David Gemmell - The King Beyond the Gate

At the centre of the rose the mountains bunched with only two access points from the east — the valleys known as Tarsk and Magadon.

His mission completed, Katan returned to his body and reported to Decado. He could offer no hope.

'There are nine main valleys and a score of other narrow passes on the outer ring. Even on the inner ring around Carduil there are two lines of attack. Our force could not hold even one. It is impossible to plan a defence that stands a one-in-twenty chance of success. And by success I mean standing off one attack.'

'Say nothing to anyone,' ordered Decado. 'I will speak to Ananais.'

'As you wish,' said Katan coolly.

Decado smiled gently. 'I am sorry, Katan.'

'For what?'

'For what I am,' answered the warrior, moving away up the hill until he reached the high ground overlooking several spreading valleys. This was good country — sheltered, peaceful. The ground was not rich, like the Sentran Plain to the north-east, but treated with care the farms prospered and the cattle grew fat on the grass of the timberlands.

Decado's family had been farmers far to the east and he guessed that the love of growing things had been planted in him at the moment of conception. He crouched down, digging his strong fingers into the earth at his feet. There was clay here and the grass grew lush and thick.

'May I join you?' asked Katan.

'Please do.'

The two men sat in silence for a while, watching distant cattle grazing on fertile slopes.

'I miss Abaddon,' said Katan suddenly.

'Yes. he was a good man.'

'He was a man with a vision. But he had no patience and only limited belief.'

'How can you say that?' asked Decado. 'He believed enough to form The Thirty once more.'

'Precisely! He decided that evil should be met with raw force. And yet our faith claims that evil can only be conquered by love.'

'That is insane. How do you deal with your enemies?'

'How better to deal with them than to make them your friends?' countered Katan.

'The words are pretty, the argument specious. You do not make a friend of Ceska — you become a slave or die.'

Katan smiled. 'And what does it matter? The Source governs all things and eternity mocks human life.'

'You think it doesn't matter if we die?'

'Of course it does not. The Source takes us and we live for ever.'

'And if there is no Source?' asked Decado.

'Then death is even more welcome. I do not hate Ceska. I pity him. He has built an empire of terror. And what does he achieve? Each day brings him closer to the grave. Is he content? Does he gaze with love on any single thing? He surrounds himself with warriors to protect him from assassins, then has warriors watching the warriors to sniff out traitors. But who watches the watchers? What a miserable existence!'

'So,' said Decado, 'The Thirty are not Source warriors at all?'

'They are if they believe.'

'You cannot have it all ways, Katan.'

The young man chuckled. 'Perhaps. How did you become a warrior?'

'All men are warriors, for life is a battle. The farmer battles drought, flood, sickness and blight. The sailor battles the sea and the storm. I didn't have the strength for that, so I fought men.'

'And who does the priest fight?'

Decado turned to face the earnest young man. 'The priest fights himself. He cannot look at a woman with honest lust without guilt burning into him. He cannot get drunk and forget. He cannot take a day just to soak in the glory of the world's beauty, without wondering if he should be engaged on some worthy deed.'

'For a priest, you have a low opinion of your brothers.'

'On the contrary, I have a very high opinion of them,' said Decado.

'You were very hard on Acuas. He really believed he was rescuing Abaddon's soul.'

'I know that, Katan. I admire him for it — all of you, in fact. I was angry with myself. It was not easy for me, for I don't have your faith. For me the Source is a mystery I cannot solve. And yet I promised Abaddon I would see his mission fulfilled. You are fine young men and I am merely an old warrior in love with death.'

'Do not be too hard on yourself. You are chosen. It is a great honour.'

'Happenstance! I came to the Temple and Abaddon read more into it than he should.'

'No,' said Katan. "Think on this: you came on the day when one of our brothers died. More than that — you are not just a warrior, you are possibly the greatest swordsman of the age. You defeated the Templars single-handed. Even more, you developed talents with which the rest of us were born. You came to our rescue in the Castle of the Void. How can you not be the natural leader? And if you are. . what brought you to us?'

Decado leaned back, staring at the gathering clouds.

'I think we are in for rain,' he remarked.

'Have you tried praying, Decado?'

'It would still rain.'

'Have you tried?' persisted the priest.

Decado sat up and sighed deeply. 'Of course I have tried. But I get no answers. I tried on the night you journeyed into the Void. . but He would not answer me.'

'How can you say that? Did you not learn to soar on that night? Did you not find us through the mists of non-time? You think you did that in your own strength?'

'Yes I do.'

'Then you answered your own prayers?'

'Yes.'

Katan smiled. 'Then keep praying. Who knows the heights to which it will carry you?'

Now it was Decado's turn to chuckle. 'You mock me, young Katan! I will not have it. Just for that you can lead the prayers this evening — I think Acuas needs a rest.'

'It will be my pleasure.'

Across the fields Ananais spurred his black gelding into a gallop. Bending low over the beast's neck he urged it on, hooves drumming on the dry ground. For those few seconds of speed he forgot his problems, revelling in the freedom of the race. Behind him Galand and Thorn were neck and neck, but their mounts were no match for the gelding and Ananais reached the stream twenty lengths ahead. He leapt to the ground and patted the horse, keeping him from the water and walking him round to cool down. The others dismounted.

'Unfair!' said Galand. 'Your mount is hands higher and bred for speed.'

'But I weigh more than both of you together,' said Ananais.

Thorn said nothing, merely grinned crookedly and shook his head. He liked Ananais and welcomed the change which had come over him since the fair-haired woman had moved into his hut. He seemed more alive — more in tune with the world.

Love was like that. Thorn had been in love many times, and even at sixty-two he hoped for at least another two or three romances. There was a widow woman who had a farm in the high, lonely country to the north; he stopped there often for breakfast. She hadn't warmed to him yet, but she would — Thorn knew women. There was no point in rushing in… Gentle talk, that was the answer. Ask them questions about themselves… Be interested. Most men travelled through life determined to rut as swiftly as the woman would allow. Senseless! Talk first. Learn. Then touch, gently, lovingly. Care. Then love and linger. Thorn had learned early, for he had always been ugly. Other men disliked him for his success, but they could never be bothered to learn from it. Fools!

'Another caravan from Vagria this morning,' said Galand, scratching his beard. 'But the treasury gold is running low. Those cursed Vagrians have doubled their prices.'

'It's a seller's market,' said Ananais. 'What did they bring?'

'Arrowheads, iron, some swords. Mostly flour and sugar. Oh yes — and a quantity of leather and hide. Lake ordered it. There should be enough food to last a month. . but no more.'

Thorn's dry chuckle stopped Galand in full flow.

'What's so funny?'

'If we are still alive in a month I will be happy to go hungry!'