David Gemmell - The King Beyond the Gate

'I understand that, Decado,' said Balan smoothly. 'But we can guarantee nothing. We will be on open ground with no horses and nowhere to run.'

'Do you imply criticism of Tenaka's plan?' asked Abaddon.

'No,' said Balan. 'We are all students of war here, and tactically his battle strategy is sound — technically brilliant, in fact. However, at best it has a thirty-per-cent chance of success.'

'Sixty,' said Decado.

Balan lifted an eyebrow. 'Really? Explain.'

'I accept you have skills beyond ordinary men. I accept also that your understanding of strategy is exceptional. But beware of pride, Balan.'

'In what way?' asked Balan, the hint of a sneer on his face.

'Because your training has been merely that — training. If we mapped out the battle as a game of chance, then thirty per cent is correct. But this is not a game. Down there you have Ananais, the Golden One. His strength is great and his skill greater. But more than this he has a power over men that comes close to your own psychic talents. Where he stands others will stand — he holds them with the power of his will. It is what makes him a leader. Any estimate of success in such a scheme will depend on the willingness of the line to hold, and the men to die. They may be beaten and slain, but they will not run.

'Add to this the speed of thought of Tenaka Khan. Like Ananais he has great skill and his understanding of strategy is beyond compare. But his timing is immaculate. He does not have Ananais' leadership qualities, but only because of his mixed blood. Men of the Drenai will think twice before following a Nadir.

'Lastly there is the woman, Rayvan. Her men will fight the stronger because she is with them. Revise your estimate, Balan.'

'I will reconsider, adjusting the points to incorporate your suggestions,' said the priest.

Decado nodded and then turned to Acuas. 'How far away are the Templars?'

'They will not arrive for tomorrow's battle, thank the Source! There are one hundred of them two days' ride from here. The rest are in Drenan while the leaders, the Six, meet with Ceska.'

'Then that is a problem for another day,' said Decado. 'I think I will rest now.'

Dark-eyed Katan spoke for the first time. 'Will you not lead us in prayer, Decado?'

Decado smiled gently. There was no hint of criticism from the young priest.

'No, Katan. You are closer to the Source than I and you are the Soul of The Thirty. You pray.'

Katan bowed and the group closed their eyes in silent communion. Decado relaxed his mind, listening for the faint sea roar. He drifted until the 'voice' of Katan grew and he floated towards it. The prayer was short and perfect in its sincerity, and Decado was touched to hear the young priest mention him by name, calling on the Lord of the Heavens to protect him.

Later, as Decado lay staring up at the stars, Abaddon came and sat beside him. The slim warrior sat up and stretched his back.

'Are you looking forward to tomorrow?' the Abbot asked.

'I am afraid that I am.'

The old man leaned back against a tree and closed his eyes. He looked tired, drained of all strength; the lines on his face — once as delicate as web threads — now seemed chiselled deep.

'I have compromised you, Decado,' whispered the Abbot. 'I have drawn you into a world you would not otherwise have seen. I have prayed about you constantly. It would be pleasant to know I was right. But that is not to be.'

'I cannot help you, Abaddon.'

'I know that. Every day I watched you in your garden and I wondered. In truth it was more hope than certainty. We are not a true Thirty — we never were. The Order was disbanded in my father's day but I felt — in my arrogance — that the world had need of us. So I scoured the continent, seeking out those children of special gifts. I did my best to teach them, praying the Source would guide me.'

'Perhaps you were right,' said Decado softly.

'I don't know any more. I have watched them all tonight, joined them in their thoughts. Where there should be tranquillity there is excitement, and even a lust for battle. It began when you killed Padaxes and they joyed in your victory.'

'What did you expect of them? There is not a man among them over twenty-five years of age! And they have never lived ordinary lives. . been drunk. . kissed a woman. Their humanity has been suppressed.'

'Think you so? I would prefer to think their humanity has been enhanced.'

'I am out of my depth in this conversation,' admitted Decado. 'I don't know what you expect from them. They will die for you — is that not enough?'

'No. Not by far. This grimy little war is meaningless against the vast scope of human endeavour. Don't you think these mountains have seen it all before? Does it matter that we may all die tomorrow? Will the world spin any less fast? Will the stars shine any more brightly? In a hundred years, not a man here today will still be alive. Will that matter? Many years ago, Druss the Legend stood and died on the walls of Dros Delnoch to stop a Nadir invasion. Does that matter now?'

'It mattered to Druss. It matters to me.'

'But why?'

'Because I am a man, priest. Simply that. I don't know if the Source exists and I don't really care. All I have is myself, and my own self-respect.'

'There must be more. There must be the triumph of Light. Man is so beset by greed, lust and the pursuit of the ephemeral. But kindness, understanding and love are equally parts of humanity.'

'Are you now saying we should love the Legion?'

'Yes. And we must fight them.'

'That is too deep for me,' said Decado.

'I know. But I hope one day you will understand. I shall not be there to see it. Yet I pray for it.'

'Now you are getting morbid. That happens on the eve of a battle.'

'I am not morbid, Decado. Tomorrow is my last day on this earth. I know it. I have seen it. It doesn't matter… I just hoped that tonight you could convince me that I was right — at least with you.'

'What do you want me to say?'

'There is nothing you can say.'

'Then I cannot help you. You know what my life was before I met you. I was a killer and I revelled in death. I do not wish to sound weak, but I never asked to be that way — it was just me. I had neither the strength nor the inclination to change. You understand? But then I almost killed a man I loved. And I came to you. You gave me a place to hide and I was grateful. Now I am back where I belong, with a sword near to hand and an enemy close by.

'I don't deny the Source. I just don't know what game He is playing — why he allows the Ceskas of this world to survive. I don't want to know. While my arm is strong I shall oppose Ceska's evil, and at the end of all things if the Source says to me, "Decado, you do not deserve immortality," then I shall reply, "So be it." There will be no regrets.

'You could be right. You might die tomorrow. If the rest of us survive, I shall look after your young warriors. I shall try to keep them to your path. I think they will not let you down. But then you will be with your Source, and you must ask Him to lend a hand.'

'And what if I was wrong?' asked the Abbot, leaning forward and gripping Decado's arm. 'What if I resurrected The Thirty because of my own arrogance?'

'I don't know, Abaddon. But you acted in faith with no thought of gain. Even if you are wrong, your God should forgive you. If he does not, then he is not worth following. If one of your priests commits an indiscretion, do you not forgive him? Are you then more forgiving than your God?'

'I don't know. I'm not certain of anything any more.'

'You once told me that certainty and faith do not belong together. Have faith, Abaddon.'

'It is not easy, Decado, to be confident on the day of your death.'

'Why did you seek me out with this? I cannot help you to find faith. Why did you not speak to Katan, or Acuas?'