David Gemmell - The King Beyond the Gate

The far door creaked open. 'Rayvan?'

She turned to see her son, Lucas, bow in hand. 'What is it?'

'Riders — around fifty of them, heading for the city.'

'Damn! How did they get past the scouts?'

'I don't know. Lake is gathering what men he can find.'

'Why only fifty?'

'They obviously don't hold us in high account,' said Lucas, grinning. He was a handsome lad, dark-haired but grey-eyed; with Lake he was the pick of her litter, she knew.

'They will hold us in higher account when we've met them,' she said. 'Let's move.'

They left the chamber and made their way along the marbled corridor and down the wide stairs to the street. Already the news had spread and Vorak was waiting for them, backed by more then fifty traders.

'That's it, Rayvan!' he shouted as she came into the sunlight. 'Your war is over.'

'What does that mean?' she asked, holding her temper.

'You started all this — it's your fault. Now we're going to hand you over to them.'

'Let me kill him,' whispered Lucas, reaching for an arrow.

'No!' hissed Rayvan, her eyes sweeping the buildings opposite — in every window was an archer, bow bent. 'Go back into the chamber and get out through Bakers' Alley. Fetch Lake and do what you can to get away into Vagria. Sometime, when you can, avenge me.'

'I won't leave you, mother.'

'You will do as you're told!'

He swore, then backed away through the door. Rayvan walked slowly down the steps, her face set, her green eyes locked on Vorak. He backed away.

'Tie her!' he shouted, and several men rushed forward to pin Rayvan's arms behind her back.

'I shall come back, Vorak. From beyond the grave I shall return,' she promised. He hit her across the face with the flat of his hand. She made no sound, but blood trickled from a split in her lip. They dragged her through the crowd as they made their way to the outer city and the plain beyond where the riders had come into view. The leader was a tall man with a cruel face. He dismounted and Vorak ran forward.

'We have taken the traitress, sir. She led the rebellion, if such you can call it. We are innocent men, all of us.'

The man nodded and approached Rayvan. She stared into his slanted violet eyes.

'So,' she said softly, 'even the Nadir ride with Ceska, do they?'

'Your name, woman?' he said.

'Rayvan. Remember it, barbarian, for my sons will carve it on your heart.'

He turned to Vorak. 'What do you suggest we do with her?'

'Kill her! Make an example. Death to all traitors!'

'But you are loyal?'

'I am. I always have been. It was I who first reported the rebels in Skoda. You should know of me — I am Vorak.'

'And these men with you, they are also loyal?'

'None more so. Every one is pledged to Ceska.'

The man nodded, turning once more to Rayvan. 'And how did you come to be captured, woman?'

'We all make mistakes.'

The man lifted his hand and thirty white-cloaked riders moved out to surround the mob.

'What are you doing?' asked Vorak.

The man drew his sword, testing the edge with his thumb. He spun on his heel, the blade flashed out and Vorak's head tumbled from his neck, eyes wide with horror.

The head bounced at the man's feet as Vorak's body collapsed to the grass, blood pumping from his neck. The men in the crowd fell to their knees, begging for mercy.

'Silence!' bellowed a black-masked giant who sat a bay gelding. The noise subsided, though here and there the sound of sobbing could still be heard.

'I have no wish to kill you all,' said Tenaka Khan. 'So you will be taken to the valley and released to make your peace with the Legion. I wish you luck — I sincerely believe you will need it. Now get up and move out.'

Herded by The Thirty, the men began to walk to the east as Tenaka untied Rayvan's arms.

'Who are you?' she asked.

'Tenaka Khan, of the line of the Earl of Bronze,' he answered, bowing.

'I am Rayvan — of the line of Druss the Legend,' she told him, planting her hands on her hips.

Scaler wandered alone in the gardens of Gathere behind the city council hall. He had sat listening as Tenaka and Rayvan talked of the coming battle, but could find no sensible comments to add. So he had slipped out quietly, his heart heavy. He had been a fool to join them. What could he offer? He was no warrior.

He sat on a stone bench, staring into a rock pool and watching the golden fish dart among the lilies. Scaler had been a lonely child. It had not been easy living with the irascible Orrin, knowing how the old man had pinned his hopes on Scaler becoming a worthy successor. The family had proved ill-fated and Scaler was the last of the line — if you discounted Tenaka Khan. And most people did.

But Arvan — as Scaler then was — had taken to the Nadir youngster, seeking his company at every opportunity, relishing the stories of life on the Steppes. His admiration had changed to hero worship on the night when the assassin climbed into his room.

The man, dressed all in black and hooded, had reached across his bed to clamp a gloved hand over his mouth. Arvan, a sensitive, frightened six-year-old, had fainted in fear, awaking only when the cold winter breeze touched his cheek. When his eyes opened he found himself staring down from the battlements to the cobbles far below. He twisted in the man's grip and felt his fingers loosen.

'If you value your life, don't do it!' said a voice.

The assassin cursed softly, but his hold strengthened.

'And if I let him live?' he asked, his voice muffled.

'Then you live,' said Tenaka Khan.

'You are just a boy. I could kill you too.'

"Then go on with your mission,' said Tenaka. 'And try your luck.'

For several seconds the assassin hesitated. Then he slowly pulled Arvan back over the battlements and placed him on the stone steps. The man backed away into the shadows and was gone. Arvan ran to Tenaka and the youth sheathed his sword and hugged him.

'He was going to kill me, Tani.'

'I know. But he's gone now.'

'Why did he want to kill me?'

Tenaka had not known the answer. Neither had Orrin, but thereafter a guard was placed at Arvan's door and his life continued with fear as a constant companion. .

'Good afternoon.'

Scaler looked up to see, standing by the pool, a young woman dressed in a flowing gown of thin white wool. Her hair was dark and gently waved, and her green eyes were flecked with gold. Scaler stood and bowed.

'Why so gloomy?' she asked.

He shrugged. 'I would rather say melancholy. Who are you?'

'Ravenna, Rayvan's daughter. Why are you not in there with the others?'

He grinned. 'I know nothing about wars, campaigns or battles.'

'What do you know about?'

'Art, literature, poetry and all things of beauty.'

'You are out of your time, my friend.'

'Scaler. Call me Scaler.'

'A strange name, Scaler. Do you climb things?'

'Walls, mostly.' He gestured towards the seat. 'Will you join me?' he asked.

'For a little while only. I have errands to run.'

'I am sure they can wait. Tell me, how did a woman come to lead a rebellion?'

'To understand that, you have to know mother. She is of the line of Druss the Legend, you know, and will not be cowed by anyone or anything. She once drove off a mountain lion with a large stick.'

'A formidable lady,' said Scaler.

'Indeed she is. And she also knows nothing about wars, campaigns and battles. But she will learn. So should you.'

'I would sooner learn more about you, Ravenna,' he said, switching on his winning smile.

'I see there are some campaigns that you understand,' she said, rising from her seat. 'It was nice meeting you.'

'Wait! Could we meet again? Tonight, for instance?'