Drenai Saga 02 - The King Beyond the Gate (22 page)

T
enaka found the
place of solitude he needed at a sheltered waterfall high in the mountains, where the air was cool and clean and the snow lay in patches on the slopes. Slowly, carefully, he built a fire in a ring of stones and sat watching the flames. He felt no elation at the victory, his emotions washed from him in the blood of the slain. After a while he moved to the stream, remembering the words of Asta Khan, the ancient shaman of the Wolfshead tribe.

“All things in the world are created for man, yet all have two purposes. The waters run that we might drink of them, but they are also symbols of the futility of man. They reflect our lives in rushing beauty, birthed in the purity of the mountains. As babes they babble and run, gushing and growing as they mature into strong young rivers. Then they widen and slow until at last they meander, like old men, to join with the sea. And like the souls of men in the Nethervoid they mix and mingle until the sun lifts them again as raindrops to fall on the mountains.”

Tenaka dipped his hand into the rushing water. He felt out of place, away from time. A bird hopped onto a rock nearby, ignoring him in its quest for food; it was tiny and brown. Suddenly it dived into the water, and Tenaka jerked upright, leaning over the stream to see it flying beneath the surface: an eerie sight. It came to the surface, hopped to a rock, and fluttered its feathers; then it returned to the stream. In a strange way Tenaka was soothed by the sight. He observed the bird for a while, then lay back on the grass, watching the clouds bunch in the blue sky.

An eagle soared high on the thermals with wings spread, seemingly static as it rose on the warm air.

A ptarmigan fluttered into view, its feathers still mottled and partly white—perfect camouflage, for the snow still patched the slopes. Tenaka considered the bird. In winter it was pure white against the snow. In spring it was partly white, while in summer the mottling turned slate-gray and brown, allowing it to sit by the boulders, the image of a rock. Its feathers were its only defense.

The ptarmigan rose into the air, and the eagle banked sharply, dropping like a stone. But it cut across the sun, and its shadow fell athwart the ptarmigan, which swerved just as the talons flashed by. The little speckled bird fled back to the bushes.

The eagle settled on a tree branch close to Tenaka, its dignity ruffled. The Nadir warrior leaned back and closed his eyes.

The battle had been close, and the strategy would not work again. They had gained a respite, but that was all. Ceska had sent his legion to round up a few rebels. Had they known Tenaka Khan was there, they would have adopted different tactics. Now they
would
know … Now all Ceska’s skill would be pitted against Tenaka.

How many men would Ceska range against them now?

There was the rest of the legion: four thousand men. The regulars numbering ten thousand. The Drenan pikers, two thousand at the last count. But more terrifying than all the others were the Joinings. How many now had he created? Five thousand? Ten?

And how could they be rated against common men? One Joining to five? Even that would make them worth twenty-five thousand soldiers.

Ceska would not make the mistake of underestimating the Skoda rebellion a second time.

Weariness settled on Tenaka like a shroud. His first plan had been so simple: kill Ceska and die. Now the complexities of his scheme swirled in his mind like mist.

So many dead, so many still to die.

He moved back to his fire and added fuel; then he lay down beside it, wrapping himself in his cloak. He thought of Illae and his Ventrian home. How good had been the years.

Then Renya’s face formed in his thoughts, and he smiled. All his life he had been lucky. Sad, lonely, but lucky. To have a mother as devoted as Shillat; that was luck. To find a man like Ananais to stand beside him. To be with the Dragon. To love Illae. To find Renya.

Such good fortune was a gift that more than made up for the loneliness and the pain of rejection. Tenaka began to shiver. Adding more wood, he lay back waiting for the nausea he knew would follow. The headache started first, with bright lights flickering in his eyes. He breathed deeply, calming himself for the onslaught. The pain grew, clawing at his brain with fingers of fire.

For four hours the pain tore at him until he almost wept. Then it receded, and he slept …

He was in a dark corridor, sloping and cold. At his feet were the skeletons of several rats. He stepped over them, and the skeletons moved, bones clicking in the silence. Then they ran into the darkness. Tenaka shook his head, trying to remember where he was. Ahead was a dead man hanging in chains, the flesh decomposed.

“Help me!” said the man.

“You are dead. I cannot help you.”

“Why won’t you help me?”

“You are dead.”

“We are all dead. And no one will help us.”

Tenaka walked on, seeking a door, moving ever downward. The corridor widened into a hall with dark pillars soaring into the void. Shadow-shrouded figures moved into sight, black swords in their hands.

“Now we have you, Torchbearer,” said a voice.

They wore no armor, and the leader’s face was familiar. Tenaka racked his brains for the man’s name, but it remained elusive.

“Padaxes,” said the man. “Even here I can read your frightened mind. Padaxes, who died under the sword of Decado. And yet am I dead? I am not! But you, Torchbearer—you will be dead, for you have entered the dominion of the spirit. Where are your Templars? Where are the bastard Thirty?”

“This is a dream,” said Tenaka. “You cannot touch me.”

“Think you so?” Fire leapt from the blade, scorching Tenaka’s shoulders. He threw himself back, fear surging within him. Padaxes’ laughter was shrill. “Think you so
now
?”

Tenaka moved to his feet, drawing his sword.

“Come, then,” he said. “Let me see you die a second time.”

The Dark Templars moved forward, spreading in a semicircle around him. Suddenly Tenaka was aware that he was not alone. For a moment, as in his earlier dream, he believed the Thirty had come for him, but when he glanced to his left, he saw a powerful, broad-shouldered Nadir warrior in a goatskin tunic. Others moved alongside him.

The Templars hesitated, and the Nadir beside Tenaka lifted his sword. “Drive these shadows away,” he told his warriors. Silently a hundred hollow-eyed tribesmen surged forward, and the Templars fled before them.

The Nadir turned to Tenaka. His face was broad and flat, his eyes violet and piercing. There pulsed from him an aura of power and strength Tenaka had not seen in any living man, and he knew him then. He fell to his knees before him and bent forward his body into a deep bow.

“You know me, then, blood of my blood?”

“I do, my Lord Khan,” said Tenaka. “Ulric, Lord of Hordes!”

“I have seen you, boy. Watched you grow, for my old shaman Nosta Khan is with me still. You have not displeased me … But then, your blood is of the finest.”

“Not all have felt it so,” said Tenaka.

“The world is full of fools,” snapped Ulric. “I fought against the Earl of Bronze, and he was a mighty man. And rare. He was a man with doubts who overcame them. He stood on the walls of Dros Delnoch and defied me with his pitiful force, and I loved him for it. He was a fighter and a dreamer. Rare. So very rare!”

“You met him, then?”

“There was another warrior with him—an old man, Druss. Deathwalker, we called him. When he fell, I had his body carried to my camp and we built a funeral pyre. Imagine that. For an enemy! We were on the verge of victory. And that night the Earl of Bronze—my greatest enemy—walked into my camp with his generals and joined me at the funeral.”

“Insane!” said Tenaka. “You could have taken him and the whole fortress.”

“Would you have taken him, Tenaka?”

Tenaka considered the question. “No,” he said at last.

“Neither could I. So do not worry about your pedigree. Let lesser men sneer.”

“Am I not dead?” asked Tenaka.

“No.”

“Then how am I here?”

“You sleep. Those Templar maggots pulled your spirit here, but I will help you return.”

“What hell is this, and how came you here?”

“My heart failed me during the war against Ventria. And then I was here. It is the Nethervoid, pitched between the worlds of Source and spirit. It seems I am claimed by neither, so I exist here with my followers. I never worshiped anything but my sword and my wits; now I suffer for it. But I can take it, for am I not a man?”

“You are a legend.”

“It is not hard to become a legend, Tenaka. It is what follows when you have to live like one.”

“Can you see the future?”

“In part.”

“Will I … will my friends succeed?”

“Do not ask me. I cannot alter your fate, much as I might wish to. This is your path, Tenaka, and you must walk it like a man. You were born to walk it.”

“I understand, lord. I should not have asked.”

“There is no harm in asking,” said Ulric, smiling. “Come, close your eyes; you must return to the world of blood.”

Tenaka awoke. It was night, yet his fire still burned bright and warm and a blanket had been placed over his sleeping body. He groaned and rolled to his side, raising himself on his elbow. Ananais sat across from the fire, the light flickering on his mask.

“How are you feeling?” asked the giant.

“Good. I needed the rest.”

“Has the pain gone?”

“Yes. Did you bring food?”

“Of course. You had me worried for a while. You turned ghostly white, and your pulse was slow as death.”

“I’m all right now.” Tenaka sat up, and Ananais tossed him a canvas sack containing dried meat and fruit. They ate in silence. The waterfall glittered like diamonds on sable in the moonlight. Finally Ananais spoke.

“Four hundred of the legion have joined us. Decado says they will fight true, claims his priests have read their minds. Only three did they turn away. Two hundred others chose to return to Ceska.”

Tenaka rubbed his eyes. “And?”

“And what?”

“And what happened to those who chose to return?”

“I sent them out of the valley.”

“Ani, my friend, I am back now. I am all right. So tell me.”

“I had them slain in the valley. It was necessary, for they could have given information about our numbers.”

“This was known anyway, Ani. The Templars are watching over us.”

“All right. But even so, it is still two hundred fewer men they will send against us in the days to come.”

Silence descended again, and Ananais lifted his mask gently, probing at the angry scar tissue.

“Take the thing off,” said Tenaka. “Let the air get to the skin.”

Ananais hesitated, then he sighed and removed the leather. In the red firelight he seemed like a demon, inhuman and terrible. His blue eyes were fixed on Tenaka in a piercing stare, as if he were trying to discern some evidence of revulsion.

“Give me your view of the battle,” said Tenaka.

“It went according to plan. I was pleased with Rayvan’s men, and her son Lake is an asset. The black man fought well. He is a fine warrior. Given a year, I could rebuild the Dragon around these Skoda men.”

“We don’t have a year.”

“I know,” said Ananais. “I reckon two months.”

“We cannot beat them like this, Ani.”

“You have a plan?”

“Yes. But you won’t like it.”

“If it means our winning, I will like it,” promised Ananais. “What is it?”

“I mean to bring the Nadir.”

“You are right—I
don’t
like it. In fact, it stinks like rotting meat. If Ceska is bad, the Nadir are worse. Gods, man, at least with Ceska we are still Drenai. Are you out of your mind?”

“It is all we have left, my friend. We have almost a thousand men. We cannot hold Skoda and would be hard-pressed to withstand a single charge.”

“Listen to me, Tani! You know I have never held your blood against you. Not personally. I love you better than a brother. But I hate the Nadir as I hate nothing else on this earth. And I am not alone. No man here will fight alongside them. And suppose you do bring an army? What the hell happens when we win? Do they just go home? They will have beaten the Drenai army; the land will be theirs, and we shall have another bloody civil war.”

“I don’t see it that way.”

“And how will you bring them? There are no secret ways through the mountains, not even through the Sathuli passes. No army can come from the north save through Delnoch, and even Ulric failed to pass those gates.”

“I have asked Scaler to take Dros Delnoch.”

“Oh, Tani, you have gone mad! He is a fop and a runner who has not joined in one battle so far. When we rescued the village girl, he just buried his head in his hands and lay in the grass. When we found Pagan, he remained with the women. When we were planning yesterday’s sortie, he was shaking like grass in a breeze and you told him to stay behind. And
he
will take Delnoch?”

Tenaka added wood to the fire, discarding the blanket from his shoulders. “I know all these things, Ani. But it can be done. Scaler is like his ancestor, the Earl of Bronze. He doubts himself, and he has great fears. But beyond those fears, if he ever sees it, there waits a fine man, a man of courage and nobility. And he is bright and quick-thinking.”

“Our hopes then rest on him?” asked Ananais.

“No. They rest on my judgment of him.”

“Don’t play with words. It is the same thing.”

“I need you with me, Ananais.”

Ananais nodded. “Why not? We are only talking about death. I will stay with you, Tani. What is life if a man cannot count on his friends when he has gone mad?”

“Thank you, Ani. I mean that.”

“I know. And I am worn out. I shall sleep for a while.”

Ananais lay back, resting his head on his cloak. The night breeze felt good on his scarred face. He was tired, more tired than he could ever remember being. It was the weariness of disappointment. Tenaka’s plan was a nightmare, yet there were no alternatives. Ceska held the land within the talons of his Joinings, and maybe, just maybe, a Nadir conquest would cleanse the nation. But Ananais doubted it.