Dark Moon

Chapter Six

Ardlin stood at his high balcony window, gazing out towards the north. The trembling had stopped now, but the fear remained. The dream had been vivid, rich with colour: the colour of blood, red and angry.

Ardlin had found himself floating above the scene, watching a group of soldiers attacked by Daroth warriors. There was a fat officer, who fell from his horse and tried to run. The Daroth caught him and stripped him naked; then they dug a fire-pit. What followed was stomach-wrenchingly awful. Ardlin had jerked awake, his face and body sweat-drenched.

At first he had felt an overpowering sense of relief. It was a dream. Just a dream - born of his fascination with the ancient races. But as the morning wore on his concern grew. He was a magicker with a talent for healing; he knew spells, and could concoct potions. Above it all, however, he was a mystic. A Sensitive, as the Elders would have said.

Ardlin had tried to put the dream behind him, but it nagged and tugged at his thoughts.

At last, around mid-morning, he sat on the floor of his sanctum and induced the Separation Trance. Floating free of his body he flew to the north, across the rich hills and valleys towards the mountains of the desert.

He did not consciously direct his flight, but allowed the memory of the dream to draw him on.

In the hills he found the fire-pit, and the remains of several corpses. The head of the fat officer lay beneath a bush, dead eyes staring up at the sky, flies crawling across the bloody stump that lay exposed beneath the chin.

Ardlin fled for the sanctuary of his body.

The Daroth were back.

For thirty years Ardlin had been a collector of ancient tomes and artefacts, and had spent many long, delightful hours studying the clues of the past. His main fascination had been with the Oltor. No-one now living had any idea how their society had been structured, nor how their culture had flourished.

Ancient writings merely stated that they were a gentle golden-skinned race, tall and slender, and gifted with an extraordinary talent for music. It was said they could make crops grow through the magic of their harps. According to one tome, it was with this magic that they inadvertently opened two gateways - one to the desolate world of the Daroth, the other to the world of the Eldarin.

Ardlin remembered the story well. The Oltor had welcomed the new races, holding the barrier open so that great numbers of Daroth could move through. Their own land had become a desert, and the Daroth were dying in their multitudes.

The Oltor granted them a huge tract of land in the north, so that they could grow crops and build cattle-herds, in order to send the food back to their own world. But more and more Daroth came through the gateway, demanding ever more land. Being gentle and trusting, the Oltor allowed the migration to continue.

Several hundred Eldarin also came through, and built a city in the southern mountains, near the sea.

As the years passed the Daroth grew in numbers, and the land they had been granted became less fertile.

Forests had been ruthlessly cut away, exposing the earth to the full force of the hot summer winds which seared the grass and blew away the topsoil. Over-grazed and badly used, the grassland began to fail. Then the Daroth dammed the three major rivers, bringing drought to the Oltor.

They sent representatives to the Daroth, urging them to reconsider their methods. In return the Daroth demanded more fertile land. The Oltor refused. And died . . .

Huge and powerful Daroth warriors had sacked the cities of the Oltor, destroying them utterly. Ardlin remembered the chilling line from the Book of Desolation. Invincible and almost invulnerable, the Daroth could not be slain by arrow or sword.

Now he stood on the balcony, wondering how he could escape the holocaust that would follow. Most men who knew him assumed him to be rich and, indeed, he had been. Fortunes had been paid for his skills, enabling him to build this fine house and to keep three mistresses. The fortunes had also funded his other great pleasure: gambling. There was no greater thrill than to wager on the roll of the dice, watching the cubes bounce across the ivory-inlaid walnut table - seeing the twin green eyes of the leopard and the staff of the Master appear as the dice came to rest. The ecstasy of that moment left a taste in the heart that was stronger than any opiate - better than the joys in the arms of his mistresses. It seemed to Ardlin that it was the very taste of life itself.

Unfortunately the eyes and the staff appeared all too infrequently when Ardlin threw. And he had wagered greater and greater sums.

Now he had nothing left to wager, and instead of possessing fortunes he owed them.

On the balcony, he ran his slender hand through his thinning hair and sighed. Fortunes meant nothing now.

What he needed was a good horse, some supplies, and enough gold to purchase passage on a ship from Loretheli to one of the larger, settled islands.

Heavy and huge, the Daroth were said to fear crossing water and on an island he might be safe. At least he would be a lot safer than here, in this doomed city.

The problem was that he had no horse, nor money to purchase one. The great house was now empty of all valuables, and all of the friends he had made during his stay in Corduin had been sucked dry. He could think of no-one who would advance him a single copper piece.

How long, he wondered, until the Daroth army reaches the gates of Corduin? Two days? Five? Ten? Panic caused him to tremble once more. In the old days he would have gone to his medicine store and chewed on the Lorassium leaf. That would have calmed him. But there were no leaves now, and no money to buy them.

Leaving the balcony, Ardlin walked down to the kitchen and pumped water into a jug. Then he filled a goblet and drank. The water only highlighted his hunger . . . and there was nothing to eat.

A loud knock came at his front door, causing him to jump. Silently he made his way to the observation panel and slid it open.

There were two men standing outside, one lean and slim, his hair dark and short-cropped to the skull; he was dressed in a black leather jerkin, dark leggings and boots. Beside him was a gangling young man carrying a longbow. They were not creditors . .. but they could be collectors. The dark one looked like a collector - hard and lean. On the other hand they might be in need of his services, which meant money.

Ardlin bit his thin lower lip. What to do?

'There's no-one here,' he heard the hulking young man say. 'Maybe we should come back later? Anyway, I'm not sure I want someone poking around in my eye. Maybe it will get better on its own.'

Ardlin ran to the front door, took a deep breath to compose himself, then smoothed down his silver hair. He opened the door. 'Good day, my friends,' he said, his voice deep and resonant. 'How may I be of service to you?'

The dark-haired young man had eyes of the deepest blue. 'My friend here has an injury to his eye. We were recommended to you.'

'Indeed? By whom?'

'Vint.'

'A charming fellow. Do come in, my friends. Despite this being my day of rest, I will see you - as a mark of respect to the noble Vint.'

He led them through to his sanctum and seated Brune on a low chair by the window. From a mahogany box he took a thick piece of blue glass which he held over Brune's right eye, peering through it for some moments. 'The injury was caused by a blow to the head, yes?' he said.

'With a lump of wood,' said Brune.

'Tell me, do you experience stabbing pains behind the eye?'

'In the mornings,' admitted Brune. 'But they go away quick.'

Ardlin returned the glass to its box, then sat down behind an elaborately carved desk of oak. 'The damage to the eye is extensive,' he said. 'I cannot make this any easier for you. You will lose the sight in that eye completely.'

'Got the other one, though, eh?' said Brune, his voice shaking.

'Yes. You will have the other one.'

'There is nothing to be done?' asked the dark-haired young man.

'Not with the eye in its present condition. I could ...' Ardlin paused for effect. 'But no, such a solution would be far too costly, I fear.'

'What is the solution?' asked the man. Ardlin's heart leapt.

'I have in my possession an orb, a magical orb. I could replace the eye. But the orb is an ancient piece, and its worth incalculable.'

The young man rose and stood facing Ardlin. In the light from the window it seemed to the magicker that the man's eyes had changed from dark blue to arctic grey. 'My name is ... Tarantio,' he said. 'Have you heard the name?'

'Sadly, no.' Ardlin felt a touch of fear as he gazed into those eyes.

'Like Vint, I am a swordsman.'

'Each to his own,' said Ardlin smoothly.

'Now you name a price, magicker, and then we will dicker over it.'

'A hundred gold pieces.'

Tarantio shook his head. 'I do not think so. Ten.'

Ardlin forced a laugh. 'That is ridiculous.'

'Then we will trouble you no further. Let's go, Brune.'

Ardlin waited until they had reached the door. 'My friends, my friends,' he called, 'this is no way to behave.

Come back and sit down. Let us discuss the matter further.'

In his heart he knew he had lost.

But ten gold pieces would get him to a safe island ... and that was worth a dozen fortunes.

'Will it hurt?' asked Brune.

'There will be no pain,' Ardlin assured him.

'How long will this take?' asked Tarantio. 'I am meeting Vint later today.'

'The process will take around two hours. Do you have the gold with you?'

'Yes. I'll pay you when I have seen the results.'

'Not a trusting man, then? Very well, you can wait here. Follow me, young man,' said Ardlin.

'You're sure this isn't going to hurt?' asked Brune, rising.

'I'm sure.' Ardlin took him through to a back room and bade him lie down on the narrow bed by the window. Brune did so. Ardlin touched the young man on the brow, and instantly Brune fell into a deep sleep.

The magicker moved to the wall, opening a secret panel and removing a pouch. Opening the drawstrings, he tipped out the contents into the palm of his hand. There was a silver ring, a copper locket, a lock of golden hair wrapped in silver wire, and a small round piece of blood-red coral. Each of the items was of great value to his profession. The ring aided him in the Five Spells of Aveas; the locket kept him free of the diseases which afflicted many of his clients, and the lock of hair boosted his mystic insight into the cause and cure of most ailments. The Oltor coral, however, was the masterpiece in his collection. It could rebuild ruined tissue, muscle and bone. When first he had acquired it, the coral had been the size of a man's head. But each time it was used it shrank. Now it was no larger than a pebble.

The damage to the eye would make no perceptible difference to the coral, he knew, for though extensive in human terms, the injury covered only a small area of tissue. Holding the coral above the sleeping Brune's right eye, Ardlin focused his concentration, feeling the coral grow warm in his hand. Lifting the eyelid, he took the round glass magnifier and examined the eye.

All the damage had been repaired. However, he had promised them a magical orb in place of an eye, and it would take but a small spell to recolour the iris. Green would be pleasant, he thought. Holding the coral once more over Brune's face he began to speak one of the Five Spells of Aveas: the Spell of Changing. As he was almost finished he heard footsteps outside the room, and the creak of the door opening. In a rush he finished the spell, his whispered words tumbling out. The heat of the coral surged in his hand.

Ardlin's jaw dropped. Opening his hand, he stared down at the pink skin of his palm.

The coral had vanished.

It was impossible! There was enough power left to heal the wounds of twenty, perhaps thirty men. How could it have exhausted itself with such a simple transformation? He heard Tarantio speak, but was too stunned to understand the words. The swordsman repeated them.

'Is he cured, magicker?'

'What? Oh, yes.' Ardlin lifted Brune's eyelid. His right eye was now covered with a golden sheen, the pupil hidden beneath it. Ardlin was both surprised and relieved. How had he made the mistake? And would the young man be able to see? Sweat broke out on Ardlin's face.

'What is troubling you?'

'What troubles me? You have witnessed the end to my career as a healer. I had a magic stone, but now it is used up, the power gone. Ten gold pieces!' He gave a wry laugh and shook his head. 'A man once paid a thousand pieces of gold to heal a crooked arm. It took less power than your friend's eye.' Ardlin sighed and fell silent as Tarantio counted out the coins and dropped them into his outstretched palm. 'Tell me, swordsman,

why were you so confident that I would take such a paltry sum?'

'Look around you, magicker,' answered Tarantio. This grand house is empty of ornament. There are indentations in the rugs where furniture once stood. You are poorer than a blind beggar, and in no situation to haggle.'

'Sadly true,' admitted Ardlin. 'But at such times is it not cruel to take advantage of a man's misfortunes? The work I have done for your friend is worth far more than ten coins. He has the eye of an eagle now.'

'Aye, maybe it is,' admitted Tarantio. 'But that was the bargain. And I have honoured it.'

Ardlin's thin face sagged. 'I need to get out of the city, Tarantio. These coins will book me passage on a ship from Loretheli. But I have no means to purchase a horse to get there. I beg you to reconsider. My life depends upon it.'

Brune awoke and sat up, blinking. 'I can see everything,' he cried happily. 'Better than ever before!' He moved to the window and stared at the trees outside. 'I can see the leaves, one by one.'

'That is good,' said Tarantio. 'Very good.' Turning to the magicker, he stood for a moment in silence.

Then his face relaxed and he smiled. 'Go to the merchant, Lunder. Tell him I sent you. Tell him Tarantio says to supply you with funds for a good horse and supplies.'

'Thank you,' said Ardlin humbly. 'In return, let me offer you this advice: Leave the city. It is doomed.'

'The armies of Remark won't lay siege to Corduin,' said Tarantio. 'Too costly.'

'I am not talking about the wars of men, swordsman. The Daroth have returned.'

Karis, Capel and the boy, Goran, were led into the Duke's private rooms. The ruler of Corduin looked older than

Karis remembered; his thin beard, closely shaved to his chin, was salt and pepper now, but his dark hooded eyes were as coldly alert and intelligent as ever. He sat on his high-backed chair, leaning forward, his slender arms resting on his knees as Capel gave his report. Then he turned his hawk eyes on Karis.

'You saw all this?' he asked her.

'I did not see the attack on his men, nor the dark moon rising. But I saw the Daroth. He speaks the truth, my lord.'

'And how was it that you were riding into my lands, Karis? Do you not serve Sirano?' He almost spat out the name.

'I did, my lord.' Swiftly Karis told him of the experiments with the Pearl, and of the ghostly vision of the Eldarin. 'He warned Sirano that a great evil would be unleashed. Sirano did not listen. I believe the Daroth were the evil he spoke of.'

Turning to a manservant standing close by, the Duke ordered his Council to be gathered. The man ran from the room. 'I have studied history all my life,' said the Duke. 'History and myth. Often have I wondered where the two meet. Now, thanks to the insane ambition of Romark, I am to find out.' Rising from his chair he walked to the bookshelves lining the far wall, and selected a thick leather-bound tome. 'Come with me to the Meeting Hall,' he said. With the book under his arm he made for the door, where he stopped and waited; just for a moment the ruler of Corduin seemed lost and confused. Karis suppressed a smile, wondering how long it had been since he had been forced to open a door for himself. Then she moved forward to open it for him. The Duke strode out into the hallway beyond and led them deep into the palace. There was a huge, rectangular table in the Meeting Hall, and

seats for thirty councillors. The Duke sat at the head of the table and opened the book, tracing the words with his fingers as he read. Karis, Capel and the boy, Goran, stood silently beside him.

The first of the councillors arrived within minutes, but they did not disturb the Duke; they merely sat quietly in their places. Gradually the chairs began to fill. The last to arrive was the swordsman, Vint, the Duke's Champion. Dressed in a stylish tunic of oiled leather embossed with silver swirls, he looked just as cruelly handsome as Karis remembered. He had not sported the shaved crescents above his ears when last she had seen him, nor the two silver earrings in his left ear. But then fashions among the nobility changed faster than the seasons. He flashed her a broad smile, and gave an extravagant bow. 'Always a pleasure to see you, my lady,' he said.

The Duke looked up. 'You are late, Vint.'

'My apologies, my lord. I was on my way to a duel, but I got here as fast as I could.'

'I don't like you fighting for anyone but me,' said the Duke. 'However, that is a small matter. I hope the man you killed was not a friend of mine?'

'Happily no, my lord. And there was no duel. Your servant found me as I was on my way to his home. I have, of course, sent a message to him, apologizing for the necessity of postponing our meeting.'

'Well, sit you down,' said the Duke. 'I think you will find the duel postponed indefinitely.' He glanced up and scanned the faces of his councillors. 'All of you listen well to what you are about to hear. Understand that this is no jest. The decisions made here today will affect us all for the rest of our lives. Those lives, I should add, might not be very long-lived.' Turning his head, he glanced at Goran. 'You speak first, boy. Tell it all as you told me.'

Nervous and trembling in such company, Goran began to speak at speed, his words tumbling out. Karis stopped him. 'Slowly, boy. Take it from the beginning. You were looking after your sheep, and then you saw something. Go from there.'

Goran took a deep breath, then told of what he had seen. Then Capel addressed them, outlining the tragedy that had befallen his captain and most of the men. Lastly Karis spoke, describing the actions of Sirano and the words of the Eldarin ghost.

Then there was silence. It was Vint who broke it. 'I know nothing of these Daroth,' he said, 'but if they can bleed I can kill them.'

'Do not be too sure,' warned Karis. 'When my horse leapt the gully I put an arrow into the throat of one of them. It was a lucky shot, but it struck true. Not only did it not kill him, but he clambered out of the gully, tore the arrow loose and threw it aside. They are huge, these Daroth, and mightily muscled.'

'Karis is quite correct,' said the Duke. 'No arrow or sword can kill them. That's what it says here, in this ancient book. In war they are sublime killers, impervious to pain. Their strength is prodigious. Many of the stories here are -in essence - myths. But all myths contain a grain of truth. According to this source there were. . .are?. . .seven cities of the Daroth. Twenty thousand or so Daroth live in each city. There is a map here. Five of the Daroth cities are too far away to trouble us now. One other is more than two months' ride from Corduin. That leaves only the last; it has no name, but we will call it Daroth One. Let us assume that there are twenty thousand Daroth living there. What size of army could they muster? And what must we do to combat them?' His dark eyes scanned the assembly. 'Let us begin with reaction to what we have heard.'

One by one the councillors spoke, asking questions of Capel, Goran and Karis. The warrior woman coolly read the mood of the councillors: they were stumbling in the dark, confused and uncertain.

After the meeting had been in progress for an hour, she stepped up to the Duke. 'If I may, my lord?' she said, with a bow. 'I do have a suggestion.'

'I would be glad to hear it,' he told her.

'There is little we can do to plan until we know the intentions of the Daroth. This we cannot ascertain until we have sent a delegation to them. I propose that a small group should be selected to ride north and meet with their leaders.'

'We do not even know the language they speak,' objected Vint. 'And from the way they attacked Capel and his men, one would surmise they are in no mood to negotiate.'

'Even so,' said Karis, 'there is really no alternative. We need to know their numbers, their fighting style, their weaponry, their strategies. Do they have siege-engines? If not, no matter how strong they are they will not breach the walls of Corduin. Language is not the greatest problem here. Lack of knowledge is what could destroy us.'

'Would you lead this group, Karis?' asked the Duke.

'I would, my lord - for a thousand in silver.'

Vint's laughter boomed out. 'Ever the mercenary, Karis!'

Albreck, Duke of Corduin, entered his private apartments and sat down on a richly embroidered couch. One of his manservants knelt before him, pulling off the Duke's boots. Another brought him a crystal goblet filled with cooled apple juice; Albreck sipped the drink, and handed the goblet to the servant.

'Your bath is prepared, my lord,' said the man.

'Thank you. Is my wife in her apartments?'

'No, my lord, she is dining with the Lady Peria. She has ordered her carriage to be ready for her return at dusk.'

Albreck stood. The two servants undressed him and removed his rings; then he strode naked to the rear rooms and slowly descended the steps into the sunken bath. Servants scurried around him, bringing buckets of warmed, perfumed water which they added to the bath, but the Duke was oblivious to them.

The War of the Pearl was a costly nonsense, which Albreck had tried hard to avoid. But there was no escape from Sirano's ambition, and the army of Hlobane had been drawn into the conflict. Now, his army depleted and supplies short, he faced an enemy of unknown power.

'Close your eyes, my lord, and I will wash your hair,' said a servant. Albreck did so, momentarily gaining enjoyment from the rush of warm water to his crown. Nimble fingers massaged his scalp.

All the ancient stories told of the horrors of the Daroth, their ferocity, their malevolence and their cruelty.

Not one spoke of art, or love. Was it possible that an entire race could be devoid of such feelings? Albreck doubted it -and in that doubt there was a seed of hope. Perhaps a war could be avoided? Perhaps the old stories were exaggerated.

The servant rinsed his hair, then dried it with a warmed towel. Albreck rose from the bath and donned an ankle-length white robe held out for him. Then he returned to his room and sat beside the fire.

Even if the stories were exaggerated, the truth came through like a searing flame. The Oltor had been wiped out, their race annihilated, their cities rendered to dust. No-one now knew for sure what the Oltor had looked

like, nor what kind of race they were. They had saved the Daroth, and in return the Daroth had destroyed them. There was not a great deal of hope to be found in such deeds.

A burning log fell to the hearth. A servant stepped forward swiftly, taking up a pair of brass tongs and lifting it back to the flames. Albreck glanced up. 'Fetch the Chief Armourer,' he told the man.

'Yes, my lord.'

'And bring me the Red Book from my study.'

'At once, my lord.'

Albreck sighed. All his life he had loved the arts: music, painting, poetry. But he also had a passion for history, and would have liked nothing better than to spend his days in study. Instead he had been born to this title, with all its concomitant burdens.

The servant returned within moments, carrying a large book bound with red leather. Albreck thanked him and opened it, scanning the pages which were filled with a neat, flowing script. Each page bore a date, and Albreck found the entry he was looking for. The Chief Armourer had introduced a Weapon Maker to him last summer. The man had designed a new siege engine, which he claimed would help Albreck win the war.

Albreck had long since decided the situation would be resolved - once men realized the true futility of the exercise of war - around a negotiating table, and had no desire to invest in new weapons of destruction. He recalled the Weapon Maker as a large man, brilliant of mind, with a pompous turn of phrase. The pom-posity he could ignore, the brilliance was what was required.

The Chief Armourer arrived, breathless and red from running. Albreck thanked him for arriving so swiftly, and asked him if the Weapon Maker was still resident in Corduin.

'Indeed he is, my lord. He is currently working on a new sabre for the swordsman, Vint.'

'I would like to see him. Bring him to my apartments this evening.'

'Yes, my lord. Are we then to build the new siege-engines?'

The Duke ignored him and returned to his reading. He did not see the man bow, nor hear the door click shut behind him.

Karis was given a suite of apartments on the first floor of the palace. At her command, servants prepared a perfumed bath for her; then she dismissed them. Vint arrived soon after, just as Karis was undressing.

'May I join you?' he asked.

'Why not?' she answered, lowering her lean frame into the water. Vint chuckled, then doffed his boots, leggings and shirt.

'By Heaven, Karis, you are still the most desirable woman I've ever known.'

'Beautiful sounds better,' she admonished him.

He paused and stared at her critically. 'Well. .. you're not a great beauty, my dove. Your nose is too long, and your features too sharp. Also - to be frank - you are a little too lean. However, that said, I never knew a better bed partner.'

'How coy,' she said, with a smile. 'As I recall, we have not yet rutted in a bed. The back of a wagon, the bank of a river, and ... oh yes, the hay-loft of a barn. No bed that I can recall.'

'Nakedness and pedantry do not go together,' he said, sliding into the water beside her. 'And now it is your turn to compliment me.'

Reaching out, she stroked the skin of his shaved temples. 'I preferred it when it was long and braided,' she told him.

'One has to remain in style, Karis. It shows the populace where true wealth lies. Now play the game and offer me a compliment.'

'You are among the top fifty lovers I have known.'

His laughter pealed out. 'Ah, but I have missed you, lady. You help to remind me that I am - despite my talents - merely mortal. But you do not fool me. I am in the top ten.'

'Arrogant man,' she said, allowing him to move closer to her.

'Arrogance is one of my many virtues. Will you allow me to accompany you on your mission?'

'Yes. I would have requested you.'

'How pleasing.' Leaning in, he kissed her lips, gently at first and then with increasing ardour. His hand caressed her breast, then his arm circled her waist, lifting her on to him. They made love slowly, and Karis allowed her mind to relax. He was right; he was high on the list of good lovers. But, as enjoyable as it was, there was no time to fully appreciate his skills. Karis increased the rhythm, then began to moan, her breath coming in sharp gasps. Vint's hands gripped her hips, and he too began to move with greater urgency. He sighed as he climaxed. Satisfied that she had fooled him, Karis kissed his cheek, then moved away.

'I needed that,' he said, with a smile. 'I was prepared for a duel, and the blood was up. Sex is certainly a fine substitute for fighting. Not perfect, mind, but close.'

'Who was the lucky opponent?'

'A man named Tarantio. Said to be something of a swordsman.'

Karis laughed aloud. 'Ah my dear, dear Vint. You are the lucky man. Tarantio would have cut your ears off.'

His face hardened, and no sign of humour remained. 'Don't mock me, darling. There is not a man alive to best me with any kind of blade.'

'Trust me, Vint,' she said, her face serious. 'I have seen you both fight and there is in you a quality of greatness with the blade. But Tarantio . .. ? He is inhuman. You were not here when he fought Carlyn; it was awesome.'

'I remember the story,' said Vint. 'Carlyn killed the legendary Sigellus and was challenged by one of his pupils. It was said to have been some fight.'

'It wasn't a fight, Vint, not even close. Tarantio cut him to pieces; he sliced off both the man's ears, cut his nose, then criss-crossed his face with deep cuts. Each one could have been a death stroke, but Tarantio was playing with him. And Carlyn was almost as good as you, my dear.'

'I think you underestimate me, Karis. I am not without a few tricks of my own.'

'I wouldn't want you to be killed. Where would I go for good love-making?'

'I take it Tarantio is also among the top ten of your lovers?'

Karis forced a laugh. 'You will never know. Now tell me where I can find him.'

'You will invite him on to our quest?'

'Yes. And pay him anything for the privilege.'

Vint rose from the bath. Robes had been left draped across a bench seat. Donning one, he passed the other to Karis. 'Are you doing this to stop me from carrying out my duel?'

'Not at all,' she assured him. 'I do not interfere in the lives of my men. If you wish to die young, then make good on your challenge - but not until we return.'

Vint smiled. 'Who could deny you anything, Karis?'

There was a discreet tap at the door. When Karis opened it, the dark-haired boy Goran stood outside. Karis ushered him in and he stood on the threshold looking nervous and ill at ease. 'What did you want?' she asked him.

'Can I come with you tomorrow?'

'I do not think that would be wise, boy. Our chances of returning alive are not great.'

'They took my father. I ... I need to find out whether he lives.'

'You were close?' she asked.

'He is the finest man who ever walked,' said Goran, his voice thickening and tears forming in his eyes.

'Please let me come.'

'Oh, let him come, Karis,' said Vint. 'The boy has spirit, and wouldn't you want to look for your own father?'

Karis's eyes were cold as she turned to Vint. 'If it was my father,' she said, 'I'd help the Daroth skin him!'

Brune sat quietly in the garden behind the house, watching a line of ants moving up a rose-bush. They filed slowly up the stem of a late-flowering bud, then down again. Brune focused on the bud, which was covered with greenfly. The ants were moving up, one at a time, behind the greenfly, and appeared to be stroking the aphids. This puzzled Brune: it was as if the tiny black insects were paying homage to their larger green cousins. But that was ridiculous. Narrowing his eyes, Brune looked closer. Then he smiled. The ants were feeding. Stroking the greenfly caused the aphids to produce a viscous discharge. Brune clapped his hands and laughed aloud. 'What is so amusing?' asked Tarantio, stepping out into the sunshine. He was carrying a black crossbow with a slim stock and wings of iron, and a quiver of stiffened leather containing twenty short black quarrels.

'The ants are milking the greenfly,' Brune told him. 'I didn't know they did that.'

'What are you talking about?' Tarantio laid bow and quiver on the stone table beside the bench on which Brune was sitting.

'The rose-bush. Look at the ants.'

Tarantio walked the length of the garden, some sixty paces, and knelt down by the bush for a few moments.

Then he returned to the seated Brune. 'I see they are swarming near the greenfly, but what makes you believe they are milking them?' he asked.

'You can see it. Look, there's one feeding now; he's filling his food sac.'

'Are you mocking me, Brune? I can hardly see the bud from here.'

'It's my new eye,' said Brune proudly. 'I can see all sorts of things with it, if I try hard. I was watching the ants earlier. They swap food. Did you know that? They rear up in front of each other, then one vomits . . .'

'I am sure it is fascinating,' said the swordsman swiftly. 'However, we have work to do. I have purchased this crossbow and I'd like to see how your new eye affects your aim.'

Tarantio showed Brune how to cock the weapon, then bade him shoot at the trunk of a thick oak some twenty paces away.

'Which part of the trunk?' asked Brune. Tarantio laughed and moved to the tree, scanning the bark. There was a small knot no more than an inch in diameter. Tarantio touched it with his index finger.

'Just here,' he said. As he spoke, Brune hefted the

weapon. 'Wait!' cried Tarantio. The black bolt slammed into the knot, barely inches from Tarantio's outstretched hand. Furious, he stormed back to where Brune stood. 'You idiot! You could have killed me.'

'I hit the knot,' said Brune gleefully.

'But the bolt might have ricocheted. It happens, Brune.'

'I'm sorry. It was just so easy. Don't be angry.'

Tarantio took a deep breath, then sighed. 'Well,' he said at last, 'we know the gold was well spent. The magicker did a fine job. Perhaps a little too fine.' Leaning in close to Brune he stared into the young man's eyes.

'What are you looking at?' asked Brune nervously.

'Your left eye. I could have sworn it was blue.'

'It is blue,' said Brune.

'Not any more. It is a kind of golden brown. Ah well, maybe it is just part of the magic from the golden orb.'

'He wasn't supposed to change the colour,' objected Brune, worried now. 'He wasn't, was he?'

'I don't suppose that it matters,' replied Tarantio, with a smile. 'Not if you can see ants feeding. Anyway, it is a good colour. And it better matches the gold of your right eye.'

'You think so?'

'Yes.'

They heard the sound of horses on the road outside. Tarantio's face hardened as Vint came riding to the gate. The Corduin swordsman gave a broad smile and waved as he dismounted. He opened the gate wide, and a second rider came through. Tarantio watched as Karis dismounted, tethering her grey to the gatepost.

'Good to see you again, Chio,' she said.

'And you, Karis. Come to see him die?' he asked.

'Not today. What brings you to Corduin?'

'I grew tired of war,' he told her. 'Added to which I was

with the mercenaries your lancers destroyed. I barely got away. Did life prove too dull with Sirano?'

'Something like that,' she agreed. Karis glanced at Brune. 'What is the matter with his eye?'

'Nothing. He sees better than any man alive. What is it you want?'

Karis smiled. 'A little hospitality would be pleasant. A drink perhaps? Then we can talk.'

Tarantio sent Brune inside to fetch wine. Vint sat perched on the edge of the stone table, while Karis sat down opposite Tarantio. She told him of the return of the Daroth, and the murder of the villagers and the soldiers from the northern garrison. Tarantio listened, astonished. Brune returned with a pitcher of wine and four clay cups, but no-one touched the drink.

'You saw them yourself?' asked Tarantio.

'I did, Chio. Horses of eighteen hands or more, huge warriors with white, naked skulls and twisted faces.

And the desert is no more. Trust me. The Daroth are back.' She told him of Sirano's assault on the Pearl, and of the ghostly Eldarin. Lastly she outlined the decision of the Council to send a group of riders to meet with the Daroth. 'I will be leading the group,' she said. 'I want you with me.'

'Who else have you chosen?'

'Vint, the boy Goran, and a politician called Pooris. But it must be a small group.'

'Forin is in Corduin,' he told her. 'He is a good man -and he knows many stories of the Daroth. He could be useful.'

'I will have him found. Will you come?'

'You have not mentioned a price,' he pointed out.

Karis grinned. 'One hundred in silver.'

'That is agreeable. And what about him?' he asked, gesturing at the green-clad swordsman.

'What about him?' countered Karis.

'He wants to kill me. I do not relish being stabbed to death as I sleep.'

'How dare you?' snapped Vint. 'I never murdered a man in my life. You have my word that our duel will wait until we return. Or is my word not good enough for you?'

'Is his word good, Karis?' asked Tarantio.

'Yes.'

'Then I agree. I won't kill him until we return.'

Vint's handsome face lost its colour. 'You are an arrogant man, Tarantio,' he said, 'but it would be wise to remember the old adage - never a horse that couldn't be rode, never a man that couldn't be throwed.'

'I'll remember that when I find a horse I can't ride.'

'Would either of you mind,' put in Karis, 'if I enquired as to what caused this enmity?'

'A friend of his attacked Brune. Hit him from behind, then tried to kick him while he was unconscious.

I stopped him. He drew a knife on me and I broke his arm. Should have killed him, but I didn't.'

'That is not how it happened,' said Vint to Karis. 'My friend was dining when this . . . drunken savage

... attacked him for no reason.'

'For what it is worth, Vint, I have never known Tarantio to lie. Nor have I ever seen him drunk. But that is beside the point. You are both strong men, the kind I would want with me on this mission. I will not however take either of you if you do not grip hands now, and swear to be sword brothers until we return. I cannot afford such hatred. While we are in Daroth lands, you must each be willing to risk your life for the other. You understand me?'

'Why would he need a sword brother?' asked Vint. 'Surely he could master the Daroth on his own.'

'That is enough!' snapped Karis. 'Shake hands and swear your oath. Both of you.'

For a moment the two men sat in stony silence, then Tarantio rose and offered his hand. Vint stared at it for several heartbeats, then thrust out his own, and the two men clasped each other wrist to wrist. 'I will defend your life as my own,' said Tarantio.

'And I likewise,' hissed Vint.

'We will depart at dawn,' said Karis. 'If your man Forin has not been found by then, we will leave without him.'

'I would like to bring my . . . friend . . . Brune,' put in Tarantio, as Karis moved towards her horse.

She swung back. 'Can he fight?'

Tarantio shrugged. 'No, General, but he has the eyes of an eagle. Trust me on this.'

'As you wish,' she said.