THE KING BEYOND THE GATE by David A. Gemmell

‘If I was your enemy, boy, I would have killed you by now. Stand aside.’ He walked forward, ignoring the lad as he knelt by the body. The dead man was thickset and balding, his large hands locked on his jerkin.

‘What happened?’ Pagan asked a little girl sitting closest to the body. She looked away and the boy with the knife spoke.

‘He brought us here yesterday. He said we could hide until the beasts went away. But this morning, as he was playing with Melissa, he clutched his chest and fell.’

‘It wasn’t me,’ said Melissa. ‘I didn’t do anything!’

Pagan ruffled the child’s mousy-blonde hair. ‘Of course you didn’t. Did you bring food with you?’

‘Yes,’ answered the boy. ‘It’s over there in the cave.’

‘My name is Pagan and I am a friend of Darkmask.’

‘Will you look after us?’ asked Melissa. Pagan smiled at her, then stood and stretched. The Joinings would be on the loose now and he had no chance of avoiding them on foot with twenty children in tow. He strode to the top of a nearby hill, shading his eyes to view the mountains. It would take them at least two days to walk that distance – two days out in the open. He turned to see the boy with the knife sitting on a rock behind him. He was tall and about eleven years of age.

‘You didn’t answer Melissa’s question,’ said the boy.

‘What is your name, lad?’

‘Ceorl. Will you help us?’

‘I don’t know that I can,’ answered Pagan.

‘I cannot do it all by myself,’ said Ceorl, his grey eyes locked on Pagan’s face.

Pagan sat down on the grass. Try to understand, Ceorl. There is virtually no way that we can make it to the mountains. The Joinings are like beasts of the jungle; they track by scent, they move fast and range wide. I have a message to deliver to Dark-mask; I am involved in the war. I have my own mission and have sworn to see it through.’

‘Excuses!’ said Ceorl. ‘Always excuses. Well, I will get them there – trust me.’

‘I will stay with you for a little while,’ said Pagan. ‘But be warned: I don’t much like children chattering around me – it makes me irritable.’

‘You can’t stop Melissa chattering. She is very young and very frightened.’

‘And you are not frightened?’

‘I am a man,’ said Ceorl. ‘I gave up crying years ago.’

Pagan nodded and smoothly rose to his feet. ‘Let’s get the food and be on our way.’

Together they gathered together the children. Each child carried a small rucksack of food and a canteen of water. Pagan lifted Melissa and two other toddlers to the horse’s back and led them out on to the plain. The wind was at their backs, which was good . . . unless there were Joinings ahead of them. Ceorl was right about Melissa; she chattered on and on, telling Pagan stories he could scarcely follow. Towards the evening she began to sway in the saddle and Pagan lifted her clear and held her to his chest.

They had covered maybe three miles when Ceorl ran alongside Pagan and tugged his sleeve.

‘What is it?’

‘They are very tired. I just saw Ariane sit down beside the trail back there – I think she’s gone to sleep.’

‘All right. Go back and get her – we will camp here.’

The children huddled in together around Pagan as he laid Melissa down on the grass. The night was cool, but not cold.

‘Will you tell us a story?’ asked the girl.

Keeping his voice soft, he told them of the Moon Goddess who came down to earth on silver steps to live the life of a mortal. There she met the handsome warrior prince Anidigo. He loved her as no man has loved a woman since, but she was coy and fled from him. Up into the sky she rose in a silver chariot, perfectly round. He could not follow and went to see a wise wizard who made him a chariot of pure gold. Anidigo swore that until he had won the heart of the Moon Goddess he would never return. His golden chariot, also perfectly round, soared into the sky like a gleaming ball of fire. Round and round the earth he went, but always she was ahead of him. Even to this day.