Drenai Saga 02 - The King Beyond the Gate

The mystic’s head lifted, and he faced the two men. “I seek the Torchbearer,” he said, his voice a dry whisper. “I have a message.”

Scaler moved forward to crouch at the man’s side. “I seek the truth,” he said. He dropped a coin into the mystic’s palm.

“Of Bronze you sprang, haunted and hunted. Kin to shadow, never resting, never silent. You will stand when others flee. And yet the Torchbearer is not here …”

“Give me the message, old man,” Tenaka interrupted. “I will pass it on.”

“Dark Templars ride against the Prince of Shadows. He cannot hide, for the torch is bright. The beasts can fall, but only the King Beyond the Gate can bring them down.”

“Is that all?” asked Tenaka.

“You are the Torchbearer.”

W
ITHOUT THE HELP
of friends there would be no joy in writing. Many thanks to Tom Taylor for his help with the story, Stella Graham for the proofreading, and Jean Maund for the copyediting. Thanks also to Gary, Russ, Barbara, Philip, George, John D., Jimmy, Angela, Jo, Lee, and Iona and all the staff of the
Hastings Observer
who created the good years.

And to Ross Lempriere for storming the stairs.

T
HE TREES WERE
laced with snow, and the forest lay waiting below him like a reluctant bride. For some time he stood among the rocks and boulders, scanning the slopes. Snow gathered on his fur-lined cloak and on the crown of his wide-brimmed hat, but he ignored it, as he ignored the cold seeping through his flesh and numbing his bones. He could have been the last man alive on a dying planet.

He half wished that he were.

At last, satisfied that there were no patrols, he moved down from the mountainside, placing his feet carefully on the treacherous slopes. His movements were slow, and he knew the cold to be a growing danger. He needed a campsite and a fire.

Behind him the Delnoch range reared under thickening clouds. Before him lay Skultik forest, an area of dark legend, failed dreams, and childhood memories.

The forest was silent, save for the occasional crack of dry wood as thickening ice probed the branches or the silky rushing of snow falling from overburdened boughs.

Tenaka turned to look at his footprints. Already the sharp edges of his tracks were blurring, and within minutes they would be gone. He pushed on, his thoughts sorrowful, his memories jagged.

He made camp in a shallow cave away from the wind and lit a small fire. The flames gathered and grew, red shadow dancers swaying on the cave walls. Removing his woolen gloves, he rubbed his hands above the blaze; then he rubbed his face, pinching the flesh to force the blood to flow. He wanted to sleep, but the cave was not yet warm enough.

The Dragon was dead. He shook his head, and closed his eyes. Ananais, Decado, Elias, Beltzer. All dead. Betrayed because they believed in honor and duty above all else. Dead because they believed that the Dragon was invincible and that good must ultimately triumph.

Tenaka shook himself awake, adding thicker branches to the fire.

“The Dragon is dead,” he said aloud, his voice echoing in the cave. How strange, he thought. The words were true, yet he did not believe them.

He gazed at the fire shadows, seeing again the marbled halls of his palace in Ventria. There was no fire there, only the gentle cool of the inner rooms, the cold stone keeping at bay the strength-sapping heat of the desert sun. Soft chairs and woven rugs; servants bearing jugs of iced wine, carrying buckets of precious water to feed his rose garden and ensure the beauty of his flowering trees.

The messenger had been Beltzer. Loyal Beltzer, the finest bar-ranking warrior in the wing.

“We are summoned home, sir,” he had said, standing ill at ease in the wide library, his clothes sand-covered and travel-stained. “The rebels have defeated one of Ceska’s regiments in the north, and Baris has issued the call personally.”

“How do you know it was Baris?”

“His seal, sir. His personal seal. And the message: ’The Dragon calls.” ’

“Baris has not been seen for fifteen years.”

“I know that, sir. But his seal …”

“A lump of wax means nothing.”

“It does to me, sir.”

“So you will go back to Drenai?”

“Yes, sir. And you?”

“Back to what, Beltzer? The land is in ruins. The Joinings are undefeatable. And who knows what foul, sorcerous powers will be ranged against the rebels? Face it, man! The Dragon was disbanded fifteen years ago, and we are all older men. I was one of the younger officers, and I am now forty. You must be nearer fifty—if the Dragon still survived, you would be in your pension year.”

“I know that,” Beltzer said, drawing himself stiffly to attention. “But honor calls. I have spent my life serving the Drenai, and now I cannot refuse the call.”

“I can,” said Tenaka. “The cause is lost. Give Ceska time and he will destroy himself. He is mad. The whole system is falling apart.”

“I am not good with words, sir. I have ridden two hundred miles to deliver the message. I came seeking the man I served, but he is not here. I am sorry to have troubled you.”

“Listen, Beltzer!” Tenaka said, as the warrior turned for the door. “If there was the smallest chance of success, I would go with you gladly. But the thing reeks of defeat.”

“Do you not think I know that? That we all know it?” said Beltzer. And then he was gone.

The wind changed and veered into the cave, gusting snow to the fire. Tenaka cursed softly. Drawing his sword, he went outside, cutting down two thick bushes and dragging them back to screen the entrance.

As the months had passed, he had forgotten the Dragon. He had estates to minister, matters of importance in the real world.

Then Illae had fallen sick. He had been in the north, arranging cover patrols to guard the spice route, when word had reached him, and he had hurried home. The physicians said that she had a fever that would pass and that there was no cause for concern. But her condition worsened. Lung blight, they told him. Her flesh melted away until at last she lay in the wide bed, her breathing ragged, her once beautiful eyes shining with the image of death. Day after day he sat beside her, talking, praying, begging her not to die.

And then she had rallied, and his heart leapt. She had been talking to him about her plans for a party and had stopped to consider whom to invite.

“Go on,” he had said. But she was gone. Just like that. Ten years of shared memories, hopes, and joys vanished like water on the desert sand.

He had lifted her from the bed, stopping to wrap her in a white woolen shawl. Then he had carried her into the rose garden, holding her to him.

“I love you,” he kept saying, kissing her hair and cradling her like a child. The servants had gathered, saying nothing, until after an hour two of them had come forward and separated them, leading the weeping Tenaka to his room. There he found the sealed scroll that listed the current state of his business investments, and beside it a letter from Estas, his accountant. Those letters contained advice about areas of investment, with sharp political insights into places to ignore, exploit, or consider.

Unthinkingly he had opened the letter, scanning the list of Vagrian settlements, Lentrian openings, and Drenai stupidities until he came to the last sentences:

Ceska routed the rebels south of the Sentran Plain. It appears he has been bragging about his cunning again. He sent a message summoning old soldiers home; it seems he has feared the Dragon since he disbanded it fifteen years ago. Now his fears are behind him—they were destroyed to a man. The Joinings are terrifying. What sort of world are we living in?

“Living?” Tenaka said. “No one is living—they are all dead.”

He stood up and walked to the western wall, stopping before an oval mirror and gazing at the ruin of his life.

His reflection stared back at him, the slanted violet eyes accusing, the tight-lipped mouth bitter and angry.

“Go home,” said his reflection, “and kill Ceska.”

1

T
he barracks buildings
stood shrouded in snow, the broken windows hanging open like old, unhealed wounds. The square once trodden flat by ten thousand men was now uneven as the grass pushed against the snow above it.

The Dragon herself had been brutally treated: her stone wings smashed from her back, her fangs hammered to shards, and her face daubed with red dye. It seemed to Tenaka as he stood before her in silent homage that she was crying tears of blood.