Drenai Saga 02 - The King Beyond the Gate (45 page)

“Clear the dead from the ramparts!” shouted Ananais.

For several moments there was no movement as men hugged their wives and daughters, sisters and mothers. Others knelt by still bodies, weeping openly.

“There is no time for this,” said Ananais, but Rayvan caught his arm.

“There is always time for this, Darkmask. It is what makes us human. Leave them be.”

Ananais nodded and sagged to the ramparts, pushing his aching back against the wall.

“You amaze me, woman!”

“You are easily amazed,” she said, sliding in beside him.

He glanced at her and grinned. “I’ll bet you were a beauty in your youth.”

“I’ve heard you were, too!”

He chuckled and closed his eyes.

“Why don’t we get married?” he suggested.

“We shall be dead by tomorrow.”

“Then we should forget about a long engagement.”

“You are too old for me, Darkmask.”

“How old are you?”

“Forty-six,” said Rayvan.

“Perfect!”

“You must be desperate. And you are bleeding. Get off and have those wounds seen to.”

“One proposal and already you are starting to nag.”

“Women are like that. Go on with you!”

She watched him walk to the hospital, then pulled herself to her feet and transferred her gaze to the legion. They were forming up again.

Rayvan turned to the defenders. “Clear the dead from the walls, you numbskulls!” she shouted. “Come on, now. Move yourselves. You women, grab some swords. And find yourselves some helmets,” she yelled as an afterthought. A dead legion soldier lay close to her, and she tugged loose his helm before rolling the body from the ramparts. The helm was bronze with a black horsehair plume. It fitted well, she thought, as she buckled the chin strap.

“You look damned fetching, Rayvan,” said Thorn, moving alongside her.

“Fancy people in helmets, do you, you old stag?”

“I have always fancied you, woman! Ever since that day in the north meadow.”

“Ah, you
do
remember? That is a compliment.”

Thorn laughed. “I don’t think any man would forget you.”

“Only you would talk about sex in the middle of a battle.

You are a goat, old man! At least Ananais had the courtesy to ask me to marry him.”

“Did he, now? Don’t accept—he has a roving eye.”

“It won’t rove far in a day,” she said.

The legion charged again.

For an hour they fought to gain a toehold on the ramparts, but the defenders had found fresh strength and courage. Lake had gathered sacks of small stones, which he poured into the bowls of his giant bows. Three times the missiles whistled and slashed into the legion before one of the bows snapped under the strain.

The invaders fell back.

As the sun fell on the third day, the wall still held.

Ananais called Balan to him. “What news of Tarsk?”

“It is strange,” said Balan. “There was one attack this morning, but since then nothing. The army merely sits.”

“I wish to heaven they would do that here,” said Ananais.

“Tell me, Darkmask, are you a believer?”

“In what?”

“You mentioned heaven.”

“I don’t know enough to believe,” said Ananais.

“Decado promised me that I would not be alone. And yet I am. The others have gone. Either they are dead and I am a fool, or they have been taken to the Source and I am refused.”

“Why should you be refused?”

Balan shrugged. “I never had faith, I had talents. My faith was part of a corporate faith. You understand? The others believed, and I felt their belief. With them gone … I don’t know anymore.”

“I cannot help you, Balan.”

“No. No one can.”

“I think maybe it is better to believe than not to believe. But I couldn’t tell you why,” said Ananais.

“It creates hope against the evil of the world,” said Balan.

“Something like that. Tell me, do husbands and wives stay together in your heaven?”

“I don’t know. That has been a debating point for centuries,” said the priest.

“But there is a chance?”

“I suppose so.”

“Then come with me,” said Ananais, pulling the man to his feet. They walked across the grass to the tents of the refugees, where Rayvan sat with her friends.

She watched them approach, then Ananais halted before her and bowed.

“Woman, I have a priest with me. Do you wish to wed again?”

“You fool!” she said, chuckling.

“Not at all. I have always wanted to find a woman with whom I would like to spend the rest of my life. But I never have. Now it looks as though I am going to spend the rest of my life with you. So I thought I would make an honest woman of you.”

“This is all well and good, Darkmask,” she said, pushing herself to her feet, “except that I don’t love you.”

“Nor I you. But once you appreciate my great qualities, I am sure you will come around.”

“Very well,” said Rayvan with a broad smile. “But there will be no consummation until the third night. Mountain custom!”

“Agreed,” said Ananais. “Anyway, I have a headache.”

“This is nonsense,” snapped Balan. “I will have no part in it. It makes a mockery of a sacred bond.”

Ananais laid his hand on Balan’s shoulder. “No, it does not, priest,” he said softly. “It is a lighthearted moment in the midst of horror. Look around you at the smiles.”

Balan sighed. “Very well. Both of you approach.”

Refugees poured from the tents as the word spread and several women gathered flowers that they turned into garlands. Wine was brought forth. Word even reached the hospital, where Valtaya had just finished working; she wandered out into the night, unsure of her feelings.

Ananais and Rayvan walked back to the ramparts hand in hand, and the men there cheered themselves hoarse. As they reached the steps, he swept her to his shoulder and carried her up to the wall.

“Put me down, you lummox!” she yelled.

“Just carrying you over the threshold,” he explained.

Men swarmed around them, and the noise of their laughter drifted to the legion camp.

Ceska called Darik to him.

“What is happening?” he demanded.

“I don’t know, sire.”

“They are laughing at me! Why have your men not taken the wall?”

“They will, sire. At dawn, I promise you!”

“If they do not, you will suffer, Darik. I am tired of this pestilential place. I want to go home.”

For three bloody hours the battle continued on the morning of the fourth day, but the legion could not gain the wall. Ananais could scarcely contain his joy, for even through his weariness he could sense that the battle had swung. Without the Joinings the legion men fought mechanically, reluctant to risk their lives, while the men of Skoda battled with fresh heart and confidence. The heady wine of victory pounded in Ananais’ veins, and he laughed and joked with the men, hurling curses at the fleeing enemy soldiers.

But just before noon a marching column was seen to the east, and the laughter died.

Twenty officers rode into Ceska’s camp, bringing with them five hundred arena Joinings from Drenan, specially bred beasts standing eight feet tall, blended from the souls of men, bears of the north, apes of the east, lions, tigers, and the gray timber wolves of the west.

Ananais stood very still, his blue eyes scanning the horizon.

“Come on, Tani,” he whispered. “By all that’s holy, don’t let it end like this.”

Rayvan joined him with Balan, Lake, and Galand.

“There is no justice,” spit Rayvan. Silence greeted her comment, a silence that spread the length of the wall.

The giant Joinings did not hesitate in the camp but advanced in a wide line, their officers behind them.

Thorn tugged at Ananais’ sleeve. “Got a plan, General?” he asked. Ananais glanced down at the old man, biting back the bitter reply as he saw the fear etched into Thorn’s face. The man was gray and tight-lipped.

“No plans, my friend.”

The beasts did not charge but ambled forward bearing huge clubs, saw-edged swords, maces, and axes. Their eyes were red as blood, and their tongues lolled from gaping maws. They advanced in silence, a soul-sapping silence that ate away at the courage of the defenders. Men began to stir along the line.

“You must think of something to say, General,” urged Rayvan.

Ananais shook his head, his eyes bleak and empty. Once more he felt himself standing in the arena, tasting the bitterness of unaccustomed fear … watching the portcullis gate slowly lift … hearing the crowd fall strangely silent. Yesterday he could have faced these awesome beasts. But to have been in sight of victory, to have it so close that he could feel its sweet breath upon his brow …

One soldier leapt from the wall, and Rayvan swung around.

“Olar! This is no time to leave!”

The man stopped and hung his head.

“Come back and stand with us, lad. We will all go down together—that’s what makes us what we are. We’re Skoda. We’re family. We love you.”

Olar looked up at her, tears falling, and drew his sword.

“I wasn’t running away, Rayvan. I was going to stand with my wife and son.”

“I know, Olar. But we must try at least to hold the wall.”

Lake nudged Ananais. “Draw your sword, man!” But the giant did not move. He was no longer with them but was fighting once more in a stone arena in another time.

Rayvan pulled herself up to stand on the battlements.

“Stand steady, my boys! Think on this: Help is on the way. Turn back these creatures and we have a chance!”

But her voice was drowned in the terrifying blood roar of the Joinings as they finally broke into a run. Behind them came the legion.

Rayvan scrambled back as the beasts reached the wall. They needed no ropes and ladders. At full run they leapt, scrambling over the fifteen-foot rampart.

Shining steel met snarling fangs and ripping talons, but the first of the defenders were swept away. Rayvan thrust her sword into a gaping mouth, and the Joining fell back, its teeth snapping the blade. Ananais blinked, dragging himself back to the present. Both his swords flashed in the bright sunshine. A beast towered over him, but stepping inside the first vicious sweep of an ax, Ananais plunged his right-hand sword into the creature’s belly, twisting as the blade rammed home. A ghastly howl came from the Joining, and it slumped forward, blood drenching the black-garbed warrior. Ananais pushed the beast clear, wrenching his blade from its body as another came to him, swinging a mace. He dropped his right-hand sword, took a double-handed grip on the left, and sliced the blade through the creature’s arm. Its taloned hand flew into the air, still clutching the mace as, screaming in pain and fury, it leapt at Ananais. The warrior ducked and drove his sword two-handed into the beast’s belly as it went over him; it tore the sword from his hands.

Balan leapt from the battlements and ran back some twenty paces. Turning, he knelt on the grass and closed his eyes. Somewhere in all his pain and horror there had to be a purpose and a triumph. Yesterday the combined force of the Thirty had turned the Joinings back into men. Now there was only Balan.

He emptied his mind of all thought, reaching for the serenity of the void, building his lack of thought into a channel to the beasts. He reached out …

And recoiled from the blood lust and fury. Steeling himself, he reached out once more.

Hate! Terrible, burning, all-consuming hate. He felt it and burned with it, hating the Joinings, their masters, Ananais, Rayvan and the world of untainted flesh.

No. Not hate. No hate. The horror washed over and past him. He was untouched, unsullied. He would not hate the man-made monsters or even the man who had made them so.

The wall of hatred was all around him, but he pushed back.

He could not find a single memory to jolt the beasts, for they were not ex-Dragon, but he used the only emotion he could be sure they had known as men.

Love.

Love of a mother in a cold frightening night; love of a wife when all around one proved false; love of a daughter given so freely in a swift hug, in the first smile of a babe; love of a friend.

Growing in power, he sent out his feelings like a wave upon sand.

On the walls the carnage was terrible.

Ananais, bleeding from a dozen cuts and slashes, watched in horror as a Joining leapt at Rayvan and bore her from the battlements. He jumped after them. She twisted in the air, and the Joining landed on its back with Rayvan above it. Her weight hammered the air from its lungs, and, seeing her chance, she rammed her dagger into its neck, rolling clear as the beast lashed out with its talons. It reared drunkenly to its feet, and Ananais plunged his blade into the creature’s back.

Above them the line broke, and the beasts swept on over the battlements. The Skoda survivors broke and ran, but the Joinings surged after them, hacking them down.

Suddenly the beast closest to Balan staggered, dropping its sword and holding its head. A howl of despair filled the air, and everywhere the Joinings fell back as the Skoda warriors watched in disbelief.

“Kill them!” shouted Galand, running forward and hacking his sword through a furry neck. The spell broke, and the Skoda men fell upon the dazed beasts, cutting them down in scores.

“No,” whispered Balan. “You fools!”

Two Joinings turned on the kneeling priest. A mace thundered down, smashing him from his feet, then talons ripped away his chest, and his soul was torn screaming from his flesh.

The fury of the beasts returned, and their murderous roaring rose above the sound of clashing steel. Galand, Rayvan, and Lake sprinted with a score of warriors to the timber-built hospital. As Ananais cut his way through to them, a talon raked across his back, ripping his leather jerkin and snapping a rib. He twisted and stabbed out, and the beast fell back. Hands pulled him inside, and the wooden door was slammed shut.

A hairy fist smashed the wooden shutters of the window, and Galand ran forward, spearing his sword through the creature’s neck. A taloned hand grabbed his jerkin and hauled him against the wooden frame. He screamed once as giant jaws closed around his face, then fangs fastened upon his skull, and it burst like a melon. His body was dragged through the window.