The King Beyond the Gate

20

Parsal continued to crawl, dragging himself through the long grass. The pain from his mutilated leg had faded from the searing agony of the previous afternoon to a throbbing ache which occasionally flared, causing him to lose consciousness. The night was cool, but Parsal was sweating freely. He no longer knew where he was going, only that he had to put as great a distance between himself and the horror as he could.

He crawled over an area of earth pitted with pebbles, and a sharp stone dug into his leg. Groaning, he rolled over.

Ananais had told them to hold on for as long as they could, then to draw back and make for Maga-don. He had then gone to another valley with Galand. The events of the afternoon kept flooding Parsal's mind and he could not push them away. . With four hundred men he had waited in a tiny pass. The cavalry had come first, thundering up the incline with lances levelled. Parsal's archers had cut them to pieces. The infantry were harder to repel, well-armoured and with their round bronze shields held high. Parsal had never been the swordsman his brother was but, by all the gods, he had given a good account of himself!

The Skoda men had fought like tigers and Ceska's infantry were forced back. That was the point when he should have ordered his men to withdraw.

Foolish, foolish man! '

But he had been so uplifted. So proud! Never in his life had he led a fighting force. He had been turned down for the Dragon, while his brother had been accepted. Now he had repelled a mighty enemy.

And he waited for one more attack.

The Joinings had surged forward like demons of the pit. If he lived to be a hundred, he would never forget that charge. The beasts sent up a terrifying wall of sound, howling their blood-lust as they ran. Giant monsters with slavering maws and blood-red eyes, sharp talons and bright, bright swords.

Arrows scarce pierced their flesh and they swept aside the fighting men of Skoda as a grown man scatters unruly children.

Parsal gave no order to run — it was unnecessary. The Skoda courage vanished like water on sand and the force scattered. In his anguish Parsal ran at a Joining, aiming a mighty blow for the beast's head, but his sword bounced from the thick skull and the creature turned on him. Parsal was thrown back and the Joining dived, its great jaws closing on Parsal's left leg and ripping the flesh from the bone. A gallant Skoda fighter leapt to the beast's back, driving a long dagger into its neck; it turned away from Parsal to rip the throat from the warrior. Parsal rolled clear over a rise and tumbled down and down into the valley. And so his long crawl began.

He knew now that there was no victory for the Skoda men. Their dreams were folly. Nothing could stand against the Joining. He wished he had stayed on his farm in Vagria, far away from this insane war.

Something seized his leg and he sat up, waving a dagger. A taloned arm smashed it from his grip and three Joinings squatted around him — their eyes gleaming, saliva dripping from open maws.

Mercifully he blacked out.

And the feeding began.

Pagan edged forward until he was less than one hundred yards from.the western quarter of the city. His horse was hidden in the woods behind him. Smoke from the burning buildings was swirling like mist and it was hard to see for any distance. Bodies were being dragged from the city by groups of Joinings, and the feast started in the meadows beyond. Pagan had never seen the beasts before and he watched them in grim fascination. Most were over seven feet tall and mightily muscled.

Pagan was at a loss. He had a message for Ananais from Scaler — but where would he now deliver it? Was the dark-masked warrior still alive? Was the war over? If it was, then Pagan must change his plan. He had sworn to kill Ceska and he was not a man to take an oath lightly. Somewhere among this army was the tent of the emporer — all he had to do was find it and gut the son of a whore.

That was all!

The deaths of Pagan's people weighed heavily on him and he was determined to avenge them. Once he killed Ceska, the emperor's shade would be consigned to the Land of Shadow to serve the slain. A fitting punishment.

Pagan watched the beasts feed for a while, noting their movements, and learning all he could against the day when he must fight them. He was under no illusion — the day would come. Man against beast, head to head. The beast might be strong, swift and deadly. But then Kataskicana the King had earned the title Lord of War. For he was too strong, swift and deadly. But added to this, he was cunning.

Pagan eased his way back into the woods. Once there he froze, his wide nostrils flaring. His eyes narrowed and he slid his axe into his hand.

His horse was standing where he had left it, but the beast was quivering in fear, its ears flat against its skull and its eyes wide.

Pagan delved into his leather tunic, pulling clear a short, heavy throwing-knife. Licking his lips, he scanned the undergrowth. Hiding places close by were few; he was in one such, which left three other obvious places. So, he reasoned, he was facing a maximum of three opponents. Did they have bows? Unlikely, for they would have to stand, draw and loose at a swiftly moving target. Were they human? Unlikely, for the horse was terrified and mere men would not create such fear.

So then — a possible three Joinings crouched in the bushes ahead of him.

His decision made, Pagan stood up and walked towards his horse.

A Joining leapt from the bushes to his right and another rose from the left. They moved with incredible speed. Pagan spun on his heel, his right arm flashing down; the knife plunged into the right eye-socket of the first beast. The second was almost upon him when the black man dropped to his knees and dived forward, crashing into the creature's legs. The Joining pitched over him and Pagan rolled lashing the axe-blade deep into the beast's thigh. Then he was up and running. He tore the reins clear of the branches and vaulted to the saddle as the Joining ran at him. As Pagan leaned back in the saddle, tugging on the reins, the horse reared in terror, its hooves lashing at the beast and catching it full in the face. The Joining went down and Pagan heeled away his horse through the woods, ducking under overhanging branches. Once clear, he galloped to the west.

The gods had been with him, for he had seriously miscalculated. Had there been three Joinings he would have been dead. He had aimed the knife for the beast's throat, but so swift had been its charge that he had almost missed the target altogether.

Pagan slowed his horse as the burning city fell away behind him.

All over the lowlands would be the scouts of Ceska. He had no wish to gallop into a greater danger than that from which he fled. He patted the horse's neck.

He had left Scaler with the Cheiam. The new Earl of Bronze had grown in stature and his plans for taking the fortress were well-advanced. Whether or not they would work was another matter, but at least Scaler was tackling them with confidence. Pagan chuckled. The young Drenai was more than convincing in his new role and Pagan could almost believe that he really was the legendary Earl.

Almost. Pagan chuckled again.

Towards dusk he moved into a section of trees near a stream. He had seen no sign of the enemy and he scouted the area carefully. But a surprise lay in wait for him as he rode into a small hollow.

Some twenty children were seated around the body of a man.

Pagan dismounted and tethered his horse. A tall boy stepped forward, a dagger in his hand.

'Touch him and I will kill you!' said the boy.

'I will not touch him,' said Pagan. 'Put up the knife.'

'Are you a Joining?'

'No, I am merely a man.'

'You don't look like a man — you're black.'

Pagan nodded solemnly. 'Indeed I am. You, on the other hand are white and very small. I don't doubt your bravery, but do you really think you can stand against me?'

The boy licked his lips, but stood his ground.

'If I was your enemy, boy, I would have killed you by now. Stand aside.' He walked forward, ignoring the lad as he knelt by the body. The dead man was thickset and balding, his large hands locked on his jerkin.

'What happened?' Pagan asked a little girl sitting closest to the body. She looked away and the boy with the knife spoke.

'He brought us here yesterday. He said we could hide until the beasts went away. But this morning, as he was playing with Melissa, he clutched his chest and fell.'

'It wasn't me,' said Melissa. 'I didn't do anything!'

Pagan ruffled the child's mousy-blonde hair. 'Of course you didn't. Did you bring food with you?'

'Yes,' answered the boy. 'It's over there in the cave.'

'My name is Pagan and I am a friend of Darkmask.'

'Will you look after us?' asked Melissa. Pagan smiled at her, then stood and stretched. The Joinings would be on the loose now and he had no chance of avoiding them on foot with twenty children in tow. He strode to the top of a nearby hill, shading his eyes to view the mountains. It would take them at least two days to walk that distance — two days out in the open. He turned to see the boy with the knife sitting on a rock behind him. He was tall and about eleven years of age.

'You didn't answer Melissa's question,' said the boy.

'What is your name, lad?'

'Ceorl. Will you help us?'

'I don't know that I can,' answered Pagan.

'I cannot do it all by myself,' said Ceorl, his grey eyes locked on Pagan's face.

Pagan sat down on the grass. Try to understand, Ceorl. There is virtually no way that we can make it to the mountains. The Joinings are like beasts of the jungle; they track by scent, they move fast and range wide. I have a message to deliver to Dark-mask; I am involved in the war. I have my own mission and have sworn to see it through.'

'Excuses!' said Ceorl. 'Always excuses. Well, I will get them there — trust me.'

'I will stay with you for a little while,' said Pagan. 'But be warned: I don't much like children chattering around me — it makes me irritable.'

'You can't stop Melissa chattering. She is very young and very frightened.'

'And you are not frightened?'

'I am a man,' said Ceorl. 'I gave up crying years ago.'

Pagan nodded and smoothly rose to his feet. 'Let's get the food and be on our way.'

Together they gathered together the children. Each child carried a small rucksack of food and a canteen of water. Pagan lifted Melissa and two other toddlers to the horse's back and led them out on to the plain. The wind was at their backs, which was good. . unless there were Joinings ahead of them. Ceorl was right about Melissa; she chattered on and on, telling Pagan stories he could scarcely follow. Towards the evening she began to sway in the saddle and Pagan lifted her clear and held her to his chest.

They had covered maybe three miles when Ceorl ran alongside Pagan and tugged his sleeve.

'What is it?'

'They are very tired. I just saw Ariane sit down beside the trail back there — I think she's gone to sleep.'

'All right. Go back and get her — we will camp here.'

The children huddled in together around Pagan as he laid Melissa down on the grass. The night was cool, but not cold.

'Will you tell us a story?' asked the girl.

Keeping his voice soft, he told them of the Moon Goddess who came down to earth on silver steps to live the life of a mortal. There she met the handsome warrior prince Anidigo. He loved her as no man has loved a woman since, but she was coy and fled from him. Up into the sky she rose in a silver chariot, perfectly round. He could not follow and went to see a wise wizard who made him a chariot of pure gold. Anidigo swore that until he had won the heart of the Moon Goddess he would never return. His golden chariot, also perfectly round, soared into the sky like a gleaming ball of fire. Round and round the earth he went, but always she was ahead of him. Even to this day.

'Look up!' said Pagan. 'There she rides — and soon Anidigo will send her fleeing from the sky.'

The last child fell into a dreamless sleep and Pagan eased himself through them, seeking Ceorl. Together they walked some paces away.

'You tell a good story.'

'I have many children,' replied Pagan.

'If they irritate you, why have so many?' the boy asked.

'That's not easy to explain,' said Pagan, grinning.

'Oh, I understand,' snapped Ceorl. 'I am not so young.'

Pagan tried to explain.

'A man can love his children, yet be annoyed by them. I was delighted with the births of all my children. One of them stands now in my place at home, ruling my people. But I am a man who has always needed solitude. Children do not understand that.'

'Why are you black?'

'So much for the philosophical conversation! I am black because my country is very hot. A dark skin is a protection against the sunlight. Does your skin not darken during summer?'

'And your hair — why is it so tightly curled?'

'I don't know, young man. No more do I know why my nose is wide and my lips thicker than yours. It is just the way it is.'

'Does everybody look like you where you come from?'

'Not to me.'

'Can you fight?'

'You are full of questions, Ceorl!'

'I like to know things. Can you fight?'

'Like a tiger.'

'That's a kind of cat, isn't it?'

'Yes. A very large cat and distinctly unfriendly.'

'I can fight,' said Ceorl. 'I am a good fighter.'

'I'm sure that you are. But let us hope that we don't have to prove it. Go and sleep now,'

'I am not tired. I'll stand watch.'

'Do as I tell you, Ceorl. You can stand watch tomorrow.'

The boy nodded and went back to the children. Within minutes he was fast asleep. Pagan sat for a while thinking of his homeland. Then he too moved to where the children lay. Melissa was still sleeping soundly, cuddling a rag doll. The doll was ancient; it had no eyes and only two thin strands of yellow thread for hair.

Scaler had told him of his own strange religious belief. The gods, said Scaler, were all so old that they had grown senile. Their vast power was now employed in senseless japes upon humans, misdirecting their lives and leaving them in appalling situations.

Pagan was fast becoming a believer.

A distant howl echoed in the night. Then a second and a third added to the noise. Pagan cursed softly and drew his sword. Taking a small whetstone from his leather pouch, he spat upon it and honed the sword-blade; then he unstrapped the axe from his saddlebag and sharpened that also.

The wind shifted, carrying their scent to the east. Pagan waited, counting slowly. He had reached eight hundred and seven when the howling increased in intensity. Considering variations in the wind speed, that put the Joinings between eight and twelve miles behind them — it was not enough.

The kindest action would be to creep forward and cut all the children's throats as they slept, saving them the horror that ran behind. But Pagan knew he could take three of the smallest on his horse.

He drew his dagger and crept among them.

But which three?

With a soft curse he rammed his dagger home in its scabbard and woke Ceorl.

'The Joinings are close,' he said. 'Wake the children — we're moving out.'

'How close?' asked Ceorl, eyes wide in fear.

'An hour behind — if we're lucky.'

Ceorl rolled to his feet and moved among the youngsters. Pagan lifted Melissa to his shoulder. She dropped the doll and he retrieved it, tucking it into his tunic. The children huddled around him.

'See that peak yonder?' he said to Ceorl. 'Make for it! I shall be back.'

'You promise?'

'I promise.' Pagan climbed into the saddle. 'Put two of the smaller children behind me.' Ceorl did as he was bid. 'Now hold on tight, little ones — we're going for a ride.'

Pagan dug his heels into the stallion and he leapt forward into the night, eating the distance between the mountains. Melissa woke up and began to cry, so Pagan pulled out the doll and pushed it into her arms. After riding for some minutes at a fast run, he saw an outcropping of rock away to the right. Hauling on the reins, he directed the stallion up and into the boulders. The pathway was narrow, less than five feet, widening at the top into a shallow bowl. There was no exit but by the path.

Pagan helped the children down. 'Wait here for me,' he said and rode down into the plain once more. Five times he made the journey, and by the last Ceorl and the remaining four older boys had almost reached the rocks as he rode out. Jumping from the saddle, he handed the reins to the boy.

'Take the horse up into the bowl and wait there for me.'

'What are you going to do?'

'Do as I say, child!'

Ceorl stepped back a pace. 'I just wanted to help.'

'I'm sorry, boy! Keep your dagger handy -1 intend to hold them here, but if they come through use your dagger on the youngest children. You understand?'

'I don't think that I can,' Ceorl faltered.

'Then do as your heart bids you. Good luck, Ceorl!'

'I… I don't really want to die.'

'I know. Now get up there and comfort them.' Pagan pulled his axe clear of the saddle and untied his bow and a quiver of arrows. The bow was of Vagrian horn and only a very strong man could draw it. Pagan settled himself down on the trail, watching the east.

It was said that the Kings of the Opal Throne always knew when their day was done.

Pagan knew.

He strung his bow and removed his tunic, letting the night air cool his body.

In a deep voice he began to sing the Song of the Dead.

At a prearranged meeting place Ananais and his captains sat together discussing the day's action. Once thrown back from the first ring of mountains, the Skoda force had split into seven, moving to high ground and ambushing the invading force as they swarmed into the heights. Hit-and-run raids harassed Ceska's troops, slowing the advance, and Skoda casualties had been remarkably light — with the exception of Parsal's force, of which not one man had escaped.

'They are moving faster than we had estimated,' said Katan. 'And their numbers have been swelled by Delnoch troops.'

'I'd say there were as many as fifty thousand in the invading force,' said Thorn. 'We can forget about holding anywhere but Tarsk and Magadon.'

'We shall keep hitting them,' maintained Ananais. 'How long can you hold the power of those damned Templars, Katan?'

'I think even now they are finding ways through.'

'Once they do, our raids could become suicidal.'

'I know that well, Darkmask. But we are not dealing here with an exact science. The battle in the Void is unceasing, but we are being pushed back.'

'Do your best, boy.' said Ananais. 'All right — we shall hit them for one more day, then pull everyone back to the walls.'

'Do you get the feeling we are spitting into the eye of a hurricane?' asked Thorn.

Ananais grinned. 'Maybe, but we've not lost yet! Katan, is it safe to ride?'

The priest closed his eyes and the men waited for several minutes. Then Katan jerked suddenly, his eyes flaring open.

'To the north,' he said. 'We must go now!'

The priest lurched to his feet, half-fell, recovered and ran to his horse. Ananais followed him.

'Thorn!' he shouted. 'Take your men back to the group. The rest of you follow me!'

Katan led them in a headlong gallop to the north, followed by Ananais and twenty warriors. It was almost dawn and the tips of the mountains to their right were bathed in red.

The priest lashed his mount and Ananais, close behind, bellowed, 'You'll kill the beast, you fool!' Katan ignored him, bending low over the horse's neck. Ahead was an outcropping of rock; Katan dragged on the reins and leapt from the saddle, racing into a narrow cleft. Ananais drew his sword and followed him.

Inside the cleft lay two dead Joinings, black-feathered arrows jutting from their throats. Ananais ran on. Another dead beast, shot through the heart. He rounded a bend and heard the sound of bestial growling and the clash of steel on steel. Hurdling three more bodies, he turned a corner with sword raised. Two dead Joinings lay before him, a third live beast was attacking Katan, and two others were engaged in a grim struggle with a man Ananais could not see.

'To me, Dragon!' yelled Ananais. One of the two Joinings turned on him, but he blocked a savage cut and plunged his sword into the beast's belly. Its talons lashed out and he threw himself back as his men raced in, hacking and cutting. The beast went down under a score of blows. Katan despatched his opponent with consummate ease and ran forward to assist the warrior, but it wasn't necessary. Pagan hammered his axe through the beast's neck and sagged back to the path.

Ananais ran to him, to find Pagan's body was a mass of wounds: his chest was ripped open, flesh hanging in bloody strips.

His left arm was almost severed and his face had been mauled.

The black man's breathing was ragged, but his eyes were bright and he tried to smile as Ananais cradled his head in his lap.

'There are children above,' whispered Pagan.

'We will fetch them. Lie still!'

'For what, my friend?'

'Just lie still.'

'How many did I get?'

'Nine.'

'That's good. I am glad you came — the other two would have been. . difficult.'

Katan knelt beside Pagan, laying his hand on the bloody head. All pain vanished from the dying warrior.

'I failed in my mission,' said Pagan. 'I should have gone after Ceska back at the city.'

'I will get him for you,' Ananais promised.

'Are the children all right?'

'Yes,' Katan assured him. 'We are bringing them out now.'

'Don't let them see me. It will frighten them.'

'Have no fear,' said Katan.

'Make sure you have Melissa's rag doll. . she would be lost without it.'

'We will make sure.'

'When I was young I ordered men into the fire! I should not have done it. It is a lasting regret. Well, Darkmask, now we will never know, will we?'

'I already know,' said Ananais. 'I could not have felled nine Joinings. I would not have thought it possible.'

'All things are possible,' said Pagan, his voice sinking to a whisper. 'Except the passing of regret.' He paused. 'Scaler has a plan.'

'Can it work?' asked Ananais.

Pagan grinned. 'All things are possible. He gave me a message for you, but it is useless now. He wanted you to know that ten thousand Delnoch men were on the march. But they arrived before I could.'

Ceorl pushed his way through to Pagan, kneeling by his side with tears in his eyes.

'Why?' he said. 'Why did you do this for us?'

But Pagan was dead.

Ananais took the lad by the arm. 'He did it because he was a man — a very great man.'

'He didn't even like children.'

'I think you are wrong there, boy.'

'He said so himself. We irritated him, he told me. Why did he let himself get killed for us?'

Ananais had no answer but Katan stepped forward.

'Because he was a hero. And that is what heroes do. You understand?'

Ceorl nodded. 'I didn't know he was a hero — he didn't say.'

'Maybe he didn't know,' said Katan.

Galand took the death of his brother hard. He withdrew into himself, suppressing his emotions, his dark eyes giving no hint of the agony he felt. He led his men on several raids against Drenai cavalry, hitting them fast and withdrawing at speed. Despite his desire to wreak vengeance upon them he remained a disciplined warrior — not for Galand the reckless charge, only the calculated risk. Among his three hundred men, losses were light and they cantered to the walls of Magadon having left only thirty-seven of their comrades buried back in the hills.

There was no gate at Magadon and the men released their horses and scaled rope ladders let down by the defenders. Galand was the last to climb the ramparts and at the top he turned, gazing back to the east. Somewhere there the body of Parsal was rotting on the grassland. No grave, no marker.

The war had claimed Galand's daughter and now his brother.

Soon it would claim him, he mused.

Strange how the thought struck no terror in him.

Among his men were another forty who had suffered wounds. He went down with them to the timber hospital where Valtaya and a dozen women tended them. Galand waved to the blonde woman and she smiled, then returned to her work stitching a shallow cut in a warrior's thigh.

He wandered out into the sunlight where one of his men brought him a loaf of bread and a jug of wine. Galand thanked him and sat down with his back to a tree. The bread was fresh, the wine young. One of his section leaders, a young farmer named Oranda, joined him. He had a thick bandage on his upper arm.

'They said the wound was clean — only six stitches. I should still be able to hold a shield.'

'Good,' said Galand absently. 'Have some wine?'

Oranda took a mouthful. 'It is a little young,' he said.

'Maybe we should lay it down for a month or two!'

'Point taken,' said Oranda, tilting the jug once more.

For a while they sat in silence, and the tension grew in Galand as he waited for the inevitable comment.

'I'm sorry about your brother,' said Oranda at last.

'All men die,' answered Galand.

'Yes. I lost friends in his force. The walls look strong, don't they? It's strange to see walls across this valley. I used to play here as a child and watch the wild horses run.'

Galand said nothing. Oranda handed him the wine-jug, wishing he could just get up and walk away, but he didn't want to be rude. When Valtaya joined them, Oranda greeted her with a grateful smile and slipped away.

Galand glanced up and smiled.

'You are looking lovely, lady. A vision.' She had removed the blood-drenched leather apron and now wore a dress of light blue cotton which moulded to her figure beautifully.

'Your eyes must be tired, blackboard. My hair is greasy and there are purple rings under my eyes. I feel wretched.'

'In the eye of the beholder,' he said. She sat beside him, laying her hand on his arm.

'I am truly sorry about Parsal.'

'All men die,' he said, tired of the repetition.

'But I am glad you are alive.'

'Are you?' he asked, his eyes cold. 'Why?'

'What a strange question for a friend to ask!'

'I am not your friend, Val. I am the man who loves you. There is a difference.'

'I am sorry, Galand. There is nothing I can say — you know that I am with Ananais.'

'And are you happy?'

'Of course I am — as happy as anyone can be in the middle of a war.'

'Why? Why do you love him?'

'I cannot answer that question. No woman could. Why do you love me?'

He tilted the wine-jug, ignoring the logic.

'What hurts is that there is no future for any of us,' he said, 'even if we should survive this battle. Ananais will never settle down to married life. He's no farmer, no merchant… He will leave you in some lonely city. And I shall return to my farm. None of us will be happy.'

'Don't drink any more, Galand. It is making you melancholy.'

'My daughter was a joyous creature and a real rascal. Many's the smack I laid on her leg and many the tear I wiped away. Had I known how short her life was to be… And now Parsal… I hope he died swiftly. I feel it in a very selfish way,' he said suddenly. 'My blood runs in not a single living being, bar me. When I am gone, it will be as if I never was.'

'Your friends will care,' she said.

He pulled his arm from her comforting touch and glared at her through angry eyes.

'I have no friends! I never had.'