THE KING BEYOND THE GATE by David A. Gemmell

‘You know, then?’

‘Of course I know! We will not defeat Ceska – we never could. But that is not of consequence. He will die. All men die.’

‘You think what we do is a nonsense?’

‘No. There will always be those . . . must always be those . . . who will stand against the Ceskas of the world. So that in times to come, men will know that there have always been heroes to stand against the darkness. We need men like Druss and the Earl of Bronze, like Egel and Karnak, like Bild and Iron-latch. They give us pride and a sense of purpose. And we need men like Ananais and Tenaka Khan. It matters not that the Torchbearer cannot win – only that the light shines for a little while.’

‘You are well-read, Val,’ he said.

‘I am not a fool, Ananais.’ Leaning over him, she kissed his face once more. Gently she pressed her mouth to his. He groaned and his great arms encircled her.

*

Rayvan could not sleep; the air was oppressive and heavy with the threat of storms. Throwing aside her heavy blanket she left the bed, wrapping a woollen robe about her sturdy frame. Then she opened the window wide, but not a breath of wind travelled over the mountains.

The night was velvet dark and tiny bats skittered and flew around the tower and down into the fruit trees of the garden. A badger, caught in a shaft of moonlight, glared up at her window and then shuffled away into the undergrowth. She sighed -there was such beauty to the night. A flicker of movement caught her eye and from the window she could just make out the figure of a white-cloaked warrior kneeling by a rose bush. Then he stood, and in that fluid motion she recognised Decado.

Rayvan left the window and moved silently through the long corridors, down the winding stairway and out into the courtyard garden. Decado was leaning against a low wall, watching the moonlight on the mountains. He heard Rayvan’s approach and turned to meet her, the ghost of a welcoming smile upon his thin lips.

‘Engaged in solitude?’ she asked him.

‘Merely thinking.’

‘This is a good place for it. Peaceful.’

‘Yes.’

‘I was born up there,’ she said, pointing east. ‘My father had a small farm beyond the timberline -cattle and ponies mostly. It was a good life.’

‘We shall not hold any of this, Rayvan.’

‘I know. When the time comes we will move further back into the high country, where the passes narrow.’

He nodded. ‘I don’t think Tenaka will come back.’

‘Don’t write him off, Decado. He is a canny man.’

‘You don’t need to tell me – I served under him for six years.’

‘Do you like him?’

A sudden smile lit his face, burning the years from him. ‘Of course I like him. He is the closest to a friend I have ever had.’

‘What about your men, your Thirty?’

‘What about them?’ he asked guardedly.

‘Do you see them as your friends?’

‘No.’

‘Then why do they follow you?’

‘Who knows? They have a dream: a desire to die. It is all beyond me. Tell me about your farm – were you happy there?’

‘Yes. A good husband, fine children, a nourished land beneath an open sky. What more can a woman ask on the journey between life and death?’

‘Did you love your husband?’

‘What kind of question is that?’ she snapped.

‘I did not mean to give offence. You never mention him by name.’

‘That has nothing to do with lack of love. In fact the reverse is true. When I say his name, it brings home to me just what I have lost. But I hold his image in my heart – you understand that?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why did you never marry?’

‘I never wanted to; never had the desire to share my life with a woman. I am not comfortable with people, save on my own terms.’

‘Then you were wise,’ said Rayvan.

‘You think so?’

‘I think so. You and your friends are very alike, you know. You are all incomplete men – terribly sad and very alone. No wonder you are drawn together! The rest of us can share our lives, swap jests and tall tales, laugh together, cry together. We live and love and grow. We offer each other small comforts daily and they help us to survive. But you have nothing like that to offer. Instead you offer your life – your death.’