The King Beyond the Gate

'With what will you pay me?'

'I will give you a Pack-rat pony.'

'Your generosity is matched only by your confidence,' observed Tenaka.

'You are Bladedancer, the Drenai half-blood,' observed Subodia, removing his belted fur jacket and brushing more ants from his squat, powerful body.

Tenaka did not bother to reply; he was watching the dust swirl up in the hills as men took to their horses.

'More than four,' said Subodai. 'About that sword. .?'

'They are leaving,' said Tenaka. 'They will return in greater numbers.' Rising to his feet, he walked to his horse and vaulted to the saddle. 'Goodbye, Subodai!'

'Wait!' called the Nadir. 'The sword?'

'You have not paid me the pony.'

'I will — given time.'

'I have not time. What else can you offer?'

Subodai was trapped. Left here without a weapon, he would be dead within the hour. He contemplated leaping at Tenaka, but dismissed the idea — the violet eyes were disconcerting in their confidence.

'I have nothing else,' he said. 'But you have a thought, I can tell.'

'Be my bondsman for ten days and lead me to the Wolves,' suggested Tenaka.

Subodai hawked and spat. 'That sounds marginally more appealing than dying here. Ten days, you say?'

Ten days.'

'With today counting as one?'

'Yes.'

'Then I agree.' Subodai raised his hand and Tenaka took it, hauling him into the saddle behind him. 'I'm glad my father is no longer alive to see this day,' muttered the Nadir.

As they cantered off to the north Subodai thought about his father. A strong man and a fine rider — but such a temper.

It was his temper that killed him. After a horserace, which Subodai won, his father had accused him of loosening the saddle-cinch on his own mare. The argument had blown up into a full-scale fight with fists and knives.

Subodai still remembered the look of surprise on his father's face as his son's knife rammed home in his chest. A man should always know when to control his temper.

The Nadir twisted in the saddle, his black eyes resting on Renya. Now there was a good woman! Not good for the Steppes, maybe — but good for plenty else.

For nine days more he would serve Bladedancer. After that he would kill him and take his woman.

He turned his gaze to the mounts. They were fine beasts. He grinned suddenly as the full joy of life settled over him once more.

The woman he would take.

The horses he would keep.

For they would be worth riding more than once.

* * *

Lake was sweating heavily as he cranked the thick wooden handle, dragging the bow-arm and the twined leather back to the hook. A young man in a leather apron passed him a loosely tied bundle of fifty arrows, which Lake placed in the bowl of the device. Thirty feet down the room, two assistants lifted a thick wooden door into place against the far wall.

Ananais sat in a corner with his back against the cool grey stone wall of the old stable. The machine had so far taken more than ten minutes to load. He lifted his mask and scratched his chin. Ten minutes for fifty arrows! One archer could let fly twice that number in half the time. But Lake was trying hard and Ananais could see no reason to demoralise him.

'Ready?' Lake asked his assistants at the far end of the room. Both men nodded and hurried away behind large sacks of oats and grain.

Lake glanced at Ananais for approval and then tugged the release cord. The massive arm flashed forward and fifty arrows hammered into the oak door, some passing through and striking sparks from the wall beyond. Ananais strode forward, impressed by the killing power. The door was a mess, having given way at the centre where more than a third of the shafts had struck home.

'What do you think?' asked Lake anxiously.

'It needs to spread more,' said Ananais. 'If this had been loosed at a charging mass of Joinings, fully half the shafts would have hit only two beasts. But it needs to spread laterally — can you do that?'

'I think so. But do you like it?'

'Do you have any slingshot?'

'Yes.'

'Load that in the bowl.'

'It will ruin the cap,' protested Lake. 'It's designed to shoot arrows.'

Ananais put his hand on the young man's shoulder. 'It's designed to kill, Lake. Try the shot.'

An assistant brought a sack of shot and poured several hundred pebble-sized rounds of lead into the copper bowl. Ananais took over the cranking of the device and they hooked the leather into place within four minutes.

Then Ananais moved to one side, taking the release thong in his hand. 'Stand clear,' he ordered. 'And forget about the sacks. Get outside the door.' The assistants scurried to safety and Ananais tugged the release. The giant bow-arm leapt forward and the slingshot thundered into the oak door. The sound was deafening and the wood split with a groan, falling to the floor in several pieces. Ananais gazed down at the leather cap on the bow — it was twisted and torn.

'Better than arrows, young Lake,' he said as the young man ran to his machine, checking the cap and the leather drawstring.

'I will make a cap in brass,' he said, 'and increase the spread. We shall need two cranks, one on either side. And I'll have the slingshot filed to give points on four sides.'

'How soon can you have one ready?' asked Ananais.

'One? I already have three ready. The adjustments will take only a day and then we shall have four.'

'Good work, lad!'

'It's getting them up to the valleys that concerns me.'

'Don't worry about that — we don't want them in the first line of defence. Take them back into the mountains; Galand will tell you where to place them.'

'But they could help us to hold the line,' argued Lake, his voice rising. Ananais took him by the arm, leading him out from the stable, and into the clear night air.

'Understand this, lad: nothing will help us hold the first line. We don't have the men. There are too many passes and trails. If we wait too long we shall be cut off, surrounded. The weapons are good and we will use them — but further back.'

Lake's anger subsided, to be replaced by a dull, tired sense of resignation. He had been pushing himself hard for days without rest: seeking something, anything, that could turn the tide. But he was not a fool and secretly he had known.

'We cannot protect the city,' he said.

'Cities can be rebuilt,' answered Ananais.

'But many people will refuse to move. The majority, I wouldn't wonder.'

'Then they will die, Lake.'

The young man removed his leather work apron and sat back on a barrel top. He screwed the apron into a tight ball and dropped it at his feet. Ananais felt for him then, for Lake was staring down at his own crumpled dreams.

'Damn it, Lake, I wish there was something I could say to lift you. I know how you feel… I feel it myself. It offends a man's sense of natural justice when the enemy has all the advantages. I remember an old teacher of mine once saying that behind every dark cloud the sun was just waiting to boil you to death.'

Lake grinned. 'I had a teacher like that once. A strange old boy who lived in a hovel near the west hill. He said there were three kinds of people in life: winners, losers and fighters. Winners made him sick with their arrogance, losers made him sick with their whining and fighters made him sick with their stupidity.'

'In which category did he put himself?'

'He said he had tried all three and nothing suited him.'

'Well, at least he tried. That's all a man can do, Lake. And we shall try. We will hit them and hurt them. We will bog them down in a running war. Knuckle and skull, steel and fire. And with luck, when Tenaka gets back, he will mop them up with his Nadir riders.'

'We don't seem to be exactly overflowing with luck,' Lake pointed out.

'You make your own. I put no faith in gods, Lake. Never have. If they exist, they care very little — if at all — about ordinary mortals. I put my faith in me — and you know why? Because I have never lost! I've been speared, stabbed and poisoned. I've been dragged by a wild horse, gored by a bull and bitten by a bear. But I have never lost. I've even had my face ripped away by a Joining, but I'm still here. And winning is a habit.'