Dark Moon

Chapter Three

Browyn gave Tarantio an old cooking pot, two plates and a cup cast from pewter, a worn-out rucksack and a leather-bound water canteen. Tarantio strapped his swords to his waist. 'I thank you,' he told the older man. Striding out from the cabin, he approached the bay gelding owned by the dead Brys.

Tarantio saddled him and hooked his rucksack over the pommel. 'I'll be on my way. But before I go, tell me why my reaction irritated you? What did you expect of me, Browyn?'

'You know what I like about the young?' countered the old man. 'Their passion for life, and their ability to see beyond the mundane. They don't look at the world and see what can't be done. They try to do it. Often they are arrogant, and their ideas fall from the sky like weary birds. But they try, Tarantio.'

'And you judge me unworthy because I fail to see the point to a ship on a mountain?'

'No, no, no! I do not judge you unworthy,' insisted Browyn. 'You are a good man, and you risked yourself to save me. And it is not your reaction to the boat that depresses me; it is your reaction to life itself. God's teeth, man, if the young can't change the world, who can?'

Tarantio felt his anger rise as he looked into the man's earnest grey eyes. 'You have known me for a few hours,

Browyn. You do not know me. You have no idea of who I am, and what I am capable of.'

In that moment Dace awoke and Browyn stepped back, the colour draining from his face. Tarantio's soul shimmered and changed, separating. To the left now was the face of corpse grey, with the shock of white spiky hair. Browyn looked into the yellow slitted eyes and blinked nervously.

'I do not want to die,' he heard himself say, fear making his voice tremble.

'What are you talking about? I wouldn't kill you.'

'He sees me,' said Dace. 'Is that not true, old man?'

'I see you,' admitted Browyn.

Tarantio stood for a moment, stunned. 'You . . . can see Dace? Truly?'

'Yes. It is a talent I have, for seeing souls. It has helped me in my life .. . knowing who to trust. Don't kill me, Tarantio. I will tell no-one.'

'What do I look like, old man? Am I handsome?'

'Yes. Very handsome.'

'I can hardly believe it ... he does exist then,' said Tarantio. 'I am not insane.' He walked to a carved bench of oak built around the bole of a beech tree and sat down. Browyn stood where he was. Tarantio beckoned him over. 'Have you ever seen a man with two souls before?' he asked.

'Once only. He was standing on a scaffold with a rope around his neck.'

'Do you have any idea how this happened to me ... to us?'

'None. Will you spare me, Tarantio? I am near death anyway.'

'Sweet Heaven, Browyn! Will you stop this? I have no intention of harming you in any way. Why would I?'

'Not you . . . but him. Dace wants me dead. Ask him.'

'He knows, Chio. He must die. I will make it quick and painless.'

'No. There is no need. No danger. And would you really know joy by killing a harmless old man?'

'Yes.'

'Why?'

'He lied to me. Said I was handsome. I am ugly, Chio. I could see my reflection in his eyes'

Tarantio felt Dace swelling inside his mind, trying to force a path to the world, but Tarantio fought back. 'Curse you!' screamed Dace. 'Let me out!'

'No,' said Tarantio, aloud.

'One day, Chio. One day I will find a way to set myself free.'

'But not today, brother.' He glanced at Browyn and gave a weary smile. 'You are safe, old man.

However, I had best be on my way.'

'It is a shame the Eldarin are gone,' said Browyn, as Tarantio stepped into the saddle. 'I think their magic could have helped you both.'

'We need no help. We are - if not happy - then mostly content. Dace is not all bad, Browyn. I sense the good in him sometimes.'

Browyn said nothing. Nor did he wave as Tarantio heeled the gelding and rode from the clearing.

Tarantio rode down into the valley, and once on flat, open ground, gave the gelding his head. The horse thundered across the valley floor, and Tarantio felt the sheer joy in the animal as it sped across the grassland in a mile-eating gallop. After some minutes he allowed the horse to slow to a walk. Then he dismounted and examined the beast again. Satisfied, he stepped into the saddle and continued on his way.

'I have the face of a demon,' said Dace suddenly.

'I cannot tell,' put in Tarantio. 'I have never seen you.'

'I have white hair, and a grey face. My eyes are yellow, and slitted like a cat. Why should I look like this?'

'I do not know how souls are supposed to look.'

'Am I a demon, Chio? Are you a man possessed?'

Tarantio thought about it for a while. 'I do not know what we are, brother. Perhaps it is I who possesses you.'

'Would you be happier if I were gone?'

Tarantio laughed. 'Sometimes I think I would. But not often. We are brothers, Dace. It is just that we share the same form. And the truth is, I am fond of you. And I meant what I said to the old man . . . I do see good in you.'

'Pah! You see what you want to see. As for me, I wish I could be rid of you.'

Tarantio shook his head and smiled. Dace fell silent and Tarantio rode on, passing the burned-out remains of two farming villages. There were no corpses, but a hastily built cairn showed where the bodies had been buried. The fields close by had not been harvested, the corn rotting on the stalk.

On the far side of the meadow he saw some women moving through the fields, carrying large wicker baskets. They stood silently as he rode by. Further on he came to a wide military road and passed a ruined postal station. Ten years ago, so he had been informed, there was an efficient postal service that connected all four Duchies. A letter written in Corduin, Gatien had told him, could be carried the 300 miles south-west to Hlobane in just four days. From Hlobane to the Duke of The Marches' capital of Prentuis - 570 miles east over rough country - in ten days.

No letters were carried now. In fact, any private citizen who considered sending one to another Duchy would be arrested and probably hanged. The Duchies were engaged in a terrible war, composed of pitched battles, guerrilla raids, changing allegiances, betrayal and confusion. Mercenaries plied their trade from the southern sea at Loretheli to the northern mountains of Morgallis, from Hlobane in the west to Prentuis in the east. Few common warriors knew who was allied to whom. At the start of this summer campaign the Duke of The Marches had been allied with Duke Sirano of Romark against Belliese, the Corsair Duke, and Duke Albreck of Corduin. Belliese had switched sides early in June, and then the Duke of The Marches had quarrelled with Sirano and formed a new alliance with Albreck.

Few could follow the twists and tantrums of the warring nobility. Most soldiers did not try. Tarantio had been part of a mercenary regiment holding a fort against the besieging troops of Romark and The Marches.

A herald brought news of his change of allegiance. It was laughable. After three weeks of intense fighting the men within the walls - some, like Tarantio, serving Belliese, others Corduin - found themselves in the ludicrous situation of sharing the inner walls with a new enemy, while men who had been trying to kill them for weeks were now friends who waited outside with their siege engines. The captains arranged a hasty council to debate the question of who was now attacking what. Some of the troops besieging the fort now wished to defend it, while one group of the defenders - who should now be attacking it - were already inside it. The council meeting went on for five days.

Since no agreement could be reached, the three captains came up with a new solution. All four groups of mercenaries set about undermining the walls of the fort, bringing the old stones crashing down. Hence there was no longer a fort to defend, and they could all march away with honour satisfied.

Three hundred and twenty-nine men had died during the siege. Their bodies were buried in a communal grave.

Two weeks later, Tarantio and a thousand men were back at the fort, rebuilding the walls.

The awesome follies of war, for which Tarantio received twenty silver pieces a month.

Four miles along the road, with dusk deepening, Tarantio saw the glimmer of a camp-fire in the trees to the west. Angling his horse, he rode towards the wood. 'Try to be careful,' warned Dace. 'We don't have too many friends in this area.'

'Would you like to ride in?'

'Thank you, brother,' said Dace. He drew in a deep breath, and felt the cool breeze upon his skin. The gelding became suddenly skittish, his ears flattening.

'He senses you,' said Tarantio. 'Best to soothe him, or he'll throw you.' Dace stroked the gelding's long neck and, keeping his voice low and soothing, said, aloud, 'Throw me, you ugly son of a bitch, and I'll cut your eyes out.' Still nervous, the gelding moved forward as Dace touched his heels to the beast's flanks. Right hand raised, Dace rode slowly towards the wood. 'Hello the fire!' he called.

'Are you alone?' came a voice.

'Indeed I am friend. Do I smell beef cooking?'

'You have a good nose. Ride in.'

Warily Dace did so. As soon as he came close enough to recognize the men he grinned. 'Ride out! Now!' urged Tarantio.

'Before the fun has started, brother? Surely not.' Before Tarantio could wrest back control, Dace leapt from the saddle and led his horse towards the fire.

There were three men seated around a fire-pit above which a leg of beef was being turned on a spit by a fourth - the red-bearded warrior Forin. Two of the others were the comrades of the dead mercenary Brys.

Dace tethered his horse to a bush.

'There's too much for just the four of us,' said the first man, a tall and slender swordsman in forester's garb of fringed buckskin. He was thin-faced, with an easy smile not echoed in his close-set pale eyes.

'The bowman in the bushes is not eating?' asked Dace, stepping in close.

'You've a sharp eye as well as a sharp nose,' said the other, with a wide grin. Turning his head he called,

'Come in, Brune! There's no danger here. Now, Tarantio, let me introduce you to my Knights of the Cess Pit. The clumsy bowman is Brune. I told him to lie low, but he bobs like a rabbit.' A tall, gangly, sandy-haired young man stepped from the bushes and shifted uneasily from foot to foot. 'Useless, he is. I only keep him with me out of pity. The big man by the fire is a newcomer to our band. He calls himself Forin.'

Forin rose, the firelight glinting on his red-forked beard. 'Good to meet you,' he said, his face devoid of expression.

'And I am Latais,' said the leader. 'Welcome to my camp, Tarantio. You put the fear of Hell into my last two Knights. Step up, you dung beetles!' The two mercenaries rose and edged forward. 'These two, who understand when to put wisdom before valour, are Styart and Tobin. When the gods sketched out their personalities, they failed to place courage high on the list.'

'Perhaps wisdom is preferable,' said Dace.

'It is a trap,' said Tarantio.

'Of course it is,' agreed Dace. 'The question is, which side is Forin on? I should have killed him back at the cave. I wonder if he's still got our gold coin?'

'Find yourself a place to sit,' said Latais amiably, 'and I'll bring you some food.'

Dace moved around the fire and sat on a tree-stump. Forin took up a wooden plate and cut himself some beef; then he sat away from the others. Latais brought Tarantio some meat and flat bread and the two men ate in silence. When he had finished, Dace cleaned the plate on the grass and returned it to the mercenary leader.

'So where are you heading?' asked Latais.

'Corduin. I think I'll winter there.'

'You have enough funds to sit out the cold season?'

'No, but I'll survive. What about you?'

Latais drew his dagger and picked a piece of beef from between his teeth. 'There's an army gathering near Hlobane, and Duke Albreck is offering thirty pieces of silver for veterans.'

'I'd hardly call your group veterans — save for the big man.'

'Yes, he has the look of eagles, as they say.' Styart and Tobin lifted the spit from the fire, while the bowman, Brune, added fuel to the fire pit, flames flaring up and illuminating the clearing. Dace's gaze did not flicker. He sat calmly watching Latais, aware that the man still held his dagger. 'You are younger than I expected,' said the leader. 'If all your exploits are to be believed you should have been at least fifty.'

'They should all be believed,' Dace told him.

'Does this mean you really are swifter than a lightning bolt?'

Dace said nothing for a moment. 'You know,' he said finally, 'the resemblance is clear.'

'Resemblance?'

'Was Brys not your brother?'

Latais smiled. The dagger flashed for Dace's chest.

His left hand shot out, his fingers closing around Latais' wrist. The blade stopped inches short. 'Faster than lightning,' said Dace, eyes glittering. Latais struggled to pull back from the iron grip. Dace's right hand came up, and firelight gleamed on the silver blade of his throwing-knife. 'And twice as deadly.'

His arm snapped forward, the knife slamming into the unprotected neck of the mercenary leader.

Blood gouted from the severed jugular, drenching Dace's hand. Latais's struggles grew weaker, and he slumped against the tree. Bright images flashed across Dace's mind: his mother lying dead in her bed, the plague boils still weeping pus, the child crying for her and calling her name; his father hanging from the long branch, his face bloated and black, and old Gatien running through the burning house with his hair and beard ablaze. The sharpness of his sorrow faded away in the pulsing red light that flowed in his brain, eased by the warm red blood that bubbled over his knife hand.

Dace sighed and pulled clear the blade, letting the body of Latais fall. Wiping the knife, he returned it to his boot and rose to his feet drawing his swords. The flames were six feet high now, and Dace could not see who stood beyond the fire. But he guessed that Latais had ordered his men to be ready.

'Come on then, you gutter scum!' he yelled, leaping through the flames and across the fire-pit. As he landed, ready for battle, he saw the bowman, Brune, lying on the ground, Forin standing above him with a wooden club in his hand. 'Where are the other two?' demanded Dace.

'You've never seen men run so fast. Didn't even stop to saddle their horses. You want to kill this one?'

The answer was yes, but Dace felt his irritation rise. What right had this man to offer him a death?

'Why should I?' he heard himself say.

Forin shrugged. 'I thought you enjoyed killing.'

'What I enjoy is none of your damned business. Why did you help me?'

'A whim. They saw you coming. Latais thought Brune could bring you down as you entered the camp.

But you put the horse between you as you dismounted. Smooth move, my friend. You're a canny man.'

Brune groaned and sat up. 'He hit me with a lump of wood,' he complained.

'You were about to shoot through the fire and kill me,' said Dace, wishing he had killed the man as he lay unconscious. There was still time.

'That's what I were told to do,' said Brune sullenly.

Dace looked into the man's face. 'Your leader is dead. You want to fight me?'

'I didn't want to kill you in the first place. He told me to.' Dace could feel the longing for blood growing in him, but he looked into the hulking young man's plain, open face and saw the absence of malice there. A farm boy lost in a world at war. Dace could see him lovingly working the fields, caring for stock, raising a family as dull and as solid as himself.

'Gather your gear and move out,' he said.

'Why do you want me to go? Aren't you the leader now?' Brune reached up and rubbed his sandy hair.

His fingers came away bloody. 'Anyway, my head hurts.'

Forin chuckled. 'Tell me,' he said to the injured man,

'is there a lot of in-breeding in your village? You're not the sharpest arrow in the quiver, are you?'

'No, I'm not,' admitted Brune. 'That's why I do what I'm told.'

'Come back to the world, brother,' said Dace. 'This numbskull is too stupid to kill, and if I stay here any longer I'll rip his throat out.'

Tarantio found it hard to keep the smile from his face as he resumed control. 'Let me see that head,' he told Brune. 'Move closer to the fire.' Brune obeyed and Tarantio's fingers probed the bowman's scalp.

'You've a lump the size of a goose egg, but it doesn't need stitching. Go and get some sleep.'

'You're not sending me away then?'

'No. Tell me, are you skilled with that bow?'

'Not really. But I'm worse with a sword.'

Forin's laughter boomed out. 'Is there anything you're good at?' asked the red-bearded warrior.

'I don't like you,' said Brune. 'And I am good at ... things. I know livestock. Pigs and cattle.'

'A handy talent for a soldier,' said Forin. 'If we're ever attacked by a rampaging herd of wild pigs, you'll be the man to plan our strategy.'

'Go and rest,' Tarantio ordered the young man. Obediently Brune stood up, but he swayed and almost fell. Forin caught him and half carried him to where his blankets lay. The young man slumped down and was asleep within moments. Forin returned to the fire.

'You mind if I travel with you and your dog to Corduin?'

'Why would you want to?' countered Tarantio.

Forin chuckled. 'No-one ever gave me a gold piece before. Is that good enough?'

Tarantio awoke at dawn. He yawned and stretched, enjoying the sense of emotional solitude that came when Dace slept. Forin lay wrapped in his blankets, snoring quietly, but of Brune there was no sign. And the body of Latais was gone. Tarantio rose and followed Brune's tracks, finding him some fifty feet from the camp-site. The body of the dead leader was wrapped in its cloak, and Brune was humming a monotonous tune as he dug a shallow grave in the soft earth. Tarantio sat down on a fallen tree and watched in silence. With the grave some four feet deep Brune scrambled out, his face and upper body streaked with sweat and mud. Carefully, he pulled the body to the edge of the hole, climbed in himself, then lowered the dead man to his resting place. The act was tender and gentle, as if Brune feared bruising the corpse. Slowly, reverently, Brune scooped earth over the grave.

'You must have cared for him,' said Tarantio softly.

'He looked after me,' said Brune. 'And my dad always said dead men should go back to the earth. That's how plagues start, he said - when bodies are left to rot in the air.'

'I suppose there is some good in all men,' said Tarantio.

'He looked after me,' repeated Brune. 'I didn't have nowhere to go. He let me ride with him.' He continued to fill the grave, pressing the earth down with his hands. When he had finished he stood and slapped his hands together, trying to dislodge the mud clinging to his fingers.

'You should hate me then, for killing him,' suggested Tarantio.

'I don't hate nobody,' said Brune. 'Never have. Never will, I 'spect.' For a moment he stood staring down at the grave. 'When people in the village died, there was someone

to speak for them. Lots of pretty things were said. I don't remember them. Does it matter, do you think?'

'To whom?' asked Tarantio, mystified. 'You think Latais will hear them?'

'I don't know,' admitted Brune. 'I just wish I knew some of the pretty words. Do you know any?'

'None that would suit this occasion. Why not just say what's in your heart?'

Brune nodded. Clasping his hands together, he closed his eyes. 'Thanks, Lat, for all you done for me,' he said. 'I'm sorry I couldn't do what you asked, but they hit me with a lump of wood.'

'Touching and poetic,' said Dace. 'It certainly brought a lump to my throat.'

Despite the jeering tone, Tarantio sensed an undercurrent of emotion in Dace. He thought about it for a moment, but could find no reason. Then Dace spoke again. 'Are we taking the idiot with us?' The question was asked too casually.

'By Heaven, Dace. Have you found someone you like?'

'He amuses me. When he ceases to do so, I will kill him,' said Dace. Tarantio heard the lie in his voice, but said nothing.

Suddenly all the birds in the trees took flight, the leaves thrashing under their beating wings. Tarantio felt a quivering sensation under his feet. Forin stumbled into the small clearing. 'I think we should saddle up and move out,' he said. 'I'm getting a bad feeling. Maybe there's a storm coming.'

The horses were skittish, and Tarantio needed Brune's help to saddle the gelding, who tried to buck each time the saddle was placed upon his back.

'What in Hell's name is happening?' asked Forin. 'Nothing feels right.'

The earthquake struck as Tarantio, Forin and Brune moved out onto the plain. The ground vibrating beneath them caused the horses to panic and rear. Brune, who was leading the three spare mounts, was unseated and fell heavily, his horse and the others bolting. A section of hillside close by sheared away and a huge crack, hundreds of paces long, opened up in the earth ahead of them, swallowing the fleeing animals.

As suddenly as the crack had appeared, it closed, sending up a shower of dust and earth. Tarantio leapt from the saddle, holding firm to the bridle. 'Easy, boy! Easy!' he said soothingly, stroking the beast's flanks.

Forin's horse fell as the ground heaved. The big man rolled clear, then scrambled up and caught hold of the reins.

The tremors continued for several minutes, then died away. Dust hung in the air in great clouds. Tarantio hobbled his mount and ran to the fallen Brune as the young man sat up, blinking rapidly. 'Are you hurt?' asked Tarantio.

'Hit my head again,' said Brune. 'Made it bleed.'

'Luckily your head is the thickest part of you,' observed Forin. 'You lost the horses, you dolt!'

'He could have done nothing to save them,' put in Tarantio. 'And if we had ridden a few yards further we would have all been sucked into the abyss.'

'Have you ever heard of such a thing in Corduin lands?' asked Forin. 'For I have not. Down by Loretheli the earth moves. But not up here.'

Tarantio stared down at his hands; they were trembling. 'I think we all need to rest for a while. The horses are too skittish to ride.' Unhobbling the gelding, he led him towards the ruined hill. Above and to the left of the sheared mound was a stand of trees. Tethering the two horses, Tarantio and Forin sat down while Brune wandered away to empty his bursting bladder.

'I think my heart is beginning to settle down,' said Forin. 'I haven't been that scared since my wife - may she rest in peace - caught me with her sister.'

'I have never been that scared,' admitted Tarantio. 'I thought the earth was shaking apart. What causes it?'

Forin shrugged. 'My father used to talk of the giant, Premithon. The gods chained him at the centre of the earth, and every once in a while he wakes and struggles to be free. Then the mountains tremble and the earth shakes.'

'That sounds altogether reasonable,' said Tarantio, forcing a smile.

Brune came running up the hill. 'Come see what I've found,' he shouted. 'Come see!' Turning round he ambled down the ruined hill. Tarantio and Forin followed him to where the hillside had been cut in half, exposing two marble pillars and a cracked lintel stone.

'It is an ancient tomb,' said Forin, scrambling up over the mud which half-covered the entrance. 'Maybe there's gold to be found.' Tarantio and Brune followed him, sliding over the mud and into the entrance. All three men halted before a huge statue, which stood guard over a broken stone doorway.

The sunlight shone down on the marble of the statue and Tarantio stood staring at the carving, trying to make sense of it. The statue stood almost seven feet high. On its left arm was a triangular shield, in its right hand a serrated sword. But Tarantio's attention was not taken by the armour but by the face, which was not human. The bony ridge of its curved nose extended up and over the bald cranium, curving down the thick neck to disappear beneath the sculpted armour. The creature's

eyes were large, protruding, and slanted up towards the thick temples. The mouth was lipless and open, showing pointed teeth behind a ridge of sharp bone, like the beak of a hunting bird . . .

'It is a demon,' said Brune fearfully.

'No,' said Forin. 'It is a Daroth. My father described them perfectly. Six-fingered hands, and eyes that can see in a two-hundred-degree semi-circle. The neck is heavily ridged with bone and sinew. It does not articulate like the human neck, therefore the Daroth needed better all-round vision.'

'You mentioned them back in the cave,' said Tarantio. 'I have heard of them. But they are just myths, surely?'

'No, not myths. They existed before man came to this land. They were great enemies of the Eldarin, who destroyed them utterly. They came from the Northern Desert. Have you ever travelled there?'

'No.'

'Barely an ounce of soil over twenty thousand square miles. According to the legend, the Eldarin used great magic to annihilate the seven cities of the Daroth. Fire from the sky, and all that. The same magic that later destroyed the Eldarin themselves, searing the earth away.'

'They look very fierce,' said Brune.

'They were all mighty warriors,' Forin continued. 'They had two hearts and two sets of lungs. The bones of their chest and backs were twice as thick as ours, and no sword, nor arrow, could pierce their vital organs. A heavy spear could injure them, but it would need a strong man to plunge it home.' He paused and looked up at the cruel, beaked face. 'Hell's teeth, would you want to fight anything that ugly?' he asked Tarantio.

'I would,' said Dace.

'I dread to think what the females looked like,' said Tarantio to Forin.

'From what my father said, this could be one of the females. There was little difference between them; they bred like insects and reptiles, laying eggs, or pods. There was no physical union between mating pairs - and little apparent physical difference between the sexes.'

'Why would anyone want a statue of a Daroth guarding their grave?' asked Tarantio.

Easing past the statue, they pushed their way into the main burial chamber. The sunlight was weaker here, but they could see a massive lidless coffin set by the far wall. The answer to Tarantio's question lay within. The coffin contained a massive skeleton, taller even than the statue guarding the tomb.

Shocked, Tarantio gazed down on the colossal bones of the chest and back. The body had been laid on its side and the immense ridge of the spine could clearly be seen extending up the neck and over the cranium. Reaching inside, Tarantio lifted clear the immense skull. Dust and grit trickled from it. More than ever, the ridge of bone above the mouth looked like the beak of a hunting bird. 'Incredible,'

whispered Tarantio. 'He must have been awesome in life.'

'He's pretty awesome dead,' muttered Forin, reaching out and taking the skull. 'And this is a rare find.

The Daroth were virtually immortal, reborn through the eggs. At the time of rebirth the body of the dying adult would shrivel away, bones and all, then the same Daroth would emerge from the pod.'

'Well, this one didn't shrivel away,' said Tarantio.

'Indeed he didn't. I wonder why. Perhaps he chose not to mate, and there was no pod for him to return to.'

'I can feel the evil here,' said Dace. 'Like a cold flame waiting for life.'

Symbols had been carved into the walls, but Tarantio could not decipher them. There were no paintings, no boxes, no possessions of any kind - with the exception of three bizarre pieces of furniture set against the wall. They resembled chairs, save that the seating area was in fact two curved, horsehair-padded slats set six inches apart and crafted at a rising angle from just above the floor. The back of the chair was low; this was also padded, but only along the top of the back-rest.

Brune tried to sit down on one and he looked ludicrous - too low to the ground, his legs splayed, his back bent. 'No, no,' said Forin. 'Let me show you.' Striding to the chair, he pulled Brune upright and then knelt on the slats, leaning forward to rest his massive forearms on the top of the back-rest. 'The Daroth spine was not suited to conventional chairs.' Rising, he tucked the skull under his arm.

'In times of peace,' he said, his voice echoing eerily inside the enclosed chamber, 'the bones here would have been worth a sack of gold, and the statue outside would have fetched a fortune. Now we'll be lucky to get the price of a meal for the skull.'

'You keep it,' said Tarantio. 'I'm sure there will still be people interested in acquiring it.'

He swung on his heel and walked from the chamber, clambering up over the mud and out into the sunlight.

Forin and Brune followed him. In the bright light of earthly reality the skull looked somehow even more eerie, out of place, out of time.

'The Eldarin must have possessed great magic indeed to wipe out a people so formidable,' said Tarantio.

Forin nodded. 'According to legend they annihilated them in the space of a single hour. Perhaps that is what the Eldarin were trying to do to our army, and their magic betrayed them.'

'Perhaps,' Tarantio agreed.

'I wonder what they ate,' said Brune.

Forin chuckled and lifted the skull. 'Beneath this beak there are sharp teeth, the front canines pointed like spikes. At the rear . . . here, look . . .' he said to Brune, beckoning the young man forward, 'are the molars . . . the grinding teeth. They were like us, meat and plant eaters.'

Once more the ground beneath their feet trembled. Forin swore, but the tremor died away swiftly. The three men stood nervously for a few seconds. Then a second quake hit, hurling them from their feet.

The skull flew from Forin's hand and struck a boulder, shattering into a hundred pieces.

Tarantio lay hugging the earth, nausea swamping him. For several minutes the rumbling continued, then silence settled on the land and he rose shakily. Forin rolled to his knees and looked down at the shattered skull. 'Who'd have my luck?' he said, then pushed himself to his feet.

By mid-morning the following day they sighted the spires of Corduin. Tarantio found that he knew the guard on the main gate, and there was no problem entering the city. At the first cross-roads within, he bade farewell to Forin. They clasped hands. 'Good luck to you, big man.'

'I hope fortune favours you, Tarantio,' answered Forin with a wide smile. 'Look after the simpleton. If you cut him loose, he'll starve to death within a week.'

As he rode away Brune, who was holding onto Tarantio's stirrup, looked up and asked: 'Where are we going now?'

'To a merchant who will give us money.'

'Why would he do that?'

'It is my money,' said Tarantio.

'What will we do then?'

Tarantio sighed. 'I will teach you how to use a bow and a sword. When I have done that, you will join a mercenary unit.'

Brune thought about this for a moment. 'I'm not a fast learner,' he said, with a wide grin.

'That isn't a surprise, Brune.'