The King Beyond the Gate

by David Gemmell

  “And this is a friend of the House of Regnak—the only counselor worth his salt in the entire country. His name is Ceska.”

  “Delighted to meet you,” said Ceska, reaching out his hand. Tenaka clasped it firmly, his gaze locking to the man’s dark eyes.

  “Now let us get inside and out of this damned rain,” muttered Orrin. Lifting the child to his broad shoulders, the white-bearded earl strode away toward the distant keep. Tenaka gathered the reins of his pony and followed, Ceska beside him.

  “Do not be upset by his manner, young prince,” said Ceska.

  “He is old and set in his ways. But he is a fine man, truly. I hope you will be happy among the Drenai. If ever there is anything I can do for you, do not hesitate to tell me.”

  “Why?” asked Tenaka.

  “I like you,” said Ceska, clapping him on the shoulder.

  “And who knows, you may be earl some day.”

  “That is unlikely.”

  “True, my friend. But the House of Bronze has been unlucky of late. As Orrin said, all his children are gone. Arvan alone survives.”

  “He looks a strong child.”

  “Indeed he does. But looks can be so deceptive, can they not?”

  Tenaka was not sure he understood the meaning of Ceska’s words, but he knew there were undercurrents of dark promises. He said nothing.

  Later Tenaka listened in silence as Valtaya talked of the rescue in the marketplace and of their bribing a night sentry to let them pass through the northern postern gate of the city. Ananais had brought a huge pack of food, plus two bows and eighty shafts in doeskin quivers. Valtaya had extra blankets and a rolled canvas sheet for a small tent.

  After they had eaten, Tenaka took Ananais into the trees. They found a secluded spot and cleared the snow from some rocks before sitting down to talk.

  “There is an uprising in Skoda,” said Ananais. “Two villages were sacked by Ceska’s legion. A local named Rayvan gathered a small army and destroyed the raiders. They say men are flocking to him, but I don’t think he can last. He’s a common man.”

  “Not of the blood, you mean,” said Tenaka dryly.

  “I have nothing against common men. But he has not the training to plan a campaign.”

  “What else?”

  “Two risings in the west, both ruthlessly put down. All the men crucified, fields sown with salt. You know the system!”

  “What about the south?”

  “Difficult to say. News is scarce. But Ceska’s there. On hand. I don’t think they will rise. It is said that there is a secret society against Ceska, but that is likely to be no more than talk.”

  “What do you suggest?” asked Tenaka.

  “Let us go to Drenan, kill Ceska, and then retire.”

  “That simple?”

  “The best plans are always simple, Tani.”

  “What about the women?”

  Ananais shrugged. “What can we do? You say Renya wants to be with you. Let her come. We can leave her with friends in Drenan. I still know one or two people I think we can rely on.”

  “And Valtaya?”

  “She won’t stay with us. There is nothing for her. We will leave her in the next town.”

  Tenaka raised an eyebrow. “Nothing for her?”

  Ananais looked away. “Not anymore, Tani. Once, maybe.”

  “All right. We will head for Drenan but angle to the west. Skoda should be beautiful at this time of the year.”

  Side by side they returned to the camp, where they found three strangers waiting. Tenaka spoke softly: “Scout around, Ani. See how many other surprises are in the offing.” Then he walked forward. Two of the men were warriors, both about the same age as Tenaka himself. The third was an old man, blind and wearing the tattered blue robes of the seekers.

  The warriors approached him. They were uncannily alike, black-bearded and stern of eye, though one was fractionally taller than the other. It was the shorter man who spoke.

  “I am Galand, and this is my brother, Parsal. We have come to join you, General.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “To put down Ceska. Why else?”

  “I need no help for that, Galand.”

  “I don’t know what game this is, General. The Golden One was in Sousa, and he told the crowd the Dragon was back. Well, if that is so, then I reckon I am back, too. You don’t recognize me, do you?”

  “In truth I do not,” said Tenaka.

  “I was not bearded then. I was Bar Galand of the third wing under Elias. I was the swordmaster, and I beat you in a tourney once.”

  “I remember. The half-moon riposte! You would have ripped out my throat. As it was, I had a ghastly bruise.”

  “My brother is as good a man as I. We want to serve.”

  “There is nothing to serve, my friend. I plan to kill Ceska. That is the work of an assassin, not an army.”

  “Then we will stick by until the deed is done! I was sick with fever when the call came and the Dragon re-formed. I have been sick with sorrow since. A lot of fine men were lured into that trap. It does not seem right.”

  “How did you find us?”

  “I followed the blind man. Strange, don’t you think?”

  Tenaka moved to the fire and sat down opposite the seeker.

  The mystic’s head lifted. “I seek the Torchbearer,” he said, his voice a dry whisper.

  “Who is he?” asked Tenaka.

  “The dark spirit is over the land like a great shadow,” whispered the man. “I seek the Torchbearer, from whom all shadows flee.”

  “Who is this man you seek?” persisted Tenaka.

  “I don’t know. Is it you?”

  “I doubt it,” answered Tenaka. “Will you eat with us?”

  “My dreams told me the Torchbearer would bring me food. Is it you?”

  “No.”

  “There are three,” said the man. “Of gold, and ice, and shadow. One is the Torchbearer. But which one? I have a message.”

  Scaler moved forward to crouch at the man’s side.

  “I seek the truth,” he said.

  “I have the truth,” replied the mystic, extending his hand. Scaler dropped a small silver coin into his palm.

  “Of bronze you sprang, haunted and hunted, drawn on your father’s path. Kin to shadow, never resting, never silent. Dark spears hover, black wings to devour. You will stand when others flee. It is in the red you carry.”

  “What does it mean?” asked Tenaka. Scaler shrugged and moved away.

  “Death calls me. I must answer,” whispered the mystic. “And yet the Torchbearer is not here.”

  “Give me the message, old man. I will pass it on, I promise you.”

  “Dark Templars ride against the Prince of Shadows. He cannot hide, for the torch is bright against the night. But thought is faster than arrows, and truth is sharper than blades. The beasts can fall, but only the King beyond the Gate can bring them down.”

  “Is that all?” asked Tenaka.

  “You are the Torchbearer,” said the man. “Now I see you clearly. You are chosen by the Source.”

  “I am the Prince of Shadows,” said Tenaka. “But I do not follow the Source or any god. I believe in none of them.”

  “The Source believes in you,” said the old man. “I must go now. My rest is near.”

  As Tenaka watched him hobble from the camp, his bare feet blue against the snow, Scaler joined him.

  “What did he say to you?”

  “I did not understand it.”

  “Tell me the words,” said Scaler, and Tenaka repeated them. Scaler nodded. “Some of it is easy to decipher. The Dark Templars, for example. Have you heard of the Thirty?”

  “Yes. Warrior-priests who spend their lives becoming pure in the heart before riding off to die in a distant war. The order died out years ago.”

  “The Dark Templars are an obscene parody of the Thirty. They worship the chaos spirit, and their powers are dark yet deadly. Every form of vileness is pleas
ure to them, and they are formidable warriors.”

  “And Ceska has sent them against me?”

  “It would seem so. They are led by a man named Padaxes. There are sixty-six warriors in each temple, and ten temples. They have powers beyond those of normal men.”

  “They will need them,” said Tenaka grimly. “What of the rest of his words?”

  “Thought is faster than arrows? That you must outthink your enemies. The King beyond the Gate is a mystery. But you should know.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the message was for you. You must be part of it.”

  “And what of your message?”

  “What about it?”

  “What did it mean?”

  “It meant I must travel with you, though I do not desire it.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Tenaka. “You have free will; you may go where you please.”

  “I suppose so,” said Scaler, smiling. “But it is time I found my path. You remember the old man’s words to me? ‘Of bronze you sprang’? My ancestor was also Regnak the Wanderer. ‘Kin to shadow’? That is you, Cousin. ‘Dark spears hover’? The Templars. The red I carry? The blood of the Earl of Bronze. I have run long enough.”

  “Arvan?”

  “Yes.”

  Tenaka placed his hands on the young man’s shoulders. “I have often wondered what became of you.”

  “Ceska ordered me slain, and I ran away. I have spent a long time running away. Too damned long! I’m not much of a swordsman, you know.”

  “No matter. It is good to see you again.”

  “And you. I followed your career, and I kept a diary of your exploits. It is probably still at Delnoch. By the way, there was something else the old man said, right at the beginning. He said that there were three. Of gold, and ice, and shadow. Ananais is the Golden One. You are the Khan of Shadows. Who is ice?”

  Tenaka turned away, staring through the trees.

  “There was a man once. He was known as the Ice Killer, since he lived only for death. His name is Decado.”

  For three days the companions skirted the forest, moving south and west toward the Skoda mountains. The weather was growing warmer, the snow retreating before the spring sunshine. They moved warily, and on the second day they found the body of the blind seeker, kneeling by a twisted oak. The ground was too hard to attempt a burial, and they left him there.

  Galand and his brother paused by the corpse.

  “He doesn’t seem too unhappy,” said Parsal, scratching his beard.

  “It’s hard to know whether he’s smiling or whether death has pulled his face into a grin,” said Galand. “He won’t look too happy in about a month.”

  “Will we?” whispered Parsal. Galand shrugged, and the brothers moved on to follow the others.

  Galand had been luckier than most and considerably more astute than many Dragon warriors. When the order to disband had been given, he had moved south, keeping his background to himself. He had bought a small farm near Delving forest, southwest of the capital. When the terror began, he was left alone. He married a village girl and started a family, but she had disappeared on a bright autumn day six years before. It was said that the Joinings stole women, but Galand knew she had never loved him … and a village lad named Carcas had disappeared on the same day.

  Rumors came to Delving about the roundup of former Dragon officers, and it was said that Baris himself had been arrested. This did not surprise Galand. He had always suspected Ceska would prove a tyrant.

  Man of the people! Since when did one of his stinking class care about the people?

  The small farm had prospered, and Galand had bought an adjoining parcel of land from a widower. The man was leaving for Vagria—he had a brother in Drenan who had warned him about impending changes—and Galand had bought him out for what seemed a peppercorn price.

  Then the soldiers had arrived.

  A new law meant that nontitled citizens could own only four acres of land. The state acquired the rest at a price that made peppercorn seem a king’s ransom. Taxes were increased, and crop levels set. Those were impossible to meet after the first year, for the land was robbed of its goodness. Fallow fields were planted, and the yields dropped.

  Galand took it all, never voicing complaints.

  Until the day his daughter had died. She had run out to see the horsemen canter, and a stallion had kicked out at her. Galand watched her fall and ran to her, cradling her to him.

  The horseman dismounted. “Is she dead?” he asked.

  Galand nodded, unable to speak.

  “Unfortunate,” said the rider. “It will increase your tax level.”

  The rider died with Galand’s dagger buried in his heart. Then Galand dragged the man’s sword clear of its scabbard and leapt at a second horseman, whose mount shied; the man toppled to the ground, where Galand killed him with a throat cut. The other four wheeled their mounts and rode back some thirty paces. Galand turned to the dark stallion that had killed his daughter and hammered the sword two-handed across its neck. Then he ran to the second mount, vaulted into the saddle, and rode for the north.

  He had located his brother in Vagria, where he worked as a stonemason.

  Now Parsal’s voice cut through his thoughts as they walked some thirty paces behind the others.

  “What did you say?”

  “I said I never thought I would ever follow a Nadir.”

  “I know what you mean; it makes the blood run cold. Still, he wants the same as us.”

  “Does he?” whispered Parsal.

  “What does that mean?”

  “They’re all the same breed: the warrior elite. It’s just a game to them—they don’t care.”

  “I don’t like them, Brother. But they are Dragon, and that means more than blood. I cannot explain it. Though we are worlds apart, they would die for me, and I for them.”

  “I hope you’re right!”

  “There are few things in life I am sure about. That is one of them.”

  Parsal was not convinced, but he said nothing, staring ahead at the two warriors.

  “What happens when we kill Ceska?” he asked suddenly.

  “How do you mean?”

  “I don’t know really. I mean—what do we do?”

  Galand shrugged. “Ask me when his body lies bleeding at my feet.”

  “Strikes me that nothing will change.”

  “Maybe not, but I will have had my payment.”

  “It doesn’t bother you that you may die getting it?”

  “No! Does it you?” asked Galand.

  “Damn right!”

  “You don’t have to stay.”

  “ ’Course I do! I’ve always looked after you. Can’t leave you with a Nadir, can I? Why does the other one wear that mask?”

  “I think he has scars or something. He was an arena warrior.”

  “We’ve all got scars. Bit vain, isn’t it?”

  “Nothing suits you at the moment, does it?” said Galand, grinning.

  “Just a thought. Those other two seem an odd pair,” muttered Parsal, flicking a glance at Belder and Scaler as they walked beside the women.

  “You can’t have anything against them. You don’t even know them.”

  “The old boy looks handy.”

  “But?”

  “I don’t think the young one could fight his way through a fog.”

  “While we’re at it, I don’t suppose you would care to criticize the women?”

  “No,” said Parsal, smiling. “Nothing at all to criticize there.

  Which do you fancy?”

  Galand shook his head and chuckled. “I’m not getting into this,” he said.

  “I like the dark one,” said Parsal, unabashed.

  They made camp in a shallow cave. Renya ate sparingly and then walked out into the night to watch the stars. Tenaka joined her, and they sat together, wrapped in his cloak.

  He told her of Illae and Ventria and the beauty of the desert. And while h
e spoke, he stroked her arm and her back and kissed her hair.

  “I cannot say if I love you,” he said suddenly.

  She smiled. “Then do not say it.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  She shook her head and kissed him, curling her arm up and around his neck.

  You are a fool, Tenaka Khan, she thought. A wonderful, loving fool!

  6

  The black man was enjoying himself. Two of the robbers were down, and another five remained. He hefted the short iron bar and twirled the chain attached to it. A tall man with a quarterstaff leapt forward, and the black man’s hand flashed out, the chain whipping around the staff. As he tugged, his attacker stumbled into a crunching left uppercut. He slumped to the ground.

  Two of the remaining four robbers dropped their clubs, pulling curved daggers from their belts. The other two ran back into the trees, fetching longbows.

  This was getting serious. Up to then the black man had killed no one, but that would have to change. He discarded the mace and pulled two throwing knives from his boots.

  “Do you really want to die?” he asked them, his voice deep and sonorous.

  “No one is going to die,” said a voice from the left, and he turned. Two more men stood at the edge of the trees; both had bows bent, aimed at the outlaws.

  “A timely intervention!” commented the black man. “They killed my horse.”

  Tenaka gently released the pressure on the bowstring and came forward.

  “Put it down to experience,” he told the man. Then he turned to the outlaws. “I suggest you put away your weapons. The fight is over.”

  “He was more trouble than he was worth, anyway,” said the leader, walking over to check the fallen.

  “They are all alive,” said the black man, replacing his knives and collecting the mace chain.

  A scream sounded from the woods, and the outlaw leader jerked to his feet.

  Galand, Parsal, and Belder moved into view.

  “You were right, General,” said Galand. “There were two more of them creeping in.”

  “Did you kill them?” asked Tenaka.

  “No. Sore heads, though!”

  Tenaka swung to the outlaw. “Are we likely to have any more trouble with you?”

  “You are not going to ask for my word, are you?” replied the man.

  “Is it worth anything?”