David Gemmell: The King Beyond the Gate

'I can sleep alone,' she said.

'Very well.' He untied the blanket and passed it to her, then wrapped himself in his cloak and leaned his head back to the rock, closing his eyes.

Renya stretched herself out on the cold ground, pillowing her head on her arm.

As the fire died so the night cold grew, seeping into her limbs. She awoke shivering uncontrollably and sat up, rubbing warmth into her numbed legs.

Tenaka opened his eyes and held out his hand. 'Come,' he said.

She moved to him and he opened his cloak, wrapping it around her and pulling her in to his chest before covering them both with the blanket. She nestled against him still shivering.

'T-t-tell me about c-c-clay diamonds,' she asked.

He smiled. 'The wise man was called Kias. He said that too many people go through life without pausing to enjoy what they have and he told of a man who was given a clay jug by a friend. The friend said, "Examine it when you have the time." But it was just a simple clay jug and the man put it aside and forged on with his life, spending his time acquiring riches. One day, when he was old, he took the jug and opened it. Within was a huge diamond.'

'I do not understand.'

'Kias claimed that life was like that clay jug. Unless we examined it and understood it, we could not enjoy it.'

'Sometimes understanding robs you of joy,' she whispered.

He said nothing, transferring his gaze to the night sky and the distant stars. Renya fell into a dreamless sleep, her head tipping forward, dislodging the woollen burnoose that covered her close-cropped hair. Tenaka reached up to replace it, then stopped as his hand touched her head. The hair was not close-cropped — it had grown as long as it would grow. For it was not hair but dark fur, soft as sable. Gently he pulled the burnoose into place and closed his eyes.

The girl was a Joining, half-human, half-animal.

No wonder she did not care for life.

Were there diamonds in the clay for such as she? He wondered.

At the Dragon barracks a man pushed his way past the screen of bushes before the parade ground. He was a big man, broad shoulders tapering to lean hips and long legs, was dressed in black and carried an iron-tipped ebony quarterstaff. Hooded, his face was covered by a shaped mask in black leather. He moved easily — the rolling, fluid gait of the athlete — yet he was wary, his bright blue eyes flickering to every bush and shadow-haunted tree.

When he saw the bodies he circled them slowly, reading the brief battle in the tracks.

One man against four.

The first three had died almost instantly and that spoke of speed. The fourth had run past the lone warrior. The tall man followed the track and nodded.

So. Here was a mystery. The lone warrior was not alone — he had a companion who took no part in the fray. The footprints were small, yet the stride long. A woman?

Yes, a woman. A tall woman.

He glanced back at the bodies.

'That was well done,' he said aloud, the voice muffled by the mask. 'Damn well done.' One against four. Not many men could survive against such odds, yet this man had not only survived but won the day with skill to spare.

Ringar? He was a lightning killer with astonishing reflexes. Yet he barely chanced a neck cut, more often choosing the lower torso: the disembowelling cut.

Argonin? No, he was dead. Strange how a man could forget such a thing.

Who then? An unknown? No. In a world where skill with arms was of paramount importance, there were few unknowns of such bewildering talent.

He studied the tracks one more, picturing the battle, seeing at last the blurred print at the centre. The warrior had leapt and spun in the air like a dance before hammering home the death blow.

Tenaka Khan!

Realisation struck the big man like a blow to the heart. His eyes glittered strangely and his breathing grew ragged.

Of all the men in the world who he hated, Tenaka had pride of place.

Or was that still true? He relaxed and remembered, his thoughts tracing his memories like salt over a festering wound.

'I should have killed you then,' he said. 'None of this would have happened to me.'

He pictured Tenaka dying, his blood seeping into the snow. It gave him no joy, but still he hungered for the deed.

'I will make you pay,' he said.

And set off to the south.

Tenaka and Renya made good progress on the second day — seeing no one, nor any track made by man. The wind had died down and the clean air held the promise of spring. Tenaka was silent through most of the day and Renya did not press him.

Towards dusk as they clambered down a steep incline, she lost her footing and pitched forward, tumbling and rolling to the foot of the hill and striking her head on a gnarled tree-root. Tenaka ran to her side, pulling free her burnoose and examining the seeping gash on her temple. Her eyes flared open.

'Don't touch me,' she screamed, clawing at his hands.

He moved back, handing her the cotton burnoose.

'I don't like to be touched,' she said apologetically.

'Then I shall not touch you,' he answered. 'But you should bandage that wound.'

She tried to stand, but the world spun and she fell to the snow. Tenaka made no move to help her. Glancing around for a place to camp, he spotted a likely site some thirty paces away to the left: a natural screen of trees blocking the wind, with overhanging boughs to halt any storm snow. He made his way to it, collecting branches as he went. Renya watched him walk away and struggled to rise, but felt sick and began to tremble violently. Her head throbbed, the pain a rhythmic pounding which sent waves of nausea through her. She tried to crawl.

'I… don't need you,' she whispered.

Tenaka prepared the fire, blowing the tinder until tiny flames shivered above the snow. Then he added thicker twigs and finally branches. When the blaze was well set he returned to the girl, stooping to lift her unconscious body. He laid her by the fire, then climbed a nearby fir tree to hack away green boughs with his short sword. Gathering them he made a bed for her, lifted her on to it and then covered her with the blanket. He examined the wound — there was no fracture as far as he could tell, but an ugly bruise was forming around an egg-sized lump.

He stroked her face, admiring the softness of her skin and the sleekness of her neck.

'I will not harm you, Renya,' he said. 'Of all the things that I am, of all the deeds I have done that shamed me, I have never harmed a woman. Nor a child. You are safe with me. . Your secrets are safe with me.'

'I know what it is like, you see. I too am between worlds — half-Nadir, half-Drenai, wholly nothing. For you it is worse. But I am here. Believe in me.'

He returned to the fire, wishing he could say those words when her eyes were open but knowing he would not. In all his life he had opened his heart to only one woman: Illae.

Beautiful Illae, the bride he had purchased in a Ventrian market. He smiled at the memory. Two thousand pieces of silver and he had taken her home only to have her refuse to share his bed.

'Enough of this nonsense,' he had stormed. 'You are mine. Body and soul! I bought you!'

'What you bought was a carcass,' she retorted. 'Touch me and I will kill myself. And you too.'

'You will be disappointed if you try it in that order,' he said.

'Don't mock me, barbarian!'

'Very well. What would you have me do? Re-sell you to a Ventrian?'

'Marry me.'

'And then, I take it, you will love and adore me?'

'No. But I will sleep with you and try to be good company.'

'Now there is an offer that's hard to refuse. A slave girl who offers her master less than he paid for, at a much greater price. Why should I do it?'