David Gemmell - Drenai Saga 02 - The King Beyond The Gate

David Gemmell's first novel, Legend, was published in 1984. He has written many bestsellers,

including the Drenai saga, the Jon Shannow novels and the Stones of Power sequence. He is now widely

acclaimed as Britain's king of heroic fantasy. David Gemmell lives in East Sussex.

By David Gemmell

LEGEND

THE KING BEYOND THE GATE

WAYLANDER

QUEST FOR LOST HEROES

WAYLANDER II

THE FIRST CHRONICLES OF DRUSS THE LEGEND

WOLF IN SHADOW

THE LAST GUARDIAN

BLOODSTONE

LAST SWORD OF POWER

GHOST KING

LION OF MACEDON

DARK PRINCE

IRONHAND'S DAUGHTER

THE HAWK ETERNAL

KNIGHTS OF DARK RENOWN

MORNINGSTAR

THE KING

BEYOND

THE GATE

David A. Gemmell

An Orbit Book

First published in Great Britain by Century 1986

Reprinted by Orbit 1998 (three times), 1999 (twice), 2000

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any

resemblance to real persons, living or dead,

is purely coincidental.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a

retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means,

without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be

otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other

than that in which it is published and without a similar

condition including this condition being imposed on the

subsequent purchaser.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.ISBN 1 85723 665 3Printed and bound in Great Britain by

Mackays of Chatham PI.C, Chatham. KentOrbit

A Division of

Little, Brown and Company (UK) Brettenham House

Lancaster Place London WC2E 7EN

This book is dedicated with love to my children Kathryn and Luke, as a small return for the

gift of their company.Acknowledgements:Without 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 proof-

reading, and Jean Maund for the copy-editing. Thanks also to Gary, Russ, Barbara, Philip,

George, John D., Jimmy, Angela, Jo, Lee and lona and all the staff of the Hastings Observer who

created the good years. And to Ross Lempriere for storming the stairs.

Prologue ............................................................................................................................................. 7

1.......................................................................................................................................................... 9

2........................................................................................................................................................ 14

3........................................................................................................................................................ 20

4........................................................................................................................................................ 25

5........................................................................................................................................................ 30

6........................................................................................................................................................ 38

7........................................................................................................................................................ 45

8........................................................................................................................................................ 52

9........................................................................................................................................................ 57

10...................................................................................................................................................... 64

11...................................................................................................................................................... 70

12...................................................................................................................................................... 76

13...................................................................................................................................................... 83

14...................................................................................................................................................... 89

15...................................................................................................................................................... 94

16.................................................................................................................................................... 102

17.................................................................................................................................................... 109

18.................................................................................................................................................... 114

19.................................................................................................................................................... 118

20.................................................................................................................................................... 126

21.................................................................................................................................................... 133

22.................................................................................................................................................... 138

23.................................................................................................................................................... 145

24.................................................................................................................................................... 150

Epilogue ......................................................................................................................................... 156

Prologue

The 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

camp-site 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 woollen 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 honour 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,

sourcerous 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,' said Beltzer, drawing himself stiffly to attention. 'But honour 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!' said Tenaka, 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, gust-ing 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 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 hurried home. The physicians said 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 now 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 was 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 woollen shawl. Then he 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 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. These letters contained advice about areas of investment, with sharp political

insights into places to ignore, exploit or consider.

Unthinking 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

The 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.

As Tenaka gazed at the square, memory flashed bright pictures to his mind: Ananais shouting commands to

his men, contradictory orders that had them crashing into one another and tumbling to the ground.

'You dung-rats!' bellowed the blond giant. 'Call yourselves soldiers?'

The pictures faded against the ghostly white emptiness of reality and Tenaka shivered. He moved to the well

where an old bucket lay, its handle still tied to a rotting rope. He dropped the bucket into the well and heard the

ice break, then hauled it up and carried it to the dragon.

The dye was hard to shift, but he worked at it for almost an hour, scraping the last traces of red from the

stone with his dagger.

Then he jumped to the ground and looked at his handiwork.

Even without the dye she looked pitiful, her pride broken. Tenaka thought once more of Ananais.

'Maybe it is better you died, rather than living to see this,' he said.

It began to rain, icy needles that stung his face. Tenaka scooped his pack to his shoulder and ran for the

deserted barracks. The door hung open and he stepped inside the old officers' quarters. A rat scurried into the

dark as he passed but Tenaka ignored it, pushing on to the wider rooms at the rear. He dumped his pack in his

old room and then chuckled as he saw the fireplace: it was stacked with wood, the fire laid.

On the last day, knowing that they were leaving, someone had come into his room and laid the fire.

Decado, his aide?

No. There is no romantic element in his make-up. He was a vicious killer, held in check only by the iron

discipline of the Dragon and his own rigid sense of loyalty to the regiment.

Who else?

After a while he stopped scanning the faces his memory threw at him. He would never know.

After fifteen years the wood should be dry enough to burn without smoke, he told himself, and placed fresh

tinder below the logs. Soon the tongues of flame spread and the blaze took hold.

On a sudden impulse he moved to the panelled wall, seeking the hidden niche. Where once it had sprung

open at the touch of a button, now it creaked on a rusted spring. Gently he prised open the panelling. Behind was

a small recess, created by the removal of a stone slab many years before the disbanding. On the back wall, in

Nadir script, was written:

Nadir we,

Youth born,

Blood letters,

Axe wielders,

Victors still.

Tenaka smiled for the first time in months and some of the burden he carried lifted from his soul. The years

swept away and he saw himself once more as a young man, fresh from the Steppes, arriving to take up his

commission with the Dragon; felt again the stares of his new brother officers and their scarcely veiled hostility.

A Nadir prince in the Dragon? It was inconceivable - some even thought obscene. But his was a special case.

The Dragon had been formed by Magnus Woundweaver after the First Nadir Wars a century before, when

the invincible warlord Ulric had led his hordes against the walls of Dros Delnoch, the most powerful fortress in

the world, only to be turned back by the Earl of Bronze and his warriors.

The Dragon was to be the Drenai weapon against future Nadir invasions.

And then, like a nightmare come true - and while memories were still fresh of the Second Nadir War - a

tribesman had been admitted to the regiment. Worse, he was a direct descendant of Ulric himself. And yet they

had no choice but to allow him his sabre.

For he was Nadir only on his mother's side.

Through the line of his father he was the great-grandson of Regnak the Wanderer: the Earl of Bronze.

It was a problem for those who yearned to hate him.

How could they visit their hatred upon the descendant of the Drenai's greatest hero? It was not easy for them,

but they managed it.

Goat's blood was daubed on his pillow, scorpions hidden in his boots. Saddle-straps were severed and finally

a viper was placed in his bed.

It almost killed him as he rolled upon it, its fangs sinking into his thigh. Snatching a dagger from his bedside

table, he killed the snake and then slashed a cross-cut by the fang marks, hoping the rush of blood would carry

the venom clear. Then he lay very still, knowing any movement would accelerate the poison in his system. He

heard footsteps in the corridor and knew it was Ananais, the officer of the guard, returning to his room after

completing his shift.

He did not want to call out, for he knew Ananais disliked him. But neither did he want to die! He called

Ananais' name, the door opened and the blond giant stood silhouetted in the doorway.

'I have been bitten by a viper,' said Tenaka.

Ananais ducked under the doorway and approached the bed, pushing at the dead snake with his boot. Then he

looked at the wound in Tenaka's leg.

'How long ago?' he asked.

'Two, three minutes.'

Ananais nodded. 'The cuts aren't deep enough.'

Tenaka handed him the dagger.

'No. If they were deep enough you would sever the main muscles.'

Leaning forward, Ananais put his mouth over the wound and sucked the poison clear. Then he applied a

tourniquet and left to get the surgeon.

Even with most of the poison flushed out, the young Nadir prince almost died. He sank into a coma that

lasted four days and when he awoke Ananais was at his bedside.

'How are you feeling?'

'Good.'

'You don't look it. Still, I am glad you're alive.'

'Thank you for saving me,' said Tenaka, as the giant rose to leave.

'It was a pleasure. But I still wouldn't want you marrying my sister,' he said, grinning as he moved to the

door. 'By the way, three young officers were dismissed from the service yesterday. I think you can sleep soundly

from now on.'

'I shall never do that,' said Tenaka. 'For the Nadir, that is the way of death.'

'No wonder their eyes are slanted.' said Ananais.

*

Renya helped the old man to his feet, then heaped snow upon the small fire to kill the flames. The

temperature plummeted as the storm-clouds bunched above them, grim and threatening. The girl was frightened,

for the old man had ceased shivering and now stood by the ruined tree staring vacantly at the ground by his feet.

'Come, Aulin,' she said, slipping her arm around his waist. 'The old barracks are close by.'

'No!' he wailed, pulling back. 'They will find me there. I know they will.'

'The cold will kill you,' she hissed. 'Come on.'

Meekly he allowed her to lead him through the snow. She was a tall girl, and strong, but the going was tiring

and she was breathing heavily as they pushed past the last screen of bushes before the Dragon Square.

'Only a few more minutes,' she said. "Then you can rest.'

The old man seemed to gain strength from the promise of shelter and he shambled forward with greater

speed. Twice he almost fell, but she caught him.

She kicked open the door of the nearest building and helped him inside, removing her white woollen

burnoose and running a hand through her sweat-streaked, close-cropped black hair.

Away from the biting wind, she felt her skin burning as her body adjusted to the new conditions. She

unbelted her white sheepskin cloak, pushing it back over her broad shoulders. Beneath it she wore a light blue

woollen tunic and black leggings, partially hidden by thigh-length boots, sheepskin-lined. At her side was a

slender dagger.

The old man leaned against a wall, shaking uncontrollably.

"They will find me. They will!' he whimpered. Renya ignored him and moved down the hallway.

A man came into sight at the far end and Renya started, her dagger leaping to her hand. The man was tall and

dark and dressed in black. By his side was a longsword. He moved forward slowly, yet with a confidence Renya

found daunting. As he approached she steadied herself for the attack, watching his eyes.

They were, she noticed, the most beautiful violet colour, and slanted like those of the Nadir tribesmen of the

north. Yet his face was square-cut and almost handsome, save for the grim line of his mouth.

She wanted to stop him with words, to tell him that if he came any closer she would kill him. But she could

not. There was about him an aura of power - an authority which left her no choice but to respond.

And then he was past her and bending over Aulin.

'Leave him alone!' she shouted. Tenaka turned to her.

David Gemmell - Drenai Saga 02 - The King Beyond The Gate

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