Drenai Saga 02 - The King Beyond the Gate

by David Gemmell

  Ananais and Rayvan walked back to the ramparts hand in hand, and the men there cheered themselves hoarse. As they reached the steps, he swept her to his shoulder and carried her up to the wall.

  “Put me down, you lummox!” she yelled.

  “Just carrying you over the threshold,” he explained.

  Men swarmed around them, and the noise of their laughter drifted to the legion camp.

  Ceska called Darik to him.

  “What is happening?” he demanded.

  “I don’t know, sire.”

  “They are laughing at me! Why have your men not taken the wall?”

  “They will, sire. At dawn, I promise you!”

  “If they do not, you will suffer, Darik. I am tired of this pestilential place. I want to go home.”

  For three bloody hours the battle continued on the morning of the fourth day, but the legion could not gain the wall. Ananais could scarcely contain his joy, for even through his weariness he could sense that the battle had swung. Without the Joinings the legion men fought mechanically, reluctant to risk their lives, while the men of Skoda battled with fresh heart and confidence. The heady wine of victory pounded in Ananais’ veins, and he laughed and joked with the men, hurling curses at the fleeing enemy soldiers.

  But just before noon a marching column was seen to the east, and the laughter died.

  Twenty officers rode into Ceska’s camp, bringing with them five hundred arena Joinings from Drenan, specially bred beasts standing eight feet tall, blended from the souls of men, bears of the north, apes of the east, lions, tigers, and the gray timber wolves of the west.

  Ananais stood very still, his blue eyes scanning the horizon.

  “Come on, Tani,” he whispered. “By all that’s holy, don’t let it end like this.”

  Rayvan joined him with Balan, Lake, and Galand.

  “There is no justice,” spit Rayvan. Silence greeted her comment, a silence that spread the length of the wall.

  The giant Joinings did not hesitate in the camp but advanced in a wide line, their officers behind them.

  Thorn tugged at Ananais’ sleeve. “Got a plan, General?” he asked. Ananais glanced down at the old man, biting back the bitter reply as he saw the fear etched into Thorn’s face. The man was gray and tight-lipped.

  “No plans, my friend.”

  The beasts did not charge but ambled forward bearing huge clubs, saw-edged swords, maces, and axes. Their eyes were red as blood, and their tongues lolled from gaping maws. They advanced in silence, a soul-sapping silence that ate away at the courage of the defenders. Men began to stir along the line.

  “You must think of something to say, General,” urged Rayvan.

  Ananais shook his head, his eyes bleak and empty. Once more he felt himself standing in the arena, tasting the bitterness of unaccustomed fear … watching the portcullis gate slowly lift … hearing the crowd fall strangely silent. Yesterday he could have faced these awesome beasts. But to have been in sight of victory, to have it so close that he could feel its sweet breath upon his brow …

  One soldier leapt from the wall, and Rayvan swung around.

  “Olar! This is no time to leave!”

  The man stopped and hung his head.

  “Come back and stand with us, lad. We will all go down together—that’s what makes us what we are. We’re Skoda. We’re family. We love you.”

  Olar looked up at her, tears falling, and drew his sword.

  “I wasn’t running away, Rayvan. I was going to stand with my wife and son.”

  “I know, Olar. But we must try at least to hold the wall.”

  Lake nudged Ananais. “Draw your sword, man!” But the giant did not move. He was no longer with them but was fighting once more in a stone arena in another time.

  Rayvan pulled herself up to stand on the battlements.

  “Stand steady, my boys! Think on this: Help is on the way. Turn back these creatures and we have a chance!”

  But her voice was drowned in the terrifying blood roar of the Joinings as they finally broke into a run. Behind them came the legion.

  Rayvan scrambled back as the beasts reached the wall. They needed no ropes and ladders. At full run they leapt, scrambling over the fifteen-foot rampart.

  Shining steel met snarling fangs and ripping talons, but the first of the defenders were swept away. Rayvan thrust her sword into a gaping mouth, and the Joining fell back, its teeth snapping the blade. Ananais blinked, dragging himself back to the present. Both his swords flashed in the bright sunshine. A beast towered over him, but stepping inside the first vicious sweep of an ax, Ananais plunged his right-hand sword into the creature’s belly, twisting as the blade rammed home. A ghastly howl came from the Joining, and it slumped forward, blood drenching the black-garbed warrior. Ananais pushed the beast clear, wrenching his blade from its body as another came to him, swinging a mace. He dropped his right-hand sword, took a double-handed grip on the left, and sliced the blade through the creature’s arm. Its taloned hand flew into the air, still clutching the mace as, screaming in pain and fury, it leapt at Ananais. The warrior ducked and drove his sword two-handed into the beast’s belly as it went over him; it tore the sword from his hands.

  Balan leapt from the battlements and ran back some twenty paces. Turning, he knelt on the grass and closed his eyes. Somewhere in all his pain and horror there had to be a purpose and a triumph. Yesterday the combined force of the Thirty had turned the Joinings back into men. Now there was only Balan.

  He emptied his mind of all thought, reaching for the serenity of the void, building his lack of thought into a channel to the beasts. He reached out …

  And recoiled from the blood lust and fury. Steeling himself, he reached out once more.

  Hate! Terrible, burning, all-consuming hate. He felt it and burned with it, hating the Joinings, their masters, Ananais, Rayvan and the world of untainted flesh.

  No. Not hate. No hate. The horror washed over and past him. He was untouched, unsullied. He would not hate the man-made monsters or even the man who had made them so.

  The wall of hatred was all around him, but he pushed back.

  He could not find a single memory to jolt the beasts, for they were not ex-Dragon, but he used the only emotion he could be sure they had known as men.

  Love.

  Love of a mother in a cold frightening night; love of a wife when all around one proved false; love of a daughter given so freely in a swift hug, in the first smile of a babe; love of a friend.

  Growing in power, he sent out his feelings like a wave upon sand.

  On the walls the carnage was terrible.

  Ananais, bleeding from a dozen cuts and slashes, watched in horror as a Joining leapt at Rayvan and bore her from the battlements. He jumped after them. She twisted in the air, and the Joining landed on its back with Rayvan above it. Her weight hammered the air from its lungs, and, seeing her chance, she rammed her dagger into its neck, rolling clear as the beast lashed out with its talons. It reared drunkenly to its feet, and Ananais plunged his blade into the creature’s back.

  Above them the line broke, and the beasts swept on over the battlements. The Skoda survivors broke and ran, but the Joinings surged after them, hacking them down.

  Suddenly the beast closest to Balan staggered, dropping its sword and holding its head. A howl of despair filled the air, and everywhere the Joinings fell back as the Skoda warriors watched in disbelief.

  “Kill them!” shouted Galand, running forward and hacking his sword through a furry neck. The spell broke, and the Skoda men fell upon the dazed beasts, cutting them down in scores.

  “No,” whispered Balan. “You fools!”

  Two Joinings turned on the kneeling priest. A mace thundered down, smashing him from his feet, then talons ripped away his chest, and his soul was torn screaming from his flesh.

  The fury of the beasts returned, and their murderous roaring rose above the sound of clashing steel. Galand, Rayvan, and Lake sprinted with a score
of warriors to the timber-built hospital. As Ananais cut his way through to them, a talon raked across his back, ripping his leather jerkin and snapping a rib. He twisted and stabbed out, and the beast fell back. Hands pulled him inside, and the wooden door was slammed shut.

  A hairy fist smashed the wooden shutters of the window, and Galand ran forward, spearing his sword through the creature’s neck. A taloned hand grabbed his jerkin and hauled him against the wooden frame. He screamed once as giant jaws closed around his face, then fangs fastened upon his skull, and it burst like a melon. His body was dragged through the window.

  An ax splintered the upper door, narrowly missing Ananais’ head. Valtaya stepped from the ward within, her face bone-white with fear. In her hand was a needle and thread and a bloody swab, which dropped from her fingers as she saw the werebeasts climbing through the open window.

  “Ananais!” she screamed, and he jumped back as the door burst open and a huge Joining with an ax leapt forward. Ananais lashed out savagely, opening a terrible wound across its belly, which spilled its entrails to the wooden floor. The creature tripped and fell, dropping the ax, which Ananais swept up.

  Rayvan saw two Joinings running toward Valtaya, and valiantly she leapt into their path, swinging her sword. A backhanded blow sent her reeling. Ananais beheaded a creature with the face of a lion and turned to aid Valtaya.

  He hammered his ax into the back of the first Joining, tearing the weapon loose as swiftly as he could, but the second beast was towering over Valtaya.

  “Here, you hellhound!” bellowed Ananais, and the creature swung its great head, focusing on the puny black-masked figure. It backhanded the ax aside, ignoring the wound gashed in its forearm. Then its talons snaked out, ripping Ananais’ mask from his face and hurling him from his feet. He hit the floor hard, losing hold of the ax. The creature leapt toward him, and he rolled to a standing position to launch himself feetfirst at the monster. Fangs snapped as his booted feet crunched home, and the beast was thrown back into the wall. Ananais swept up the ax and whirled it in a murderous arc, caving in the creature’s side.

  “Behind you!” shouted Rayvan, but it was too late.

  The spear entered Ananais’ back, plunging through the lower chest.

  He grunted and twisted his powerful frame, tearing the weapon from the Joining’s talons. The creatures leapt forward, and he tried to back away, but the spear jammed against a wall. Ananais ducked his head and grabbed the beast, pulling it into him in a bear hug.

  Fangs tore at Ananais’ face and neck, but his mighty arms continued to pull the creature forward onto the spear point jutting from his own chest. The Joining howled in pain and fury.

  Rayvan watched it all, and time appeared to freeze.

  A man against a monster.

  A dying man against a creature of darkness. Her heart went out to him in that moment as she watched the muscles of his arms bunch and strain against the power of the beast. She lurched to her feet, ramming her dagger into the Joining’s back. It was all the aid she could give … But it was enough. With one convulsive heave Ananais dragged back the beast, and the spear point plunged home.

  Outside the rolling thunder of hooves echoed in the mountains. Men of the legion turned to the east, narrowing their eyes, trying to make out the riders in the dust cloud.

  At the tent of Ceska, Darik ran forward, screening his eyes. What the hell was happening? Were they Delnoch cavalry? His mouth dropped as the first line of riders appeared from the dust storm.

  Nadir!

  Screaming for his men to form a shield ring about the emperor, he dragged his sword from its sheath. It was impossible. How could they have taken Delnoch so swiftly?

  Legion men raced into place, forming their shields as a wall against the riders. But there were too few, and none of them carried spears. The lead horsemen leapt over the shield wall, swinging their mounts to attack from the rear.

  And then the wall collapsed, men running in all directions as the Nadir swept over them. Darik fell in the doorway of the emperor’s tent with a lance through his chest.

  Tenaka Khan leapt from the saddle and entered the tent with sword in hand.

  Ceska was sitting on his silk-covered bed.

  “I always liked you, Tenaka,” he said.

  The khan advanced, his violet eyes gleaming.

  “You were to be the Earl of Bronze. You know that? I could have had you hunted down and killed in Ventria, but I did not.” Ceska wriggled his fat frame back on the bed and knelt before Tenaka, wringing his hands. “Don’t kill me! Let me go away. I will never trouble you.”

  The sword lanced out, sliding between Ceska’s ribs.

  The emperor fell back.

  “See?” he said. “You cannot kill me. The power of the chaos spirit is in me, and I cannot die.” He began to laugh, high-pitched and shrill. “I cannot die—I am immortal—I am a god.” He staggered to his feet. “You see?” He blinked once, then sank to his knees.

  “No!” he screamed, and fell forward on his face. With one blow Tenaka severed the head. Gripping it by the hair, he walked out into the open and mounted his horse. Kicking the steed into a gallop, he rode to the wall where the legion waited. On the plain every legion soldier had been slain, and the Nadir massed behind the khan, waiting for the order to attack.

  Tenaka lifted the bloody head.

  “This is your emperor! Lay down your arms and not one man will be slain.”

  A burly officer leaned on the wall. “Why should we trust your word, Nadir?”

  “Because it is the word of Tenaka Khan. If there are any Joinings alive beyond that wall, kill them. Do it now if you want to live.”

  Within the hospital building Rayvan, Lake, and Valtaya struggled to break the lance pinning Ananais to the dead Joining. Thorn limped into the room, bleeding from a wound in the side.

  “Get out of the way,” he said, taking up a fallen ax. With one blow he smashed the shaft. “Now pull him off it.” With great care they eased Ananais from the spear and carried him to a bed, where Valtaya plugged the wounds in his chest and back.

  “Live, Ananais,” said Rayvan. “Please live!”

  Lake exchanged glances with Thorn.

  Valtaya sat down beside Ananais and held his hand. The warrior’s eyes opened, and he whispered something, but no one could make out the words. Tears formed in Ananais’ eyes, and he seemed to be staring beyond them. He made an effort to sit but sagged back. Rayvan turned.

  Tenaka Khan stood in the doorway. He came to the bed and leaned over the warrior, placing the mask carefully over his face. Rayvan moved aside as Ananais tried to speak, and Tenaka leaned in close.

  “Knew … you … would … come.”

  “Yes, my brother. I came.”

  “All … finished … now.”

  “Ceska is dead. The land is free. You won, Ani! You held. As I knew you would hold. In the spring I will take you to visit the steppes. I will show you some sights: Ulric’s tomb, the Valley of Angels. Anything you would like.”

  “No. No … lies.”

  “No,” said Tenaka helplessly. “No lies. Why, Ani? Why do you have to die on me?”

  “Better … dead. No bitterness. No anger. Not much … of a hero now.”

  Tenaka’s throat seemed to swell, and tears fell freely, splashing on the ruined leather mask. Ananais closed his eyes.

  “Ani!”

  Valtaya lifted his arm, feeling for a pulse. She shook her head. Tenaka stood, his face a mask of fury.

  “You!” he stormed, pointing at Rayvan, his arm sweeping to take in the others. “You miserable scum! He was worth a thousand of you.”

  “Maybe he was, General,” agreed Rayvan. “And where does that leave you?”

  “In control,” he said, striding from the room.

  Outside Gitasi, Subodai, and Ingis waited with more than a thousand Nadir warriors. The legion had been disarmed.

  Suddenly a bugle sounded from the west, and all heads turned. The warrior Turs and f
ive hundred Skoda men came marching into the valley, followed by ten thousand legion warriors, heavily armed and marching in fighting formation. Rayvan pushed past the khan and ran to Turs.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  Turs grinned. “The legion mutinied and joined us. We came as fast as we could.” The young warrior looked around at the bodies littering the ramparts and the ground beyond.

  “I see Tenaka was true to his word.”

  “I hope so,” said Rayvan. Drawing herself upright, she walked back to Tenaka.

  “My thanks, General, for your assistance,” she said formally. “I want you to know that the entire Drenai nation will echo my words. I would like to offer you the hospitality of Dros Delnoch for a little while. While you are there, I shall journey to Drenan to gather a token of our appreciation. How many men did you bring?”

  “Forty thousand, Rayvan,” he answered, smiling bleakly.

  “Would ten gold Raq a head be acceptable as a token of our thanks?”

  “It would indeed!”

  “Walk with me a little way,” she said, and led him into the woods beyond the walls.

  “Can I still trust you, Tenaka?” she asked.

  He gazed about him. “What is to stop me from taking this land?”

  “Ananais,” she said simply.

  He nodded solemnly. “You are right—it would be a betrayal at this time. Send the gold to Delnoch, and I will leave for the north. But I will be back, Rayvan. The Nadir also have a destiny to fulfill.”

  He turned to leave.

  “Tenaka?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you for all you have done. I mean that.”

  He smiled, and a flash of the old Tenaka returned. “Go back to your farm, Rayvan. Enjoy life. You have earned it.”

  “You don’t think politics would suit me?”

  “It would suit you too well. I just don’t want you for an enemy.”

  “Time will tell,” she said.

  She watched him return to his men.

  Alone now, Rayvan bowed her head.

  And wept for the dead.

  Epilogue