Dark Moon

Chapter Seven

Of all the joys Duvodas had ever known, this was the most intense, the most beautiful. In his young life he had summoned the music of the earth, and watched its magic flow across the land. He had healed the sick, and felt the lifeblood of the universe flowing in his veins. But here and now, as he lay beside his new bride, he felt complete and utterly happy. He stroked her long dark hair as she slept, and stared down at her beautiful face lit by the virgin light of a new dawn. Duvo sighed.

The wedding had been joyous and raucous. Ceofrin had opened his tavern to friends, family and loyal customers. The food and drink were free, and Duvo had played for them. The priest had arrived at noon, the guests pushing back the tables so that he could lay the ceremonial sword and sheaf of corn upon the freshly swept floor. Duvo had put aside his harp and led Shira to the centre of the room. The words were simple.

'Do you, Duvodas of the Harp, agree to this binding of soul and flesh?'

'I do.'

'Do you swear to value the life of this, your beloved, as you value your own?'

'I do.'

'Will you honour her with the truth, and bless her with love for all the days of your life?'

'I will.'

'Then take up the sword.'

Duvo had never before held a blade, and he was loath to touch it. But it was a ceremonial piece, representing defence of the family, that had never been used in combat, and he knelt and lifted it by the hilt. The crowd cheered and Shira's father, Ceofrin, stood by misty-eyed as he did so.

'Do you, Shira, agree to this binding of soul and flesh?' asked the priest.

'I do.'

'Do you swear to value the life of this, your beloved, as you value your own?'

'Always.'

'Will you honour him with the truth, and bless him with love for all the days of your life?'

'I will.'

'Then take up the sheaf, which represents life and the continuation of life.'

She did so, then turned to Duvo, offering it to him. He took it from her hand, then drew her to him, kissing her. The crowd roared their approval, and the revelry began again.

Now it was dawn, and Shira slept on. Dipping his head, he kissed her brow. Sorrow slipped through his joy like a cold breeze, and he shivered.

The Daroth were coming.

That was why he had changed his mind about marrying the girl beside him, for only thus could he guarantee her safety. Now when he left Corduin, she would be beside him, and he would take her far from the threat of war and violence.

Rising from the bed, he took up his harp and sat by the window. Nervously he stroked the strings, reaching out

for the harmony. He quite expected to feel nothing, and remembered a walk with Ranaloth through the gardens of the Temple of the Oltor.

'Why did you raise me, Master Ranaloth?' he had asked. 'You do not like humans.'

'I do not dislike them,' answered the Eldarin. 'I dislike no-one.'

'I understand that. But you have said that we are like the Daroth, natural destroyers.'

Ranaloth had nodded agreement. 'This is true, Duvo, and many among the Eldarin did not want to see a child of your race among us. But you were lost and alone, an abandoned babe on a winter hillside. I had always wondered if a human could learn to be civilized - if you could put aside the violence of your nature and the evils of your heart. So I brought you here. You have proved it possible, and made me happy and proud. The triumph of will over the pull of the flesh - this is what the Eldarin achieved many aeons ago. We learned the value of harmony. Now you understand it also, and perhaps you can carry this gift back to your race.'

'What must I beware of, sir?' he had asked.

'Anger and hatred - these are the weapons of evil. And love, Duvo. Love is both wondrous and yet full of peril. Love is a gateway through which hatred - disguised and unrecognized - can pass.'

'How can that be so? Is not love the greatest of the emotions?'

'Indeed it is. But it breaches all defences, and lays us open to feelings of great depth. You humans suffer this more than most races I have known. Love among your people can lead to jealousy, envy, lust and greed, revenge and murder. The purest emotion carries with it the seeds of corruption; they are hard to detect.'

'You think I should avoid love?'

Ranaloth gave a dry chuckle. 'No-one can avoid love, Duvo. But when it happens you may find that your music is changed. Perhaps even lost.'

'Then I will never love,' said the young man.

'I hope that is not true. Come, let us walk into the Temple and pay homage to the Oltor.' Together they had strolled through the entrance. The vast circular building housed hundreds of thousands of bones, laid upon black velvet cloths. Every niche was filled with them - skulls, thigh-bones, tiny metatarsals, fragments and splinters. There was little else here, no statues, no paintings, no seats. On a high table, laid upon a sheet of satin, were a dozen red stones. 'The blood of the Oltor Prime,' said Ranaloth. 'One of the last to die. His lifeblood stained the rocks below him.'

'Why did the Eldarin gather all these bones?' Duvo had asked.

Ranaloth gave a sad smile. 'They were a fine people, who knew the songs of the earth. We learned their songs; you now sing many of them. But the Oltor will sing no more. It is fitting that we can walk here and see the result of evil. This is what it means to confront the Daroth. How many hopes and dreams are trapped within these bones? How many wonders lie never to be discovered? This is what war is, Duvo. Desolation, despair and loss. There are no victors.'

Now, in the quiet of the dawn, Duvo began the Song of Vornay - sweet and lilting, soft as the feather of a dove, gentle as a mother's kiss. The music filled the room, and Duvo was amazed to find that not only was the magic still there, but it had changed for the better. Where the power had been passive and impersonal, it was now vibrant and fertile. He was hard pressed to contain it, and found himself playing the Creation Hymn. As his fingers danced upon the strings he became aware of a nest upon the roof outside the window, and the young chicks within it. And below, from the alley, he felt the tiny, irrepressible music in the heartbeat of three new pups, born in the night. Duvo smiled and continued his song.

Suddenly he faltered.

The sense of magic was strong upon him and he realized, with both dread and longing, that new life was closer still .. . within the room. Putting aside his harp, he returned to the bed and lay down beside the still sleeping Shira. As the magic faded from his mind, he reached out one last time, and felt the tiny spark of what in nine months would be his child.

His son ... or daughter. A sense of wonder flowed through him, and an awesome feeling of humility linked with mortality filled his mind.

Shira awoke and smiled sleepily. 'I had such wonderful dreams,' she said.

Sixty miles north-east of Corduin, in a moonlit hollow, Karis studied the ancient map. According to the coordinates they were less than twenty miles from Daroth One. They had seen no Daroth warriors in the four days since they left Corduin, but everywhere there were signs of panic: small villages deserted, columns of refugees fleeing for what they perceived as the safety of the city.

The others were still asleep as the dawn sun rose. Karis added dry wood to the embers of last night's fire and gently blew it to fresh life. Autumn was fast becoming winter, and a chill breeze was blowing down from the mountains.

The politician, Pooris, rose from his blankets, saw Karis by the fire and moved across to her. He was a small, thin man, bald - save for a thin circlet of silver hair above his ears. 'Good morning to you, Karis,' he said, his voice smooth as winter syrup.

'Let us hope it proves so,' she said. He smiled, but the action did not reach his button-bright blue eyes.

'May we speak - privately?' he asked her.

'It does not get much more private than this, Pooris,' she pointed out.

He nodded, then swung a glance to the sleeping warriors. Satisfied they could not hear him he turned again to the warrior woman. 'I am not blessed with physical bravery,' he said. 'I have always been frightened of pain - suffering of any kind. I fear the Daroth.' He sighed. 'Fear is not a strong enough word. I cannot sleep for worrying.'

'Why tell me this?'

'I don't know. To share, perhaps? Is there some secret to your courage? Is there something I can do to bolster my own?'

'Nothing that I know of, Pooris. If trouble comes, stay close to me. Follow my lead. No hesitation.' She looked at him and smiled. 'Bear this in mind also, councillor -not many cowards would volunteer for a mission such as this.'

'Are you frightened, Karis?'

'Of course. We are all riding into the unknown.'

'But you think we will survive?'

She shrugged. 'I hope that we will.'

'I have often wondered what constitutes heroism,' he said. 'Tarantio and Vint are sword-killers. Most people would call them heroes. But does heroism come naturally to swordsmen?'

Karis shook her head. 'Heroes are people who face down their fears. It is that simple. A child afraid of the dark who one day blows out the candle; a woman terrified of the pain of childbirth who says, "It is time to

become a mother." Heroism does not always live on the battlefield, Pooris.'

The little councillor smiled. 'Thank you, lady,' he said.

'For what?'

'For listening to my fears.' He rose and walked away through the trees and Karis returned to studying the map. While the Duke's men searched for Forin she had spent her time in the library, reading everything she could find about the Daroth. It wasn't much. She had widened the scope, investigating stories - myths mainly — of a race of giant warriors said to have inhabited the north country. Perhaps these tales were also of the Daroth.

None of the research material she had found had supplied a clue as to what action she should take when they approached the Daroth city. Pooris had suggested riding with a flag of truce. Why should the Daroth recognize this convention? she had asked him.

Forin - who, as Tarantio had told her, knew many stories of the Daroth - had only one suggestion.

'Take salt as a gift,' he said. 'According to my father, who heard it from the Eldarin, the Daroth adore the taste. It works on their system like wine does with us.'

Karis had taken heed. But in order to offer salt to the Daroth, they must first agree to speak. They had not spoken with Capel's men, but had attacked swiftly and without mercy.

Pooris returned from the woods and began to neatly fold and roll his blanket. Forin awoke, belched loudly and sat up. He yawned and stretched; rising, he thrust his hand down the front of his leather leggings and scratched at his genitals. Then he saw Karis, and gave a sheepish grin. 'I like to check that the old soldier is still alive,' he said. Then he too strolled from the camp. He did not go as far as Pooris had done, and Karis could hear him noisily urinating against a nearby tree-trunk.

Pooris reddened, but Karis merely chuckled. 'Do not be embarrassed, councillor,' she advised him. 'You are not among the nobility now.'

'I rather guessed that,' he said.

Tarantio and Brune joined her, then Goran and Vint. They breakfasted on oats they had found in an abandoned village. Goran and Vint sweetened theirs with honey; Tarantio ate his with salt; Pooris was not hungry. And Forin refused the oats, chewing instead upon his ration of dried meat. Brune ate his portion, scraping the last of the porridge from the bowl with his fingers.

'I think we will see the Daroth today,' said Vint. 'They must have outriders. Have you come up with a plan yet, Karis?'

Ignoring the question, she finished her meal, then cleaned her plate upon the grass. 'When we do see them, not one of you must draw a weapon,' she said at last. 'You will sit quietly while I ride forward.'

'And if they attack?' asked Pooris.

'We scatter and meet again here.'

'It has the merits of simplicity,' observed Vint. Drawing his knife, he began to scrape away the bristles on his cheeks and chin.

'Why bother to shave?' asked the red-bearded Forin.

'One must observe certain standards,' pointed out Vint, with a self-mocking grin. 'And naturally,' he continued, 'I want the Daroth to see me in the full bloom of my beauty. They will be so over-awed they will immediately surrender to us and swear fealty!'

'Exactly my plan,' said Karis drily.

She kicked earth over the fire, extinguishing it, then they saddled their horses and rode north. The boy, Goran,

heeled his mount alongside Warain. 'Do you think my father is still alive?' he asked Karis.

'There is no way to know,' she said, 'but let us pray so. You are a brave lad. You deserve to find him.'

'Father says we don't always get what we deserve,' he pointed out.

'He is a wise man,' said Karis.

They rode on for more than two hours, cresting the low hills before the mountains and heading down through a narrow pass on to the broad grasslands. From here they could see the distant city. There were no walls around it, and the buildings were round, squat and ugly to the human eye.

'Like a huge mound of horse droppings,' observed Forin.

Karis heeled Warain forward and the small troop cantered on.

As they approached the city, a line of twenty horsemen rode from it to intercept them. Karis felt a tightness in her belly. The horses upon which they rode were huge, eighteen hands, dwarfing even the giant Warain.

She felt Warain tense beneath her. 'Steady, now,' she said, patting his sleek grey neck.

The leading Daroth warrior drew his long serrated sword and rode at Karis. Untying the pouch at her belt, she rode to meet him with hand outstretched. His sword was raised, his oval jet-black eyes staring hard at her as she came abreast of him. Smoothly she extended her arm and offered him the pouch. Letting go of the reins, he took it from her and clumsily opened it. Salt spilled out. Placing a large finger into his beaked mouth, his swollen purple tongue licked out, wetting the tip. He dipped it into the salt pouch and tasted it.

Re-tying the pouch, he slipped it into a pocket in his black jerkin, then returned his gaze to Karis. 'Why are you here?' he asked, his voice cold, sepulchral.

'We come to speak with your leader,' she told him.

'He can hear you. All Daroth can hear you.'

'It is our custom to speak face to face.'

'You have more salt?'

'Much more. And we can deliver many convoys of it, fresh from the sea.'

'Follow me,' said the rider, sheathing his sword.

The city was unlike anything Tarantio had ever seen. The buildings were all spherical and black, unadorned and dull to the eye, built in a seemingly haphazard manner, yet all linked and joined by covered walkways. There were many levels of them, one atop the other.

'It's like a huge bunch of grapes,' said Forin. 'How do they live in them?'

Tarantio did not answer. As they rode on every building disgorged more Daroth, who stood silently watching the small cavalcade. The road was paved and smooth, the sound of the horses' hooves loud in the silence.

'They are an ugly people,' said Dace.

'Perhaps we look ugly to them,' observed Tarantio.

Ahead were two tall spires. Black smoke drifted lazily from the top of both, forming a pall above the city. Tarantio sniffed the air. There was an odd smell about the place, sweet, sickly and unpleasant.

The roadway widened and the group rode between two black pillars, heading towards a huge grey dome; the smoking spires were situated behind it. The Daroth riders peeled away, leaving only the leader, who dismounted before the round open entrance to the dome.

'Stay with the horses,' Karis told Goran, as the group dismounted.

'I want to find my father,' objected the boy.

'If he is here, I will find him,' she promised.

The Daroth entered the dome; Karis and the others followed. The councillor Pooris kept close to the warrior woman; his face was pale, his hands trembling. Tarantio and Forin were just behind them, followed by Vint and Brune.

The huge building was lit by globed lanterns set into the walls, and Karis was amazed to find that no pillars supported the colossal domed ceiling. There were no statues or adornments. At the far end of the circular hall was an enormous table shaped like a sickle blade. Around it were some fifty Daroth warriors, kneeling on the weirdly carved chairs Tarantio had first seen in the Daroth tomb.

'My father would have liked to see this,' said Forin. Tarantio could hear the fear in his voice, but the big man was controlling it well.

Karis moved forward. 'Who is the leader here?' she asked, her voice echoing strangely. A series of clicks sounded from the Daroth, then a warrior at the centre of the table rose.

'I am what you humans would call the Duke Daroth,' he said.

'I am Karis.'

'What is your purpose here?'

'A delegation such as this is our way of showing our peaceful intentions. Let me introduce the councillor Pooris, who has a message from our Duke.' Turning, she gestured Pooris forward. The little man took a nervous step towards the table and bowed low.

'My Duke wishes it to be known that he welcomes the return of the Daroth people, and hopes that this new era will bring trade and prosperity to both our peoples. He wishes to know if there is anything you desire from us, in the way of trade.'

'We only desire that you die,' said the Daroth. 'We will not coexist. This is now a Daroth world. Only the Daroth will survive. But tell me more of the salt you offer.'

Karis watched as Pooris faltered, feeling sympathy for the little politician. The Daroth's words were certainly not honey-coated, and left little room for further negotiation. 'Might I ask, sir,' said Pooris, 'that you expand upon your decision? War is never without cost. And peace can bring riches and plenty.'

'I have said what I have said,' the Daroth told him. 'Now I wish to hear of the salt you will send.'

Pooris stepped forward. His hands were no longer trembling. 'The salt was offered in the spirit of peace. Why would we send it to an enemy?'

'Trade,' said the Daroth Duke, simply. 'We understand that when you humans desire something that you cannot take by force, you trade for it. We will take the salt as trade.'

'In return for what, sir?' asked Pooris.

'We have more than a hundred of your older humans. We have no use for them; we will trade them for their weight in salt.'

'Do you have a man here named . . .' Pooris swung to Karis and gave her a questioning look.

'Barin,' she said.

'He is here,' said the Daroth Duke. 'He is important to you?'

'His son is with us. That is how we know he was captured by you. We would like him returned.'

'He is owned by one of my captains. He does not wish to trade him; he will, however, allow you to fight for him.' The clicking sound came again from the gathered group. Karis took it to be laughter. All her adult life Karis had been skilled in the reading of men. The skull-faced Daroth were not men, but even so she could sense their contempt for the human embassy. In that moment she realized that their chances of leaving alive were slender at best. Under normal circumstances Karis was a cautious leader, but sometimes, she knew, recklessness could carry the day.

Calmly she stepped forward, laying her hand on the shoulder of the councillor and drawing him back.

'We did not come here to kill Daroth,' she said coolly. 'But if necessary we will do this. How does one challenge your captain?'

'You already have,' said the Duke. 'He says he will fight the largest of you - the red-bearded one.'

'I choose who fights,' said Karis, 'and I will not use my strongest warrior. It would be beneath him to fight a single Daroth. Before this duel takes place, however, Lord Duke, what are the rules? When my chosen fighter has killed your captain, do we then have possession of the man Barin?'

'If you kill my captain you own all his possessions, for he is pod-lost and cannot live again.'

'And we will be allowed to leave the city?'

'Why would we keep you here? We know all we need to know of your puny race. Your young ones are sweet and tender, your old ones stringy. Who will you choose to fight for the human?'

'Where is the captain?' she demanded.

A Daroth rose from beside the Duke and Karis looked hard at him. The warrior was huge, barrel-chested and powerful. She swung to Tarantio and he nodded acceptance. 'I think your captain looks old and fat,' she said. 'I will therefore use my smallest warrior.'

'When he dies,' said the captain, 'you will become mine. I will feast on you tonight, female. I will swallow your eyes whole.'

Karis ignored him and walked back to Tarantio. 'Can you take him?' she asked, her voice just a whisper.

'I can take anything that lives,' Dace told her. Drawing his short swords, he stepped out to meet the captain. The Daroth was carrying a long, serrated broadsword. As Dace took up his fighting stance he felt a hot stab of pain in his mind, like a flame searing up from his neck and into his cranium. He staggered back.

'They are telepaths,' came the voice of Tarantio. 'Fight through the pain. I will try to block the fire.'

Dace's anger swelled. Huge as the Daroth was, still he felt he needed the advantage of magic. You may be big, thought Dace, but you are a coward! The pain flared once more.

'He is in here with us,' whispered Tarantio. 'He can hear us.'

'I think I'll kill him now,' said Dace. He darted forward, ducking under a ferocious cut to slam his sword-blade into the Daroth's belly. The blade did not penetrate more than half an inch. Dace leapt back, swaying away from a slashing blow that would have opened him from shoulder to belly.

'The armpit,' said Tarantio. 'Remember the tomb. They have no bone protection there.'

The Daroth backed away, his elbows dropping protectively to his sides. 'Yes, I had remembered, brother,' snapped Dace. 'So good of you to remind our opponent.' The Daroth, now holding his blade double-handed, ran forward and sent a wicked sweeping cut which Dace parried. Such was the power of the blow that the smaller warrior was sent hurtling to the floor. As Dace rolled to his knees, the Daroth leapt towards him with sword raised. Dace switched his grip on his right-hand sword, holding it now like a dagger. He waited until the last moment, then surged upright, dancing aside as the serrated sword came down. As his sword slammed into the Daroth's armpit, plunging through muscle and tissue, a hideous croaking scream came from the captain, who stumbled and fell to his knees. Dace plunged his second sword into the Daroth's body, alongside the first blade, then levered it up and down. Milk-coloured liquid sprayed from the wound, drenching Dace. Dragging his swords clear he threw himself upon the dying Daroth's back and smashed again and again at the nape of the giant neck and the raised vertebrae showing there. The white skin peeled away, exposing bone. One of the vertebrae cracked, a second suddenly dislodging. The Daroth's head fell sideways. Dace delivered a tremendous blow to the neck, which snapped with a sound that echoed around the hall. The Daroth captain pitched forward from his knees, his face striking the stone floor. The fiery pain in his mind faded away, but still Dace continued to hack at the neck, his blows frenzied and powerful. The head rolled clear.

'That is enough,' he heard Karis say. Dace blinked. He had an urge to rip out the Daroth's dark eyes and swallow them whole. Tarantio surged back into control.

Karis walked to the sickle table and stood silently for a moment. 'As I thought, old and fat,' she said. 'I would like the man, Barin, brought out now. I will trade the rest of his possessions for the prisoners you hold. Added to this - upon my return to Corduin - I will also arrange a wagon of salt to be brought to the edge of your lands.'

'I accept your trade, female,' said the Duke. 'You have entertained us well today. Come the spring - when the

Daroth army descends upon your city - you will entertain us more.'

'We will surprise you, my lord, I think.'

'I do not believe so. The human who fought for you is unique. You do not have enough like him to trouble us.'

Karis smiled. 'That remains to be seen. I look forward to your visit.'

There were 107 captives, all of them past middle age, and several white-haired elders. They were herded out to the open ground before the dome, where Karis greeted them. The last to arrive was Goran's father, a burly man with dark curly hair and beard. Goran ran to him, and hugged him. Barin ruffled his son's hair, then looked up at Karis. 'We must leave quickly,' he said, his voice low. 'There is no honour among these monsters. And their word is not iron.'

Karis nodded, and led the refugees back along the main street of the city of domes. Daroth came from every doorway to stare at them as they made their way towards the grasslands. Karis noticed that all the Daroth eyes were fixed upon the lean figure of Tarantio. He had killed one of them in single combat, and all had felt the blows of his swords.

They reached the outskirts of the city without incident and headed south. 'You must beware of warmth and pain in your mind,' said Barin. 'This will indicate they are reading your thoughts.'

Karis passed the warning back to the others. 'What do you think they will do?' she asked the man.

'The blood relatives of the Daroth cut down by your swordsman will follow you. They will try to take you alive, and keep you until the entombing. Then you will

be fed to the wife of the Daroth your man fought - save for your heart, which will be placed in the coffin with the body of her husband.'

'What did the Duke mean about pod-lost?' asked Karis.

'The Daroth are virtually immortal. They exist in a single body for no more than ten years. Then, when the pods are ripe and a new form emerges, the old body is shed. Your man ended the life of the Daroth captain.

Under normal circumstances he would have been born again, but his pod was either flawed in some way, or diseased. Whatever the answer, his immortality ended in that hall. Now his relatives will seek to avenge his passing.'

'But why me?' she asked. 'Why not Tarantio who actually killed him?'

'You are the leader. It was you who instigated the duel.'

'What do you suggest?'

'Head for high ground where the air is thin and cold. It affects the Daroth far more than us; they are heavy, and they do not like the cold.'

'You know of such a place?'

'There is a pass through the mountains - some twelve miles east of here. It is very high.'

Once out of sight of the city, Karis led the column down into a deep gully, then changed the direction of travel from south to east. Vint rode alongside her. 'Where are we going?' he asked.

Karis told him of Barin's warning. 'If they do come after us, I do not see how we can fight,' said Vint.

'There is always a way to fight,' snapped Karis. 'My father had a pet python; he used to feed it with live mice. The python was around six feet in length. He made me watch the snake feed. It was . . . nauseating.'

'What has this to do with the Daroth?' asked Vint.

'One day a mouse killed the snake.'

'I don't believe it!'

'Neither did my father; he accused me of poisoning it. But it was true. I freed the mouse. I hope she had a long life, and gave rise to many legends among her kind.'

Heeling Warain into a run, Karis circled the column and galloped back along the line of refugees where she swung into place between Tarantio and Brune. 'You fought well, my friend,' she said with a smile. 'You will become a legend. The Daroth Slayer, they will call you.'

'Their Duke was right,' said Tarantio. 'We will not stop them in the spring. Shemak's Balls, Karis, they are tough to kill! I cannot see how men can defeat them. Their skin is like toughened leather, their bones stronger than teak.'

'Yet you killed one.'

Tarantio smiled. 'There are not many like me,' he said. 'For which I have - up to now - always been grateful.' When Karis told him of Barin's warning, Tarantio ordered Brune to ride to the crest of a nearby hill and watch for signs of pursuit.

By late afternoon the refugees were exhausted, and the line was stretched out over several hundred yards.

Brune had returned with good news, that the pursuing Daroth had headed off into the north. So far the ruse had worked. But they were still several miles from the pass, and Karis was loath to allow a rest stop. Forin and Vint gave up their horses to two old men and the convoy moved on, ever more slowly.

At dusk they came to the foothills of the mountains, where Karis allowed the refugees to rest. Dismounting she walked among them. 'I want you all to listen to me,' she said. 'The Daroth are following us and they are intent on slaughter. Ahead of us is a long climb, but it is a climb to life. I know you are all tired, but let fear add strength to your limbs.'

The fear was there; she could see it in their eyes. One by one they pushed themselves to their feet, and moved out onto the slopes. Brune galloped his horse from the hills. 'They are three - maybe four - miles away,' he said. 'There are twenty of them.'

Hearing this, the refugees began to run.

Karis rode ahead of them, Tarantio, Brune and Pooris with her. At the top of the steepest part of the rise, she reined in and scanned the shadow-haunted pass. For the first 200 yards it rose gently, but then inclined sharply for another 200. Then the walls narrowed to less than fifteen feet apart. She rode Warain up the sharp incline, then dismounted. Huge boulders were strewn across the trail. Glancing up, she saw there were scores more precariously balanced on both walls of rock. With more time she could have set up an avalanche. But was there time?

The first of the refugees staggered by her. Karis called out to them to help, then put her shoulder to a massive boulder some seven feet in diameter. Ten men sprang to help her, and slowly the huge stone began to move. 'Carefully now,' said Karis. 'We do not want to send it down on our own people.'

Slowly they rolled the boulder to the edge of the rise. The refugees were streaming up the narrow incline; behind them, less than half a mile distant, came the Daroth.

More than two-thirds of the refugees were behind her now, but around twenty were still struggling up the slope. Tarantio, Vint and Forin ran down to help the stragglers. Brune rode his horse down and lifted one old man across his saddle, galloping him back to safety.

Bunched tightly, the Daroth charged. Eight people had still not reached the incline, as the Daroth bore down on them. A spear smashed through the back of the last man, tearing out his lungs. Karis swore. The surviving seven were doomed, and if she did not act swiftly the Daroth would reach the crest.

'Now!' she cried, and the men beside her threw their weight against the boulder. For a moment only it refused to move, then it slowly rolled clear. Gathering speed, the enormous stone crashed against the right hand wall of the pass, careering off to thunder down the slope.

The first to die was a refugee, his body crushed to pulp. Half-way up the slope, the Daroth saw the threat and tried to turn - but close-packed as they were, there was no escape. The boulder crashed into their ranks, smashing bones and killing horses and riders. Then it hammered against the wall of the pass, dislodging yet more rocks and stones which showered down on the Daroth below. A section of cliff sheared away, plunging down to block the pass. A cloud of dust billowed up, obscuring the carnage.

One refugee came out of the dust, scrambling up the incline to fall at Karis's feet. The man had a gash to his head, and a broken arm. Friends helped him to stand and supported him.

In the dying light of the sun the refugees watched as the dust cleared. Not one Daroth could be seen.

'Let's go home,' said Karis.

Karis led the refugees back to their ruined villages, where the ninety-three survivors picked their way through the debris, seeking what possessions they could find. There was little food, for the Daroth had stripped the storehouse and driven away all the cattle. Tarantio, Forin and Brune rode off into the valley to hunt. Karis, Vint and Pooris remained behind. The small politician had said little since their departure from Daroth One, and he sat with shoulders slumped, his back against the wall of the plundered storehouse.

Karis sat down before him. 'What is troubling you, councillor?'

He gave a weak smile. 'Look at all their faces,' he said, waving in the direction of the refugees as they searched through the wreckage. 'They are lost. Ruined. Not because their village has been attacked -

such is the lot of farmers, I am afraid. They are lost because they have seen the enemy, and they know their world is gone for ever.'

'They have not beaten us yet,' she said, but Pooris said nothing and Karis returned to where Vint sat by an open fire.

'You did take a chance, lady,' he told her, with a grin. 'Supposing Tarantio had failed.'

'Then we would be dead. But it wasn't that great a risk. As I told you before, I have seen him fight.

Now you have too.'

'He is a madman, Karis. I saw that, right enough. God's teeth, I would swear his eyes changed colour.

It was like watching a different man.'

'Still think you could take him?'

He laughed aloud. 'Of course. I am invincible, dear lady.' Karis looked into his eyes, amazed to see that he meant what he said. She shook her head.

'When we get back, if you will take my advice, you should go to the tavern where the incident took place and learn for yourself the truth of the matter. It would be folly to fight Tarantio for the wrong reason.'

'I shall do as you say.'

Four days later the farmer, Barin, was led into the library rooms of the Duke's private quarters. Karis and Vint were already seated there, as was the councillor Pooris. Barin had seen the Duke once before, leading a parade through Corduin, but never had he been this close to royalty. Albreck was an imposing man, with shrewd deep-set eyes and a hawk beak of a nose. Barin made a clumsy bow. 'Be at your ease, man,' said Albreck. The Duke turned to a servant standing beside him. 'Bring him a goblet of wine.'

The servant did so and Barin stood staring at the goblet, which was fashioned from silver and inset with grey moonstones. Gold wire had been set into the silver in an elaborate swirl, making the letter A. The goblet, Barin realized, was worth more than he could earn in a year from his fields. He sipped the wine, and his spirits were lifted by the fact that it was thin and a little sour. Old Eris made better wine back in the village!

'Now,' said the Duke, 'tell us all you can of the Daroth. It is of vital importance.'

'I hardly know where to begin, sire. You already know they are powerful beyond belief.'

'How do they live, how are they governed?' asked the Duke.

'It is hard to say. They can communicate with each other without speech over large distances. As I understand it, their decisions are made communally. Instantly.'

'Would you describe them as evil?'

'Indeed I would, sire, for they do not understand the concept of evil - and in that alone they are terrifying. In the time I was with them, they killed and ate scores of young men and women. They cooked them over charcoal pits, first smothering them in clay. Most were alive when the cooking began. I will never forget the scenes; they are branded into my memory. They asked me why I did not eat. I told them that for us cannibalism was a vile practice. They did not — or would not -understand.'

'Do they have religious beliefs?' asked Pooris.

'They have no need of such, being virtually immortal. They live for only ten years, and twice in that time they create pods - giant eggs - in which they are reborn.'

'What do you mean, reborn?' queried the Duke.

'As I understand it, sire, when the young Daroth are ... hatched, they lie still, as if dead. The father, if you like, then moves to the . . . infant and a joining takes place. The old body withers and dies, the young body grows to full manhood in a matter of moments. All that is left is the empty pod and the withered husk of the former Daroth. This cycle happens twice in every Daroth lifetime: once for the father, once for the mother.

And they go on ... and on.'

'They told you all this?' put in Karis.

'No. They drained my mind of all knowledge, but in doing so I could read theirs. I saw it, if you will.'

'One aspect troubles me,' said Pooris suddenly. 'If the Daroth only breed to replace father and mother, how then does their population grow?'

'There is a special season, once every fifty years,' explained Barin. 'I cannot translate their name for it, but my own would be the Time of Migration. At this time the Daroth become hyper-fertile, if you will, and the pods can contain two or sometimes three infants. This last happened - in their time scale - four years ago; it led to the building of the city you call Daroth One. That is why the land around the city is so fertile. It has not yet had its heart ripped out.'

Vint drew up a chair for Barin. 'Sit you down, man. You look exhausted.'

Barin did so. 'Aye, sir, I am tired beyond belief.'

'You say they have no concept of evil. What did you mean by this?' asked Albreck.

Barin tried to gather his thoughts. 'I can answer it only as a farmer, lord. When the blowfly attacks a sheep it will kill it horribly, laying its eggs inside the living sheep. But the blowfly is not evil; it merely wishes to extend its life. The Daroth are like that, with the exception that they know the havoc they cause to other species. But they do not care. They do not love the land. They live only to live again. No music, no culture. They are parasites, their cities ugly and temporary. When they exhaust the land of all nourishment they merely move their cities to fresh ground. They are makers of deserts.'

'What of friendship, camaraderie?' asked Karis. 'Do they have legends of heroes?'

'No legends, lady, for they have lived for ever. They love to fight. Without an external enemy, they fight amongst themselves. But if one is slain his body is taken to the pod, and left there until the new body is born.' Barin talked for more than an hour, telling them of the Oltor and of their total destruction. 'They hunted the last of them through a mighty forest. I saw the Daroth slaughter them.

The Oltor were a peaceful people, tall and slender, their skin golden. They had no weapons. And they were all exterminated.'

'We are not Oltor, and we do have weapons,' said Karis.

'They will not be stopped, my lady,' said Barin sadly. 'In the far distant past, when they warred upon one another, they created engines of great destruction. Giant catapults that could smash down the walls of a castle, battering-rams to breach any gate. With one blow they can cut a man in half. They are deadly beyond our imagining.'

'Yet we killed them when they came after us,' Karis reminded him.

'You will not hold Corduin, my lady!'

'Let us talk of weaknesses,' said the Duke sternly. 'What do they fear?'

'Deep water, my lord. They are too heavy to swim, and they abhor boats. Also, perhaps because of their great weight, they do not function well at high altitudes where the air is thin. Lastly, there is the cold. They need heat; in winter they become lethargic and slow.'

The evening wore on until at last Duke Albreck rose and approached Barin. 'You have done well, farmer,' he said, tossing a pouch of gold coins which Barin caught. 'You are welcome to stay in the palace until you can find a new home.'

'Thank you, lord,' said Barin, rising. 'But, by your leave, I shall take my son to Loretheli and travel to the islands.'

'As you will. Though I understand it will be safe here until the spring.'

'Not so, my lord. A Daroth army of more than five thousand was sent out two days before the Lady Karis arrived. I do not know their destination.'

'If it had been Corduin, we would know by now,' said Karis.

Albreck walked to the far wall and stared at the ancient map hanging there. 'There can be only one destination,' he said, stabbing his finger towards the map. 'The Lord Sirano is, I fear, about to reap the harvest of his ambitions.' Dismissing the others, he bade Karis stay. That she was a superb leader of men he already knew; that she was a whore was meaningless to him. Men who had a hundred lovers were admired.

Albreck could see no reason why the situation should be so different with a woman. What worried him was something far more serious.

She was still dressed in her travel-stained clothes and he bade her sit opposite him. She was a striking woman, he thought, with a leanness that ought to have made her appear masculine, yet somehow emphasized her femininity. 'I shall have my tailor attend you,' he said.

Karis laughed. 'I am not looking at my best, my lord,' she admitted.

'I shall speak frankly. I am considering asking you to conduct the defence of Corduin. Yet I am troubled.'

'I am more suited to moving campaigns,' she said. 'But I do have experience of sieges.'

'That is not what troubles me, Karis. I do not doubt your talents; I doubt your temperament.'

'You are a plain speaker, my lord. How does my temperament offend you?'

'It does not offend me. I am not easily offended. I had an elder brother - did you know that?' Karis shook her head. 'He was a fine man, but he loved danger. When we were children he once climbed to the palace roof, and ran along the top of the parapet. My father was furious, and asked him why he had done it. Did he not realize that one slip, one gust of wind, and his life would have ended? You know what he said, don't you?'

'Yes, he told him that was why he did it.'

'Exactly. The moment of madness, the exultation that comes with spitting in the eye of death.'

'This is something you have experienced, my lord?' she asked him, surprised.

'No. Never. But that is what my brother told me. Two months before my father died my brother travelled with some friends into the high country where there was a mountain which no man had ever climbed. My brother climbed it; he was killed in a rock slide on the way down. There was no need to climb that mountain; it achieved nothing. And he died.'

'And you think I am like your brother?' 'I know that you are, Karis. You live your strange life on the edge of an abyss. Perhaps you are a little in love with death. But my city is in peril. To defend it will require dedication, constancy and skill.'

Karis was silent for a moment, remembering first the time when she stood naked on the crumbling balcony in Morgallis, and then the issuing of the challenge to the Daroth leader. She looked in the Duke's hooded eyes. 'You can rely on me, my lord. I know that what you say of me is true. I do, perhaps, love death, and I am at my most content when standing upon the edge of the abyss.' She laughed. 'Therefore, where else would I choose to be than Corduin? The abyss is coming - black and terrifying. In the spring it will be just outside the walls.'

When Karis had fled the city, Giriak had experienced two emotions. The first had been disappointment, for in his own way he had loved the warrior woman. Unlike any lover he had known Karis fired his blood, and his feelings for her were rooted deep. The second emotion, however, had been joy, for Sirano had given him command of her lancers. Giriak had always known he was as good a leader as she. Most of her victories, he believed, had been achieved due to his part in them. This was what made the current situation so galling, for since she had gone he had led two raids on the south, both of which had gone disastrously wrong. They would, he knew with absolute certainty, have failed even if Karis had been the commander.

He was sure of that, even if his men were not.

The one quality, it seemed to Giriak, that Karis had enjoyed above all others was luck. That was the only difference; he told himself this time and again, as if the constant repetition would make it true. All his life he had been cursed by bad luck. At an early age he had discovered a talent for running and he had trained hard under the watchful eye of his father, the village blacksmith. But another boy had beaten him in the Shire Finals after Giriak had stepped into a rabbit hole and twisted his ankle. Dark and handsome he had even lost out in love. Gealla had been all that he had wanted; he had courted her, and won her heart. But one of his so-called friends had told her of his illicit liaison with another village girl, and she had spurned him and married another. Even as a soldier Giriak had been overlooked - except by Karis. She had promoted him to be her second in command and here he had excelled, despite her occasional meddling in his decisions.

Giriak stepped down from the saddle and tethered the gelding. Then he climbed the rampart steps of the north wall, where the veteran Necklen was supervising repairs. The Lord Sirano - thank the Gods - had ceased using his magic on the Eldarin Pearl, and the minor earthquakes no longer struck the city. Not that it mattered much, thought Giriak. Morgallis was pretty much deserted anyway. Of the 85,000 people who had inhabited the city four months ago, now only around 5,000 remained. The rest had fled south to Prentuis where, according to rumour, they were housed outside the city in a huge camp of canvas tents.

All across Morgallis, taverns and shops were closed and boarded up.

'Almost there, Captain,' said Necklen, wiping sweat from his thin face and grey beard. 'The gap is filled, but the whole wall is riddled with cracks.'

'There is no force to assail the city,' said Giriak, gazing down at the work party, ferrying rubble and mortar to the wall. 'But Sirano wants the repairs done anyway.'

'We should be moving on,' said Necklen, keeping his voice low. 'This is like a city of ghosts. The men are getting anxious. Most of the whores have gone, and that takes all the fun out of a city.'

'We're still being paid,' Giriak pointed out.

'That's true, but it doesn't matter a damn if there's nothing to spend it on. Some of the lads are talking of desertion.'

'Which ones?'

Necklen gave a wry smile. 'Now, now, Captain, you know I'm no whisperer. I'm just alerting you to the prospect. They think Karis may have made it to Prentuis. They liked her, they want to serve her again.'

Giriak sat down on the battlements. 'I am as good as she. You know that, don't you?'

'You are a good man, Captain. Brave, loyal, steadfast.'

'Why does that sound like an insult?' asked Giriak, surprised at his own lack of anger. Of all the men who served under him, Necklen was the one he trusted most. Soft-spoken and loyal, he was an able lieutenant.

'It wasn't meant to be,' said Necklen. 'She is special, you know - got the mind for it. She could smell trouble when it was just a tiny seed. Put a halt to it before any knew there was a problem. That's why she made it all look so smooth. You and she were a wonderful team. But face it, Captain, it is not so wonderful without her.'

Giriak sighed. 'If any other man but you said those words, I would kill him.'

'The truth always has a bitter taste,' observed Necklen. 'I was there when she first learned to command. A group of us had been assigned to reinforce a garrison town. Soon after we arrived it was besieged. That was when Beckel was in command. He was all right, but he had one big problem; he was too intelligent.'

'How could that be a problem?' Giriak asked.

'Oh, it is a killer, Captain. Believe me. A man needs to know his limitations and that requires a certain humility. Beckel could multiply numbers in his head, recite ancient writings from memory, and knew every strategy ever used. But he couldn't lift them out of context. No imagination, you see. And that's what wins battles and wars. Imagination.'

'How did Karis come into the story?'

Necklen chuckled. 'She was his whore. When the siege started she came with him one day to the battlements. The enemy were cutting down trees. Beckel told her they were building siege towers. "The ground is too uneven," she told him, and she was right. No force on earth could have propelled towers over that landscape. "Catapults," she said. Then she shaded her eyes and scanned the walls and the land beyond.

She pointed out where she thought they would raise the catapults, and the section of wall they would aim at. We'd been amused at first, but a little irritation came in then. Like, who does she think she is? You know what I mean, Captain?'

'Ay, I do,' said Giriak.

'Well, then she asks why we're not storing enough water. "'Cos there's a stream flowing through the garrison," says I, "and it has never been known to go dry." She just looked at me for a moment. You remember that look? Kind of still, as if she were studying you? Then she says: "It will dry up fast enough if the enemy block it behind those hills." Two days later that's just what happened. And they placed the catapult where she said they would. Beckel used her a lot after that, and when he was killed we just sort of turned to her for leadership.'

'Why are you telling me this, old friend?'

'I think maybe we should all go to Prentuis and seek her out. You'd be happier; you love the woman.'

Giriak pushed himself to his feet. 'You tell the lads that she won't be in Prentuis. She'd have cut west to Corduin. She knew Sirano would want her dead.'

'If you knew that, why did you send the riders south?'

Giriak shrugged. 'Love or stupidity - one or the other.'

'Both, maybe,' said Necklen, with a wry smile. 'By the way, the scouts you sent north have not returned. They are overdue by a day.'

'They probably found a village full of young women,' said Giriak.

'Perhaps. But Mell was leading them, and he's steady as they come; you can always rely on Mell. It could be that some enemy mercenaries have slipped by us.'

'Send out a rider,' ordered Giriak.

'Son of a whore!' hissed Necklen. 'Is that the Duke?' Giriak swung round to see Sirano striding down the road towards the rampart steps. His blond hair was lank and greasy, his face unshaven and his eyes fever-bright. He ran up the steps, his movements quick and jerky. Necklen saluted, but the Duke ignored him.

'The enemy is coming,' said Sirano. 'Gather your men.'

'What enemy, my lord?'

'We need archers: thousands of them, lining the walls.' Sirano stood stock-still, unblinking, his gaze fastened on the north. 'And cauldrons of oil. The best archers . .. with strong bows.'

'We don't have a thousand archers, my lord,' said Giriak. 'Who is the enemy?'

'This will be the spot; this is where they will attack. Tell your archers to wait until they are well within range. They have very tough skins. Strong bones. Send Karis to me. We must plan.'

Giriak and Necklen exchanged glances. Giriak stepped up to the Duke, taking him by the arm. 'How long since you slept, my lord?'

'Sleep? I have no time for sleep. They are coming, you see. I brought them back. It was never my intention, Giriak. Never!'

'Sit you down, sir,' said Necklen, taking the Duke's other arm and leading him to a bench seat. Sirano sat, but then swivelled and stared out over the ramparts. 'They will be here tomorrow, with the dawn,' he said. 'I have made a terrible mistake. And I cannot put it right. But the bowmen can. Fill the walls with them.'

'I'll do that, my lord,' said Giriak, soothingly. 'But let us first get you back to the palace. You need rest.'

He led the unresisting Duke back down to the lower level, then helped him to the saddle of his own gelding.

With a wave to Necklen, he led the horse back along the deserted streets.