Dark Moon

Chapter Fourteen

The house was cold and Tarantio lit a fire. Brune was staying in the new barracks building with the other stretcher-bearers, and the house seemed lonely without him. 'I miss him too,' said Dace. Tarantio smiled.

'You remember that first day? "He hit me with a lump of wood",' he mimicked.

'He is a good man. I hope he survives.'

Tarantio sat before the fire, enjoying the new warmth. 'We don't make many friends, do we, Dace? Why is that?'

'We don't need them, brother.'

'So why Brune? Why do we miss him?' Dace remained silent and Tarantio wandered out to the kitchen.

There was a stale loaf there and he cut several slices from it, bringing them back to the fire and toasting them. He ate only one, then lay down on the goatskin rug, weariness washing over him. The Daroth were still digging, the mouth of the tunnel illuminated by lanterns. Soon they would erupt out of the ground somewhere within the city.

'We won't die, brother,' said Dace. 'I'll kill them all.'

'I've always loved your sense of humour.'

'Don't go to sleep yet. I feel the need to talk awhile.' Dace sat up and added a log to the fire. 'Chio? Chio!' he said, aloud. He swore softly, and tried to summon Tarantio. He could now feel the weakness in their body, the muscle fatigue and the bone-numbing weariness. It was not a sensation Dace enjoyed. Pushing himself to his feet he walked to the kitchen and drank several cups of cold water, then scraped the last of some honey from a pottery jar. It was sweet and good.

His keen hearing picked up the sound of someone walking along the path to the door, and he opened it.

There, framed in the moonlight, the hood of a dark cloak hiding her golden hair, was the Lady Miriac.

'Are you not going to invite me in?' she asked. Dace stepped aside.

Her blue silk skirts swished against the floor as she moved through to the fire and sat down. Dace could hardly believe this was happening. It seemed so long ago when Tarantio had bedded her and Dace had fought for control, determined to draw his knife across her slender throat. In terror Tarantio had run from the room of mirrors. Now she was here. And Tarantio was asleep.

'Why did you not tell me you were back in Corduin?' she asked.

'I did not know you were still here,' said Dace, his fingers idly stroking the hilt of his dagger.

'Did I do something wrong?' she asked. 'We. . . blended so well. I felt ... I don't know what I felt. But I have thought about you constantly.' She rose and stepped in close to him, putting her arms around his shoulders.

He felt the warmth of her body, and pictured the blood gushing from her. Smoothly he drew the dagger, bringing it up behind her back. Her lips brushed against his cheek, then touched his mouth, and he felt her soft tongue upon his. All weariness fled from him, and he was suddenly filled with an aching need.

Stepping back she loosed the cloak, letting it fall, then undid the ties at the front of her silk dress. Dace watched in silent amazement as the garment fell to the floor. 'Why are you holding a dagger?' she whispered. He hurled it aside.

They made love before the fire, their passion fierce and uncontrolled, and when it was over Dace - for the first time in his life - began to weep. She held him close, stroking his back and whispering gentle endearments to him. It seemed to Dace that walls were collapsing in his mind, and emotions long hidden were washing out like the swollen waters of a flood. He saw his father hanging from the beam, and instead of being filled with a bitter hatred of the man's weakness he remembered his father's kindness and the love they had lost. He felt he was drowning in a sea of emotions he never knew he possessed. And he clung to Miriac, whose soft caresses and gentle words aroused him again.

He took her to the bedroom where they made love slowly and with great tenderness. Later, as she slept, Dace sat up and stared down at her as she lay with her golden hair spread out on the pillow, her slender left arm draped across the bed. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

'And you wanted to kill her,' said Tarantio.

'I have wanted many things,' Dace told him. 'But mostly I wanted us to stay together.'

'We are together.'

'You don't understand, Chio. We are not real, you and I; we are both creations of the child trapped in the mine. He created me to deal with his terrors, and in doing so gave birth to you. For only you could control me. Don't you see? And the pull is getting stronger. One day he will draw us both to him, and we will cease to be.'

'You cannot be sure of this,' argued Tarantio.

'Oh, I am sure. I can hear him calling me even now. And I can no longer resist.'

'Why?' Tarantio asked.

'Because I have known love - and that is not what I was created for. Goodbye, brother,' said Dace aloud, an infinite sadness in his voice.

Tarantio jerked back into awareness. 'Dace!' he called, but there was nothing.

Miriac stirred. 'Did you call me?' she whispered.

Tarantio sat very still, a yawning sense of emptiness sweeping through him.

Dace had gone ...

The mood in the Meeting Hall was sombre as Vint gave his report. The Daroth had moved mountains of earth from their tunnel, and by morning would be close to the walls. By late tomorrow they would be under the city. Duke Albreck listened in silence, but cast a searching gaze around the room and its occupants. The little councillor, Pooris, looked glum and uncertain. Karis sat with eyes downcast, contributing nothing.

The giant Forin was only half-listening to Vint; he was casting furtive glances towards Karis, and his look was one of concern. The dark-haired, skeletal cleric, Niro, sat forward attentively with his eyes fixed on the speaker. Neither Tarantio nor Ozhobar had so far arrived. 'I cannot see,' concluded Vint, 'how we can combat this new initiative. If it was men we were facing, I would suggest digging down to intercept them.

But Daroth? They would cut us to pieces in moments.' He sat down, and the silence that followed his words was ominous.

Duke Albreck waited for a moment, then took a deep breath. 'Our thanks to you, Vint. Your report was clear and concise. Any comments?' The silence grew again. 'General, do you have anything to add?' Karis shook her head, but did not look up. The Duke chose his words carefully, speaking without any hint of criticism. 'My friends, we have worked hard and long to plan our defences, and to secure a future for the thousands of Corduin citizens who remain.

It would be less than courageous to give in now, before the enemy has breached our walls. There must be something we can do.' He glanced at Pooris. The little man wiped the sweat from his bald head.

'I am not a warrior, my lord, as well you know. But I fail to see how we can combat these tactics. The Daroth could come up anywhere, and the only real weapons we have against them are too cumbersome to haul around the city. The way to the south is still open; the Daroth have not surrounded us. It seems to me that we should order a mass evacuation.'

'How far would we get?' asked Forin. 'At best such a column could make eight miles in a day. The Daroth riders would be upon us within the hour.'

The door opened and Ozhobar strolled in, carrying a bundle of scrolls under his arm. He gave a cursory bow to the Duke, then pulled up a chair. 'Have I missed anything?' he asked.

'You appear to have missed out your apology for lateness, sir,' chided the Duke.

'What? Ah, I see we are still observing the niceties. That's rather good. We dangle from the crumbling lip of the precipice, but we retain our manners.'

'We do, sir,' said the Duke curtly.

'My apologies for my late arrival, my lord,' said Ozhobar, rising and bowing once more, 'but I needed to obtain these items from the Great Library. Some fool of a cleric told me that it was closed, but would re-open at its usual time tomorrow. He too was observing the niceties.' His pale eyes gleamed with anger. 'This of course meant that I had to waste time fetching a large hammer from my forge and beating down the door. However, that is largely of no consequence now. I have, I believe, found a way to fight the Daroth.'

Duke Albreck swallowed his irritation. 'Would you enlighten us, my dear Ozhobar?'

'Certainly, my lord.' He passed one of the scrolls to the Duke, who opened it. He recognized it instantly.

'These are your plans for a city sewerage system. I recall you brought them to me last year.'

'Indeed I did. After examining them you passed them on to the City Council for perusal. From there, it seems they were sent to a treasury team, then to the councillors responsible for public works. Lastly they were lodged in a small room at the rear of the Library, perhaps waiting for future generations to study them. It took me a long time to locate them, but here they are.'

'I see the plan,' said Vint dryly. 'We swiftly build a sewer system, and when the Daroth break through they are washed away. I think it is brilliant.'

'Dolt!' said Ozhobar, passing the other scrolls around the table. 'I am talking about the reason why such a sewerage system was feasible in the first place.'

'The catacombs,' said the Duke, unable to keep the excitement from his voice.

'Precisely, my lord. They spread under the city in all directions. I believe the Daroth will break through into one of the natural tunnels below the old barracks building. Now, if they have any sense at all they will not dig any further, but follow the tunnels to any one of seventeen exits within the city itself.'

'And that is a help?' sneered Vint, his face pale and angry.

'Perhaps if I speak more slowly your simple mind might be able to keep up,' said Ozhobar.

Vint fought for control. 'Be careful, fat man. Your life hangs on a thread.'

'Somewhat similar to your brain, then,' observed Ozhobar. Vint lurched to his feet at the insult.

'That is enough! Both of you!' said the Duke, without raising his voice. 'What is your plan, Ozhobar?'

'I don't make war plans. I leave that to Karis. But there are many chambers in the catacombs. I have walked them, and I know.'

Karis looked up. 'Before I speak it is vital for Vint and Forin to leave the room.'

'Why?' asked Forin.

'Because both of you will be fighting the Daroth, face to face. Ask no more questions. The answers should be obvious.'

'Indeed they are, Karis,' said Vint. The warrior swung to Ozhobar, and when he spoke his voice was flat and cold. 'You have nerve, fat man; I'll give you that. And because of your discovery, I will not kill you for your insolence.'

'Decent of you, I'm sure,' retorted Ozhobar.

The two warriors left the room. Karis rose, and Duke Albreck was delighted to see the glint in her eyes. 'We can lead the Daroth to the exit we prefer,' she said. 'We need a fighting force below ground.

They will attack the Daroth, then retreat before them. The Daroth will follow. If we can maintain a fighting retreat, we can ensure that we have ballistae, crossbow-men and catapults waiting for them above ground. The difficulty will be in preventing the Daroth from recognizing the plan; if our men are retreating towards a set exit, they may well suspect a trap.'

'I see the problem,' said the Duke. 'If our men are told of the plan, the enemy will read their minds. Yet if we don't tell the men which way to retreat, the scheme is doomed anyway.'

'Then what do you propose, Karis?' asked Pooris.

'I don't know yet. But I will, councillor. Be assured of that.'

Necklen poured himself a goblet of wine and sipped it. It was a fine vintage, yet its flavour was lost on the veteran. The stump of his left arm was throbbing, and he felt every inch his fifty-seven years. Normally he avoided mirrors but, fortified by the wine, he sat before the oval mirror set above the dresser and stared gloomily at his reflection. There was not much dark hair left in his almost silver beard, and his leathery skin was criss-crossed with wrinkles. Only the eyes remained alive and alert.

No-one knew exactly how old he was. He had always lied about his age, for few captains would have knowingly hired a mercenary over fifty. I hate being old, he thought. I hate the aches and the pains that come with the winter winds and snow. But most of all he hated the chasm it created between himself and Karis. He could still remember the day four years ago when he discovered - to his utter amazement - that he was in love with her. It was after the victory at the Boriane Pass, when she had wandered away to sit alone by a small waterfall. She was by the waterside, surrounded by daffodils, when he had taken her some food the camp cook had prepared, and was surprised to find her weeping.

'One usually weeps when one has lost a battle,' he said softly, sitting down beside her. Her dark hair had been tightly drawn back into a ponytail. Karis loosed the tie and shook her head. It was in that moment, her hair hanging free, tears in her eyes, that Necklen fell in love for the second time in his life.

Karis wiped her eyes. 'Stupid woman,' she said. 'I thought they would have surrendered. Outnumbered, outflanked, what else could they do? But no, they had to fight to the death. And for what? A little village that will still be there when we have all gone to dust.'

'They were brave men,' he conceded.

'They were fools. We are fools. But then war is a game made for fools.'

'And you play it so well, princess.'

She looked at him sharply. 'I don't think I like that term.'

'I'm sorry,' he had said, reddening. 'I haven't used it in years. It was what I used to call my daughter.' That was a lie; it was the pet name he had called Sofain, his wife.

'Where is she now?' asked Karis.

'Dead. She and my wife were visiting their family in the islands when the boat was caught in a storm. They were washed overboard.'

'I am truly sorry, Necklen. Did you love them very much?'

'It is curious, but I loved them more when they had died. You don't know how valuable love is, until something takes it from you.'

'How old was your daughter?'

'Five. Dark-haired like you. She would have been about your age now - young, and full of life. Married, probably, to some farmer.'

'And you would have been a doting grandfather with babies on your knee.' He chuckled at the thought. 'I need to swim,' she said. Rising, she had stripped off her boots, leggings and tunic and dived into the pool below the falls. Necklen had rarely felt as old as he did at that moment.

He was dragged from his reverie by the sound of the door opening. Karis moved across the room and sat down opposite the old warrior. He forced a cheerfulness he did not feel. 'You are looking brighter, princess,' he said. 'What can have changed your mood?'

'One more tactic against the Daroth,' she said. 'The last one.' She told him about the catacombs, and her plans for a rolling retreat to draw the enemy to a desired location.

'But if there are seventeen exits, the Daroth might split their force and not follow our men. Or they might read their minds and realize the trap.'

'Exactly! That is what we must work out. How do we misdirect the Daroth?'

'Well, firstly, is there a need? In the darkness of the catacombs, amidst the chaos of a rolling retreat, the Daroth may not be able to read minds.'

She shook her head. 'We cannot rely on that.' Moving to the table she spread out a map of the catacombs.

'Six of the exits emerge into the Great Park. Only one of these is surrounded by flat land where we could assemble all our ballistae, spreading them in a half circle around the exit. Then, when the Daroth emerge we can cut them to pieces.'

'There is a second problem there, princess: they will not emerge all at once. Let's say twenty scramble out, then charge the ballistae. We shoot, they fall, then fifty more emerge while we are reloading. We will also need a plan that allows the greatest number of Daroth to rise from the darkness - before we shoot.'

'One problem at a time, old one.' They talked on for more than an hour, discussing possible strategies, then Karis called a halt. 'I will sleep on it,' she said. Necklen rose to go, but she lifted her hand. 'Wait for a few moments, my friend,' she said.

'What else is troubling you?' he asked.

She gave a wistful smile. 'Nothing of great importance - not to the city anyway,' she told him. 'You once told me about your wife. Did you love her?'

'Ay, I did. She was a fine woman.'

'How did you know you loved her?'

The question took Necklen by surprise. 'I can't say I know what you mean, princess,' he said. 'How does anyone know? It just happens.' She looked disappointed, but said nothing and Necklen felt he had failed her. 'How do you feel when you are in love?' he asked.

She shrugged. 'I never have been.'

'But you've . . .' he faltered.

'Had a hundred lovers,' she finished for him. 'I know. I've always been careful. Never rutted with a man who touched my soul.'

'In Heaven's name, why?'

Karis half-filled a goblet with wine, then added water. But she did not drink; she merely stared into the wine's crimson depths. Necklen was about to ask her again when she looked up. 'I don't remember how old I was when I first saw my father punch my mother. But I was very small. I saw her thrown across a table, and lying upon the floor with blood seeping from her smashed lips. He kicked her then, and I began screaming. Then he struck me.'

'What has this to do with your falling in love? I don't see the connection.'

'You don't? She married for love. It destroyed her.'

'And you feel it would happen to you? Why should it?' he asked. 'You think all men are like your father?'

'Yes,' she answered, simply. 'They all want control. They see women as possessions, and I will not be possessed.'

'Forin,' he said. 'You are in love with Forin. He is the

last person you think of before going to sleep, and the first person you see in your mind's eye when you wake. Yes?' She nodded. 'Ah, princess, you are a fine, intelligent lass, and yet dumb as a jackass.

Of course love is dangerous and wild and irresponsible. By Heaven, that's what makes it so wonderful!'

'You think me stupid?' she asked him, her voice soft, barely above a whisper.

'I adore you, princess, but you should not be looking at love through the eyes of the frightened child you once were. Let me go and find him. I'll send him to you.' As Necklen pushed himself to his feet, Karis rose and stepped close to kiss his bearded cheek.

'I love you, old man,' she said. 'I wish you had been my father.'

'I love you too,' he said.

And, with despair in his heart, strode off to find Forin.

The sun was high in the sky as Ozhobar and Vint stood on the parapet of the north wall watching the Daroth toil. 'They have hit rock,' said Ozhobar. 'It has slowed them considerably.'

'Maybe they will not be able to pass it,' suggested the swordsman hopefully.

'They will pass it,' said Ozhobar grimly. 'Before long we will be able to hear them below us, like termites.' He switched his gaze to the soldiers on the wall; they were stern of face, and there was little conversation. The celebrations in the city had died away as the news spread of the new Daroth initiative. Already citizens had begun to report sounds underground, which they became convinced were Daroth engineers. It was hard to allay the fears, and fresh columns of refugees had already started to stream towards the south.

The smell of onion soup drifted up to them. 'I cannot stand another day of that,' said Vint. 'Join me for breakfast?'

'I thought you wanted to kill me,' Ozhobar observed.

'I also want to eat,' said Vint coldly. The two men left the ramparts and walked to a nearby tavern, where they breakfasted on eggs, bacon and beef, washed down with cider. 'Where are you from?' Vint asked the Weapon Maker.

'The islands. My father was a blacksmith and an inventor.'

'What brought you to the mainland?'

Ozhobar shrugged. 'I thought I'd travel and see the world. Thought there'd be more scope for my talents.'

'Well, you were right about that.'

'I didn't mean with weapons,' said Ozhobar sadly. 'Prentuis had a sewerage system - not a very good one, mind, but they survived the plague better than any other city. Less filth on the streets. Less disease.'

'The city doesn't exist any more,' said Vint.

'That's not the point I am trying to make. Life could be so much better for people if we weren't always fighting, using all our resources for weapons and armies. I suppose, however, that life would be exceedingly dull for you if peace ever came?'

'No, I would paint and write,' said Vint, draining the last of his cider.

'You are a painter?'

'Ah, I have surprised you,' said Vint. 'Yes, I paint. Landscapes mostly, but I have tackled portraits. I would offer to paint you, Oz, but I fear I wouldn't have a canvas large enough.'

Ozhobar laughed. 'Vint the painter and Ozhobar the sewer designer. What a pretty pair!'

'Indeed we are,' agreed Vint. 'And now, I fear, it is time for the return of the Swordsman and the Weapon Maker! Shall we tour the catacombs?'

Servants were rushing about the house packing valuables into chests and carrying them down to the two wagons drawn up outside. Miriac walked past them into the main room to find Pooris pushing papers into a leather shoulder-bag.

'What is happening?' asked Miriac.

'My dear, it is time to leave. The city is about to fall. I have had most of your clothes packed and loaded in the wagon. We set off for Hlobane within the hour.'

'I thought you had decided to stay,' she said.

'That was then,' he told her. 'Now events have overtaken my plans. The Daroth are tunnelling beneath the city as we speak.'

'And the Duke has allowed you this leave of absence?'

'I am not a bondsman,' he said curtly. 'I can go where I will. Now please look to your personal possessions and make yourself ready.'

Miriac left the little man and moved back into the hall. Stopping a servant, she told him to unload her chests and return them to the master bedroom. Pooris heard her and rushed out. 'Do not be stupid,' he said. The Daroth will have no need of courtesans, my dear - save to cook you over a charcoal pit.'

Leaning forward, she kissed the crown of his bald head. 'You go, Pooris,' she said. 'I will stay and look after your house.'

'You don't understand ...'

'I understand well enough. The Daroth are tunnelling

beneath us and you believe the city is about to fall. You wish to save yourself - that is entirely natural. Do as you think fit, Pooris. But I will remain.'

'But ... I need you.'

'No. You want me. There is a difference.' He stood very still, and she could see the confusion on his face.

Even more, she could understand the warring emotions within him. Pooris was not a coward but, like all politicians, he was a pragmatist. If the Daroth had won — which he believed they had - then it was only sensible to retreat before them. Now Miriac had presented him with a fresh dilemma. He loved her, and, as a man, wanted to protect her. He could not do this from Hlobane or Loretheli. Realistically, however, he could not do it here in Corduin either; the tiny councillor would be no match for a Daroth. 'I want you to be safe,' she told him. 'You are very dear to me. I think you have made the right decision.' She saw him relax then, as she had known he would.

Without further conversation, she went upstairs to her rooms and began to unpack the chests. She had promised Tarantio to return at dusk, and had been wondering how to break the news to Pooris. Now there was no need.

The councillor came to her an hour later, and stood in the doorway of her bedroom. 'Please come with me,' he said. 'I beg you.'

'No, dear heart.'

'I have great wealth, much of it invested in Loretheli and the islands. You would be like a queen there.'

'Go, Pooris. The Daroth may even now be riding to intercept the convoys.'

Moving forward, he kissed her cheek, then turned and ran from the room.

Miriac heard him on the stairs, then returned her gaze to the long mirror on her dressing table. 'You are a fool,' she told herself. Then she remembered the time with Tarantio, the warmth of his body upon hers.

She had thought of him every day since the curious events two years before, after the duel with Carlyn. The Duke had asked her to entertain his new champion, and she had done so to the best of her considerable abilities. It had been a wondrous night, and she had been surprised by the intensity of his virgin love-making. Then he had fled. No other word could describe it. The following morning she had tried to dismiss it from her mind, yet she could not. Investigations revealed that Tarantio had spurned the Duke's offer to become champion and instead had enlisted as a mercenary. There was no sense to it. Why would any man turn down the promise of riches and comfort for a life of hardship and premature death?

For some time she continued to ask about him. Then she met the merchant Lunder, whom Tarantio paid to invest his hard-earned silver. Through Lunder she knew where Tarantio was, and what battles he had fought in. It was a tenuous link, but a link nonetheless.

When she had gone to him last night she had hoped to find him less fabulous than in her memories, so that she could finally be rid of the torment of thinking of him. Instead she found the experience enriching, and she still felt an inner glow as she recalled his tender touch.

'I will not lose you again,' she said.

In the three days that followed, the Daroth made one half-hearted attack on the eastern gate, but were driven back by the fireballs of two catapults. Meanwhile the endless tunnelling continued. Minute by minute, Daroth engineers could be seen leaving the mouth of the tunnel bearing sacks of rock which were loaded to wagons, then ferried away out of sight. They worked ceaselessly, and always at the same pace. 'They are like machines,' said a soldier to Forin, as he and Karis observed the work. 'Do they never rest or sleep?'

'Apparently not,' replied Forin. 'But they die, boy. And more of them will die when they break through.'

'It is said they don't die,' put in the soldier. 'They go back to eggs or some such, and are born again.'

Forin did not reply. When Karis walked away, he followed her. 'You are pensive today,' he said, as they strolled along the avenue towards the palace.

'I have much to think about.'

'We will survive, Karis. I'm sure of that.'

'It would be nice to be so sure.'

'I don't intend to fall before some whey-faced giant termite — not now I've found you.'

'I hope that you don't!'

'You have a plan yet?'

'If I tell you, then you will not be able to lead the fighting in the catacombs. Do you want me to tell you?'

He paused. 'I would dearly like to say yes to that, but I cannot. Tarantio and Vint have their magical swords. I have my strength. It will be needed in the catacombs. Speaking of Tarantio, I haven't seen him for days. Where is he?'

'I don't know,' replied Karis. 'He has failed to attend two meetings. I want him there tonight.'

'I'll fetch him myself,' promised Forin. She made to walk on, but he gently took her arm. 'When this is over, would you consider marrying me?' he asked her.

'You are certainly an optimist, Redbeard.'

'Always. But especially now. You think I will allow the Daroth to steal my joy?'

Karis looked up into his broad, flat face and met the intensity of his green gaze. 'You are the strongest man I've known. Perhaps you can survive. Ask me again when the Daroth are defeated.'

He moved to kiss her but she stepped back, her eyes cold. 'Not in the open, Forin.'

'Are you ashamed of me?' he asked, bewildered.

'Have you not heard what they call me? "The Ice Queen". Let them keep their illusions. Now is not the time for them to see Karis the woman.'

She swung away from him and strode on. Forin cut off to the left and made his way to the small house Tarantio had rented. He hammered on the door, but at first there was no reply. Four times more he thumped his fist against the wood, then finally the door swung open and Tarantio stood there, bare-chested. 'Sleeping in the middle of the day? You are getting old, man.' Without waiting to be invited, Forin stepped inside, walking through to the main room. His nostrils flared; the smell of strong perfume lingered in the air.

'I am sorry, my friend, I did not know you had company.'

'Well, I have,' said Tarantio. 'What brings you here?'

'Karis wanted to make sure you would attend tonight's meeting.'

'Tell her I will not be there.'

'You must be - that is where we will plan the fight in the catacombs.' Swiftly he told Tarantio of the caverns under the city. 'Ozhobar thinks the Daroth will break through sometime tomorrow.'

'I am no longer willing to fight,' said Tarantio.

'Is this a joke? You think you have a choice?'

'A man always has a choice. I am leaving tomorrow.'

'I don't believe it,' declared Forin, stunned. 'You of all people! How can you consider leaving us to fight alone?

You are the best swordsman I ever saw, and you have a magical blade. We need you, man.' 'The sword is by the door. Take it when you go.' Forin looked at him quizzically. 'What has happened to you, Chio? You are not the man I knew. You are certainly not the man who said he could swallow me whole if someone buttered my head and pinned my ears back. Gods, man, has the heart gone out of you?' 'Yes,' said Tarantio. 'The heart has gone out of me.' Disgusted, Forin swung away from him and headed for the door. The sword belt was hanging on a hook and the giant lifted it clear.

'I am sorry,' he heard Tarantio call out. 'Rot and die,' replied Forin.

Dressed in a loose-fitting white gown, the ties undone, Miriac came out of the bedroom as the front door closed behind Forin. For a moment she said nothing, but stood looking at Tarantio. He smiled at her. 'Would you like some wine?'

'He was your friend,' she said.

'Yes. Would you like some wine?'

'No. I don't understand why you told him that.'

'What is there to understand? I'm not going to fight any more. I want to get you somewhere safe.' He reached for her, but she drew back. 'What is wrong?' he asked her.

'I don't know - but he was right, Chio. Something has gone out of you; I've sensed it for days.'

'Is it that obvious?'

'It is to me. I love you, but you have changed. Have I done this to you? Have I robbed you of your courage?'

'My courage has not gone!' he said, but the words came out defensively and he could hear his own fear echoing

in his denial. 'It has not gone,' he said. 'He wasn't my courage.'

'He?'

'I don't want to talk about it.'

'Not even to me?'

Tarantio turned away from her and stared around the room. Miriac remained quiet and still, allowing the silence to grow. He moved over to the fire and added coal to the embers, then sat down on the rug and looked into the flames. In a low voice he told her of his life, and the birth of Dace, and how they had lived together ever since. 'I am not insane,' he assured her. 'Dace was as real to me as you are. You asked me why I fled that night. Dace wanted to kill you; he felt my love for you, and saw it as a threat.

When you came to the house two nights ago, it was Dace who met you.' He fell silent, and did not look at her.

She moved alongside him and sat down beside the fire. 'I don't understand,' she said gently. 'I have never heard of anything like this. But I do know that the man who met me was not you. And when I kissed him he was holding a dagger.' Taking his face in her hands, she looked into his deep blue eyes.

'And his eyes were grey,' she said, 'and fierce.' Her hands fell away, and she leaned in and kissed his cheek.

'I am not insane,' he repeated, 'but the next morning Dace said goodbye to me - and I can no longer find him. I call, but he is not there.'

'And that frightens you?'

He nodded. 'Dace could fight his way clear of any danger. He feared nothing in combat. But I do. And I do not want to die - not now I have found you again.'

'We are going to die,' she said. 'Perhaps not today or tomorrow - but sometime in the future we will cease to be. It cannot be avoided, no matter how far or how fast we run. I do love you, Chio, but I do not know you very well. So I may be wrong in what I am about to say, but I will say it nonetheless: you will come to hate yourself if you run now. I believe this to be true.'

'You want to stay here? And face the Daroth?'

'No, I want to run too. Yet I will stay. I will stare my fears in the face, as I have always done - not over my shoulder as I flee.'

'I don't know what to do,' he said miserably.

'Look into your heart, Chio. How did it feel to have your friend look at you with contempt? How do you feel about yourself?'

'Lessened,' he said simply.

'Then go to the meeting. Take back your sword. No-one can take away your pride; you have to willingly surrender it. Once you do so, you will never be the same man again.'

'I don't know if I'll be much use to them without Dace.'

'Perhaps you are Dace. Perhaps he is merely another manifestation of you. Even if he is not, you are still a man of courage. I know this, for I could never love a coward.'

He smiled then, and she saw his expression lighten. 'You are a wonder,' he said.

'Indeed I am,' she told him. 'And if Dace returns, tell him I love him too.'

The Meeting Hall was filled with officers and men. The Duke, dressed in a tunic and leggings of black silk, sat at the head of the table, with Karis to his right. The white wall behind him had been stripped of paintings, and Ozhobar had sketched out a map of the catacombs on the bare plaster.

The Duke rose. 'This will be the final battle,' he told his grim-faced audience. 'Below the ground, underneath the city, you will face a terrible enemy. Karis will explain the strategy to you. It will not be easy to carry out the orders - which is why every man here has been hand-picked. You are the most courageous fighters we have, and I am proud to stand in this room with you.'

With that he sat down, and Karis pushed back her chair and moved to the wall. Using a slender rapier, she pointed to the map. 'This area is where we expect the Daroth to break through. Already we can hear them.

Lanterns have been placed around the catacombs, so that you will be able to see your targets. The object is to hit the enemy hard, then fall back to our second line of defence, which will be here,' she said, pointing to an area where the tunnels branched and narrowed.

'Excuse me, General,' said an older officer, a tall man sporting a curling moustache but no beard, 'but I know the catacombs. Wouldn't it be wiser to fortify the main tunnel? You have us retreating along a branch section.'

'That is a good point,' she admitted, 'but the main tunnel branches further back, then splits into a honeycomb of passages. We could lose a great many men there.' He made to speak again, but Karis raised her hand. 'Do not question me further, sir; you are overlooking the menace of the Daroth talent for reading minds. I don't know how strongly they will be able to penetrate our plans once the killing begins. But I do not want us - here and now - to examine all the possibilities for defence or counter-attacks. What is vital is that you all listen, and obey your orders to the best of your abilities. The fate of the city will depend on you.'

In the silence that followed she mapped out the line of the rolling retreat, the numbers of crossbow-men and the positions they should occupy. 'As each group retreats they should keep close to the walls, so that the next line of bowmen can rake the enemy. When you pass through the lines, take up positions to the rear and prepare to cover your comrades as they in turn retreat.' Slowly and methodically she covered the plan again, then asked questions of the officers until she was sure they knew what was required.

The man with the curling moustache spoke again. 'And what if the line breaks, General? What do we do?'

'You get out as best you can,' Karis told him. Seeing that, he was about to speak again, she raised her hand to halt him. 'No more questions,' she said. 'Go and gather your men, give out your orders, then assemble at the park entrance to the catacombs. Vint and Forin will be there waiting for you.'

'As will I,' said Tarantio, from the rear of the room. Forin swung in his seat and gave a broad grin. As the officers filed out Tarantio moved over to Forin. 'I think you have something that belongs to me,' he said.

'Indeed I do, man. It is good to see you.' Unbuckling his sword belt he passed the weapon to Tarantio.

'What changed your mind?' asked Karis.

'The love of a good woman,' Tarantio answered.

'You and Vint will cover the withdrawals. You will rove freely, making use of the available cover - and there is a great deal of that. The catacombs are a maze of stalactites and stalagmites.'

'I never could remember the difference between the two,' muttered Forin.

'Neither could I,' said the Duke. 'Think of the "c" and the "g" as standing for ceiling and ground. Stalactites grow from the ceiling downwards, stalagmites from the ground up.'

'Thank you, my lord,' said Forin. The Duke gave a short bow.

'When I say free roving,' said Karis, 'I mean exactly that. But do not allow yourself to be drawn away from the retreating lines. There are a number of blind tunnels that lead nowhere, and a great many more that have hidden pits, some of which are very deep. The main areas we are defending have been marked by white paint. Keep to those.'

Vint spoke up. 'I know this is a difficult area, Karis, but all the men who were here heard you talk about a rolling retreat. Retreats do not win battles. They know you will have a secondary plan of action; we all know it. Therefore so will the Daroth. It has to involve the exits; you will be planning to ambush them as they come out. Therefore they will probably not follow us.'

'Forgive me, General,' said the Duke, 'but I was thinking the same thing. Once the battle begins, the Daroth can take any number of exits.'

'That is true,' said Karis, 'but firstly the Daroth may not yet know about the catacombs. Secondly, even if they do, they will not be familiar with the layout.'

'Every man here will have seen the map,' said Forin.

'Yes,' agreed Karis, 'but we cannot cover all the eventualities. As you can see, if the Daroth are drawn into the first series of tunnels the number of exits available to them drops to eight. The further we pull them, the fewer their options.'

'At the risk of labouring the point,' said Vint, 'everything you are telling us can be learned by the enemy.'

'That is why I am not telling you everything. Trust me, Vint. We will surprise them. You see, they also will face a difficult dilemma. They know I have misdirected them once before, by planting false information in the mind of one of our scouts. Therefore, in the chaos of battle within the tunnels, they will not be able to trust completely in the thoughts of the men facing them. That will lead to confusion, believe me.'

'I believe you, Karis,' said Vint. 'I just don't want to be used like that poor scout.'

'You are being used in exactly that way,' she told him coldly.

The smell of lantern oil hung heavily in the still air of the catacombs, and the warriors crouched in nervous silence, listening to the steady thudding sound of Daroth hammers and pick-axes coming ever closer. Forin wiped sweat from his face and glanced at Vint, who was standing beside the column of a towering stalagmite. The swordsman's face seemed strained and tense in the yellow, flickering light of the lanterns.

Some way to his left Tarantio was sitting on a jut of rock, head down and arms on his knees. Forin took a deep, calming breath and walked back among the kneeling crossbow-men. No-one spoke, and the sheen of fear-sweat was bright on every face.

For the second time in an hour Forin strode forward, crossing the cavern floor all the way to the far wall.

Once there, heart pounding, he placed his hand on the rock. This time he could feel the vibration of the Daroth hammers tingling against his palm.

Tarantio looked up as the giant returned, lantern light gleaming on the polished iron breastplate. 'Soon,' whispered Forin.

Where are you, Dace?

There was no response. Tarantio was trembling and terror was growing within him. A splintering thud, louder than before, caused him to jerk as if stung. Rising to his feet, he found his legs unsteady and was filled with an urge to run from this dark, shadow-haunted place. Even as the thought came to him, a young crossbow-man to the rear dropped his weapon and scrambled back along the paint- marked tunnel.

Other men stirred and Forin moved amongst them, patting a shoulder here, pausing to whisper encouragement there, his colossal presence calming them. He gave the signal to cock the weapons.

Tarantio's mouth was dry, and he thought of Miriac waiting for him back at the house, the bright sunshine streaming through the open windows. If the Daroth were to break through here ... The thought was too awful to entertain.

The edge of a pick-axe smashed through the black rock. The crossbow-men set up their tripods, resting their heavy weapons upon them, aiming at the wall. Vint and Tarantio moved back away from the killing area. Tarantio drew his sword, which shimmered in the lantern light.

A large section of rock fell away - then another, crashing to the cavern floor. A huge Daroth engineer stepped into sight. Three crossbow bolts smashed through his skull and he pitched to the ground.

Frenzied activity began in the tunnel, picks and hammers crashing at the last barriers. The hole widened and the Daroth swarmed through, their faces ghostly white, their massive forms throwing giant shadows on the walls.

Crossbow bolts tore into them, and they charged. Tarantio darted from behind a stalagmite and sent a slashing cut through the ribs of the first Daroth warrior. Ducking under a thrusting sword-blade, he speared his own weapon through the belly of a second. On the other side of the cavern Vint lanced his sword into the chest of a Daroth warrior, then spun on his heel to send a reverse cut across the throat of a second. Behind them the crossbow-men were retreating to the second line of defence.

Vint leapt back, then turned on his heel and ran for cover, keeping close to the right-hand wall. A hurled spear smashed into a stalagmite, sending shards of stone into his face and neck. Ahead was a line of sandbags, with crossbow-men kneeling behind them. As Vint leapt over them, then spun to face the enemy, he saw Tarantio running along the far side of the cavern, scrambling to safety.

The mass of Daroth surged forward. The crossbows sang, and fifty bolts slammed into the leading warriors.

The Corduin soldiers struggled in vain to reload - a few succeeded - but the Daroth were upon them, serrated swords smashing through armour, flesh and bone. Vint leaped forward, cutting and killing. 'Back!' he shouted. The defenceless crossbow-men needed no instructions; they fled along the tunnel. Vint followed them, Tarantio to his right.

There was no sound of pursuit. Spinning, the two men looked back. The Daroth were standing by the sandbag wall, then they filed away to the right. Vint swore.

Karis's plan was not working.

Alone in the dark Ozhobar listened to the distant sounds of battle, the screams of wounded men, the clash of steel, the hissing song of crossbow strings. Appalling sounds, he thought.

Evil.

Ozhobar was not a religious man. He had prayed only once in his life. It had not been answered, and he had buried the ones he loved, the plague continuing to sweep through the islands causing misery and desolation to those left behind. But one did not need to be religious to understand the nature of evil. The plague had an evil effect, but was merely a perversion of nature; it was not sentient. The Daroth, on the other hand, Ozhobar believed to be evil incarnate. They knew what they were doing, the pain they caused and the despair they created. Worse, they had fostered hatred in their enemies that would last for generations. And hatred was the mother of all evil.

'You will not make me hate you,' thought Ozhobar. 'But I will kill you!'

The sounds of fighting died away. Ozhobar lifted the glass from his lantern, exposing the naked flame, then rose and glanced down the sloping tunnel. He could see no movement, so he closed his eyes and listened. At first there was nothing, then he heard the sound of boots upon stone. The mouth of the tunnel was over 100 feet from where he now stood. Lifting the lantern, he moved behind the huge pottery ball and lit the oil-soaked rags wedged into the holes.

Ahead he could see flickering shadows as the Daroth moved up the slope.

Ozhobar sat down with his back to the wall, placed his boots against the burning ball and thrust hard.

It began to roll, slowly at first on the gentle slope; then it gathered pace. The Daroth came into sight.

Ozhobar took up his crossbow and aimed it, sending an iron bolt into the ball, shattering a section of the pottery. Blazing oil spilled out, and flames erupted through the Daroth ranks.

Not waiting to see the result Ozhobar scrambled back, replaced the glass on the lantern and then climbed further up the slope, traversing a ledge that brought him out high above the cavern floor. He could clearly see the stream of burning oil flowing out of the tunnel. A flash of bright light came from the far side, and he saw Daroth warriors fleeing from the mouth of a second tunnel. Two of them were engulfed in flames, their comrades staying well back.

Ozhobar's assistant, Brek, came into sight, emerging from a cleft in the tunnel. The Daroth saw him and surged forward. Brek ran towards a tunnel mouth, but a jagged spear smashed through his back and he fell.

High on the ledge, Ozhobar felt the sting of grief. Brek had been a good man, solid and trustworthy. With a sigh, Ozhobar watched the Daroth milling in the centre of the cavern. Then they broke into a run and surged forward.

Towards the waiting crossbow-men.

Three volleys of bolts plunged into the advancing Daroth, but there was no slowing them now. Tarantio killed two, then dashed to his left as a spear smashed into the rock by his head. Three huge warriors ran at him. Cut off from the main body of defenders, he ran into a narrow tunnel, then turned swiftly and drove his blade through the white skull of the first pursuer. A spear slammed into his left shoulder, the serrated blade tearing up through his collar-bone. Blood sprayed from the wound. Tarantio swept his sword across the Daroth's belly, then backhanded a cut that half-severed his head.

The pain from his wound was intense, blood was flowing freely inside his shirt and pooling above his belt.

Movement was agony, but he scrambled further back into the tunnel, searching for an exit. Another spear flashed past him.

Spinning once more, he swayed away from a wild, slashing cut. His riposte passed through the Daroth's forearm, to send the limb spinning through the air. Still the Daroth rushed him, his great fist clubbing into Tarantio's chest and hurling him from his feet. Tarantio rolled as the creature leapt for him feet-first.

Pushing himself upright, the swordsman plunged his weapon into the Daroth's chest. 'Now die, you whoreson!' he hissed.

As the sound of pounding boots came from the tunnel mouth, Tarantio swore and stumbled further back into the darkness. There were no lanterns here, and only the shimmering glow from his sword offered any light. He felt a touch of cool air brush his cheek.

It came from above, but his left arm was useless and there was no way he could climb to the opening.

The tunnel itself petered out into a black wall of rock. Two Daroth spear-men came into sight. The first lunged at Tarantio, whose sword swept across his body - slicing through the shaft - then reversed and tore open the Daroth's throat. The second spear slammed through his side and deep into the rock behind. Cutting through the shaft he flung the blade like a knife. It slammed point first into the Daroth's ridged brow, sinking in all the way up to the hilt. Tarantio tried to move forward to retrieve the blade, then cried out in agony, for he was pinned to the wall.

He could hear the stealthy footfalls of more Daroth approaching. His heart sank and he ceased to struggle. If that was death, so be it, he thought.

'A pox on you, brother! I'm not ready to die yet!'

Dace hurled himself forward, his wounded body sliding clear of the broken spear-shaft. He hit the ground hard, the impact jarring his broken collar-bone. Reaching out, he grasped the hilt of his sword and then struggled to his feet.

Four Daroth swordsmen rounded the bend in the tunnel and, with a bloodcurdling scream, Dace charged them -his sword slicing through the chest of the first, the skull of the second and the ribs of the third. The fourth stumbled; Dace leapt upon him, using his sword like a dagger which he drove down through the neck and into the lungs.

Dace fell with him, then staggered upright. 'Where are you, you bastards?' he screamed. 'I'll kill you all!'

'Dace, for the sake of Heaven, let's find a way out of here!' cried Tarantio.

But Dace ignored him. He took three running steps, then pitched sideways into the wall and half-fell.

Blood-drenched and swaying, he made it back to the main tunnel and saw the bodies of a score of Daroth and as many Corduin men. Picking his way through them he heard the sounds of battle up ahead.

'I'm coming for you!' shouted Dace, his voice echoing through the tunnels. He stumbled on, then fell to his knees.

'Stop, Dace,' Tarantio urged him. 'Stop now. We are dying.'

Dace sat with his back to the wall and gazed down at his blood-drenched clothes. There was no feeling in his right leg now, and his vision was swimming. 'I am not going to die in the dark,' he said.

With a great effort he rolled to his knees, then got his good leg under him, forcing himself upright. As two Daroth warriors came into sight, Dace blinked sweat from his eyes. 'Come on!' he called. 'Come and die, you ugly whoresons!'

They rushed forward, but the first suddenly swayed to his left with a crossbow bolt through his skull. The second lunged at Dace. The swordsman's blade flashed up with impossible speed, blocking the thrust. Off-balance, the Daroth fell forward and Dace's blade swept through his thick throat. 'Where are the rest of you?' shouted Dace. Then he fell unconscious into the arms of Ozhobar.

Dressed in black leather leggings and a silver satin tunic shirt, the Duke stood silently in the park. Though surrounded by men he was alone, as he always had been. His eyes scanned the hillsides, remembering far-off days when he had played here with his brother. Bright and adventurous, Jorain had been the only person to reach the shy, introverted child the Duke had once been. When he had died he had taken a part of Albreck with him. A loveless marriage, and twenty years of ruling a people he neither liked nor understood, had been the life of Albreck following the death of Jorain. You would have been so much better than I, thought Albreck. The people loved you.

Albreck switched his gaze to the catacomb entrance. Reinforced by two elaborate stone pillars and a white lintel stone, there were steps within that led down to the crystal cavern. Jorain had told him it was an entrance to Hell, and the six-year-old Albreck had been afraid to enter.

Now the childish game had become a reality. It was an entrance to Hell.

And I have come here to die, thought Albreck. The thought made him smile, he didn't know why. Are you waiting for me, Jorain? he wondered. The Duke had brought no sword or dagger and he stood now, arms folded, waiting patiently for whatever would follow. He glanced at Karis. The warrior woman was now wearing a dress of white silk she had borrowed from the wardrobe of the Duke's wife; around her slim waist was a blue sash. She looked so incongruous now, surrounded by warriors, like a virgin bride waiting for her groom.

'Why do you need the dress?' he had asked her.

'Don't ask, my lord,' she said.

Under torchlight, Karis was organizing the placements of the five ballistae, forming a wide semi-circle some hundred paces from the entrance to the catacombs. Four hundred crossbow-men, in three ranks, were positioned between the weapons: the front line kneeling, the second standing, the third, higher still, positioned on the backs of a circle of wagons.

The Duke saw the veteran warrior Necklen approach Karis and take her by the arm. He could not hear their conversation, but he could see anxiety in the warrior's face.

'There is no need for you to die,' said Necklen, moving alongside Karis. 'I could do it!'

'I am not planning to die,' she told him, 'but it is a risk I cannot avoid. You said it yourself - how can we get them to mass in the centre of the killing circle? This is the only way I could think of.'

'All right. But why you? Why not me?'

'You have no rank, old man. They would believe in an instant that it was a ploy.'

'And it isn't?'

'No, it is not. Now go to your position. And do as I bid.'

'I couldn't kill you, Karis. Not if my life depended on it.'

She put her slender hands on his shoulders. 'Thousands of lives may depend upon it. And if it comes to it, promise me you will obey my order. Promise me, Necklen, in the name of friendship.'

'Let someone else do it. I'll stand beside you.'

'No! If you cannot do your duty, then get you gone and I'll find a man who can.' The sharpness in her tone stung him, and he swung away from her. She called to him instantly, her tone contrite. 'I love you, old man. Don't let me down.' He couldn't speak, but he nodded and walked back to his ballista, checking the load and the release pin. Then he took up his hammer.

The Duke approached Necklen. 'What is she doing?' he asked.

'Getting ready to die,' whispered the old man.

'What do you mean?'

'She is going to talk to them, forcing them to mill around her. She'll ask for peace. If they say no - which they will - she will raise her hand. When she drops it, the killing begins.'

The Duke said nothing, staring at the woman in the white dress standing in the moonlight. She looked so frail now, ghostlike and serene. He shivered.

A soldier at the catacomb entrance called out: 'I can hear them. I can hear the screams.'

Karis strode forward. 'Get back to your position,' she told the soldier. Gratefully the young man ran back to the wagons, climbing to the back of one and retrieving his crossbow. Karis stood some thirty feet from the white stone of the entrance and waited, longing to see Forin emerge unscathed. A few crossbow-men made it into the torchlight, and stood blinking; their friends called to them and they sprinted for cover. Then Vint appeared, blood on his face and arms. He ran to Karis, but she ordered him back. 'The Daroth are right behind. You must take cover,' he said.

'Get back. Now!'

He hesitated, then ran to where Necklen stood, his face pale, his eyes haunted.

Forin came last, his armour once more dented and split, a deep gash upon his brow masking his face with blood. He stumbled towards Karis and grabbed her arm, dragging her back. Her hand lashed across his face, the sound like a whiplash. 'Let go of me, you stupid ox!' His hand fell away and he stood staring at her. 'Get back now!'

'They are upon us.' He reached for her again.

Spinning on her heel she pointed to a crossbow-man. 'You! Aim at this man's heart, and if he isn't moving when I drop my arm - kill him!' She raised her hand. 'Now move, goat-brain!' she thundered. Furious, Forin stalked back towards the wagons.

Karis let out her breath. She wanted to call out to Forin, to explain. But there was no time. The first of the Daroth moved out into the torchlight, which glistened on his ghost-white face and beaked mouth. 'No one shoot!' yelled Karis. 'Where is your leader, Daroth?' she asked. Heat began to grow inside her head.

'It is time to end this war. It is time to end this war! It is time to end this war!' She repeated the thought over and over, like a prayer. 'I wish to speak to your leader,' she said, aloud. More and more Daroth were moving out of the entrance now, spreading out, staring at the ballistae and the crossbow-men, their jet-black eyes unreadable. A warrior taller than the others stepped through the mass. 'I am the Daroth Duke,' he said. 'I remember you, woman. Say what you have to say, and then I shall kill you.'

'And what purpose will that serve?' she asked him. 'In the few months since we have learned of your threat, we have already designed weapons that can destroy you in great numbers. We are an inventive people, and we outnumber you vastly. Look around you now. How many more of your people must die in this insane manner?'

'We do not die, woman. You cannot kill us. We are Daroth. We are immortal. And I tire of this conversation. You have gained time, and you will now destroy more of our bodies. Then we will sack the city and kill everyone in it. So give your order - and let it begin.'

'That is not what I wish, my lord,' she told him.

'Your wishes are of no consequence.' His sword came up and Karis raised her arm.

Duvodas had not eaten or slept for five days, yet there was no sensation of hunger or weariness. Nor did he feel the biting wind from the north, nor the heat of the midday sun as he crossed the mountains and descended into the verdant valleys below.

There was no sensation for him, and his mind was empty of all emotion - save one: the burning need to wreak revenge upon the Daroth. His clothes were filthy and mud-spattered, his blond hair greasy and lank as he moved through the darkness towards the domed city. No Daroth riders were in sight as he walked in the moonlight, and he made no attempt to move stealthily.

For two days now he had been aware that the land below his feet was devoid of magic. It did not matter, for sorcery, dark and terrible, coursed through his veins - feeding him, driving him on. The power within did not lessen; instead it seemed to grow with every step he took towards the city.

There were no walls. The Daroth, in their arrogance, did not believe that an enemy would come this close.

Had there been walls, Duvodas would have broken them. Had there been gates, he would have torn them asunder. He paused for the first time in five days and stood, staring at the moonlit city. An owl swooped above him, and a small fox scuttled away into the undergrowth to his right.

Sitting down on the ground, he let fall the two shoulder-bags he carried. The canvas sack slid several feet down the gentle slope and the Eldarin Pearl rolled clear, moonlight shimmering on its surface. Duvodas blinked, and a tiny needle of regret pricked his soul. He remembered Ranaloth warning him of the perils of love, and he knew now what the old Eldarin had meant. Like light and shadow, love and hate were inseparable. One could not exist without the other. Rising he gathered the sack and reached for the Pearl. But as his hand touched the milky surface, he recoiled in pain and stared at his palm. Blisters had formed there, the skin burnt by the contact. Carefully covering the orb with the sack, he eased it back into place.

'What have you become that you cannot touch it?' he asked himself.

The answer was all too obvious. Duvodas returned his stare to the city, and thought again of his plan. It seemed awesome now in its evil. Shira's beautiful face swam before his eyes, and he saw her once more lifted on the Daroth spear, the life torn from her. His resolution hardened.

'You who bring death and despair to the world deserve no mercy,' he told the distant city. 'You who live for destruction and pain deserve no life.'

By what right do you judge them?

The thought sprang unbidden, as if whispered on the wind.

'By the right of power, and the needs of vengeance,' he answered.

Does that not make you as evil as the Daroth?

'Indeed it does.'

Looping his bags over his shoulder, he walked on. There were no sentries, and he passed the first buildings without incident.

Then a Daroth moved into sight, carrying two buckets on a yoke across his shoulders. His black eyes fastened on the human. Duvodas pointed a finger and the Daroth died, his body crumbling to the ground with steam erupting from his eyes, ears and mouth. Duvodas did not even see him fall. On he walked through the night-shrouded city, searching for signs of his intended destination. Three times more he slew unsuspecting Daroth who stumbled across him. He had expected more of them to be on the streets, but the night was cold and the vast majority of the city-dwellers remained snug in their domed homes.

Duvodas saw twin towers in the distance, smoke drifting from them, and steadily he made his way towards them. Closer now, and he could feel the pulsing of life from the caverns deep in the ground. Ahead was a huge dome, where two sentries stood before the doors. Levelling their spears, they approached him.

He felt their feeble attempts to read his thoughts. This he allowed. 'I have come to destroy you and all your people.'

'Impossible, human. We are immortal!'

'You are doomed!' They rushed him then, but twin blasts of fire speared from his fingers, piercing their bodies and burning huge holes in the wall of the building behind them. Duvodas walked to the great doors and pushed them open. Within was a circular hall, and a vast empty table. Pulling shut the door he searched for a stairwell, finding it at the rear of the chamber. Behind him he could hear the city-dwellers running from their homes, a huge mob racing to stop him.

He did not increase his speed. Opening his thoughts, he reached out, feeling the panic in the minds of the Daroth. 'I am vengeance,' he told them. 'I am death.' The steps were shallow, and wound down deep below the city; there were no lanterns here, and the darkness was total. But Duvodas raised his hand, and his palm began to glow with a fierce white light. Down and down he moved, descending to a wide corridor and a second stairwell. The heat here was intense. Pausing, he knelt and touched the floor. The stone was warm, and he could feel hot air blowing against his skin. His glowing hand illuminated an air vent close to the wall.

Ahead was a wide entrance in the rock, blocked by a huge steel portcullis. Duvodas reached out and touched it and it began to glow - faintly red at first, then brighter and brighter. The centre sagged and melted away, smoke and steam hissing up from the floor as rivulets of molten metal swirled around his feet. He was about to enter the cavern beyond when he heard the sounds of booted feet upon the stairs behind him. Spinning, he threw out his hand.

The first two Daroth warriors ran into sight; both burst into flames.

The pulsing of new life was almost overpowering now as Duvodas strode into the massive chamber.

More than 600 paces long, and at least 200 wide, it was filled with thousands of yellow and black pods - huge cocoons, many of them throbbing and writhing.

The Daroth were indeed immortal. Twice in every generation they were reborn through these pods.

And that, as Sirano had known, was their greatest weakness. That is why they feared coexistence - for should an enemy ever reach where he had reached, their immortality would be lost. A human had but one life to lose, and that was hard enough. But to lose eternity . . . ? The fear was colossal.

He could feel it now in the panic of the Daroth as they surged down the stairwell behind him.

Several of the pods burst open and small, naked Daroth wriggled free. He felt the pulsing of their thoughts; two were the sentries he had despatched earlier. 'Tell me again of your immortality,' he pulsed at them.

Drawing in a deep breath, Duvodas spread out his arms. The temperature around him plummeted, ice forming intricate patterns on the walls - spreading, flowing, bright and white against the black rock.

The heat from the vents caused sleet to swirl, settling on the pods and frosting them with death.

The ice cold power of Duvo's hatred swelled out, and the nearest pods shrivelled and cracked. The three Daroth young who had emerged began to scream and writhe upon the ice-covered floor.

Duvodas began to walk the length of the immense cavern, radiating the bleakness of a savage winter with every step. Yellow-black pods cracked and burst all around him, disgorging their infant contents. The cavern echoed to their high-pitched, dying screams.

Hundreds of full-grown Daroth warriors ran into the chamber behind him. One charged at Duvodas but, as he neared, ice forming all around him, he began to slow. Desperate to save the pods, the warrior pushed on until his blood froze and he fell dead to the floor. Others hurled spears, but upon striking the walking man they shattered as if made of glass.

Within the chamber and throughout the city, thousands of Daroth adults began to scream and die, their bodies shrivelling as the symbiotic link between them and their pods was severed.

And Duvodas walked on.

A glistening column of white light opened out before him, and he saw the golden figure of the Oltor Prime, his hand outstretched.

The Daroth Duke dropped his sword and a strange high-pitched scream was torn from his throat. Karis stood stunned as the huge warrior suddenly crumpled. All around her Daroth warriors were dying, their inhuman wailing filling the air. Others merely stood, swords and spears dropping from their hands as they knelt beside the shrivelling corpses.

Forgotten, Karis moved back to the ballistae. 'Do we shoot now?' asked Necklen.

'No,' said Karis. 'We wait.'

The old man cast her a quizzical look. 'We can finish them, Karis.'

'I'm sick of killing,' she told him. 'Sickened to the depths of my soul. If they pick up their swords we will attack them, but something is happening here and we may yet end the slaughter.'

The bodies began to putrefy at an alarming rate, and the stench was overpowering. Duke Albreck moved through to stand beside Karis. 'Did you do this?' he asked.

She shook her head. 'They talk of immortality - but I think they have just experienced genuine death. I don't know how.'

The kneeling Daroth suddenly rose. Not one of them reached for a weapon, but one of the ballistae engineers panicked and struck his release bolt. Iron shot tore into the enemy ranks, smashing a score of warriors from their feet. Thinking an order had been given, three of the other ballistae were loosed, and the crossbow-men added to the carnage.

The Daroth did nothing. They merely stood and they died. Horrified, Karis shouted for the killing to stop, but blood-lust and hatred were high now and the crossbow-men continued to shoot. She saw the ballistae arms being drawn back once more.

Running out across the killing ground with her arms held high, Karis continued to shout: 'It is over! Stop shooting!'

Black bolts slashed the air around her, and Necklen scrambled from behind the ballistae, running towards her. Forin too dashed across the open ground, trying to reach her. Panic welled in him. 'Karis!' he yelled.

'Get down!' He even saw the bolt flying towards her. For a moment only he thought he could hurl his body across its deadly line, but it flashed by him to plunge into her back.

Karis staggered, but did not fall at first. Slowly she sank to her knees, blood soaking through the white dress. The crossbow-man dropped his weapon and put his face in his hands. Only then did the killing stop, as the Corduin army gazed in stunned disbelief at the kneeling figure of the dying Ice Queen.

Forin reached her side, dropping to his knees where she lay only yards from the surviving Daroth. He put his arms around her, holding her close. 'Sweet Heaven, don't die on me, Karis! Don't die!'

The Duke, Vint, and Necklen joined them. Karis felt no pain as her head sagged against Forin's shoulder.

He kissed her brow. 'Where is the surgeon?' he shouted.

'Calm yourself,' she whispered. There was no tension in her now, no fear. The killing was over, and she felt strangely at peace. Looking up, she saw that fewer than fifty Daroth were still standing. 'Who is the leader now?' she asked, directing her question at the nearest warrior.

The Daroth's white face turned towards her. 'You will now destroy us,' he said. 'The Daroth will be no more.'

'We do not . . . want to destroy you,' Karis told him. Gentle heat grew inside her head, and she sensed that all the Daroth were now mind-linked to her. 'What we desire ... is an end to war.'

'There can be no end,' said the Daroth. It seemed to Karis that a wealth of sorrow was hidden in those words and then, as if a door had been opened, she was allowed to share the emotions of the Daroth, their anguish at the death of their kindred and their fears for the future.

She could scarcely feel Forin's arms around her now, and she was almost overcome by a need to let go, to fly free. Struggling to hold on she whispered to the Daroth: 'Come closer.' Clumsily the Daroth knelt before her. 'Take my hand,' she said, and his thick fingers reached out to curl around Karis's slender palm. 'There can be no ... end without... a beginning. You understand?'

'We have great hatred for you,' said the Daroth, 'and we cannot coexist. For one to prosper, the other must die.'

Karis said nothing, and the silence grew. 'Oh, no,' said Forin. 'Oh, no!' He hugged the dead woman close to him, cradling her head. Tears streamed to his cheeks as he rocked her to and fro.

'We cannot say whether this be true,' said the Daroth, still holding to the limp hand. 'We have no experience of it. But we shall do as you say.'

'Who are you talking to?' asked the Duke.

'The woman. She speaks still. You cannot hear her?'

The Duke shook his head. Releasing Karis's hand, the Daroth stood. 'Your wizard with the face of blood has destroyed our Life Chamber. Half of all our people are dead now, never to come again. Karis says we should return to our city. We will do so.'

'To prepare for war - or peace?' the Duke asked.

'We cannot say . . . not at this time.' The Daroth gazed down at the dead warrior woman. 'There is much to consider. You are not immortal - and yet Karis gave her one life to save ours. We do not understand it. It was foolish, and yet ... it speaks to us without words.'

'Is she with you still?' asked the Duke. Forin glanced up.

'No. But her words remain.'

The Daroth swung away and walked to the catacomb entrance. One by one the surviving warriors followed, vanishing down into the dark.

Tarantio remained unconscious for eight days, and missed the state funeral the Duke gave for Karis, the Ice Queen.

All of the citizens of Corduin lined the route, and Karis's body was borne in the Duke's carriage, drawn by six white horses. Karis's war-horse, Warain - led by Forin -walked behind, followed by the Duke and the army she had led. Spring flowers of yellow, red and blue were cast into the street ahead of the procession, and the carriage rolled slowly on over a carpet of blooms.

Vint did not attend. He sat in his apartments at the palace and watched the procession from his balcony. Then he got drunk, and let his grief flow where none could see it.

Karis was laid to rest in a tomb built on a high hill, facing north. A bronze plaque, cast by Ozhobar, was set into the mortar. It said simply:

Karis — the Ice Queen

The Duke made a speech at the tomb. It was simple, dignified and, to Forin, deeply moving. Then the crowds were allowed to file through, past the open coffin, to pay their respects. It remained open for two days, then was sealed. In the months to come a statue would be raised upon it of a warrior woman, her sword sheathed, her hand extended towards the north.

Tarantio opened his eyes on the morning of the ninth day to see Miriac sleeping in a chair beside the bed. His mouth was dry and his body ached; he tried to move, and groaned. Miriac awoke immediately and leaned over him. 'They told me you would die,' she said. 'I knew they were wrong.'

'Too much to live for,' he whispered.

'That's true,' said Dace.

Tarantio felt a surge of emotion that brought a lump to his throat. 'Thank you for coming back, brother!'

'Don't go maudlin on me, Chio. Where else could I go?'

Tarantio closed his eyes.

'What about the child in the mine?'

'He can wait for a while longer. One day, maybe, we'll find him together.'

Tarantio felt the warm touch of Miriac's hand on his own. 'Don't go back to sleep,' said Dace. 'Tell her we love her, you fool!'

Forin stood alone before the newly sealed doors, remembering what had been and mourning what could have been.

'I can't stay in Corduin, Karis,' he said. 'There is nothing for me here without you.'

He strode away in the gathering dusk, only pausing at the foot of the hill to look back. Seeing that a dark shape had moved out of the trees and hunkered down by the door, Forin retraced his steps. Stealer looked up as he approached, bared his teeth and growled.

'I don't much like you, either,' said Forin, reaching out his hand. For a moment it seemed that the hound would snap at him, then Stealer sniffed his fingers, and he ran his hand over the broad, ugly head. 'How do you feel about travelling south?' he asked. 'We'll see the ocean and live like lords.' Rising, he took several paces down the hill. 'You coming or not, you ugly son of a bitch?'

The hound cast a lingering look at the tomb, then rose and padded after him.