David Gemmell - The King Beyond the Gate

'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 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 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. No 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.'

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 upon the mountains.'

Tenaka dipped his hand into the rushing water. He felt out of place, away from time. A bird hopped on to 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 part 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 part white, while in summer the mottling turned slate-grey and brown, allowing it to sit by the boulders — the image of a rock. Its feathers were its only defence.

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 here, 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 25,000 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 armour 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 own sword.