David Gemmell - The King Beyond the Gate

'You think you have won a great victory? You won nothing but a skirmish. Ceska will throw fifty thousand men against you, come the summer. With what will you reply?

'And if you are defeated, what will happen to your families? Ceska will turn Skoda into a desert, and where there were trees there will be gibbets: a land of cadavers, desolate and tormented.

'There is no guarantee that I can raise an army among the Nadir. To them I am tainted by round-eye blood — accursed and less than a man. For they are no different from you. Nadir children are raised on stories of your debaucheries, and our legends are filled with tales of your genocides.

'I do hot seek your permission for what I do. To be truthful, I don't give a damn! I leave tomorrow.'

He sat down to silence and Ananais leaned over to him.

'There was no need to beat about the bush,' he said. 'You should have given it to them straight.'

The comment produced an involuntary snort from Rayvan, which turned into a throaty chuckle.

Around the table the tension turned to laughter while Tenaka sat with arms folded, his face flushed and stern.

Finally Rayvan spoke. 'I do not like your plan, my friend. And I think I speak for everyone here. But you have played fair by us and without you we would now be crow's meat.' She sighed and leaned over the table, placing her hand on Tenaka's arm. 'You do give a damn, or else you would not be here, and if you are wrong — then so be it. I will stand by you. Bring your Nadir, if you can, and I will embrace the first goat-eating dog-soldier who rides in with you.'

Tenaka relaxed and looked long into her green eyes.

'You are quite a woman, Rayvan,' he whispered.

'You would be wise not to forget it, general!'

Ananais rode from the city at dusk, anxious to be free of its noisy confines. Once he had loved the city life, with its endless rounds of parties and hunts. There were beautiful women to be loved, men to be bested at wrestling or mock sword-play. There were falcons and tourneys and dances overlapping one another, as the most civilised western nation indulged in pleasure.

But then he had been the Golden One and the subject of legend.

He lifted the black mask from his torn face and felt the wind ease the angry scar. Riding to a nearby hilltop crowned with rowan trees, there he slid from the saddle and sat staring at the mountains. Tenaka was right — there had been no reason to kill the Legion men. It was proper that they wished to go back — it was their duty. But then hate was a potent force, and Ananais carried hate carved in his heart. He hated Ceska for what he had done to the land and its people and he hated the people for allowing it. He hated the flowers for their beauty and the air around him for granting him breath.

Most of all he hated himself, for not having the courage to end his misery.

What did these Skoda peasants know of his reasons for being among them? They had cheered him on the day of the battle, and again when he arrived in the city. 'Darkmask', they called him — a hero out of the past, built in the image of the immortal Druss.

What did they know of his grief?

He stared down at the mask. Even in this there was vanity, for the front was built out in the shape of a nose. He might just as well have cut two holes in it.

He was a man without a face and without a future. Only the past brought him pleasure — but with that came the pain. All he had now was his prodigious strength… and that was failing. He was forty-six years old and time was running out.

For the thousandth time he remembered the arena battle with the Joining. Had there been another way to kill the beast? Could he have saved himself this torment? He watched the battle once more through the eye of memory. There was no other way — the beast had been twice as strong and half again as swift as he. It was a miracle that he had slain it at all.

His horse whinnied, its ears flicking up, its head turning. Ananais replaced his mask and waited. Within seconds his keen hearing caught the soft clip-clopping of a walking horse.

'Ananais!' called Valtaya from the darkness. 'Are you there?' He cursed softly, for he was in no mood for company.

'Over here! On the lee of the hill.'

She rode to him and slipped from the saddle, dropping the reins over her mount's neck. The gold of her hair turned silver in the moonlight and her eyes reflected the stars.

'What do you want?' he asked, turning away and sitting down on the grass. She removed her cloak and spread it on the ground, seating herself upon it.

'Why did you ride here alone?'

'To be alone. I have much to think about.'

'Say the word and I shall ride back,' she said.

'I think you should,' he said, but she did not move, as he had known she would not.

'I, too, am lonely,' she murmured. 'But I do not want to be alone. I am alone and I have no place here.'

'I can offer you nothing, woman!' he snapped, his voice rough as the words ripped from him.

'You could let me have your company at least,' she said and the floodgates opened. Tears welled from her eyes and her head dropped; then the sobs began.

'Whisht, woman, there's no call for tears. What have you to cry about? There is no need for you to be lonely. You are very attractive arid Galand is well-smitten with you. He is a good man.' But as the sobs continued he moved to her side, curling a huge arm around her shoulder and pulling her to him.

She pushed her head against his chest and the sobbing died down into ragged crying. He patted her back and stroked her hair; her arm crept round his waist and she gently pushed him back to lie upon her cloak. A terrible desire seized Ananais and he wanted her then more than anything life could offer. Her body pressed down on his and he could feel the warmth of her breasts upon his chest.

Her hand moved to his mask, but he grasped her wrist with a swiftness that stunned her.

'Don't!' he pleaded, releasing her hand. But slowly she lifted the mask and he closed his eyes as the night air washed over his scars. Her lips touched his forehead, then his eyelids, then both ruined cheeks. He had no mouth to return her kisses and he wept; she held him close then until the crying passed.

'I swore,' he said at last, 'that I would die before a woman would see me this way.'

'A woman loves a man. A face is not a man, any more than a leg is a man, or a hand. I love you, Ananais! And your scars are a part of you. Do you see that?'

'There is a difference,' he said, 'between love and gratitude. I rescued you, but you don't owe me anything. You never will.'

'You are right — I am grateful. But I would not give myself to you out of gratitude. I am not a child. I know you do not love me. Why should you? You had your pick of all the beauties in Drenan and refused them. But I love you and I want you — even for the short time that we have.'

'You know, then?'

'Of course I know! We will not defeat Ceska — we never could. But that is not of consequence. He will die. All men die.'

'You think what we do is a nonsense?'

'No. There will always be those. . must always be those. . who will stand against the Ceskas of the world. So that in times to come, men will know that there have always been heroes to stand against the darkness. We need men like Druss and the Earl of Bronze, like Egel and Karnak, like Bild and Iron-latch. They give us pride and a sense of purpose. And we need men like Ananais and Tenaka Khan. It matters not that the Torchbearer cannot win — only that the light shines for a little while.'

'You are well-read, Val,' he said.

'I am not a fool, Ananais.' Leaning over him, she kissed his face once more. Gently she pressed her mouth to his. He groaned and his great arms encircled her.