THE KING BEYOND THE GATE by David A. Gemmell
THE KING BEYOND THE GATE by David A. Gemmell
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
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.’