The King Beyond the Gate

22

Towards the middle of the morning bugles sounded in the enemy camp and some, ten thousand warriors began to move purposefully around the wagons — pulling ladders clear, tying ropes to grappling hooks, hitching shields in place.

Ananais ran to the wall where Lake was bent over the giant bow, checking the ropes and ties.

The army lined up across the valley, sunlight flashing from swords and spears. A drum-beat began and the force moved forward.

On the wall, defenders licked dry lips with dry tongues and wiped sweating palms on their tunics.

The slow drum-beat echoed in the mountains.

Terror hit the defenders like a tidal wave. Men screamed and jumped from the wall, rolling on to the grass below.

'The Templars!' screamed Decado. 'It's only an illusion.'

But panic continued to well up in the Skoda ranks. Ananais tried to rally them, but his own voice was shaking with fear. More men leapt from the walls as the drums grew closer.

Hundreds of men now streamed back, skidding to a halt as they saw the woman standing before them in her rusty mailshirt.

'We don't run!' bellowed Rayvan. 'We are Skoda! We are the sons of Druss the Legend. We don't run!'

Drawing a shortsword, she walked through them towards the walls. Only a handful of men remained by the ramparts, and these were ghost-faced and trembling. Rayvan mounted the steps, fear growing as she reached the battlements.

Ananais staggered towards her, holding out his hand which she accepted gratefully.

'They can't beat us!' she said through gritted teeth, her eyes wide.

The Skoda men turned and saw her standing defiantly at the centre. Gathering their swords they moved forward again, pushing against the wall of fear before them.

Decado and The Thirty fought back against the force, holding a shield around Rayvan.

And then the fear vanished!

The Skoda warriors surged back to the walls, angry now. Shamed by the courage of the warrior woman who led them, they stood their ground, determination on every face.

The drum-beat stopped. A bugle sounded.

With a savage roar ten thousand warriors surged forward.

Lake and his workers hauled back the bowstrings on the two weapons, filling their bowls with filed lead shot. At fifty paces Lake lifted his arm. At forty he dropped it and tugged the release. The arm whipped forward. The second machine let fly a moment later.

The first ranks of the enemy were scythed down and a great cheer rose from the defenders. Taking up their bows, the Skoda men sent volley after volley of arrows into the charging warriors. But they were heavily armoured and they held their shields before them.

Ladders thudded against the wall and grappling-hooks sailed over the ramparts.

'Now it begins!' said Ananais.

The first warrior to reach the ramparts died with Ananais' sword in his throat. As he fell, he dislodged the man below him.

And then they were over and the battle became hand-to-hand.

Decado and The Thirty fought together as a unit to the right of Ananais. Not one warrior gained the ramparts there.

But to the left the invaders forged an opening. Ananais charged among them, cutting and slashing, hacking and slaying. Like a lion among wolves he hammered his way through their ranks, and the Skoda men gathered behind him roaring their defiance. Slowly they pushed back the soldiers. At the centre Rayvan plunged her blade into a warrior's chest, but as he fell he lashed out, his sword slicing her cheek. She stumbled as another man ran at her and Lake, seeing his mother's danger, hurled his dagger to hit the assailant hilt-first, behind the ear. He half-fell and dropped his sword, whereupon Rayvan finished him with a two-handed cut to the neck.

'Get away from here, mother!' yelled Lake.

Decado, hearing the cry, left The Thirty and ran to Rayvan, helping her to her feet.

'Lake is right,' he said. 'You are far too important to risk yourself here!'

'Behind you!' she yelled, as a warrior leapt over the wall with axe raised. Decado spun on his heel and lunged. His sword skewered the man's chest — and snapped. Two more warriors climbed into view and Decado dived forward, scooping up the fallen axe and rolling to his feet. He blocked an overhead cut, then back-handed the warrior from the wall. The second man lanced his blade into Decado's shoulder but Lake, running in behind, hammered his sword through the attacker's skull.

The attackers drew back.

'Get the wounded from the wall,' shouted Ananais. 'They'll return at any moment.'

Ananais moved along the wall, hastily checking the wounded and dead. At least a hundred men would fight no more. Ten more attacks like this and they were finished.

Galand made his way from the far left, meeting Ananais at the centre.

'We could do with a thousand more men and a higher wall,' said Galand sourly.

'They did well. Losses will be fewer next time. The weakest of our men fell during this assault.'

'Is that all they are to you?' snapped Galand. 'Units with swords. Some good, some bad?'

'There is no time for this, Galand.'

'You make me sick!'

'I know Parsal's death. .'

'Leave me alone!' said Galand, pushing past him.

'What was that about?' asked Thorn, climbing the rampart steps. A bandage had been wrapped around a shallow cut to his head.

'I don't know.'

'I brought some food,' said Thorn, handing Ananais a loaf filled with creamed cheese. Ananais had taken one bite when the drums began beating once more.

Five attacks were launched and repulsed before dusk, and one night attack was turned back with heavy losses among the Drenai.

Ananais remained on the wall until two hours before dawn, but Decado assured him no further attacks were planned and the general finally staggered away from the ramparts. Valtaya had a room in the hospital, but he resisted the impulse to go to her; instead he moved into the trees and fell asleep on a grassy knoll.

Four hundred men had been removed from the battle; the wounded overflowed the hospital and had been laid on blankets on the grass around the building. Ananais had sent for reinforcements, two hundred and fifty men of the reserve force.

At Tarsk, he learned from Acuas, the losses had been fewer, but then only three attacks had been launched. Turs, the young warrior who led the Tarsk troops, had done well by all accounts.

It was now obvious that the main thrust would be aimed at Magadon. Ananais hoped the Joinings would not be sent in tomorrow, but in his heart he knew that they would be.

Across from the hospital buildings a young warrior tossed in his sleep as the nightmare grew. Suddenly he stiffened and a strangled scream died in his throat. His eyes opened and he sat up, reaching for his knife. Reversing the blade, he slowly pushed it into his chest between the ribs until it sliced into his heart. Then he withdrew it and stood up. No blood ran from the wound. .

Slowly he walked to the hospital building, staring through the open window. Inside Valtaya was working into the night, fighting to save the worst of the wounded.

He moved away from the window to the woods beyond, where some two hundred refugees had pitched their makeshift tents. By a camp-fire sat Rayvan, cradling a babe and talking to three women.

The dead man walked towards them.

Rayvan looked up and saw him — she knew him well.

'Can you not sleep, Oranda?'

He did not reply.

Then Rayvan saw the knife and her eyes narrowed. When the man knelt beside her, she looked into his eyes. Blank and dead, they stared back unseeing.

The knife flashed up and Rayvan twisted and dived, turning her body to protect the sleeping babe as the blade raked her hip. Letting the child roll clear, she blocked the next blow with her forearm and smashed a right cross to the man's chin. He fell, but rose again. Rayvan pushed herself to her feet. The other women were screaming now and the babe had begun to wail. As the corpse approached, Rayvan backed away; she could feel the blood oozing down her leg. Then a man ran forward, holding a blacksmith's hammer which he brought down savagely on the dead man's head. The skull cracked, but still no expression crossed his face.

An arrow flashed into the dead man's chest; he merely gazed down at it and then slowly pulled it clear. Galand ran forward just as the corpse reached Rayvan. As the knife came up, Galand lashed out and the knife-arm sailed from the body. The corpse staggered. . And fell.

'They want you dead pretty badly,' said Galand.

'They want us all dead,' replied Rayvan.

'Tomorrow they will get their wish,' he observed.

Valtaya finished stitching the nine-inch cut on Ray-van's hip and then smeared a thick ointment along the wound.

'It will help to prevent an ugly scar,' said Valtaya, covering the wound with gauze.

'A matter of indifference to me,' said Rayvan.

'When you get to my age, no one is going to notice a scar on the hip — if you take my meaning?'

'Nonsense, you are a handsome woman.'

'Exactly. It is a rare man who notices a handsome woman. You are Darkmask's lover, are you not?'

'Yes.'

'Known him long?'

'No, not long. He saved my life.'

'I see.'

'What do you see?'

'You are a nice girl, but maybe you take debts too seriously.'

Valtaya sat down beside the bed, rubbing her eyes. She was tired, too tired for sleep.

'Do you always make snap judgements of people you meet?'

'No,' said Rayvan, sitting up carefully and feeling the pull of the stitches. 'But love is in the eyes and one woman knows when another woman is in love. When I asked you about Darkmask you showed your sadness. And then you said he had saved your life. It was not difficult to reach the obvious conclusion.'

'Is it so wrong to want to repay someone?'

'No, it isn't wrong — especially now. Anyway, he is a fine man.'

'I have hurt him,' said Valtaya. 'I didn't mean to, I was tired. Most times I try to ignore his face, but I told him to put on his mask.'

'Lake caught a glimpse of him once without his mask. He told me Ananais' face was hideously scarred.'

'There is no face,' said Valtaya. 'The nose and upper lip have been ripped away and the cheeks are a mass of scar tissue. One scar will not heal and oozes pus. It is a horror! He looks like a dead man. I have tried… I can't. .' Tears fell and the words died.

'Don't think badly of yourself, my girl,' said Rayvan softly, leaning forward and patting her back. 'You tried — most women would not even have done that.'

'I am ashamed of myself. I told him once that a face was not a man. It was the man I tried to love, but the face keeps coming back to haunt me.'

'You were not wrong. The answer lies in your words — the man you tried to love. You took on too much.'

'But he's so noble and so tragic. He was the Golden One… He had everything.'

'I know. And he was vain.'

'How can you know that?'

'It's not hard. Consider his story: the rich young patrician who became a Dragon general. But what happened then? He entered himself in the arena games, and there he killed people to thrill the crowds. Many of the men he fought were prisoners, forced to fight and die. They had no choice, he did. But he couldn't stay away from the applause. There is nothing noble in that. Men! What do they know? They never grow up.'

'You are being very hard on him — he is willing to die for you!'

'Not for me. For himself. He is after revenge.'

'That's unfair!'

'Life is unfair,' said Rayvan. 'Don't misunderstand me, I like him. I like him a great deal. He is a fine man. But men don't come in just two groups, one of gold and the other of lead. They are a mix of both.'

'And what about women?' asked Valtaya.

'Pure gold, my girl,' answered Rayvan with a chuckle.

Valtaya smiled.

'That's better!' said Rayvan.

'How do you do it? How do you stay so strong?'

'I fake it.'

'That can't be true. You turned the tide today — you were magnificent.'

'That was easy. They killed my husband and my sons and they have nothing left to make me suffer. My father used to say that you can't stop a man who knows he is right. At first I thought it was a nonsense. An arrow through the gizzard stops anyone. But now I know what he meant. Ceska is unnatural, like a snowstorm in July. He cannot succeed just so long as enough people stand up to oppose him. All over the empire word of the Skoda rebellion will be spreading and other groups will rise up. Regiments will mutiny, honest men will take up their swords. He cannot win.'

'He can win here.'

'It will be shortlived.'

'Ananais believes that Tenaka Khan will return with a Nadir army.'

'I know,' said Rayvan. 'I don't feel too comfortable about that.'

In the next room Decado lay awake, his wounded shoulder throbbing. He smiled as he heard Rayvan's words. You can't fool a woman like her, he thought.

He stared at the wooden ceiling, ignoring the pain from his wound. He was at peace. Katan had come to him, telling him of the boy Ceorl, and Decado had been close to tears. All things were falling into place. Death was no longer a living fear.

Decado eased himself into a sitting position. His armour lay on a table to his right. Serbitar's armour. The Delnoch Thirty.

Serbitar was said to have been filled with doubts and Decado hoped that at the end these had been resolved. It was so good to know. He wondered how he could have been so blind to the truth when the facts shone before him with such crystal simplicity.

Ananais and Tenaka, drawn together near the Dragon bar-racks. Scaler and Pagan. Decado and The Thirty. Rayvan.

Every one a link in a web of mystery and magic. And who knew how many other links there were of equal importance?

Valtaya, Renya, Galand, Lake, Parsal, Thorn, Turs?

Pagan had been drawn from a far country to save one special child. But who would the child save?

Webs within webs within webs. .

Perhaps the events themselves were merely links. The legendary battle for Dros Delnoch conspired after two generations to create Tenaka Khan. And Scaler. And the Dragon.

It was all too vast for Decado.

The pain in his shoulder flared once more and he grunted as it washed over him.

Tomorrow the pain would end.

Three more attacks began with the dawn. On the last the line almost gave way but Ananais, wielding two swords, hurled himself at the invaders in a berserk charge, cutting and cleaving his way through them. As they were thrown back a single bugle sounded in the enemy camp and the Joinings assembled, five thousand of them.

The beasts loped forward and the men of the Legion moved back through their ranks, leaving the way clear for the Joinings to advance.

Ananais swallowed hard and gazed left and right along the wall. This was the moment of dread. But there was no give in these Skoda men and he felt a surge of pride.

'There will be a warm fur rug for every man tonight!' he bellowed.

Grim laughter greeted the jest.

The beasts waited as the Dark Templars gathered among them — pulsing visions of blood and carnage, inflaming their bestial natures.

The howling began.

On the wall Decado called Balan to him. The dark-eyed priest approached and bowed formally.

'It is near the time,' said Decado.

'Yes.'

'You will remain behind.'

'What?' said Balan, stunned, 'Why?'

'Because they will need you. To link with Tarsk.'

'I don't want to be alone, Decado!'

'You will not be alone. We will all be with you.'

'No. You are punishing me!'

'It is not so. Stay close to Ananais and protect him as best you can. Also the woman Rayvan.'

'Let someone else stay. I am the worst of you — the weakest. I need you all. You cannot leave me alone.'

'Have faith, Balan. And obey me.'

The priest stumbled back from the ramparts, running headlong into the shadows of the trees beyond.

On the plain the howling grew to a terrible crescendo.

'Now!' cried Decado.

The seventeen warrior priests slid over the ramparts and dropped to the ground below, walking towards the beasts now some hundred paces distant.

'What in thunder?' said Ananais. 'Decado!' he bellowed.

The Thirty advanced in a wide line, their white cloaks flapping in the breeze, their swords in their hands.

The beasts charged, the Templars running behind them and spurring them on with mind-blasts of fearful power.

The Thirty dropped to their knees.

The leading Joining, a giant beast almost eight feet tall, staggered as the vision hit him. Stone. Cold stone. Shaped.

Blood, fresh blood, dripping from salty meat.

The beast ran on.

Stone. Cold stone. Wings.

Blood.

Stone.

Wings. Shaped wings.

Thirty paces separated the beasts from The Thirty. Ananais could watch no longer and turned his back upon the scene.

The Joining leader bore down on the silver-garbed warriors kneeling before it.

Stone. Shaped stone. Wings. Marching men. Stone. .

The beast screamed.

Dragon. Stone Dragon. MY DRAGON!

All along the line the Joinings slowed. The howling faded. The image grew in strength. Long-lost memories struggled to surface. Pain, terrible pain burned in the awesome bodies.

The Templars pushed hard, sending searing mind-bolts at the beasts. One Joining turned and lashed out, his talons ripping a Templar's head from his shoulders.

The massive Joining leading the others halted before Decado, its great head hanging down, its tongue lolling. Decado looked up. Holding the image in the beast's mind, he saw the sorrow in its eyes. It knew. Its taloned arm came up and tapped its chest. The long tongue rolled around a single word that Decado could only just make out:

'Baris. Me Baris!'

The beast turned and ran back screaming towards the Templars. Other Joinings followed it and the Templars stood rooted to the spot, unable to comprehend what was happening. And then the beasts were upon them. But not all the Joinings were former Dragon and scores of them milled in confusion until one focused on the silver-garbed warriors.

It ran forward, followed by a dozen of its fellows.

In their trance state The Thirty were defenceless. Only Decado had the power to move. . And he did not. The Joinings fell upon them, snarling and lashing out.

Decado closed his eyes and his pain ended.

The Templars fell in their hundreds as the beasts rampaged through the camp. The giant Joining that had been Baris, the Lord of the Dragon, leapt upon Maymon as he tried to run. With one bite he tore the man's arm from his shoulder. Maymon screamed, but a lashing blow from a taloned paw tore away his face, drowning the scream in blood.

Baris lunged to his feet and ran at the tent of Ceska.

Darik hurled a spear that took him in the chest, but it did not penetrate deeply and the Joining pulled the weapon clear and charged on.

'Legion, to me!' yelled Darik. Archers peppered the beast with arrows, but still it came on.

All over the field Joinings were collapsing, screaming in their death throes.

Still Baris pushed on. Darik watched in amazement as the giant Joining seemed to shrink before his eyes. An arrow pierced the beast's chest and it stumbled, then Darik ran forward to plunge his sword into the Joining's back. It tried to roll over. . And died. Darik turned it with his foot. The beast quivered and he stabbed once more. Then he noticed that the movement had nought to do with life — it was reverting to human form. He turned away.

All over the plain the beasts were dying — all but the small group ripping at the silver-garbed warriors who had brought this chaos upon them.

Ceska sat within his tent. Darik entered and bowed.

'The beasts are dead, sire.'

'I can make more,' said Ceska. 'Take the wall!'

Scaler gazed down at the dead Templar. Two Sathuli warriors ran ahead to catch the dead man's horse, while Magir ripped the arrow from the man's throat and stuffed a cloth into the wound, staunching the blood.

Hastily they unbuckled the man's black breastplate, pulling it clear. Scaler wiped spots of blood from the straps. Two warriors carried on stripping the Templar as Scaler opened the leather pouch hidden inside the breastplate. Within it was a scroll, sealed with the sign of the Wolf. Scaler pushed it back into the pouch.

'Hide the body,' he said, and ran back into the haven of the trees.

For three days they had waited for a messenger on the lonely road through Skultik. Magir had downed him with a single arrow — it was fine marksmanship.

Back at the camp Scaler examined the seal. The wax was green and marbled; there was nothing like it among the Sathuli. He toyed with the idea of opening it, then thrust it back in the pouch.

Sathuli outriders had brought news of Tenaka Khan. He was less than a day from the fortress and Scaler's plan had to be put into effect immediately.

Moving to the armour, Scaler tried on the breastplate. It was a little large. Removing it, he pierced the leather strap with his dagger point, tightening the buckle. Better.

The helm was a good fit, but Scaler would have been happier had the man not been a Templar. It was said they could communicate mind to mind. He hoped there were no Templars at Delnoch.

'When do you go in?' asked Magir.

'Tonight. After midnight.'

'Why so late?'

'With luck the commander will be sleeping. He will be drowsy and less inclined to question me.'

'This is a great risk, Lord Earl.'

'Don't remind me.'

'I wish we could have descended on the fortress with ten thousand tulwars.'

'Yes,' agreed Scaler uneasily. 'That would have been nice. Still, never mind!'

'You are a strange man, my Lord. Always the jest.'

'Life is sad enough, Magir. Laughter is a thing to be treasured.'

'Like friendship,' said the Sathuli.

'Indeed.'

'Was it hard being dead?'

'Not as hard as it is to be alive without hope.'

Magir nodded solemnly. 'I hope this venture is not in vain.'

'Why should it be?'

'I do not trust the Nadir.'

'You are a suspicious man. Magir. I trust Tenaka Khan. When I was a child, he saved my life.'

'Then he too is reborn?'

'No.'

'I do not understand.'

'I did not rise full-grown from the grave, Magir. I grew like any other child.'

'There is much I do not understand. But we shall leave it for another day. Now it is time to prepare.'

Scaler nodded, amazed at his own stupidity. How easily could a man betray himself.

Magir watched Scaler don the black armour, and he wondered. He was not a stupid man and he sensed the unease in the Earl, knowing in that moment that all was not as he had believed. And yet the spirit of Joachim had trusted him.

It was enough.

Scaler tightened the saddle-cinch on the black gelding and swung to the saddle, hooking the helm over the pommel.

'Farewell, my friend,' he said.

'May the god of fortune rest with you,' answered Magir.

Scaler heeled the gelding away through the trees. He rode for over an hour until at last the southern gates of Delnoch appeared before him, the great wall spanning the pass. It was so long since he had been home.

Two sentries saluted as he rode under the portcullis gate, turning left to the doors of the keep. A soldier came forward and took the reins as he dismounted.

Scaler marched forward and another sentry approached.

'Take me to the Gan,' ordered Scaler.

'Gan Paldin is asleep, sir.'

'Then wake him!' snapped Scaler, keeping his voice bleak and cold.

'Yes, sir. Follow me, sir,' said the man.

He led Scaler down the long torch-lit corridor, through the Hall of Heroes lined with statues and on up the marble staircase to Paldin's quarters. Once they had belonged to Scaler's grandfather. The sentry rapped on the door several times before a sleepy voice answered; the door swung open. Gan Paldin had pulled on a woollen robe. He was a short man of middle years, with large, protruding dark eyes. Scaler disliked him instantly.

'Could this not have waited?' asked Paldin testily.

Scaler handed over the scroll and Paldin ripped it open and read it swiftly.

'Well,' he said, 'is that it? Or is there a personal message?'

'I have another message, my Lord. From the emperor himself. He is expecting aid from the north and you are to allow the Nadir general through the gates. You understand?'

'How strange,' murmured Paldin. 'Let them through, you say?'

'That is correct.'

Paldin swung round, seizing a dagger from his bedside table. The blade swung up, resting on Scaler's throat.

'Then perhaps you would explain the meaning of this message?' he said, holding up the scroll for Scaler to read.

'Watch out for Nadir army. Hold at all costs. Ceska:

'I do not intend to stand here for much longer with a knife at my throat,' said Scaler stonily. 'I do not wish to kill a general. Remove it this instant — or face the fury of the Templars.'

Paldin blanched but he removed the knife. The sentry had drawn his sword and was standing behind Scaler.

'Good,' said Scaler. 'Now read the message again. You will note that it says,"Watch out for Nadir army." Hence my message to you. "Hold at all costs" refers to the rebels and the damned Sathuli. What the emperor required of you is that you obey him. He needs the Nadir — you understand?'

'It is not clear.'

'It is clear enough to me,' snapped Scaler. 'The emperor has arranged a treaty with the Nadir. They are sending a force to help him stamp out the rebels, there and elsewhere.'

'I must have confirmation,' argued Paldin.

'Indeed? Then you refuse the emperor's orders?'

'Not at all. I am loyal, always have been. It is just that this is so unexpected.'

'I see. You criticise the emperor for not bringing you into all his plans?'

'Don't put words in my mouth. That is not what I said.'

'Do I look like a fool to you, Paldin?'

'No, that's. .'

'What kind of a fool would I be, coming here with a letter that proved me a liar?'

'Yes, I see that. .'

'Well, there are only two possibilities. I am a fool or. .?'

'I understand,' mumbled Paldin.

'However,' said Scaler, his voice taking on a more kindly tone, 'your caution is not without reason. I could have been a traitor.'

'Exactly.'

'Therefore I will allow you to send a message to confirm.'

'Thank you.'

'It is nothing. You have fine quarters here?'

'Yes.'

'Have you checked them thoroughly?'

'For what?'

'Hidden places where spies can lurk and listen.'

'There are no such places here.'

Scaler smiled and closed his eyes. 'I will search for you,' he said.

Gan Paldin and the sentry stood in silence as Scaler slowly turned on his heel. His finger stabbed out. 'There!' he said and Paldin jumped.

'Where?'

Scaler opened his eyes. 'There, by the panel. A secret passage!' He walked to the carved oak panelling and pressed a switch. The panel slid open to reveal a narrow walkway and a flight of stairs.

'You really should be more careful,' said Scaler. 'I think I will sleep now and travel back with your message tomorrow. Or would you prefer another messenger to go tonight?'

'Er. . no!' said Paldin, peering into the web-shrouded chamber. 'How did you do that?'

'Question not the power of the Spirit!' said Scaler.