Drenai Saga 02 - The King Beyond the Gate (10 page)

Galand and his brother paused by the corpse.

“He doesn’t seem too unhappy,” said Parsal, scratching his beard.

“It’s hard to know whether he’s smiling or whether death has pulled his face into a grin,” said Galand. “He won’t look too happy in about a month.”

“Will
we
?” whispered Parsal. Galand shrugged, and the brothers moved on to follow the others.

Galand had been luckier than most and considerably more astute than many Dragon warriors. When the order to disband had been given, he had moved south, keeping his background to himself. He had bought a small farm near Delving forest, southwest of the capital. When the terror began, he was left alone. He married a village girl and started a family, but she had disappeared on a bright autumn day six years before. It was said that the Joinings stole women, but Galand knew she had never loved him … and a village lad named Carcas had disappeared on the same day.

Rumors came to Delving about the roundup of former Dragon officers, and it was said that Baris himself had been arrested. This did not surprise Galand. He had always suspected Ceska would prove a tyrant.

Man of the people! Since when did one of his stinking class care about the people?

The small farm had prospered, and Galand had bought an adjoining parcel of land from a widower. The man was leaving for Vagria—he had a brother in Drenan who had warned him about impending changes—and Galand had bought him out for what seemed a peppercorn price.

Then the soldiers had arrived.

A new law meant that nontitled citizens could own only four acres of land. The state acquired the rest at a price that made peppercorn seem a king’s ransom. Taxes were increased, and crop levels set. Those were impossible to meet after the first year, for the land was robbed of its goodness. Fallow fields were planted, and the yields dropped.

Galand took it all, never voicing complaints.

Until the day his daughter had died. She had run out to see the horsemen canter, and a stallion had kicked out at her. Galand watched her fall and ran to her, cradling her to him.

The horseman dismounted. “Is she dead?” he asked.

Galand nodded, unable to speak.

“Unfortunate,” said the rider. “It will increase your tax level.”

The rider died with Galand’s dagger buried in his heart. Then Galand dragged the man’s sword clear of its scabbard and leapt at a second horseman, whose mount shied; the man toppled to the ground, where Galand killed him with a throat cut. The other four wheeled their mounts and rode back some thirty paces. Galand turned to the dark stallion that had killed his daughter and hammered the sword two-handed across its neck. Then he ran to the second mount, vaulted into the saddle, and rode for the north.

He had located his brother in Vagria, where he worked as a stonemason.

Now Parsal’s voice cut through his thoughts as they walked some thirty paces behind the others.

“What did you say?”

“I said I never thought I would ever follow a Nadir.”

“I know what you mean; it makes the blood run cold. Still, he wants the same as us.”

“Does he?” whispered Parsal.

“What does that mean?”

“They’re all the same breed: the warrior elite. It’s just a game to them—they don’t
care
.”

“I don’t like them, Brother. But they are Dragon, and that means more than blood. I cannot explain it. Though we are worlds apart, they would die for me, and I for them.”

“I hope you’re right!”

“There are few things in life I am sure about. That is one of them.”

Parsal was not convinced, but he said nothing, staring ahead at the two warriors.

“What happens when we kill Ceska?” he asked suddenly.

“How do you mean?”

“I don’t know really. I mean—what do we do?”

Galand shrugged. “Ask me when his body lies bleeding at my feet.”

“Strikes me that nothing will change.”

“Maybe not, but I will have had my payment.”

“It doesn’t bother you that you may die getting it?”

“No! Does it you?” asked Galand.

“Damn right!”

“You don’t have to stay.”

“ ’Course I do! I’ve always looked after you. Can’t leave you with a Nadir, can I? Why does the other one wear that mask?”

“I think he has scars or something. He was an arena warrior.”

“We’ve all got scars. Bit vain, isn’t it?”

“Nothing suits you at the moment, does it?” said Galand, grinning.

“Just a thought. Those other two seem an odd pair,” muttered Parsal, flicking a glance at Belder and Scaler as they walked beside the women.

“You can’t have anything against them. You don’t even know them.”

“The old boy looks handy.”

“But?”

“I don’t think the young one could fight his way through a fog.”

“While we’re at it, I don’t suppose you would care to criticize the women?”

“No,” said Parsal, smiling. “Nothing at all to criticize there.

Which do you fancy?”

Galand shook his head and chuckled. “I’m not getting into this,” he said.

“I like the dark one,” said Parsal, unabashed.

They made camp in a shallow cave. Renya ate sparingly and then walked out into the night to watch the stars. Tenaka joined her, and they sat together, wrapped in his cloak.

He told her of Illae and Ventria and the beauty of the desert. And while he spoke, he stroked her arm and her back and kissed her hair.

“I cannot say if I love you,” he said suddenly.

She smiled. “Then do not say it.”

“You don’t mind?”

She shook her head and kissed him, curling her arm up and around his neck.

You are a fool, Tenaka Khan, she thought. A wonderful, loving fool!

6

T
he black man
was enjoying himself. Two of the robbers were down, and another five remained. He hefted the short iron bar and twirled the chain attached to it. A tall man with a quarterstaff leapt forward, and the black man’s hand flashed out, the chain whipping around the staff. As he tugged, his attacker stumbled into a crunching left uppercut. He slumped to the ground.

Two of the remaining four robbers dropped their clubs, pulling curved daggers from their belts. The other two ran back into the trees, fetching longbows.

This was getting serious. Up to then the black man had killed no one, but that would have to change. He discarded the mace and pulled two throwing knives from his boots.

“Do you really want to die?” he asked them, his voice deep and sonorous.

“No one is going to die,” said a voice from the left, and he turned. Two more men stood at the edge of the trees; both had bows bent, aimed at the outlaws.

“A timely intervention!” commented the black man. “They killed my horse.”

Tenaka gently released the pressure on the bowstring and came forward.

“Put it down to experience,” he told the man. Then he turned to the outlaws. “I suggest you put away your weapons. The fight is over.”

“He was more trouble than he was worth, anyway,” said the leader, walking over to check the fallen.

“They are all alive,” said the black man, replacing his knives and collecting the mace chain.

A scream sounded from the woods, and the outlaw leader jerked to his feet.

Galand, Parsal, and Belder moved into view.

“You were right, General,” said Galand. “There were two more of them creeping in.”

“Did you kill them?” asked Tenaka.

“No. Sore heads, though!”

Tenaka swung to the outlaw. “Are we likely to have any more trouble with you?”

“You are not going to ask for my word, are you?” replied the man.

“Is it worth anything?”

“Sometimes!”

“No, I don’t want your word. Do as you please. But the next time we meet, I will see you all dead. That is
my
word!”

“The word of a barbarian,” said the man. He hawked and spit.

Tenaka grinned. “Exactly so.” Turning his back, he walked back to Ananais and then on into the trees. Valtaya had prepared a fire and was talking to Scaler. Renya, dagger in hand, returned to the clearing as Tenaka arrived; he smiled at her. The others followed, except Galand, who was keeping an eye on the outlaws.

The black man arrived last, carrying two saddle bags across one broad shoulder. He was tall and very powerful, dressed in a tight-fitting tunic of blue silk under a sheepskin cloak. Valtaya had never seen anyone like him, though she had heard stories of dark races far to the east.

“Greetings to you, my friends,” he said, dumping his saddlebags to the ground. “Many blessings be upon you all!”

“Will you eat with us?” asked Tenaka.

“That is kind, but I have my own provisions.”

“Where are you headed?” asked Ananais as the black man delved into his bags, pulling out two apples, which he polished on his tunic.

“I am visiting your fine land. I have no set destination for the moment.”

“Where are you from?” asked Valtaya.

“A far way, my lady, many thousands of leagues east of Ventria.”

“You are on a pilgrimage?” inquired Scaler.

“You could say that. I have a small mission to perform, and then I shall return home to my family.”

“How are you called?” asked Tenaka.

“I fear my name would be difficult for you to pronounce. However, one of the robbers called me something that touched a chord. You may call me Pagan.”

“I am Tenaka Khan.” Swiftly he introduced the others.

Ananais held out his hand; Pagan took it in a firm clasp, and their eyes met. Tenaka leaned back, watching them. Both men were from the same mold, immensely powerful and inordinately proud. They were like two prize bulls, each gauging the other.

“Your mask is dramatic,” said Pagan.

“Yes. It makes us look like brothers, black man,” replied Ananais, and Pagan chuckled, a deep rolling sound full of good humor.

“Then brothers we are, Ananais!” he said.

Galand appeared and moved to Tenaka. “They’ve gone north. I don’t think they will be back.”

“Good! That was fine work back there.”

Galand nodded and moved to sit beside his brother. Renya signaled to Tenaka, and the two of them moved away from the fire.

“What is it?” he asked.

“The black man.”

“What about him?”

“He carries more weapons than anyone I have ever seen. He has two knives in his boots, a sword and two bows that he left in the trees back there. And there’s a broken ax under his horse. He’s like a one-man army.”

“So?”

“Did we meet him by accident?”

“You think he might be hunting us?”

“I don’t know. But he is a killer; I can sense it. His pilgrimage has to do with death. And Ananais doesn’t like him.”

“Don’t worry,” he said softly.

“I am not Nadir, Tenaka. I’m not a fatalist.”

“Is that all that’s worrying you?”

“No. Now you mention it—the two brothers; they don’t like us. We don’t belong together, and we are none of us close, just a group of strangers thrown together by events.”

“The brothers are strong men and good warriors. I know about these things. I also know they regard me with suspicion, but there’s nothing I can do about that. It has always been the way. But we share a common goal. And they will come to trust me. Belder and Scaler? I don’t know. But they will do us no harm. And as for Pagan, if he is hunting me, I will kill him.”

“If you can!”

He smiled. “Yes. If I can.”

“You make it sound easy. I don’t see it that way.”

“You worry too much. The Nadir way is better: tackle each problem as it arises and worry about nothing.”

“I shall never forgive you if you let yourself be killed,” she said.

“Then you watch out for me, Renya. I trust your instincts—I mean that, truly. You are right about Pagan. He is a killer, and he may be hunting us. It will be interesting to see what action he now takes.”

“He will offer to travel with us,” she said.

“Yes, but that would make sense. He is a stranger in our land and has already been attacked once.”

“We should refuse him. We are conspicuous enough with your giant friend and his black mask. But to add a black man in blue silk?”