David Gemmell - The King Beyond the Gate

'Are the refugees still coming in?' asked Ananais.

'Yes,' said Galand, 'but the numbers are shrinking. I think we can handle it. The army now musters at two thousand, but we are being stretched thin. I don't like sitting around waiting to react. The Dragon operated on the premise that the first blow was vital.'

'We have no choice,' answered Ananais, 'since we must hold as wide a line as possible during the next few weeks. If we draw back they will simply ride in. At the moment they are undecided what to do.'

'The men are getting edgy,' said Thorn. 'It's not easy just to sit — it makes them think, wonder, imagine. Rayvan's performing miracles, travelling from valley to valley, fuelling their courage and calling them heroes. But it may not be enough.

'The victory was heady stuff, Ananais, but those who missed the battle now outnumber the men who fought in it. They are untried. And they're nervous.'

'What do you suggest?'

Thorn grinned his crooked grin. 'I'm not a general, Darkmask. You tell me!'

Caphas moved away from the tents and spread his black cloak on the dry earth as a blanket. He removed his dark helm and settled himself down. The stars were bright, but Caphas had no eyes for them. The night was cool and clean, but he hated the emptiness. He longed for the sanctuary of the Temple and the drug-induced orgies. The music of the torture room, the sweet sound of a victim's plea. Joy was what he missed here in this barren land. Laughter.

A special relationship came into being between the torturer and his victim. First there was defiance and hatred. Then tears and screams. Then begging. And finally, after the spirit was broken, there was a kind of love. Caphas cursed loudly and stood up, arousal creating anger within him. He opened the small leather pouch on his hip and removed a long Lorassium leaf. Rolling it into a ball, he placed it in his mouth and began to chew slowly. As the juices took hold and his mind swam, he became aware of the dreams of the sleeping soldiers and the slow, hungry thoughts of a badger in the undergrowth to his right. He screened them out, forcing his memory to replay a scene from the recent past when they had brought a girl-child to the torture room. .

Uneasiness flooded him and he jerked his mind to the present, eyes flickering to the dark shadows in the trees.

A bright light grew before him, shimmering and coalescing into the shape of a warrior in silver armour. A white cloak was draped across his shoulders, the edges fluttering in the winds of Spirit.

Caphas closed his eyes and leapt from his body, black soul-sword in hand, dark shield upon his arm. The warrior parried the blow and stepped back.

'Come here and die,' offered Caphas. Twelve of your party are dead already. Come and join them!'

The warrior said nothing and only his blue eyes could be seen through the slit in the silver face-helm. The eyes were calm and the quiet confidence emanating from them seeped into Caphas' heart. His shield shrank.

'You cannot touch me!' he screamed. The Spirit is stronger than the Source. You are powerless against me!'

The warrior shook his head.

'Damn you!' shouted Caphas as his shield disappeared. He charged forward, slashing wildly.

Acuas parried the blow with ease and then slid his own blade deep into the Templar's chest. The man gasped as the icy sword cloved his spirit flesh. Then his soul guttered and died and, beyond it, his body toppled to the earth.

Acuas vanished. Two hundred paces into the wood he opened the eyes of his body and sagged into the supporting arms of Decado and Katan.

'All the Templar guards are dead,' he said.

'Good work!' praised Decado.

'I feel strained by their evil. Even to touch them is to be as one accursed.'

Decado moved back silently to where Ananais waited with one hundred warriors. Thorn crouched to his left, Galand to his right. Fifty of the warriors were legion men of whom Ananais was unsure.

Though he trusted Decado's instincts, the talents of The Thirty left him sceptical still. Tonight he would see whether these men were with him. He was uncomfortably aware of their swords around him.

Ananais led the force to the edge of the trees. Beyond lay the tents of the Delnoch army — one hundred of them — each giving shelter to six men. Beyond the tents were the picket ropes where the horses were tethered.

'I want Breight alive and I want those horses,' whispered Ananais. 'Galand, take fifty men and lead the mounts clear. The rest can follow me.' He moved forward, crouching low, his dark-armoured warriors spreading out behind him.

As they reached the tents the force split up, armed men silently lifting the front flaps and stepping stealthily inside. Daggers were drawn across sleeping throats and men died without a sound. At the edge of the camp, a sleeping soldier was awakened by the pressure of a full bladder; he rolled from his blanket and stepped out into the night air. The first thing he saw was a black-masked giant bearing down on him, followed by twenty swordsmen. He screamed once. . and died.

Suddenly all was chaos as men surged from the tents with swords in hand. Ananais cut two warriors from his path and cursed loudly. Breight's tent was just ahead, blue silk bearing the White Horse emblem of the Drenai herald.

To me, Legion!' he bellowed and ran forward. A soldier ran at him with a spear but Ananais sidestepped the weapon, his own sword sweeping viciously in a tight arc that smashed the man's ribs to shards. Ananais ran on, wrenching open the tent-flap and stepping inside. Breight was hiding below his bed, but Ananais dragged him out by his hair and hurled him into the night.

Old Thorn ran to Ananais as he emerged. 'We are in a little trouble, Darkmask,' he said.

The Legion fifty had closed ranks by Breight's tent, but all around them the Delnoch warriors stood ready, waiting the order to move in. Ananais dragged Breight to his feet and pushed his way to the front of the line.

'Order your men to lay down their weapons or I will cut your miserable throat,' he hissed.

'Yes, yes,' whimpered the greybeard, holding up his hands. 'Men of Ceska, lay aside your weapons. My life is too valuable to be thrown away in such a fashion. Let them go, I command you!'

A Dark Templar stepped from the line. 'You are worth nothing, old man! You had one mission — to talk these dogs from the hills. You failed.' His arm swept back, then down, and a black dagger hammered into Breight's throat. The old man staggered and fell to his knees. 'Now take them!' yelled the Templar and the Delnoch men surged forward. Ananais cut and thrust as the forces met, drawing the enemy to him like moths to a candle. His swords flickered among them faster than the eye could follow. Around him the Legion fought hard and well, and old Thorn ducked and cut cunningly.

Suddenly the thunder of hooves overrode the sounds of clashing steel and the Delnoch line waved as men glanced back to see a fresh force racing into the fray.

Galand's group hit the rear of the Delnoch force like a hammer-blow, scattering the enemy. As Ananais ran forward, yelling for the men to follow him, a sword lanced into his side. He grunted and back-handed a cut that swept the attacker from his feet. Decado spurred his horse towards Ananais, holding out his left arm. Ananais grasped it and vaulted to the saddle behind the priest. Other Legion men followed suit and the Skoda warriors galloped from the camp. Ananais glanced back, seeking Thorn and spotted him clinging to Galand.

'He's certainly a tough old man!' said Ananais.

Decado said nothing. He had just received a report from Balan, whose talk had been to scout the land over Drenan in order to study the marshalling of Ceska's main force. The news was not good.