked.

'Have you tried praying, Decado?'

'It would still rain.'

'Have you tried?' persisted the priest.

Decado sat up and sighed deeply. 'Of course I have tried. But I get no answers. I tried on the night you journeyed into the Void. . but He would not answer me.'

'How can you say that? Did you not learn to soar on that night? Did you not find us through the mists of non-time? You think you did that in your own strength?'

'Yes I do.'

'Then you answered your own prayers?'

'Yes.'

Katan smiled. 'Then keep praying. Who knows the heights to which it will carry you?'

Now it was Decado's turn to chuckle. 'You mock me, young Katan! I will not have it. Just for that you can lead the prayers this evening — I think Acuas needs a rest.'

'It will be my pleasure.'

Across the fields Ananais spurred his black gelding into a gallop. Bending low over the beast's neck he urged it on, hooves drumming on the dry ground. For those few seconds of speed he forgot his problems, revelling in the freedom of the race. Behind him Galand and Thorn were neck and neck, but their mounts were no match for the gelding and Ananais reached the stream twenty lengths ahead. He leapt to the ground and patted the horse, keeping him from the water and walking him round to cool down. The others dismounted.

'Unfair!' said Galand. 'Your mount is hands higher and bred for speed.'

'But I weigh more than both of you together,' said Ananais.

Thorn said nothing, merely grinned crookedly and shook his head. He liked Ananais and welcomed the change which had come over him since the fair-haired woman had moved into his hut. He seemed more alive — more in tune with the world.

Love was like that. Thorn had been in love many times, and even at sixty-two he hoped for at least another two or three romances. There was a widow woman who had a farm in the high, lonely country to the north; he stopped there often for breakfast. She hadn't warmed to him yet, but she would — Thorn knew women. There was no point in rushing in… Gentle talk, that was the answer. Ask them questions about themselves… Be interested. Most men travelled through life determined to rut as swiftly as the woman would allow. Senseless! Talk first. Learn. Then touch, gently, lovingly. Care. Then love and linger. Thorn had learned early, for he had always been ugly. Other men disliked him for his success, but they could never be bothered to learn from it. Fools!

'Another caravan from Vagria this morning,' said Galand, scratching his beard. 'But the treasury gold is running low. Those cursed Vagrians have doubled their prices.'

'It's a seller's market,' said Ananais. 'What did they bring?'

'Arrowheads, iron, some swords. Mostly flour and sugar. Oh yes — and a quantity of leather and hide. Lake ordered it. There should be enough food to last a month. . but no more.'

Thorn's dry chuckle stopped Galand in full flow.

'What's so funny?'

'If we are still alive in a month I will be happy to go hungry!'

'Are the refugees still coming in?' asked Ananais.

'Yes,' said Galand, 'but the numbers are shrinking. I think we can handle it. The army now musters at two thousand, but we are being stretched thin. I don't like sitting around waiting to react. The Dragon operated on the premise that the first blow was vital.'

'We have no choice,' answered Ananais, 'since we must hold as wide a line as possible during the next few weeks. If we draw back they will simply ride in. At the moment they are undecided what to do.'

'The men are getting edgy,' said Thorn. 'It's not easy just to sit — it makes them think, wonder, imagine. Rayvan's performing miracles, travelling from valley to valley, fuelling their courage and calling them heroes. But it may not be enough.

'The victory was heady stuff, Ananais, but those who missed the battle now outnumber the men who fought in it. They are untried. And they're nervous.'

'What do you suggest?'

Thorn grinned his crooked grin. 'I'm not a general, Darkmask. You tell me!'