David Gemmell- Drenai 02 – The King Beyond the Gate

He wandered out into the sunlight where one of his men brought him a loaf of bread and a jug of wine. Galand thanked him and sat down with his back to a tree. The bread was fresh, the wine young. One of his section leaders, a young farmer named Oranda, joined him. He had a thick bandage on his upper arm.

‘They said the wound was clean – only six stitches. I should still be able to hold a shield.’

‘Good,’ said Galand absently. ‘Have some wine?’

Oranda took a mouthful. ‘It is a little young,’ he said.

‘Maybe we should lay it down for a month or two!’

‘Point taken,’ said Oranda, tilting the jug once more.

For a while they sat in silence, and the tension grew in Galand as he waited for the inevitable comment.

‘I’m sorry about your brother,’ said Oranda at last.

‘All men die,’ answered Galand.

‘Yes. I lost friends in his force. The walls look strong, don’t they? It’s strange to see walls across this valley. I used to play here as a child and watch the wild horses run.’

Galand said nothing. Oranda handed him the wine-jug, wishing he could just get up and walk away, but he didn’t want to be rude. When Valtaya joined them, Oranda greeted her with a grateful smile and slipped away.

Galand glanced up and smiled.

‘You are looking lovely, lady. A vision.’ She had removed the blood-drenched leather apron and now wore a dress of light blue cotton which moulded to her figure beautifully.

‘Your eyes must be tired, blackboard. My hair is greasy and there are purple rings under my eyes. I feel wretched.’

‘In the eye of the beholder,’ he said. She sat beside him, laying her hand on his arm.

‘I am truly sorry about Parsal.’

‘All men die,’ he said, tired of the repetition.

‘But I am glad you are alive.’

‘Are you?’ he asked, his eyes cold. ‘Why?’

‘What a strange question for a friend to ask!’

‘I am not your friend, Val. I am the man who loves you. There is a difference.’

‘I am sorry, Galand. There is nothing I can say – you know that I am with Ananais.’

‘And are you happy?’

‘Of course I am – as happy as anyone can be in the middle of a war.’

‘Why? Why do you love him?’

‘I cannot answer that question. No woman could. Why do you love me?’

He tilted the wine-jug, ignoring the logic.

‘What hurts is that there is no future for any of us,’ he said, ‘even if we should survive this battle. Ananais will never settle down to married life. He’s no farmer, no merchant … He will leave you in some lonely city. And I shall return to my farm. None of us will be happy.’

‘Don’t drink any more, Galand. It is making you melancholy.’

‘My daughter was a joyous creature and a real rascal. Many’s the smack I laid on her leg and many the tear I wiped away. Had I known how short her life was to be … And now Parsal … I hope he died swiftly. I feel it in a very selfish way,’ he said suddenly. ‘My blood runs in not a single living being, bar me. When I am gone, it will be as if I never was.’

‘Your friends will care,’ she said.

He pulled his arm from her comforting touch and glared at her through angry eyes.

‘I have no friends! I never had.’

21

The emperor sat within his tent of silk surrounded by his captains. His warmaster, Darik, was beside him. The tent was huge, split into four sections: the largest, where the warriors now sat, had room for fifty men though only twenty were present.

Ceska had grown fat over the years and his skin was pasty and blotched. His dark eyes glittered with feral intelligence and it was said that he had learned the ways of the Dark Templars and could read minds. His captains lived in a state of cold dread around him, for often he would suddenly point at a man and scream ‘Traitor!’ That man would die horribly.