Drenai Saga 02 - The King Beyond the Gate

by David Gemmell

  “They will,” said Renya, sitting on a stone bench and drawing up her long legs onto the seat.

  “How can you be sure?”

  “They are not the men to be beaten. Tenaka will find a way to win. And if he has asked you to help him, then he must be sure you have a chance.”

  “How simply women view the world of men,” commented Scaler.

  “Not at all. It takes men to make the simplest things sound complex.”

  “A deadly riposte, lady. I am undone!”

  “Are you defeated so easily, Scaler?”

  He sat down beside her. “I am easily defeated, Renya, because I don’t care too much about winning. Just living! I run to survive. When I was young, assassins were all around me. My family all died at their hands. It was Ceska’s doing—I see that now—but then he seemed a friend to my grandfather and myself. For years my rooms were guarded while I slept, my food tasted, my toys checked for hidden needles bearing poison. It was not what you would call a happy childhood.”

  “But now you are a man,” she said.

  “Not much of one. I frighten easily. Still, there is one consolation. If I was any tougher, I would be dead by now.”

  “Or victorious.”

  “Yes,” he admitted, “perhaps victorious. But when they killed Orrin—my grandfather—I ran away. Gave up the earldom and went into hiding. Belder came with me—the last retainer. I have been a great disappointment to him.”

  “How did you survive?”

  He grinned. “I became a thief. Hence the name. I climbed into people’s homes and stole their valuables. It is said that the Earl of Bronze began his career in this way, so I believe I am merely carrying on the family tradition.”

  “Being a thief takes nerve. You could have been caught and hanged.”

  “You have never seen me run. I move like the wind.”

  Renya smiled and stood to glance over the wall to the south. Then she sat down once more.

  “What does Tenaka require of you?”

  “Nothing complex. He merely wants me to become an earl again and retake Dros Delnoch, subduing ten thousand soldiers and opening the gates to allow a Nadir army through. That’s all!”

  “Seriously, what does he want you to do?”

  Scaler leaned forward. “I have told you.”

  “I don’t believe you. It’s insane!”

  “Nevertheless …”

  “It’s impossible.”

  “True, Renya, true. However, there is a certain irony to the plan. Consider it: the descendant of the Earl of Bronze, who held the fortress against Ulric, is now commissioned to take the fortress and allow Ulric’s descendant to pass through with his army.”

  “Where will he get this army? He is hated by the Nadir even as he is loathed by the Drenai.”

  “Ah, yes, but he is Tenaka Khan,” said Scaler dryly.

  “So how will you take the fortress?” she asked.

  “I have no idea. I will probably march into the keep, declare my identity, and ask them all to surrender.”

  “It’s a good plan—simple and direct,” she said, straight-faced.

  “All the best plans are,” he said. “Tell me how you came to be mixed up in this business.”

  “Just born lucky,” said Renya, standing once more. “Damn it! Why don’t they come?”

  “As you said, we shall know soon enough. Will you join me for breakfast?”

  “I don’t think so. Valtaya is in the kitchens; she will cook you something.”

  Sensing that she wanted to be alone, Scaler made his way down the stairwell, following the delicious aroma of frying bacon.

  He passed Valtaya on her way up and wandered on to the kitchen, where Belder was plowing his way through a heaping dish of bacon, eggs, and long beans.

  “A man of your age should have lost his appetite by now,” observed Scaler, slipping into place opposite the gnarled warrior.

  Belder scowled at him. “We should have been with them,” he said.

  “Tenaka asked me to stay,” pointed out Scaler.

  “I cannot think why,” snapped Belder, sarcasm heavy in his tone. “Just think how handy we would have been.”

  Scaler lost patience. “I may not have said so before,” he remarked, “but I am getting pretty sick of you, Belder. Either keep your mouth shut or keep out of my way!”

  “The second option sounds like a pleasure,” said the old warrior, eyes blazing.

  “Then do it! And forget the sanctimonious lectures. You have been on for years about my profligate ways, my fears, and my failings. But you didn’t stay with me out of loyalty; you stayed because you are a runner, too. I just made it easy for you to hide. Tenaka asked me to stay, but he didn’t ask you; you could have gone.”

  Scaler pushed himself upright and left the room. The old man leaned forward on his elbows, pushing the plate away.

  “I did stay out of loyalty,” he whispered.

  In the aftermath of the battle Tenaka wandered off alone into the mountains, his heart heavy and a terrible melancholy settling over him.

  Rayvan watched him walk away and moved to follow, but Ananais stopped her.

  “It is his way,” said the giant. “Leave him be.”

  Rayvan shrugged and returned to the business of treating the wounded. Makeshift stretchers had been put together using the legion lances and cloaks. The Thirty, stripped of their armor, moved among the wounded, using their awesome skills to remove pain while stitches were inserted.

  On the open field the dead were laid side by side, legion lancers alongside Skoda warriors. Six hundred eleven lancers had died that day; 246 Skoda men lay alongside them.

  Rayvan wandered through the ranks of the dead, staring down at the corpses, bringing the names of her warriors to mind, and praying over each man. Many had farms and crofts, wives and children, sisters, mothers. Rayvan knew them all. She called Lake to her and told him to fetch paper and charcoal to list the dead.

  Ananais washed the blood from his clothes and skin and then summoned the legion general, Karespa, to him. The man was sullen and in no mood for conversation.

  “I am going to have to kill you, Karespa,” Ananais said apologetically.

  “I understand.”

  “Good! Will you join me in a meal?”

  “No, thank you. My appetite just left me.”

  Ananais nodded his understanding. “Do you have any preference?”

  The man shrugged. “What does it matter?”

  “Then it will be a sword thrust. Unless you would rather do it yourself.”

  “Go to the devil!”

  “Then I will do it. You have until dawn to prepare yourself.”

  “I don’t need until dawn. Do it now, while I am in the mood.”

  “All right.” Ananais nodded once, and pain like the fires of hell exploded in Karespa’s back. He tried to turn, but darkness blanketed his mind. Galand pulled the sword clear and wiped it clean on the general’s cloak. Moving forward, he sat beside Ananais.

  “Shame about that,” said the black-bearded warrior.

  “We couldn’t let him go, knowing what he did.”

  “I suppose not. Gods, General, but we won! Incredible, isn’t it?”

  “Not with Tenaka planning it.”

  “Come now; anything could have happened. They didn’t have to charge; they could have dismounted and sent in the archers to drive us back.”

  “Could have. Might have. They did not. They went by the book. According to the cavalry manual, the obvious move for horsemen against irregular foot soldiers is the charge. The legion riders are disciplined men and therefore bound to operate by the manual. You want me to quote chapter and verse?”

  “It’s not necessary,” muttered Galand. “I expect you wrote it.”

  “No. Tenaka Khan introduced the most recent alterations eighteen years ago.”

  “But just suppose …”

  “What’s the point, Galand? He was right.”

  “But he couldn’
t have known where Karespa would wait with his bugler. And yet he told Parsal and me to make for that hill.”

  “Where else could Karespa watch the battle from?”

  “He might have gone in with his men.”

  “And left his bugler to make the decisions?”

  “You make it sound so simple, but battles are not like that. Strategy is one thing, heart and skill another.”

  “I don’t deny it. The legion riders didn’t fight at their best. There are many good men among them, and I don’t suppose they relished their task. But that’s in the past. For now I am going to ask the men of the legion to join us.”

  “And if they refuse?”

  “I shall send them out of the valley—where you will be waiting with one hundred archers. Not one man will leave alive.”

  “You’re a ruthless man, General!”

  “I am alive, Galand. And I mean to stay alive.”

  Galand heaved himself to his feet. “I hope you do, General. And I hope Tenaka Khan can produce another miracle when the Joinings arrive.”

  “That’s tomorrow,” said Ananais. “Let us enjoy today.”

  12

  Tenaka found the place of solitude he needed at a sheltered waterfall high in the mountains, where the air was cool and clean and the snow lay in patches on the slopes. Slowly, carefully, he built a fire in a ring of stones and sat watching the flames. He felt no elation at the victory, his emotions washed from him in the blood of the slain. After a while he moved to the stream, remembering the words of Asta Khan, the ancient shaman of the Wolfshead tribe.

  “All things in the world are created for man, yet all have two purposes. The waters run that we might drink of them, but they are also symbols of the futility of man. They reflect our lives in rushing beauty, birthed in the purity of the mountains. As babes they babble and run, gushing and growing as they mature into strong young rivers. Then they widen and slow until at last they meander, like old men, to join with the sea. And like the souls of men in the Nethervoid they mix and mingle until the sun lifts them again as raindrops to fall on the mountains.”

  Tenaka dipped his hand into the rushing water. He felt out of place, away from time. A bird hopped onto a rock nearby, ignoring him in its quest for food; it was tiny and brown. Suddenly it dived into the water, and Tenaka jerked upright, leaning over the stream to see it flying beneath the surface: an eerie sight. It came to the surface, hopped to a rock, and fluttered its feathers; then it returned to the stream. In a strange way Tenaka was soothed by the sight. He observed the bird for a while, then lay back on the grass, watching the clouds bunch in the blue sky.

  An eagle soared high on the thermals with wings spread, seemingly static as it rose on the warm air.

  A ptarmigan fluttered into view, its feathers still mottled and partly white—perfect camouflage, for the snow still patched the slopes. Tenaka considered the bird. In winter it was pure white against the snow. In spring it was partly white, while in summer the mottling turned slate-gray and brown, allowing it to sit by the boulders, the image of a rock. Its feathers were its only defense.

  The ptarmigan rose into the air, and the eagle banked sharply, dropping like a stone. But it cut across the sun, and its shadow fell athwart the ptarmigan, which swerved just as the talons flashed by. The little speckled bird fled back to the bushes.

  The eagle settled on a tree branch close to Tenaka, its dignity ruffled. The Nadir warrior leaned back and closed his eyes.

  The battle had been close, and the strategy would not work again. They had gained a respite, but that was all. Ceska had sent his legion to round up a few rebels. Had they known Tenaka Khan was there, they would have adopted different tactics. Now they would know … Now all Ceska’s skill would be pitted against Tenaka.

  How many men would Ceska range against them now?

  There was the rest of the legion: four thousand men. The regulars numbering ten thousand. The Drenan pikers, two thousand at the last count. But more terrifying than all the others were the Joinings. How many now had he created? Five thousand? Ten?

  And how could they be rated against common men? One Joining to five? Even that would make them worth twenty-five thousand soldiers.

  Ceska would not make the mistake of underestimating the Skoda rebellion a second time.

  Weariness settled on Tenaka like a shroud. His first plan had been so simple: kill Ceska and die. Now the complexities of his scheme swirled in his mind like mist.

  So many dead, so many still to die.

  He moved back to his fire and added fuel; then he lay down beside it, wrapping himself in his cloak. He thought of Illae and his Ventrian home. How good had been the years.

  Then Renya’s face formed in his thoughts, and he smiled. All his life he had been lucky. Sad, lonely, but lucky. To have a mother as devoted as Shillat; that was luck. To find a man like Ananais to stand beside him. To be with the Dragon. To love Illae. To find Renya.

  Such good fortune was a gift that more than made up for the loneliness and the pain of rejection. Tenaka began to shiver. Adding more wood, he lay back waiting for the nausea he knew would follow. The headache started first, with bright lights flickering in his eyes. He breathed deeply, calming himself for the onslaught. The pain grew, clawing at his brain with fingers of fire.

  For four hours the pain tore at him until he almost wept. Then it receded, and he slept …

  He was in a dark corridor, sloping and cold. At his feet were the skeletons of several rats. He stepped over them, and the skeletons moved, bones clicking in the silence. Then they ran into the darkness. Tenaka shook his head, trying to remember where he was. Ahead was a dead man hanging in chains, the flesh decomposed.

  “Help me!” said the man.

  “You are dead. I cannot help you.”

  “Why won’t you help me?”

  “You are dead.”

  “We are all dead. And no one will help us.”

  Tenaka walked on, seeking a door, moving ever downward. The corridor widened into a hall with dark pillars soaring into the void. Shadow-shrouded figures moved into sight, black swords in their hands.

  “Now we have you, Torchbearer,” said a voice.

  They wore no armor, and the leader’s face was familiar. Tenaka racked his brains for the man’s name, but it remained elusive.

  “Padaxes,” said the man. “Even here I can read your frightened mind. Padaxes, who died under the sword of Decado. And yet am I dead? I am not! But you, Torchbearer—you will be dead, for you have entered the dominion of the spirit. Where are your Templars? Where are the bastard Thirty?”

  “This is a dream,” said Tenaka. “You cannot touch me.”

  “Think you so?” Fire leapt from the blade, scorching Tenaka’s shoulders. He threw himself back, fear surging within him. Padaxes’ laughter was shrill. “Think you so now?”

  Tenaka moved to his feet, drawing his sword.

  “Come, then,” he said. “Let me see you die a second time.”

  The Dark Templars moved forward, spreading in a semicircle around him. Suddenly Tenaka was aware that he was not alone. For a moment, as in his earlier dream, he believed the Thirty had come for him, but when he glanced to his left, he saw a powerful, broad-shouldered Nadir warrior in a goatskin tunic. Others moved alongside him.

  The Templars hesitated, and the Nadir beside Tenaka lifted his sword. “Drive these shadows away,” he told his warriors. Silently a hundred hollow-eyed tribesmen surged forward, and the Templars fled before them.

  The Nadir turned to Tenaka. His face was broad and flat, his eyes violet and piercing. There pulsed from him an aura of power and strength Tenaka had not seen in any living man, and he knew him then. He fell to his knees before him and bent forward his body into a deep bow.

  “You know me, then, blood of my blood?”

  “I do, my Lord Khan,” said Tenaka. “Ulric, Lord of Hordes!”

  “I have seen you, boy. Watched you grow, for my old shaman Nosta Khan is with me still. Yo
u have not displeased me … But then, your blood is of the finest.”

  “Not all have felt it so,” said Tenaka.

  “The world is full of fools,” snapped Ulric. “I fought against the Earl of Bronze, and he was a mighty man. And rare. He was a man with doubts who overcame them. He stood on the walls of Dros Delnoch and defied me with his pitiful force, and I loved him for it. He was a fighter and a dreamer. Rare. So very rare!”

  “You met him, then?”

  “There was another warrior with him—an old man, Druss. Deathwalker, we called him. When he fell, I had his body carried to my camp and we built a funeral pyre. Imagine that. For an enemy! We were on the verge of victory. And that night the Earl of Bronze—my greatest enemy—walked into my camp with his generals and joined me at the funeral.”

  “Insane!” said Tenaka. “You could have taken him and the whole fortress.”

  “Would you have taken him, Tenaka?”

  Tenaka considered the question. “No,” he said at last.

  “Neither could I. So do not worry about your pedigree. Let lesser men sneer.”

  “Am I not dead?” asked Tenaka.

  “No.”

  “Then how am I here?”

  “You sleep. Those Templar maggots pulled your spirit here, but I will help you return.”

  “What hell is this, and how came you here?”

  “My heart failed me during the war against Ventria. And then I was here. It is the Nethervoid, pitched between the worlds of Source and spirit. It seems I am claimed by neither, so I exist here with my followers. I never worshiped anything but my sword and my wits; now I suffer for it. But I can take it, for am I not a man?”

  “You are a legend.”

  “It is not hard to become a legend, Tenaka. It is what follows when you have to live like one.”

  “Can you see the future?”

  “In part.”

  “Will I … will my friends succeed?”

  “Do not ask me. I cannot alter your fate, much as I might wish to. This is your path, Tenaka, and you must walk it like a man. You were born to walk it.”

  “I understand, lord. I should not have asked.”

  “There is no harm in asking,” said Ulric, smiling. “Come, close your eyes; you must return to the world of blood.”