David Gemmell - The King Beyond the Gate

Rayvan could not sleep; the air was oppressive and heavy with the threat of storms. Throwing aside her heavy blanket she left the bed, wrapping a woollen robe about her sturdy frame. Then she opened the window wide, but not a breath of wind travelled over the mountains.

The night was velvet dark and tiny bats skittered and flew around the tower and down into the fruit trees of the garden. A badger, caught in a shaft of moonlight, glared up at her window and then shuffled away into the undergrowth. She sighed — there was such beauty to the night. A flicker of movement caught her eye and from the window she could just make out the figure of a white-cloaked warrior kneeling by a rose bush. Then he stood, and in that fluid motion she recognised Decado.

Rayvan left the window and moved silently through the long corridors, down the winding stairway and out into the courtyard garden. Decado was leaning against a low wall, watching the moonlight on the mountains. He heard Rayvan's approach and turned to meet her, the ghost of a welcoming smile upon his thin lips.

'Engaged in solitude?' she asked him.

'Merely thinking.'

'This is a good place for it. Peaceful.'

'Yes.'

'I was born up there,' she said, pointing east. 'My father had a small farm beyond the timberline — cattle and ponies mostly. It was a good life.'

'We shall not hold any of this, Rayvan.'

'I know. When the time comes we will move further back into the high country, where the passes narrow.'

He nodded. 'I don't think Tenaka will come back.'

'Don't write him off, Decado. He is a canny man.'

'You don't need to tell me — I served under him for six years.'

'Do you like him?'

A sudden smile lit his face, burning the years from him. 'Of course I like him. He is the closest to a friend I have ever had.'

'What about your men, your Thirty?'

'What about them?' he asked guardedly.

'Do you see them as your friends?'

'No.'

'Then why do they follow you?'

'Who knows? They have a dream: a desire to die. It is all beyond me. Tell me about your farm — were you happy there?'

'Yes. A good husband, fine children, a nourished land beneath an open sky. What more can a woman ask on the journey between life and death?'

'Did you love your husband?'

'What kind of question is that?' she snapped.

'I did not mean to give offence. You never mention him by name.'

'That has nothing to do with lack of love. In fact the reverse is true. When I say his name, it brings home to me just what I have lost. But I hold his image in my heart — you understand that?'

'Yes.'

'Why did you never marry?'

'I never wanted to; never had the desire to share my life with a woman. I am not comfortable with people, save on my own terms.'

'Then you were wise,' said Rayvan.

'You think so?'

'I think so. You and your friends are very alike, you know. You are all incomplete men — terribly sad and very alone. No wonder you are drawn together! The rest of us can share our lives, swap jests and tall tales, laugh together, cry together. We live and love and grow. We offer each other small comforts daily and they help us to survive. But you have nothing like that to offer. Instead you offer your life — your death.'

'It is not that simple, Rayvan.'

'Life seldom is, Decado. But then I am but a simple mountain woman and I paint the pictures as I see them.'

'Come now, lady, there is nothing simple about you! But let us suppose — for a moment — that you are right. Do you think that Tenaka, or Ananais, or myself chose to be as we are? My grandfather had a dog. He desired that dog to hate the Nadir, so he hired an old tribesman to come into the farmyard every night and beat the puppy with a switch.

'The puppy grew to hate that old man and any other of his slant-eyed race. Would you blame the dog? Tenaka Khan was raised amid hatred and though he did not respond in kind, still the absence of love left its mark. He bought a wife and lavished all he had upon her. Now she is dead and he has nothing.

'Ananais? You only have to look upon him to know what pain he carries. But even so that is not the whole story. His father died insane after killing Ananais' mother before his eyes. Even before that, the father had bedded Ani's sister. . she died in childbirth.

'And as for me, my story is even more sordid and sad. So spare me your mountain homilies, Rayvan. Had any of us grown to manhood on the slopes of your mountain, I don't doubt we would have been better men.'

She smiled then and heaved herself on to the wall, swinging round to look down on him. 'Foolish boy!' she said. 'I did not say you needed to be better men. You are the best of men, and I love all three of you. You are not like your grandfather's dog, Decado — you are a man. And a man can overcome his background, even as he can overcome a skilled opponent. Look around you more often: see the people as they touch and show their love. But don't watch coldly, like an observer. Don't hover outside life — take part in it. There are people out there waiting to love you. It is not something you should turn down lightly.'

'We are what we are, lady; do not ask for more. I am a swordsman. Ananais is a warrior. Tenaka is a general beyond compare. Our backgrounds have made us what we are. You need us as you see us.'

'Perhaps. But perhaps you could be even greater.'

'Now is not the time to experiment. Come — I will walk you back to your rooms.'

Scaler sat on the broad bed, staring at the dark-stained door. Tenaka was gone now, but he could still see the tall Nadir warrior and hear the softly-spoken commands.

It was a farce — he was trapped here, entangled in this web of heroes.

Take Dros Delnoch?

Ananais could take Dros Delnoch, charging it single-handed with his silver sword flashing in the dawn sun. Tenaka could take it with some improvised plan, some subtle stroke of genius involving a length of twine and three small pebbles. These were men made for Legend, created by the gods to fuel the sagas.

But where did Scaler fit in?

He moved to the long mirror by the window wall. A tall young man stared back at him, dark shoulder-length hair held in place by a black leather brow-circlet. The eyes were bright and intelligent, the chin square, giving the lie to the saga poets. The fringed buckskin jerkin hung well, drawn in to his lean waist by a thick sword-belt. A dagger hung at his left side. His leggings were of softest dark leather and his boots thigh-length after the fashion of the Legion. Reaching for his sword, he slotted it home in the leather scabbard and placed it at his side.

'You poor fool!' the mirror warrior told him. 'You should have stayed at home.'

He had tried to tell Tenaka how ill-equipped he felt, but the Nadir had smiled gently and ignored him.

'You are of the blood, Arvan. It will carry you through,' he had said. Words! Just words. Blood was merely dark liquid — it carried no secrets, no mysteries. Courage was a thing of the soul and not a gift that a man could bestow on his sons.

The door opened and Scaler glanced round as Pagan entered. The black man smiled a greeting and then eased himself into a broad leather chair. In the lantern light he loomed large, the immense sweep of his shoulders filling the chair. Just like the others, thought Scaler — a man to move mountains.

'Come to see me off?' he asked, breaking the silence.

The black man shook his head. 'I am coming with you.'

Relief struck Scaler with almost physical power, but he masked his emotions.

'Why?'

'Why not? I like riding.'

'You know my mission?'

'You are to take a fort and open the gates for Tenaka's warriors.'

'It is not quite so easy as you make it sound,' said Scaler, returning to the bed and sitting down. The sword twisted between his legs as he sat and he straightened it.