The King Beyond the Gate

'Look up!' said Pagan. 'There she rides — and soon Anidigo will send her fleeing from the sky.'

The last child fell into a dreamless sleep and Pagan eased himself through them, seeking Ceorl. Together they walked some paces away.

'You tell a good story.'

'I have many children,' replied Pagan.

'If they irritate you, why have so many?' the boy asked.

'That's not easy to explain,' said Pagan, grinning.

'Oh, I understand,' snapped Ceorl. 'I am not so young.'

Pagan tried to explain.

'A man can love his children, yet be annoyed by them. I was delighted with the births of all my children. One of them stands now in my place at home, ruling my people. But I am a man who has always needed solitude. Children do not understand that.'

'Why are you black?'

'So much for the philosophical conversation! I am black because my country is very hot. A dark skin is a protection against the sunlight. Does your skin not darken during summer?'

'And your hair — why is it so tightly curled?'

'I don't know, young man. No more do I know why my nose is wide and my lips thicker than yours. It is just the way it is.'

'Does everybody look like you where you come from?'

'Not to me.'

'Can you fight?'

'You are full of questions, Ceorl!'

'I like to know things. Can you fight?'

'Like a tiger.'

'That's a kind of cat, isn't it?'

'Yes. A very large cat and distinctly unfriendly.'

'I can fight,' said Ceorl. 'I am a good fighter.'

'I'm sure that you are. But let us hope that we don't have to prove it. Go and sleep now,'

'I am not tired. I'll stand watch.'

'Do as I tell you, Ceorl. You can stand watch tomorrow.'

The boy nodded and went back to the children. Within minutes he was fast asleep. Pagan sat for a while thinking of his homeland. Then he too moved to where the children lay. Melissa was still sleeping soundly, cuddling a rag doll. The doll was ancient; it had no eyes and only two thin strands of yellow thread for hair.

Scaler had told him of his own strange religious belief. The gods, said Scaler, were all so old that they had grown senile. Their vast power was now employed in senseless japes upon humans, misdirecting their lives and leaving them in appalling situations.

Pagan was fast becoming a believer.

A distant howl echoed in the night. Then a second and a third added to the noise. Pagan cursed softly and drew his sword. Taking a small whetstone from his leather pouch, he spat upon it and honed the sword-blade; then he unstrapped the axe from his saddlebag and sharpened that also.

The wind shifted, carrying their scent to the east. Pagan waited, counting slowly. He had reached eight hundred and seven when the howling increased in intensity. Considering variations in the wind speed, that put the Joinings between eight and twelve miles behind them — it was not enough.

The kindest action would be to creep forward and cut all the children's throats as they slept, saving them the horror that ran behind. But Pagan knew he could take three of the smallest on his horse.

He drew his dagger and crept among them.

But which three?

With a soft curse he rammed his dagger home in its scabbard and woke Ceorl.

'The Joinings are close,' he said. 'Wake the children — we're moving out.'

'How close?' asked Ceorl, eyes wide in fear.

'An hour behind — if we're lucky.'

Ceorl rolled to his feet and moved among the youngsters. Pagan lifted Melissa to his shoulder. She dropped the doll and he retrieved it, tucking it into his tunic. The children huddled around him.

'See that peak yonder?' he said to Ceorl. 'Make for it! I shall be back.'

'You promise?'

'I promise.' Pagan climbed into the saddle. 'Put two of the smaller children behind me.' Ceorl did as he was bid. 'Now hold on tight, little ones — we're going for a ride.'

Pagan dug his heels into the stallion and he leapt forward into the night, eating the distance between the mountains. Melissa woke up and began to cry, so Pagan pulled out the doll and pushed it into her arms. After riding for some minutes at a fast run, he saw an outcropping of rock away to the right. Hauling on the reins, he directed the stallion up and into the boulders. The pathway was narrow, less than five feet, widening at the top into a shallow bowl. There was no exit but by the path.

Pagan helped the children down. 'Wait here for me,' he said and rode down into the plain once more. Five times he made the journey, and by the last Ceorl and the remaining four older boys had almost reached the rocks as he rode out. Jumping from the saddle, he handed the reins to the boy.

'Take the horse up into the bowl and wait there for me.'

'What are you going to do?'

'Do as I say, child!'

Ceorl stepped back a pace. 'I just wanted to help.'

'I'm sorry, boy! Keep your dagger handy -1 intend to hold them here, but if they come through use your dagger on the youngest children. You understand?'

'I don't think that I can,' Ceorl faltered.

'Then do as your heart bids you. Good luck, Ceorl!'

'I… I don't really want to die.'

'I know. Now get up there and comfort them.' Pagan pulled his axe clear of the saddle and untied his bow and a quiver of arrows. The bow was of Vagrian horn and only a very strong man could draw it. Pagan settled himself down on the trail, watching the east.

It was said that the Kings of the Opal Throne always knew when their day was done.

Pagan knew.

He strung his bow and removed his tunic, letting the night air cool his body.

In a deep voice he began to sing the Song of the Dead.

* * *

At a prearranged meeting place Ananais and his captains sat together discussing the day's action. Once thrown back from the first ring of mountains, the Skoda force had split into seven, moving to high ground and ambushing the invading force as they swarmed into the heights. Hit-and-run raids harassed Ceska's troops, slowing the advance, and Skoda casualties had been remarkably light — with the exception of Parsal's force, of which not one man had escaped.

'They are moving faster than we had estimated,' said Katan. 'And their numbers have been swelled by Delnoch troops.'

'I'd say there were as many as fifty thousand in the invading force,' said Thorn. 'We can forget about holding anywhere but Tarsk and Magadon.'

'We shall keep hitting them,' maintained Ananais. 'How long can you hold the power of those damned Templars, Katan?'

'I think even now they are finding ways through.'

'Once they do, our raids could become suicidal.'

'I know that well, Darkmask. But we are not dealing here with an exact science. The battle in the Void is unceasing, but we are being pushed back.'

'Do your best, boy.' said Ananais. 'All right — we shall hit them for one more day, then pull everyone back to the walls.'

'Do you get the feeling we are spitting into the eye of a hurricane?' asked Thorn.

Ananais grinned. 'Maybe, but we've not lost yet! Katan, is it safe to ride?'

The priest closed his eyes and the men waited for several minutes. Then Katan jerked suddenly, his eyes flaring open.

'To the north,' he said. 'We must go now!'

The priest lurched to his feet, half-fell, recovered and ran to his horse. Ananais followed him.

'Thorn!' he shouted. 'Take your men back to the group. The rest of you follow me!'

Katan led them in a headlong gallop to the north, followed by Ananais and twenty warriors. It was almost dawn and the tips of the mountains to their right were bathed in red.