Dark Moon

Chapter Thirteen

'You realize the impossibility of what we are planning, don't you?' said Ozhobar, as he and Karis sat beside the forge, enjoying the last of its dying heat. 'You can't hide secrets from a telepathic race. Every weapon we have tested has been seen by our men. The Daroth will not be surprised.'

'That entirely depends on the manner in which their mental powers operate,' she said. 'Can they read all thoughts, or only those we are thinking as they view us?'

'We have no way of knowing,' said Ozhobar, stroking his sandy beard.

'Exactly. Therefore I will waste no energy in trying to second-guess their talents,' said Karis. 'Did you study Tarantio's swords?'

'Yes. Remarkable. It seems the spell has - among other things - significantly reduced the friction on the blades. But that is not what makes them so deadly.'

'Can you duplicate them?'

'Sadly, no. I am not a sorcerer, Karis. I am a scientist. The blades seem to shimmer in and out of existence.

It is not possible, for example, to hold the metal. I tried to put a clamp on one of the blades, but it just slid clear. They will cut clean through stone, wood, and leather. Even iron, though less cleanly.'

'I would give ten years of my life to have a hundred such blades,' said Karis. 'Why did Sirano have to allow himself to be killed?'

Ozhobar lifted a small linen sack and opened it, offering a biscuit to Karis. 'I do feel honoured,' she said. He chuckled.

'They were a gift from the Duke's chef. They are rather good - though not as fine as my own oatcakes.'

'This is why you are willing to share them?'

Ignoring the remark, Ozhobar reached down a second sack, considerably heavier than the first. From this he took a handful of what appeared to be small black pebbles. 'What do you think?' he asked, passing them to Karis.

'Better than stones,' she said. 'Iron?'

'Yes. Each ballista will loose around two hundred of these. The trick is to cause a spread that is not too wide. I think I have achieved it. Come and see.'

Together they walked to the rear of the building. In an enclosed area, hidden by high walls yet brilliantly lit by moonlight, there stood a giant crossbow with arms over ten feet wide, built on a criss-crossed timber frame. On each side of the frame were handles, which when turned drew back the giant arms. Striding past the machine, Ozhobar hauled an old door of thick oak to the far wall, resting it there. Then he returned to the machine and, together with Karis, wound the handles until the rope and its sling of leather dropped over a large bronze hook. Locking it into place, Ozhobar filled the leather cup with iron pellets. Having checked the alignments, he walked around to where Karis stood. 'The door is oak, almost two inches thick.' With a boyish grin he handed her a small hammer. 'Strike the release bolt hard. Do it from behind.'

Karis moved to the rear of the machine and struck the bolt. There was a sudden hiss, then a sharp clanging as the arms swept forward to strike the wooden restraints. Almost immediately came a series of small thunderclaps as the iron shot smashed into the door.

Ozhobar ambled over to the ruined wood.

'Well?' he asked, as Karis joined him. The door was peppered with deep holes that in many places had completely pierced the wood; in the centre it was torn apart, ripped to tinder. Ozhobar grinned. 'You like it?'

'It is incredible! What kind of killing range?'

'Against the Daroth? Who can tell? Though I would guess at around fifty feet. After that the momentum will start to slacken. Fifty down to twenty-five would be the optimum.'

'Why not inside twenty-five feet?' she asked.

'Oh, it will still kill, but the spread will be small.' He pointed to the door. 'As you can see, at a range of only about fifteen feet the pellets struck in a rough circle of ... what? . . . around four feet. That equates with one Daroth. But at fifty feet the circle of death will be much greater.'

'How many ballistae will we have?'

'That depends on how long the Daroth wait. If we can get five more days I can have three by the northern gate, two others ready for swift transportation across the city.'

'We will, I believe, have a few days,' she said. Something in her voice caught his attention, and he stared intently at her.

'You . . . instituted the plan?'

'Yes. The scout has not returned.'

'This troubles you,' he said softly.

'Would it not trouble you? I have no qualms about sending soldiers to their deaths, but this time I had to lie, to deceive. He was a dull man, but I don't doubt he deserved better than to be betrayed by his general.'

'You chose him because he was a careless man. Therefore it could be argued that his own carelessness killed him.'

'Yes, I could argue that - but it wouldn't be true. I think it will buy us time, though not much. It won't be long before they capture another scout, or get someone close enough to our walls to read another mind.'

'Five days. That is all we need.'

Ozhobar covered the ballista with a tarpaulin and led Karis back to the warmth of the forge. 'Did you overcome the recoil problem on the catapult?' she asked him.

'Of course. I weighted the cross timbers. It is a little less manoeuvrable now, but still accurate.

Necklen has mastered the machine, and his crew operate well.'

'Let us hope so,' said Karis.

'Another biscuit?'

She smiled. 'No. I'd better be getting back. I still have work to do.'

A deep growl sounded from outside the main door and Karis strolled across to it. Outside, Stealer was baring his fangs at a huge figure.

'Call off the hound before I break its neck,' said Forin.

Karis bade Ozhobar good night, then stepped out into the night with Stealer padding alongside her, still keeping a wary eye on the man. 'What do you want?' she asked wearily.

'To talk,' said Forin.

'I have no time to talk.'

'No time or no desire?' he asked, pausing in his walk. She moved two paces ahead, then swung back to him.

'We shouldn't have made love,' she said. 'It was a mistake, and I cannot afford such mistakes. If it is any consolation to you, it was a wonderful night, and I will never forget it. But it will never be repeated. So stop following me around like a moonstruck idiot!'

She expected anger and his laughter surprised her. 'I am not moonstruck, Karis. I never was a great believer in love at first sight - or indeed at any sight. And, to be honest, I don't know what I feel for you. Had you stayed that night, and we had talked, there might have been no need for a meeting like this. But you didn't.

You ran. Why? Why did you run?'

'It is late, and I am too tired for this,' she said, turning away.

'Not afraid to die, but terrified to live. Is that it?' he asked her.

She whirled on him then. 'What is it with you men?' she sneered. 'Why can your egos never cope with rejection? I don't want you, I don't need you. You helped me to relax. That was your role and you did it well.'

He laughed again, the sound rich and unforced. 'Of course no man likes rejection. And I have known my share. What I find hard to understand is not that you reject me, Karis; it is that you are frightened of me.'

'Frightened? You arrogant pig! Nothing on this earth will ever frighten me again. My father saw to that.

Now get out of my sight!'

He gave a rueful smile and turned away. She heard his voice drift back across the moonlit street. 'I am not your father, Karis.'

Angrily she strode back to the palace and to her apartments, where Necklen was waiting. 'You have chosen the men?' she asked, stepping inside. Stealer had to leap aside as she slammed the door.

'Yes. A hundred stretcher-bearers, and sixty orderlies to assist with the wounded. You know there are only four surgeons left in the city?'

'I do now.'

'You want me to come back tomorrow, princess?'

'Don't call me that!' She slumped into a chair. 'Do you think I am frightened to live?' she asked the old man.

Necklen gave a wide grin. 'What do you want to hear?'

The truth would be pleasant.'

'I never met a woman yet who wanted to hear the truth. Are we talking about Vint, or the dog-ugly brute in the dung beetle armour?'

'You think he is ugly?' she asked, surprised.

'You think he is not?' countered Necklen. 'He has a nose that looks as if it has been kicked by a bull, and a broad flat face and small eyes. Green, if I recall. Never trust men with green eyes.'

'How did you know it might be him? Has he been speaking of me?'

'No, princess. But, if you want the truth, I learned it from you. Whenever he is close you cannot keep your eyes from him. Did he accuse you of being too frightened to live?'

'Yes. You agree with him?'

'How would I know?' asked Necklen. 'But you do surprise me, girl. You obviously want him, and I've never known you to be coy.'

'I slept with him once. Now he wants to own me,' she said. 'I won't be owned. I won't be used in the name of love.'

'Did Giriak use you?' he asked, softly.

'Of course he didn't. But then I didn't love him.'

'And you love Forin?'

'I didn't say that!' she snapped.

'I'm not sure what you are saying.'

Relaxing into her chair, Karis let out a long sigh. Then she chuckled. 'Neither am I. Pass me the jug, my dear old fool. It is time to get drunk!'

Just before dawn on the morning of the fourth day, Vint left his quarters in the palace and strolled the half-mile to the northern wall. A cold wind was blowing down from the mountains and he held his sheepskin cloak tightly around his slim frame. Passing the old barracks building, he saw three men hauling a hand-cart on which was set a metal drum, and the smell of hot onion soup drifted to him.

As he neared the gates he saw scores of workmen laying stone walls across the entrances to the alleyways leading off from the main avenue. Karis and Ozhobar were moving among them, checking the work. Vint walked past them, trying to control his feeling of irritation. Karis had not invited him to her bed in days. His annoyance surprised him. He was not in love with her, nor had he any wish to build a lasting relationship. What then? he wondered, as he climbed the rampart steps. The answer was not hard to find. He smiled ruefully. She is not in love with you either. It was a blow to the morale to be so casually discarded.

At the top of the steps he saw the sentries squatting down below the ramparts, hiding from the bitter bite of the north wind. 'Soup is on its way, lads,' he said.

'Not onion again, sir, is it?' asked one veteran.

'I am afraid so!'

The dawn sun crept into view, its rays cutting through the wind. 'Are the scouts back?' he asked.

'Not yet, sir. They should be in sight any time now.'

Vint turned towards the north, scanning the hills. Nothing was moving there. Glancing back, he saw Karis striding across the avenue with the huge form of Ozhobar beside her. Her dark hair was drawn back into a tight ponytail, and she was wearing a rust-coloured tunic of wool, and green leggings; a wide leather belt emphasized the slimness of her waist. How many women have you discarded in a similar fashion? Vint asked himself, trying to ease his troubled mind.

'Why are they doing that, sir?' asked a young soldier, coming alongside him and pointing to the workmen building new walls to block the alleyways.

Vint swung on the man. 'The Daroth can read minds,' he said. 'Do you think that it is a good idea to voice such questions?'

'I don't see as it makes a lot of difference,' replied the soldier, with a shrug. 'We're not going to stop them with a few stones. Nor crossbows. Nor catapults. They butchered thirty thousand people at Prentuis. The entire city - and its army. They'll do the same here.'

'Then why do you stay?'

'It's what I'm paid for,' said the soldier grimly.

'Have you ever served with Karis?' asked Vint.

'No, but I know men who have and they say she's never lost. But then she's never faced a Daroth army either.'

'She will surprise them,' said Vint.

'Really? I don't think so. She told one of the scouts about a group of wizards who are going to destroy the Daroth. He was simple-minded and believed every word. Wizards! You think if we had anything that powerful we wouldn't have gone out after them? You think we'd be shut in here building pigging walls?'

The soldier brought his hand up to his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.

'What's wrong?' asked Vint.

'Stinking headache,' said the man. 'It's this wind.'

Sudden pain struck Vint. Grabbing the man, he hauled him below the ramparts.

'What are you doing?' shouted the soldier, angrily.

'Where is your head pain now?' snapped Vint.

The man blinked. 'Well, it's gone,' he said.

Vint swore and then, keeping low, he moved to the steps and ran down to where Karis and Ozhobar were standing. 'Can we talk?' he asked her. Together they moved away from the group and Vint told her about the exchange with the soldier.

'I'm surprised it held them this long,' she said, turning away.

'You sent out a man knowing he would be taken by the Daroth? I hope you had the decency to bed him first.'

Her eyes were cold as she stepped closer to him. 'No, Vint, I liked him. It is a rule of mine never to bed a man I like.' Swinging away from him, she called out to Necklen. 'Find your crew, old man. The Daroth are coming!'

Twenty minutes later Necklen was climbing the rickety ladders to the roof of the old barracks building. Climbing with only one hand was difficult, and he was breathing heavily when he stepped out onto the roof. The four boys of his team were waiting for him. They were all young and beardless - just children, he thought. But they were nimble and quick, and they took his orders well.

'Are the wheels greased?' he asked.

'Yes, sir. And we brought the oil up last night,' answered Beris, a small lad with a shock of ginger hair and a freckled face.

'Good. Take to the handles!' Two boys on each side grabbed the iron handles and began to turn them.

Slowly the great arm was winched down into place, then Necklen pushed the iron locking bolt through the metal hoops. Two boys ran back to where the pottery balls were covered by tarpaulin. Pulling back the sheet they rolled one of the balls to the catapult, then carefully lifted it to the bronze cup. 'Oil!' ordered Necklen. Then he swung around.

'Where is the brazier?'

'Sorry, sir, I forgot,' said Gelan, a thin, pockmarked boy.

'Fetch it. And do it now!' The boy ran to the ladders and swung down out of sight as Necklen strolled to the edge of the roof, staring out over the hills. Soon they would come. Walking back to the catapult, he checked the sighting wheel. The weapon was aimed at the first of the two probable sites for the Daroth catapults. So far Necklen and his team had loosed more than thirty practice missiles, and the accuracy rate was high, eight out of ten landing on the target.

Gelan came scrambling back into view with a small brazier strapped to his back, a lantern held in his right hand. Necklen set the brazier alongside the catapult, filled the lower half with oil-soaked rags, then kindling, and lastly added several handfuls of coal. Taking the lantern from Gelan, he lifted the lid and held the naked flame under the soaked rags. Flames seared up. Ginger-haired Beris brought five torches made from dried reeds and laid them alongside the brazier.

Satisfied the fire was going well, Necklen called again for the oil and watched as Beris poured it through one of six round holes in the pottery ball. Three more jugs of lantern-oil followed; the holes were then plugged with rags.

The sound of shouting came from the walls below, and Necklen saw the first line of Daroth horsemen breast the northern hills. Ahead of them rode ten warriors, each carrying a long spear.

Impaled upon the spears were the bodies of the ten Corduin scouts sent out the night before.

Necklen glanced at the boys, seeing the fear on their faces. 'You be steady now, my lads,' he said softly.

'Why did they do that to those men?' Beris asked.

'To frighten us, lad.'

'Are you frightened, Necklen?' asked Gelan.

'There's no shame in fear,' said the old man. 'But understand this - the coward is ruled by fear, while the hero rides it like a wild stallion. You boys are born to be heroes. Trust me. I am a fine judge of men. That's why I chose you.'

'I don't feel like a hero,' admitted Beris.

'You don't have to feel like one, boy. You live like one!'

As the full Daroth army crested the skyline and spread out along the slopes, Vint stood on the walls and tried to estimate their numbers. They were moving in columns of fours towards designated positions. They pitched no tents, but waited in 5 huge groups, each around 1,500 strong. Three of the groups were foot-soldiers, in black armour; they carried long spears with serrated heads. The other two groups were horse-soldiers.

The sound of running men could be heard behind the walls and some soldiers turned to look. 'Stare straight ahead!' bellowed Vint. The men swung back. Forty Daroth warriors put aside their spears and removed the packs from their backs, taking short-handled shovels and moving to two areas on the hillside, some 200 paces from the walls.

'What are they doing?' someone asked Vint. The swordsman shrugged. Swiftly the Daroth began to dig away at the hillside. They moved with great energy that did not slacken. Other Daroth moved in, removing their cloaks and filling them with earth, before carrying it away. The digging went on for almost an hour before Vint understood their plan: the Daroth were levelling two sections of ground.

Up on the barracks roof, Necklen realized what was happening. 'They are not going to use the ground we picked out, lads,' he said. 'They are building new bases for their catapults.'

Moving to the iron rails, Necklen pulled clear the retaining rods. 'Let's move her round,' he called. 'Beris, line her up with the first new site. Gelan, you and the others lift clear the ball. We'll need to loose her; the range is wrong now.'

The boys struggled to roll the ball clear. It was big and unwieldy, and oil was seeping from the rags.

Necklen moved to help them. Once the ball was clear, he hammered the trigger bolt. The catapult snapped forward, the great arm thudding home against the sand-sacks roped to the frame. 'How far would you say to the site?' Necklen asked Beris.

'Around two hundred and ... forty paces?'

'My eyes are not that good any more. I'll take your word for it. Heave her back into position.' The boys set to at the handles and, slowly, the arm was winched into place.

'We are in line,' said Beris. Necklen slid the retaining rods home behind the wheels and climbed onto the platform alongside Beris.

'Looks good,' said the older man. 'Replace the ball.' Gelan and the other two boys heaved the ball into the bronze cup.

Two Daroth catapults were pulled into view: huge machines, painted black. Necklen's throat was dry. He had seen these before, at the fall of Prentuis, the boulders of lead smashing the walls to fragments. Slowly the Daroth

pulled the first of the catapults into position. 'Get back, lads, and we'll let her go!'

'Shall I light it, sir?' asked Gelan.

'Not this one, boy. This is a scout. We'll see where she lands.'

Taking up the small hammer, Necklen rapped it against the trigger bolt. The red pottery ball sailed high into the air, the wind whipping through the holes and creating an eerie scream. For a moment Necklen thought they were right on target, but then the ball dropped some twenty feet to the right and twelve paces short, smashing into hundreds of pieces. 'Haul her back, and bring the setting down one notch,' he ordered.

'Left one mark,' shouted Beris.

Necklen and the boys drew out the retaining rods, swinging the huge machine on its wheels. In their excitement they pushed it too far. 'Steady, lads!' he called. 'Take it slow!'

'They are arming their catapults!' shouted another boy.

Necklen did not pause. Applying the last rod he called for a second ball. It was rolled to the catapult, then lifted into place. Beris filled it with oil.

'It's coming!' yelled Gelan, and this time Necklen did look up. A huge ball of lead was sailing through the air. It passed over the wall, and only at the last second did the old soldier realize the Daroth were aiming at the catapult. The ball slammed into the edge of the roof, dislodging masonry and sending chips of stone screaming over their heads.

Necklen grabbed a torch, lit it from the brazier and applied it to the oil-soaked rags which Beris had rammed into the holes. 'Here comes another!' shouted Gelan.

'Well, let's send one back!' snarled Necklen, hammering the trigger bolt. The red ball, flames and smoke hissing

from it, soared high - passing within yards of the Daroth shot. The black ball of lead struck the rooftop, hit a beam and crashed through to the empty second floor of the barracks building.

'Haul her back! Don't wait to look!' shouted Necklen, though he himself could not resist following the flight of their blazing shot. It struck the top of the first Daroth catapult - and shattered. Flames rippled down the black machine. The Daroth ran forward to hurl earth over the blaze.

A great cheer went up from the battlements.

'One more!' shouted Necklen, and second ball of flame flew into the sky. The Daroth scattered as it smashed down, fire exploding out in a huge circle. The wooden catapult was engulfed now.

But the second enemy machine loosed another shot which thundered against the side of the building, ripping away an entire corner which slid away to crash to the street below.

'Right three marks!' shouted Beris. 'Take her down two more notches.'

Slowly they swung the machine. 'One shot is all we'll have,' said Necklen, trying to keep his voice calm.

'Make it a good one, boy!'

'Yes, sir,' said Beris. Once they had loaded the ball and Gelan had filled it with oil, Necklen ordered the boys from the rooftop. Another huge lead ball soared by them, missing the catapult by inches and destroying the store of pottery ammunition. 'Get out now!' shouted Necklen.

The boys ran to the ladders as Necklen slammed the trigger bolt clear. He should have followed them, but he could not resist watching the flight of his last missile. Once again the Daroth loosed a shot. It left their catapult just

as the pottery ball exploded over it, spraying burning oil over the machine. Two Daroth warriors were engulfed, and ran across the hillside like living torches.

'Yes!' shouted Necklen, punching the air. 'Did you enjoy that, you bastards?'

The last Daroth shot hammered into the platform, smashing the catapult. One of the retaining bars burst clear, striking Necklen in the shoulder and spinning him across the rooftop. As his legs slipped over the edge he threw out his hand, scrabbling at an edge of masonry, and clung to it with all his strength.

There was no way back. The old warrior did not possess enough strength in one arm to haul himself to safety. His strength was ebbing away when a face appeared above him and little Beris reached down and grabbed his arm.

'Let go, you fool! You can't take my weight. You'll be dragged over with me.' But the boy clung on.

'Gelan is getting ... a ... rope,' said Beris. 'I can hold you till he comes.'

'Please, boy! Just let go. I couldn't bear to take you with me.'

'No, sir,' said Beris, his freckled face crimson with the effort of holding on. Necklen gripped the ledge more tightly, fighting to stay calm. His fingers were tiring, and his arm began to tremble.

Just then Gelan appeared and threw a loop over Necklen's head. Pushing his useless left arm through it, he hooked himself to the rope. 'It is tied to a beam,' shouted Gelan.

'Good boy,' said Necklen. 'Now let go, Beris, there's a good lad.' When Beris did so, Necklen dropped around four feet; but the rope tightened and he dangled there, feeling sick with relief. Moments later three strong men dragged him back to safety.

Necklen grinned at the boys. 'I hope you never learn to take orders, lads,' he told them.

'Yes, sir!' they chorused, grinning.

But Necklen's smile faded as he saw the Daroth hauling another catapult over the hills.

As the first of the huge lead balls crashed into the wall beside the gate Vint ordered the troops back. The two blazing Daroth catapults were now oozing thick plumes of black smoke into the sky.

'What can you see?' yelled Karis. Vint eased himself up, and stared through the crenellated battlements.

'Two Daroth legions are massing,' he shouted. 'They are moving slowly forward.'

A second lead ball struck the gates, smashing two thick timbers and splitting the giant locking bar. 'They are coming at a run now,' yelled Vint. 'Maybe three thousand of them. The rest are just waiting.'

Another lead shot smashed home, tearing open the gates and rolling ponderously into the avenue beyond.

Vint ran for the steps, taking them three at a time, then sprinted down towards a line of wagons stretching across the avenue. Karis, Ozhobar and Tarantio were already there.

Two hundred crossbow-men moved through a gap in the wagons and took up positions in front of them, one line kneeling and the other standing behind. They weren't going to stop the Daroth, thought Vint. Not 200.

The first of the enemy pushed their way past the ruined gates, saw the crossbow-men, and charged. They came in silence, save for the pounding of their boots on the cobbles. The silence itself chilled Vint. He drew his sabre, knowing that the weapon was useless against the leathery skins of the Daroth, yet feeling better for having it in his hand.

'Wait!' shouted Karis, her voice clear and calm. The twenty-wide mass of the Daroth attackers came closer.

Seventy feet. Fifty. Forty. 'Now!' she cried. The kneeling line of crossbow-men loosed their shafts, which hammered home into the leading warriors. Scores went down while the rest charged on. 'Again!' yelled Karis. The standing line let fly, and a second black cloud of bolts plunged home. The charge scarcely faltered.

Suddenly crossbow bolts came shooting from every window on either side of the avenue. Bowmen rose up from behind the hastily erected walls across the alleys, sending volley after volley into the Daroth ranks.

Vint heard a whip crack. In an alley, hidden from sight, three oxen lunged into the traces and the wagons were hauled away, exposing three enormous steel-armed ballistae hidden behind them. The two lines of crossbow-men sprinted clear left and right, just as the Daroth charged again.

Ozhobar slammed his hammer against a release bolt and two pounds of spreading iron shot screamed into the attackers, smashing the first line from their feet. Standing to one side, Vint saw a Daroth's face swept away in a milky blur, shards of bone spraying into the air. All around, mutilated Daroth warriors were hurled to the cobbles. A second ballista loosed its load, punching a great gap in the Daroth line. Vint stood back and watched three men smoothly drawing the deadly arms of the first ballista into position. Then the third sent its lethal missiles into the packed ranks of the enemy. Crossbow bolts continued to rain from the windows, and the carnage in the avenue continued. Now the first two lines of crossbow-men edged back along the walls, spreading out again behind the ballistae and loosing their bolts into the enemy.

One Daroth warrior, his left arm torn away, stumbled

forward and then hurled his spear. It took a crossbow-man through the chest, hurling him back into a wall. Tarantio relaxed and allowed Dace to take control. He leapt forward and with one sweep of his blade disembowelled the creature, then beheaded him as he fell. 'That's one for Sirano and his spell swords,' said Dace.

As the enemy charged once more, the arms of one of the ballistae snapped off. Within seconds the Daroth had reached the weapons. Then the second ballista blasted lead shot into them at point-blank range, lifting three warriors from their feet and slamming them into their comrades.

From the alley alongside the ballista Forin and his fifty axemen charged into the fray. Dace was in with them, his eldritch swords cleaving a path through the enemy. Vint, his own sword useless, scrambled back from the action and joined Karis and Ozhobar. Taking up a crossbow, he cocked it and sent a bolt through the brain of a towering warrior.

A bugle blew.

Forin and his men ran left and right, opening a gap through which a ballista could send its murderous ammunition slashing into the Daroth ranks. Hundreds of the creatures were down now, more falling with every heartbeat as the merciless hail of death continued from the windows on either side.

There was nowhere for the Daroth to run. Ahead of them were the deadly ballistae, on either side the alleyways were blocked. And as the death toll continued to rise, they fought to make their way to the only haven: the north gate.

Forin took a blow to the head which sent him reeling, his helmet flying clear. As the Daroth ran in for the kill, the giant reared up to smash his axe into his enemy's face. The blade plunged home, then tore itself away. The spear of a second Daroth struck his breastplate, denting it deeply and bruising his ribs. Spinning, Forin lunged with his axe, stabbing both points through the Daroth's chest. The creature's fist crashed against Forin's brow. Stunned, the giant stumbled to his knees. Dace appeared beside him, his sword half decapitating the Daroth. Forin struggled to his feet, dragged his axe clear of the dead Daroth and charged back into the fray.

Her face expressionless, Karis watched the battle. Humans were dying now as the frantic Daroth warriors tore at the makeshift walls, hacking and stabbing at the crossbow-men on the ground level. At least fifteen of Forin's men were down.

Four Daroth warriors broke clear of Forin's line and made it to the ballistae. Dace ran up behind the last of them, cutting him down. Crossbow bolts slammed into the second and third men, but the fourth leapt straight at Karis.

Vint was the closest to her. He heard his name shouted and turned to see Tarantio throwing one of his swords. The shimmering blade spun through the air and Vint leapt to catch it, his hand curling round the hilt. Even as he caught it, he knew he would be too late. Spinning on his heel, he ran towards the Daroth.

The creature's sword swept up, but Karis stood her ground, staring defiantly at him.

At that moment a hurtling black form crashed into the Daroth, Stealer's huge jaws clamping to his neck. Off balance, the Daroth fell back. Ozhobar lunged forward to send his hammer cracking against the side of the attacker's head. Vint sent Tarantio's sword slicing through his spine. As the creature fell dead, the hound continued to gnaw at his throat. 'Here!' called Karis. Stealer backed away, still growling.

A slow rumbling began, like distant thunder. Vint glanced round to see Necklen and ten men hauling a new catapult along the avenue. Behind it were several horse-drawn wagons, the first carrying fresh shot and a burning brazier. Ozhobar ran back to them.

The Daroth were streaming back for the gates as the bugle sounded. Forin, Dace and the surviving eleven armoured warriors turned and ran back towards the ballistae. A blazing pottery ball flew over their heads and exploded just below the gate tower. Close-packed as they were, the flames engulfed twenty Daroth warriors. In panic the remaining Daroth trampled each other to escape, and the flames spread.

A second ball soared over the walls to scatter blazing oil over the warriors milling there.

The Daroth army fled back towards the hills.

'Clear the dead!' yelled Karis. 'Make way for the wagons.'

Dace ran among the Daroth corpses, checking them. Several of them were still alive, and these he despatched swiftly. Soldiers began to drag the giant bodies back to the walls on either side, and three wagons inched their way to the gates. Ozhobar rode the first wagon, and when it reached the gate tower he jumped down and called for help to unload. Each of the three wagons carried interlocking sections made up of long iron bars. Ropes and pulleys were assembled on the parapet above, hauling the sections into place, lodging them into the deep grooves which stonemasons had carved in the solid stone on both sides of the gate tower.

Behind the workmen the catapult was hauled into place. Necklen ran to the gate and gauged the distance to the Daroth weapon. No more than 200 paces. Moving back to the catapult, he passed the information to young Beris.

Moments later a blazing ball soared over the walls, exploding some thirty feet to the left of the Daroth machine. Soldiers on the walls cheered as Daroth soldiers hastily roped their catapult, dragging it back out of harm's way.

Slowly the iron portcullis was assembled, effectively re-blocking the gateway. Ozhobar stood back, hands on hips, admiring his handiwork. 'Not bad,' he said. 'Not bad at all.'

Across the avenue stretcher-bearers, Brune among them, were carrying away the Corduin wounded and dead. Vint moved amongst them, checking the numbers of injured and slain. He crossed to where Karis was standing with Tarantio.

'Forin lost thirty-nine men: thirty-seven dead, two badly wounded. Just under sixty other men died, or will not fight again. As far as I can tell we killed around two hundred and thirty Daroth.'

Karis nodded, but said nothing. 'You did it, General,' said Vint. 'You turned them back.'

'We've certainly made them think,' she agreed.

Vint offered Tarantio his sword. The dark-haired warrior grinned. 'Keep it! But be careful how you sheathe it.'

Vint nodded. 'If I had known how deadly it was, I'd have thought twice about catching it.' He glanced up.

The sun was still climbing in the sky. 'Sweet Heaven,' he said. 'You would have thought it would be dusk by now, and yet it is not an hour since the charge began.'

Forin joined them. 'Will someone help me get this damned breastplate off?' he said. 'I can't breathe in it.'

The armour was covered with deep dents, and there was a gash across the back where the metal had split.

Once Tarantio and Vint eased the breastplate clear, Forin stripped off his shirt. His upper body was covered in bruises, and there was a shallow cut on his shoulder. 'I'm not looking forward to going through that again,' he grumbled, sitting down on a broken wall.

'You fought well, big man,' said Vint. 'I think you killed three of them.'

'Two. Tarantio took the last. But I marked a few too.' He looked up at Karis. 'You think they'll come back today?'

'Men wouldn't,' she said. 'The generals would get together and rethink their strategy. They are not men, however.'

'Do you have another fiendish plan for them?' asked the giant.

'No,' Karis admitted. 'Send for me if they charge again.' With that she turned and strode away, the dog Stealer padding alongside her.

'She's not much on celebration, is she?' remarked Ozhobar.

As the day wore on, and the Daroth remained in their camp, an air of jubilation swept through the city. The invincible Daroth had been turned back by the strength and courage of the soldiers, and by the strategic brilliance of Karis. Crowds formed outside the palace, cheering her name.

Inside, Karis lay in a hot bath with Stealer lying at the edge, looking quizzically at his adopted mistress.

Her thoughts were many and confused. Far from jubilation, she felt a sense of panic - almost of loss. It had begun when she had seen Necklen hanging from the rooftop; the old man meant more to her than she had realized. Then, when Forin charged in with his men, and she saw them cut down, one after another. With each one that died, a part of herself faded. War and death.

She was suddenly tired of both. And yet this was just the beginning. The Daroth would be wary now; they would circle the city, looking for a weak spot, then launch another attack ... and another. Even if Corduin held, what would be gained? There were seven cities of the Daroth, and their power was enormous.

Karis sighed, then ducked her head under the warm water, washing her dark hair. 'What is it for?' she asked Stealer. Cocking his head he gazed back at her. 'Is there a point to it all?'

'A drowning man doesn't stop to think about whether the sea has a reason for being,' said a voice. 'He just swims and fights for life.'

'What are you doing here, Forin?'

'I came to talk, but I'd just as soon have a bath.' Stripping off his bloodstained clothes, the red-bearded giant moved down the marble steps and sank down into the water. 'Ah, but that is good.'

'I don't want company,' she said, but there was no force of conviction in her voice.

'Yes, you do. You've lived and breathed the Daroth threat for weeks now - scheming, planning, worrying.

And all for this day. Now it is over. And all the tension of those dark days is settling over you like a black mist.'

'I'm sick of it,' she said. 'Sick of seeing death and violence.'

'You are right to be sick of it, it is a sickening business. As to the point . . . ? Ask the living. There are crowds outside chanting your name . . . well, not exactly your name. "The Ice Queen", they are calling you now. They think you are a deliverer sent by the gods. Better than the "Whore of War", anyway.'

'I don't care what they think.'

'You should; they are what this is all about: the bakers

and the carpenters, the dreamers and the poets. But you won't see that today, will you, Karis?'

'What is it you want from me?' she asked, rising from the water and climbing the steps. Servants had left thick towels by the bath side and Karis wrapped one around her torso, using a second to dry her hair.

'Well?' she persisted.

'I don't know. How did the hot water feel upon your skin?'

'What has that to do with anything?'

'It felt good, didn't it? Cleansing the skin, relaxing the muscles. Had the Daroth broken through, we would have all been dead. No more baths. No more wine. No more loving. They didn't break through, Karis. You stopped them. And here we are. And life is sweet! Tomorrow. . . ? Well, tomorrow can look after itself.

What do I want? Pointless to say that I want you for eternity. We may only have a day. But if we don't use it then the Daroth might just as well have won.'

She sat down on a bench and smiled. 'That was a long-winded way of saying you want to take me to bed.'

He grinned at her. 'What I wanted most was to see you smile.'

She looked into his green eyes and was silent for a moment. 'Come and join me in a drink,' she said at last.

He rose from the water and she threw him a towel.

Necklen, Vint and the Duke Albreck were waiting in her outer rooms. The Duke stood as she entered, then averted his eyes. 'My apologies, General,' he said. 'We will come back when you are attired for company.'

Karis bowed. 'With respect, my lord, please be seated. I am too tired to dress, and will soon be asleep. But for the moment I have enough wits about me to conduct a conversation.'

'As you wish,' he said, but he was clearly uncomfortable. Seating himself, he was about to speak when Forin walked in naked. Hastily the giant swept a towel around his hips, but as he bowed the towel fell away. Necklen roared with laughter and even the Duke smiled. Then Albreck turned to Karis. 'Firstly, let me congratulate you on today's victory. The people seem to believe it was a miracle. For myself I know it to be the result of careful planning and meticulous strategy. I am proud of you, Karis.

Whatever happens from now on, nothing will change that.'

Karis reddened, seeming at a loss for words. The Duke rose and bowed to her, then swung to Forin.

'You lost a lot of men today, Captain. But you fought like a lion. Should Corduin survive this war, then there will be a place for you in my personal guard.'

'Thank you, my lord. I'll enjoy that.'

The Duke moved to the door. 'When you have rested, Karis, please come to my rooms. I would like to discuss tomorrow's plan of defence.' He paused before the door, which Necklen opened for him. Karis lay back on the couch, fatigue making her head swim.

'We'll let you get some rest, princess,' said Necklen, tapping Vint on the shoulder. Vint did not move; his face ashen, he was staring at Forin with undisguised hatred. Necklen leaned in to him. 'Time to go, my friend,' he whispered. Vint took a deep breath, pushed himself to his feet and stalked from the room. Necklen followed him.

'I think I've made an enemy of Vint,' said Forin. There was no reply from Karis, and the giant, moving alongside her, saw that she was asleep. Gently he lifted her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom. Pulling the sheets and blankets over her he kissed her brow, then dressed and wandered out of the palace.

Necklen caught Vint just as the swordsman was passing the side gates of the palace. 'Join me for a jug?' asked the older man.

'I don't think so.'

'It's what she is, Vint,' said Necklen. 'I love her like a daughter, but she's wilful.'

With great effort Vint held back the angry retort that swelled in his throat. Necklen was a good man, tough and loyal, and he meant well. The truth was simple: a man rarely understands the value of what he has - until he loses it. 'You mustn't blame Forin,' said Necklen.

'Blame? I don't blame anyone. I am angry, but that will pass. And now, if you'll excuse me, I'll return to the wall.'

Vint strode off. Everywhere there were crowds on the streets, laughing, singing, drinking. He moved through them like a wraith, oblivious to their joy. The black-clad figure of Tarantio was sitting on the battlements, staring out over the walls.

'Anything happening?' asked Vint.

'No. A whole group of them, maybe two hundred, have been sitting in a circle for the last couple of hours. Where's Karis?'

'Resting, apparently.' Tarantio caught the edge in Vint's tone and said nothing. 'Where next, do you think?' asked Vint. 'The east gate?'

'I have no idea. They are shocked, that's for sure.'

Vint glanced back to where the Daroth bodies had been dragged earlier. All that remained was what appeared to be a huge pile of white sacks and oddments of armour and weapons. 'What happened to the Daroth dead?' he asked.

'That's them,' said Tarantio. 'The bodies just shrivelled away. The stench was dreadful for a while. I saw a snake shed its skin one time; it was something like that.'

'It was the same at the miracle forest,' Vint told him. 'They really decompose fast, don't they?'

'If that is what is happening,' said Tarantio. 'That farmer who was taken by them . . . Barin. He said they were immortal - reborn every ten years. Maybe there's a new body for them back in their city.'

'What a loathsome thought.'

The bearded soldier who had spoken to Vint just before the attack walked up the rampart steps. He was weaving slightly, and holding a jug in his hands. 'What a day!' he said, slumping down beside the two men. 'What an incredible day! Did you know the whores are not accepting money today?

Everything's free: women, drink, food. What a day!' The man lay down on the stone and, using the empty jug for a pillow, fell asleep.

'Let's hope he has the same sentiments tomorrow,' said Tarantio. 'People are treating this as a great victory, when in fact it is only the starting skirmish.'

Brune ran up the steps, tripped at the top, recovered his balance and then moved alongside Tarantio, handing him a package wrapped in muslin. Tarantio opened it to find fresh bread, salted beef and a pottery jar containing butter. 'It's amazing back there,' said Brune. 'Everyone's so happy. A woman kissed me!'

'She must have been drunk,' teased Tarantio.

'Yes, she was,' admitted Brune. 'It was still nice, though.'

'How is the eye?' asked Vint.

The sandy-haired youngster gave a shrug. 'It's not as good as it was when it went gold. But it's all right.'

'You can shoot straight now?'

'I don't know. Haven't tried.'

'Brune has decided that war is evil, and he will have no part in killing,' put in Tarantio. 'Isn't that right, Brune?'

'Yes. I don't want to kill nobody.'

'Putting aside the double negative for a moment,' said Vint, 'I think that is a laudable point of view. But what do you do when a Daroth warrior is about to behead you with a large sword? Do you just die - or do you fight?'

'I'll die, I reckon,' said Brune.

'Could you offer some validation for this philosophy?'

'What did he say?' Brune asked Tarantio.

'I think he wants to know why you have decided not to fight.'

'Oh. It was the Oltor. I can't explain it, but when he was . . . you know, part of me, I could feel what he was thinking. What he was feeling. And it was good, you know? It was . . .' he paused '. . . right. Yes, that's it. It was right. You understand?'

'Not a word,' admitted Vint. 'You think it would be better to be dead than to fight for your life?'

'Yes, I think so. That's what the Oltor done.'

'And they were wiped out.'

'Yes, but they're back now.'

'What is he talking about?' Vint asked Tarantio.

'It is a long story.'

Vint was about to question him further when movement began in the Daroth camp. Hundreds of Daroth warriors moved to the lower hillside and began to dig while others could be seen returning from the woods carrying the trunks of felled trees. Within minutes the area was the scene of frenzied activity. The diggers soon disappeared from sight, but the watching men could see earth being thrown up from the pit. The Daroth brought up empty wagons, which they filled with earth; these were then trundled away, returning empty minutes later. Ropes and pulleys were assembled above the pit, drawing up dirt, while planks and timbers were lowered down.

Realization dawned on Vint and he felt a chilling fear spread through him. They're building a tunnel,' he said. 'They are going to burrow underneath us!'