The King Beyond the Gate

7

In the dark of the library the Abbot waited patiently, leaning forward on his desk, his fingers steepled and his eyes closed. His three companions sat opposite him, immobile, like living statues. The Abbot opened his eyes and regarded them all:

Acuas, the strong one, compassionate and loyal.

Balan, the sceptic.

Katan, the true mystic.

All were travelling, their spirits entwined as they sought the Dark Templars and threw a veil of mind mist over the movements of Tenaka Khan and his companions.

Acuas returned first. He opened his eyes, rubbing his hands over his yellow beard; he seemed tired, drained.

'This is not easy, my Lord,' he said. The Dark Templars have great power.'

'As have we,' said the Abbot. 'Go on.'

'There are twenty of them. They were attacked in Skultik by a bank of outlaws but slew them with arrogant ease. They are truly formidable warriors.'

'Yes. How close are they to the Torchbearer?'

'Less than a day. We cannot deceive them for much longer.'

'No. A few more days will be invaluable,' said the Abbot. 'Have they tried another night attack?'

'No, my Lord, though I think it likely.'

'Rest now, Acuas. Fetch Toris and Lannad to relieve you.'

The Abbot left the room and the long corridor beyond, making his way slowly to the second level and the garden of Decado.

The dark-eyed priest welcomed him with a smile.

'Come with me, Decado. There is something for you to see.'

Without another word he turned on his heel and led the priest to the steps and the oak doors above. Decado hesitated in the doorway — during all his years in the monastery he had never ascended these steps.

The Abbot turned. 'Come!' he said and stepped into the shadows beyond. A strange sense of fear gripped the gardener, as if his world was slipping away from him. He swallowed and began to tremble. Then, taking a deep breath, he followed the Abbot.

He was led through a maze of corridors, but he looked neither to left nor right, focusing his gaze on the grey cassock of the man walking before him. The Abbot halted before a door shaped like a leaf; there was no handle.

'Open,' whispered the Abbot and the door slid silently into a recess. Inside was a long chamber containing thirty sets of silver armour, draped with cloaks of dazzling white. Before each set was a small table bearing scabbarded swords placed in front of helms crowned with plumes of white horse-hair.

'Do you know what these represent?' asked the Abbot.

'No.' Decado was sweating freely. He wiped his eyes and the Abbot noticed with concern that the haunted look had returned to the former warrior.

'This is the armour worn by The Delnoch Thirty, led by Serbitar — the men who fought and died during the First Nadir War. You have heard of them?'

'Of course.'

'Tell me what you have heard.'

'Where is this leading, my Lord Abbot? I have duties in the gardens.'

'Tell me of The Delnoch Thirty,' ordered the Abbot.

Decado cleared his throat. 'They were warrior priests. Not like us. They trained for years and then chose a distant war in which to die. Serbitar led The Thirty at Delnoch, where they advised the Earl of Bronze and Druss the Legend. Together they turned back the hordes of Ulric.'

'But why would priests take up weapons?'

'I don't know, Lord Abbot. It is incomprehensible.'

'Is it?'

'You have taught me that all life is sacred to the Source, and that to take life is a crime against God.'

'And yet evil must be opposed.'

'Not by using the weapons of evil,' answered Decado.

'A man stands above a child with spear poised. What would you do?'

'I would stop him — but not kill him.'

'You would stop him with a blow, perhaps?'

'Yes, perhaps.'

'He falls badly, strikes his head and dies. Have you sinned?'

'No. . yes. I don't know.'

'He is the sinner, for his action ensured your reaction, and therefore it was his action that killed him. We strive for peace and harmony, my son — we long for it. But we are of the world and subject to its demands. This nation is no longer in harmony. Chaos controls and the suffering is terrible to behold.'

'What are you trying to say, my Lord?'

'It is not easy, my son, for my words will cause you great pain.' The Abbot moved forward, placing his hands on the priest's shoulders. 'This is a Temple of The Thirty. And we are preparing to ride against the darkness.'

Decado pulled back from the Abbot. 'No!'

'I want you to ride with us.'

'I believed in you. I trusted you!' Decado turned away and found himself facing one of the sets of armour. He twisted round. 'That is what I came here to escape: death and slaughter. Sharp blades and torn flesh. I have been happy here. And now you have robbed me of it. Go ahead — play your soldier's games. I will have none of it.'

'You cannot hide for ever, my son.'

'Hide? I came here to change.'

'It is not hard to change when your biggest problem is whether the weeds prosper in a vegetable patch.'

'What does that mean?'

'It means that you were a psychopathic killer — a man in love with death. Now I offer you the chance to see if you have changed. Put on the armour and ride with us against the forces of Chaos.'

'And learn to kill again?'

'That we shall see.'

'I don't want to kill. I wish to live among my plants.'

'Do you think I want to fight? I am nearing sixty years of age. I love the Source and all things that grow or move. I believe life is the greatest gift in all the Universe. But there is real evil in the world, and it must be fought. Overcome. Then others will have the opportunity to see the joy of life.'

'Don't say any more,' snapped Decado. 'Not another damned word!' Years of suppressed emotion roared through him, filling his senses, and forgotten anger lashed him with whips of fire. What a fool he had been — hiding from the world, grubbing in the soil like a sweating peasant!

He moved to a set of armour placed to the right of the rest and his hand reached down to curl round the ivory hilt. With one smooth movement he swept the blade into the air, his muscles pulsing with the thrill of the weapon. Its blade was silver steel and razor-sharp, and the balance was perfection. He turned to the Abbot, and where he had once seen a Lord he now saw an old man with watery eyes.

'This quest of yours, does it involve Tenaka Khan?'

'Yes, my son.'

'Don't call me that, priest! Not ever again. I don't blame you — I was the fool for believing in you. All right, I will fight with your priests, but only because it will aid my friends. But do not seek to give me Orders.'

'I will not be in a position to order you, Decado. Even now you have moved to your own armour.'

'My armour?'

'You recognise the rune on the helm?'

'It is the number One in the Elder script.'

'It was Serbitar's armour. You will wear it.'

'He was the leader, was he not?'

'As you will be.'

'So that is my lot,' said Decado, 'to lead a motley crew of priests as they play at war. Very well; I can take a joke as well as any man.'

Decado began to laugh. The Abbot closed his eyes and mouthed a silent prayer, for through the laughter he felt the cry of anguish from Decado's tortured soul. Despair swept through the priest and he left the room, the manic laughter echoing after him.

What have you done, Abaddon? he asked himself.

Tears were in his eyes as he reached his room and, once inside, he fell to his knees.

Decado stumbled from the chamber and returned to his garden, staring in disbelief at the tidy rows of vegetables, the neat hedges and the carefully pruned trees.

He walked on to his hut, kicking open the door.

Less than an hour before, this had been home — a home he loved. Contentment had been his.

Now the shack was a hovel and he left it and wandered to his flower garden. The white rose carried three new buds. Anger coursed through him and he grasped the plant, ready to rip it from the ground. Then he stopped and slowly released it, staring at his hand and then back at the plant. Not one thorn had ripped his flesh. Gently he smoothed out the crushed leaves and began to sob, meaningless sounds which became two words.

'I'm sorry,' he told his rose.

The Thirty assembled in the lower courtyard, saddling their mounts. The horses still bore their winter coats, but they were strong mountain-bred beasts and they could run like the wind. Decado chose a bay mare; he saddled it swiftly and then vaulted to its back, sweeping out his white cloak behind him and settling it over the saddle in Dragon fashion. Serbitar's armour fitted him as his own never had — it felt smooth, like a second skin.

The Abbot, Abaddon, stepped into the saddle of a chestnut gelding and moved alongside Decado.

Decado swung in the saddle, watching the warrior priests as they silently mounted — he had to admit that they moved well. Each adjusted his cloak precisely as Decado had done. Abaddon gazed wistfully at his erstwhile disciple; Decado had shaved his chin clean and bound his long dark hair at the nape of his neck. His eyes were bright and alive, and a half-mocking smile was on his lips.

The night before, Decado had been formally introduced to his lieutenants: Acuas, the Heart of The Thirty; Balan, the Eyes of The Thirty; and Katan, the Soul of The Thirty.

'If you want to be warriors,' he had told them, 'then do as I say, when I say it. The Abbot tells me that there is a force hunting Tenaka Khan. We are to intercept it. The men we shall fight are true warriors, so I am told. Let us hope your quest does not end at their hands.'

'It is your quest too, brother,' said Katan, with a gentle smile.

'There is no man alive who can slay me. And if you priests fall like wheat, I shall not stay.'

'Is not a leader obliged to stand by his men?' asked Balan, an edge of anger in his voice.

'Leader? This is all a priestly farce, but very well, I will play the game. But I will not die with you.'

'Will you join us in prayer?' said Acuas.

'No. You pray for me! I have spent too many years wasting my time in that fruitless exercise.'

'We have always prayed for you,' said Katan.

'Pray for yourselves! Pray that when you meet these Dark Templars your bowels do not turn to water.'

With that he had left them. Now he raised his arms and led the troop through the Temple gates and out over the Sentran Plain.

'Are you sure this choice is wise?' Katan mind-pulsed to Abaddon.

'It is not my choice, my son.'

'He is a man consumed by anger.'

'The Source knows our needs. Do you remember Estin?'

'Yes, poor man. So wise — he would have been a good leader,' said Katan.

'Indeed he would. Courageous, yet kind; strong, yet gentle; and possessed of intellect without arrogance. But he died. And on the day he died Decado appeared at our gates seeking sanctuary from the world.'

'But suppose, Lord Abbot, that it was not the Source that sent him?'

'"Lord Abbot" no longer, Katan. Merely "Abaddon".'

The older man severed the mind link and it was some moments before Katan realised his question had not been answered.

The years fled from Decado. Once more he was in the saddle, the wind in his hair. Once more the drumming of hooves sounded on the plain and the stirring in his blood brought his youth pounding back to his mind. .

The Dragon sweeping down on the Nadir raiders. Chaos, confusion, blood and terror. Broken men and broken screams, and crows shrieking their joy in the dark skies above.

And then later, in one mercenary war after another in the most far-flung nations of the world. Always Decado walked away from the battle, not a wound upon his slender form, while his enemies journeyed to whatever hells they believed in, shadowed and forgotten.

The image of Tenaka Khan floated in Decado's mind.

Now there was a warrior! How many times had Decado fallen asleep dreaming of a battle with Tenaka Khan? Ice and Shadow in the dance of blades.

They had fought, many times. With wooden blades or tipped foils. Even with blunted sabres. Honours were even. But such contests were meaningless — only when death rested on the blades could a true victor emerge.

Decado's thoughts were interrupted as the yellow-bearded Acuas cantered alongside.

'It will be close, Decado. The Templars have found their trail at some devastated village. They will have made their move by morning.'

'How soon can we reach them?'

'Dawn at the earliest.'

'Back to your prayers, then, yellowbeard. And make them powerful.'

He spurred his horse to a gallop and The Thirty followed him.

It was close to dawn and the companions had ridden through most of the night, stopping only for an hour to rest the horses. The Skoda range loomed ahead and Tenaka was anxious to reach their sanctuary. The sun, hidden now beyond the eastern horizon, was stirring and the stars faded as a pink glow painted the sky.

The riders left a grove of trees and emerged on to a broad grassland, swirling in mist. Tenaka felt a sudden chill touch his bones; he shivered and drew his cloak about him. He was tired and discontented.

He had not spoken to Renya since their fight in the forest, yet he thought of her constantly. Far from removing her from his mind by turning on her, he had succeeded only in bringing himself fresh misery. And yet he was incapable of crossing the gulf he had opened between them. He glanced back to where she rode alongside Ananais, laughing at some jest; then turned away.

Ahead, like dark demons out of the past, twenty riders waited in a line. They sat their horses immobile, black cloaks flapping in the breeze. Tenaka reined his mount some fifty paces from the centre of their line and his companions rode alongside.

'What in Hell's name are they?' asked Ananais.

'They are seeking me,' answered Tenaka. 'They came at me in a dream.'

'I don't wish to appear defeatist, but there are rather too many for us to handle. Do we run?'

'From these men you cannot run,' said Tenaka tonelessly as he dismounted.

The twenty riders followed course, walking forward slowly through the mist, and it seemed to Renya they moved like the shades of the dead on a ghostly sea. Their armour was jet, helms covered their faces, dark swords were in their hands. Tenaka went forward to meet them, hand on sword-hilt.

Ananais shook his head. A strange trancelike state had come upon him, leaving him a powerless observer. He slid from the saddle, drew his own sword and joined Tenaka.

The Dark Templars halted and their leader stepped forward.

'We have no commission to kill you yet, Ananais,' he said.

'I don't die easily,' said Ananais. He was about to add an insult, but the words froze in his mouth as a terrible fear struck him like a blast of icy air. He began to tremble and the urge to run rose in him.

'You die as easily as any other mortal,' said the man. 'Go back! Ride away to whatever doom awaits you.'

Ananais said nothing; he swallowed hard and looked at Tenaka. His friend's face was bone-white, and it was obvious that the same fear washed over him.

Galand and Parsal moved alongside them, swords in hand.

'Do you think to stand against us?' said the leader. 'A hundred men could not stand against us. Listen to my words and hear the truth — feel it through your terror.'

The fear increased and the horses grew skittish, whinnying their alarm. Scaler and Belder leapt from the saddles, sensing the beasts were about to bolt. Pagan leaned forward, patting his horse's neck; the beast settled down, but its ears were flat against its skull and he knew it was close to panic. Valtaya and Renya jumped clear as their horses bolted, then helped the village woman, Parise, to dismount.

Shielding her baby who had begun to scream — Parise lay down on the ground, shaking uncontrollably.

Pagan dismounted and drew his sword, walking forward slowly to stand beside Tenaka and the others. Belder and Scaler followed.

'Draw your sword,' whispered Renya, but Scaler ignored her. It was all he could do to muster enough courage to stand alongside Tenaka Khan. Any thoughts of actually fighting beside him were buried under the weight of his terror.

'Foolish,' said the leader, contemptuously, 'like lambs to the slaughter!' The Dark Templars advanced.

Tenaka struggled to overcome his panic, but his limbs felt leaden as his confidence drained away. He knew dark magic was being used against him, but the knowledge was not enough. He felt like a child stalked by a leopard.

Fight it! he told himself. Where is your courage?

Suddenly, as in his dream, the terror passed and strength flowed to his limbs. He knew without turning that the white knights had returned, this time in the flesh.

The Templars halted their advance and Padaxes cursed softly as The Thirty moved into sight. Outnumbered now, he considered his options. Calling on the power of the Spirit, he probed his enemies, meeting a wall of force that resisted his efforts. . Except around the warrior at the centre — this man was no mystic. Padaxes was no stranger to the legends of The Thirty — his own temples had been built to parody theirs — and he recognised the rune on the man's helm.

A non-mystic as leader? An idea formed in his mind.

'Much blood will be shed here today,' he called, 'unless we settle this as captains.'

Abaddon grasped Decado's arm as he moved forward. 'No, Decado, you do not understand his power.'

'He is a man, that is all,' answered the other.

'No, he is far more — he has the power of Chaos. If someone must fight him, let it be Acuas.'

'Am I not leader in this force of yours?'

'Yes, but. .'

'There are no buts. Obey me!' Pulling himself free Decado moved on, halting a few feet away from the black-armoured Padaxes.

'What do you suggest, Templar?'

'A duel between captains, the loser's men leaving the field.'

'I want more,' said Decado coldly. 'Far more!'

'Name it.'

'I have studied much of the ways of mystics. It is… was. . part of my former calling. It is said that in ancient wars champions carried the souls of their armies within them, and when they died their armies died.'

'That is so,' said Padaxes, disguising his joy.

'Then that is what I demand.'

'It shall be so. I swear it by the Spirit!'

'Swear nothing to me, warrior. Your oaths count for nothing. Prove it!'

'It will take a little time. I shall conduct the rites first and trust your word that you will follow,' said Padaxes. Decado nodded and walked back to the others.

'You cannot do this thing, Decado,' said Acuas. 'You doom us all!'

'Suddenly the game is not to your liking?' snapped Decado.

'It is not that. This man, your enemy, has powers you do not possess. He can read your mind, sense your every move before you make it. How on earth can you defeat him?'

Decado laughed. 'Am I still your leader?'

Acuas flicked a glance at the former Abbot. 'Yes,' he said, 'you are the leader.'

'Then when he has finished his ritual, you will align the life force of The Thirty to mine.'

'Tell me this before I die,' said Acuas gently. 'Why are you sacrificing yourself in this way? Why do you doom your friends?'

Decado shrugged. 'Who can say?'

The Dark Templars fell to their knees before Padaxes as he intoned the names of the lower demons, calling on the Chaos Spirit, his voice rising to a scream. The sun breasted the eastern horizon, yet strangely no light fell upon the plain.

'It is done,' whispered Abaddon. 'He has kept his word and the souls of his warriors are within him.'

'Then do likewise,' ordered Decado.

The Thirty knelt before their leader, heads bowed. Decado felt nothing, yet he knew they had obeyed him.

'Dec, is it you?' called Ananais. Decado waved him to silence and advanced to meet Padaxes.

The black sword hissed forward, to be parried instantly by the silver steel in Decado's hand. The battle had begun. Tenaka and his companions watched in awe as the warriors circled and struck, blades clashing and clanging.

Time wore on and desperation became apparent in every move Padaxes made. Fear crept into his heart. Though he anticipated his opponent's every move, such was the speed of the assault that it availed him nothing. He mind-pulsed a terror-thought but Decado laughed, for death held no terror for him. And then Padaxes knew his doom was sealed, and it irked him greatly that a mortal man could bring about his death. Launching a final savage assault, he experienced the horror of reading Decado's mind at the last moment, seeing the riposte in the fraction of a second before it was launched.

The silver steel whiplashed his own sword aside and buried itself in his groin. He sank to the ground, his lifeblood pumping to the grass. . and the souls of his men died with him.

Sunlight blazed through the darkness and The Thirty rose to their feet, amazed that life still flowed in their veins.

Acuas walked forward.

'How?' he asked. 'How did you win?'

'There is no mystery, Acuas,' said Decado softly. 'He was only a man.'

'But so are you!'

'No. I am Decado. The Ice Killer! Follow me at your peril.'

Decado lifted his helm and sucked in a deep breath of cool dawn air. Tenaka shook his head to clear the webs of fear still clinging there.

'Dec!' he called. Decado smiled and walked to him; the men gripped wrists in the warrior's greeting. Ananais, Galand and Parsal joined them.

'By all the gods, Dec, you look fine. Very fine!' said Tenaka warmly.

'And you, general. I am glad we were in time.'

'Would you mind telling me,' said Ananais, 'just why all those warriors died?'

'Only if you will explain about that mask. It's ridiculous for someone as vain as you to hide such classical good looks.'

Ananais looked away while the others stood uneasily, the silence growing.

'Will no one introduce me to our rescuer?' said Valtaya, and the moment passed. The Thirty stood aloof as the conversation began, then split into groups of six and moved about collecting wood for camp-fires.

Acuas, Balan, Katan and Abaddon chose a position by a solitary elm. Katan started the fire and the four of them sat around it, seemingly silent and watching the dancing flames.

'Speak, Acuas,' pulsed Abaddon.

'I am saddened, Abaddon, for our leader is not one of us. I do not mean that arrogantly, but our Order is an ancient one and always we have sought high spiritual ideals. We do not go to war for the joy of killing, but to die in defence of the Light. Decado is purely a killer.'

'You are the Heart of The Thirty, Acuas. For you have always been emotionally charged. You are a fine man — you care. . you love. But sometimes our emotions can blind us. Do not judge Decado yet.'

'How did he kill the Templar?' asked Balan. It was inconceivable.'

'The Eyes of The Thirty and yet you cannot see, Balan. But I will not explain it to you. In time you will tell me. I believe the Source sent Decado to us, and I accepted him. Will one of you tell me why he is the leader?'

Dark-eyed Katan smiled. 'Because he is the least among us.'

'But more than that,' said Abaddon.

'It is his only role,' said Acuas.

'Explain, brother,' asked Balan.

'As a knight he could not communicate with us, nor travel with us. Every move we made would have been a humiliation for him. Yet we go to a war that he understands. As our leader, his lack of talent is counterbalanced by his authority.'

'Very good, Acuas. Now let the Heart tell us where danger lies.'

Acuas closed his eyes and remained mind-silent for several minutes, focusing his concentration.

'The Templars will respond. They cannot suffer this defeat at our hands and allow the deed to go unavenged.'

'And?'

'And Ceska has sent a thousand men to crush the Skoda rebellion. They will arrive in less than a week.'

Some thirty paces from their fire Decado sat with Tenaka, Ananais, Pagan and Scaler.

'Come on, Dec,' said Ananais. 'How did you become the leader of a gang of warrior wizards? There must be a story to it.'

'How do you know I am not a wizard?' countered Decado.

'No, seriously,' whispered Ananais, glancing at the white-cloaked knights. 'I mean, they are an eerie bunch. None of them is saying anything.'

'On the contrary,' Decado told him. 'They are all talking — mind to mind.'

'Nonsense!' said Ananais, curling his fingers into the sign of the Protective Horn and holding his hand across his heart.

Decado smiled. 'I speak truly.' Turning, he called to Katan who joined them. 'Go on, Ani — ask something,' he ordered.

'I feel foolish,' muttered Ananais.

'Then I shall ask,' said Scaler. Tell me, my friend, is it true you knights can talk. . without talking?'

'It is true,' said Katan softly.

'Would you give us a demonstration?'

'Of what nature?' asked Katan.

'The tall man over there,' said Scaler, pointing and lowering his voice. 'Could you ask him to remove his helm and put it on again?'

'If it would please you,' said Katan and all eyes turned to the warrior some forty paces distant.

Obligingly he removed his helm, smiled and replaced it.

'That's uncanny,' said Scaler. 'How did you do it?'

'It is hard to explain,' said Katan. 'Please excuse me.' Bowing to Decado, he rejoined his companions.

'See what I mean?' said Ananais. 'Eerie, Inhuman.'

'We have men in my land with similar talents,' said Pagan.

'What do they do there?' asked Scaler.

'Very little. We burn them alive,' said Pagan.

'Is that not a little excessive?'

'Perhaps,' answered the black man. 'But then I don't believe in interfering with tradition!'

Tenaka left them talking and moved across to where Renya sat with Valtaya, Parsal and the village woman. As Renya watched him approach, her heartbeat quickened.

'Will you walk with me awhile?' he asked. She nodded and they moved away from the fires. The sun was clear and strong and its light glinted on the silver streaks in his hair. She longed to reach out and touch him, but instinct made her wait.

'I am sorry, Renya,' he said, reaching out and taking her hand. She looked into the slanted violet eyes and read the anguish there.

'Did you speak the truth? Would you have used that dagger on me?'

He shook his head.

'Do you want me to stay with you?' she asked softly.

'Do you want to stay?'

'I desire nothing else.'

'Then forgive me for being a fool,' he said. 'I am not skilled in these things. I have always been clumsy around women.'

'I am damned glad to hear it,' she said, smiling.

Ananais watched them and his gaze slid to Valtaya. She was talking to Galand, and laughing.

I should have let the Joining kill me, he thought.