Dark Moon (34 page)

Wearily Sirano rose and searched the store-room, finding a small pile of empty sacks. With his dagger he cut a four-foot length from a coil of thin rope. Making two slices in the neck of a sack, he tied the rope to it. Filling it with the six bottles, he looped the rope over his shoulder and stood, the bottles clinking against one another.

Tarantio had asked him if he wanted to die. Oh, yes, he thought. I can think of no greater relief than to fall into darkness.

Slowly he made his way out into the corridor, then along it and through a series of rooms until he came to a narrow staircase. He had last been here ten years ago, when he had endowed the monastery with a gift of gold. Then he had wandered the place and marvelled at the labyrinthine design. The large hall where now the Daroth would be feeding was on the lower level, but above and around it was a gallery. Sirano recalled his visit, trying to remember the routes through the monastery. Descending the stairs he cut left, then padded through a long library, checking his bearings by peering out of a window. Now he knew where he was. Down two more flights of stairs, and along another corridor he paused at the last door. Taking a deep breath, he eased it open and slipped through to the gallery. Smoke was swirling around the rafters and he could smell the sweet, sickly scent of roasting flesh. Glancing over the rail, he saw the Daroth below. They had torn up the slabs of the floor and broken them to form a low wall around a carefully fashioned cooking area. Red-hot charcoal burned within it and a body was spitted over it. There were bloody bones scattered around the floor, and most of the Daroth were sitting well back from the fire, eating in silence. Two others were standing by the open door, overlooking the gates.

Sirano dipped his hand into the bag he carried, pulling forth a bottle. Then he strode into view. ‘I was asking myself,’ he said in a loud voice, ‘whether the Daroth could be considered to be evil. Do you see yourselves as evil?’

Heat and pain roared into his mind and he staggered. He thought he had been prepared for the mental onslaught, but it had come so swiftly he had no time to fight it. He did so now, summoning a masking spell which flowed through his mind like a cooling stream. ‘Have none of you the wit to offer me an answer?’ he called.

‘We came for you, Sirano,’ said a deep voice. He could not, at first, identify the speaker.

‘And you have found me. Now answer the question. Are you evil?’

The two Daroth by the door had moved inside. Sirano scanned the group. Two were now missing. A towering Daroth warrior moved closer, carefully avoiding the fire. ‘The word has little meaning for us, human. We are Daroth. We are one. There is nothing else of importance under the stars. Survival is the ultimate goal. What is good enables us to survive and to continue. What is evil threatens that survival.’

‘How did the Oltor threaten you? I thought that they saved you.’

‘They sought to deny us land. They closed the gateways to our own world.’

‘And the Eldarin?’

‘We will not coexist,’ said the Daroth. ‘Their magic was strong. They could have … troubled us.’

‘So!’ shouted Sirano. ‘It was fear that prompted you.’

‘We fear nothing!’ declared the Daroth, his voice rising.

The gallery door swept open and a huge Daroth warrior surged inside. Sirano spun and let fly with the bottle, which burst on the warrior’s chest. Flames spewed out to envelop the enormous white head, and a terrifying scream sounded. Fire consumed the towering figure, and the air was filled with black smoke. The Daroth crashed back into the door, then fell to his knees, his body flaring like a great torch. Blue flames hissed from him, and the heat was incredible. Pulling another bottle clear, Sirano swung towards the second door. As it opened he hurled the bottle – but it exploded harmlessly against the far wall. Climbing over the gallery rail, Sirano leapt to a ledge on one of the ten wooden pillars supporting the ceiling.

‘You fear extinction!’ he shouted. ‘Your lives are ruled by terror! That is why you cannot coexist. You believe that every race is as vile and self-centred as your own. And this time you are right. We will destroy you! We will hunt you down and wipe your grotesque species from the face of the earth!’

Three Daroth moved out onto the gallery. Sirano hurled another bottle, but they dived back and it too exploded without harm to the warriors. From his vantage point on the column, he saw the figures of Tarantio and Duvodas make the dash across open ground to the gates.

A hurled spear smashed through Sirano’s belly, pinning him to the pillar. Pain engulfed him, blood spraying from his mouth as he sagged down against the spear.

‘You pose no threat to us!’ sneered the Daroth leader. ‘Your pitiful race is weak and spineless. Your weapons are useless against us. We have crushed your armies, and destroyed two of your greatest cities. Nothing that lives can stand against us.’

Loosing the bag from his shoulder Sirano, with the last ounce of his strength, tossed it into the fire. It erupted with a tremendous explosion that hurled several Daroth from their feet, engulfing two of them in flames.

A second spear slammed into Sirano’s chest. And with it came the gift he sought above all others.

Darkness.

As Duvodas entered the tavern Shira ran to meet him, throwing her arms around his neck. ‘I was so frightened,’ she said. ‘I thought you had left me.’ He hugged her close and kissed her cheek.

‘Never! I will never leave you again.’ His fingers stroked through her long dark hair, and her face tilted up towards him. Tenderly he kissed her lips, then eased free of her embrace and sat beside the fire. Her father, Ceofrin, ambled forward and patted Duvo’s shoulder.

‘You look exhausted, man. I’ll get some food for you.’ Ceofrin moved to the kitchen and returned with a bowl of porridge and a container filled with honey. It remained untouched.

‘What happened? Did you find it?’ asked Shira. Duvodas opened the canvas pouch and removed the Pearl, which shone brilliantly in the firelight. For a moment none of them spoke. The Pearl was warm in Duvo’s hands, and the weight of responsibility was strong upon him. Shira’s gaze moved from the orb to Duvo, and her love for him swelled. Ceofrin stood back. He did not understand the nature of the Pearl’s power, but he did know that armies had fought and died for seven years to possess it, and now it lay within his tavern.

‘Oh,’ said Shira at last, ‘it is so beautiful. Like a moon fallen from the sky.’

‘It contains the Eldarin, their cities and their lands. Everything.’ Slowly he told them of the journey to the monastery and of the death of Sirano, Duke of Romark. ‘What happened at the monastery was terrible,’ he said. ‘The monks were slain by the Daroth, the younger ones consumed by them.’

Ceofrin listened as Duvo repeated his tale. ‘I can only imagine the anger you must feel,’ he said.

Duvodas shook his head. ‘The Eldarin taught me how to deal with anger: you must let it flow through you without pause. It was a hard lesson, but I believe I mastered it. Anger leads only to hate, and hate is the mother of evil. The Daroth are what they are. Like a storm, perhaps, destructive and violent. I will not hate them. I will not hate anything.’

‘If you ask me,’ said Ceofrin, ‘you are walking a hard road. Man is born to love, and to hate. I do not believe that any teaching can alter that.’

‘You are wrong,’ said Duvodas. ‘In my life I have seen evil in all its forms, great and small. They have not altered my perceptions.’

Ceofrin smiled. ‘You are a good man, Duvo. May I touch it?’ Duvo passed it to him. Hefting the Pearl in his huge hands, he stared hard into its milky depths. ‘I cannot see cities here.’

‘They are there, nonetheless. I must get the Pearl to the highest mountain of the Eldarin lands. Then they will return.’

‘And help us destroy the Daroth?’ asked Ceofrin.

‘No. I do not believe they will.’

‘Then why bring them back?’

‘Father! How can you say that?’ asked Shira. ‘Do they not deserve to live?’

‘I did not mean it in that way,’ said Ceofrin, reddening. ‘What I meant is that if they chose to hide from a human army because they do not like to fight, then why bring them back to face a Daroth one?’

‘It is a good point,’ conceded Duvodas. ‘That said, the Eldarin are a wise people who may well offer alternatives to war. Their return alone will force the Daroth to reconsider their plans.’

‘I hope that you are right, Duvo,’ said Ceofrin, returning the Pearl. ‘Now I must prepare the kitchens. There is food to be cooked, and ale to be brought up from the cellar.’ He glanced once more at the Pearl and shook his head. ‘It seems strange to think of such humdrum matters on a day such as this.’

‘Life goes on, my friend,’ said Duvodas, pushing himself to his feet.

Shira took his arm. ‘You need some rest,’ she said. ‘Come. The bedroom is warm and there are fresh, clean sheets upon the bed.’ Together they made their way to the upper rooms, where Duvodas laid his harp upon the table and stripped off his travel-stained clothes.

‘Lie with me for a while,’ he said, as he slipped under the covers.

‘I have work to do,’ she told him. ‘And if I came in there with you, you would not rest!’

Duvodas rolled to one elbow and looked at her. The pregnancy was now well advanced. ‘Are you still sick in the mornings?’ he asked her.

‘No, but I have the most incredible cravings for food. Honey-cakes dipped in gravy! Can you imagine?’

‘Happily I cannot,’ he said. Lying back on the pillow he closed his eyes. His body felt as if it were floating in a boat on a gentle current. He felt her kiss upon his cheek, then drifted away into a dreamless sleep.

When he awoke it was close to midnight and Shira lay fast asleep beside him. Reaching out he drew her to him, holding her close. In ten days they would join the first of the refugees, heading for Loretheli. Once he had settled Shira there, he would strike out south-west to the lands of the Eldarin. Shira awoke in his arms and snuggled closer. He could smell the sweet perfume of her hair and skin, and feel the warmth of her body.

Arousal grew in him and he made love to her, slowly and without passion, kissing her softly. Then he lay back, still holding her. ‘I love you,’ she whispered.

‘And I you.’ It seemed then that there was no world outside. The whole universe was contained in this one small, cosy room. Placing his hand on Shira’s swollen belly, he felt the life there. His son. The thought brought a lump to his throat. His son! ‘He will be born in the late spring in a city by the sea,’ Shira had said. ‘I will show him to the sunrise and the sunset. He will be handsome, like you, with fair hair and your eyes. Not at first, for all babies are born with blue eyes. But they will turn grey-green as he gets older.’

‘Why should he not have beautiful brown eyes, like his mother?’

‘Perhaps he will,’ she had said.

Karis sat quietly as Tarantio told her of the journey, and the recovery of the Pearl. Forin, Necklen and Vint were sitting close by, while Brune was in the kitchen, preparing a supper for them all. ‘You believe it? About the Pearl, I mean?’ she asked.

‘I do,’ said Tarantio. ‘Brune told me about the resurrection of the Oltor. And Brune does not have the imagination to lie.’

‘I hope that you are right. What concerns me, however, is that the Daroth were at the monastery at all.’

‘What do you mean?’ Tarantio asked.

‘All of our plans are predicated on the fact that the Daroth do not like the cold, and will not arrive before the full spring thaw. Now you tell me they climbed a mountain trail in sub-zero temperatures and murdered scores of priests. By that token they could be here within days. And we are not ready.’

Karis swung to Forin. ‘What do you think?’ she asked.

‘There is a difference between a small group tackling the frozen wilderness and an army doing the same thing. In spring there will be sufficient water for their soldiers and their horses. In winter the streams and rivers are frozen. Likewise grass for their mounts, which at present is under the snow. I think we still have time – albeit less than we would like.’

‘I agree with Forin,’ said Necklen. ‘And since there is nothing we can do about it, I suggest we move on as we have planned.’

Karis nodded. ‘The new catapult is wonderfully efficient. Three more are being assembled now to protect the eastern wall.’

‘What about west and south?’ asked Tarantio.

‘I am not too concerned about the western wall. The land falls away from it; there is no site for a catapult, and any charge from foot-soldiers would be slowed by the steep slope. In the south we could have a problem; but if we have weeks left before the siege then more catapults will be assembled and raised to protect it. I think the Daroth will strike first from the north, where they will try to breach the walls and storm through. Our first – and main – task is to stop them there.’

‘Ozhobar tells me you and he have other plans,’ said Necklen. ‘When will you share them with us?’

‘I won’t be sharing them, my friend,’ replied Karis. ‘The Daroth are telepaths. I do not believe they will seek to read our minds before the first charge, for they are arrogant and believe us to be pitifully weak. When we turn them back, however, that arrogance will begin to leach away. Then they will concentrate on learning what else we have in store. It is vital that our secondary plans remain secret. That is why neither Ozhobar nor myself will be on the walls – or in sight of the Daroth – at any time.’

‘I take it,’ said Vint, ‘that is why the stonemasons have been gouging deep holes in the stonework behind the gates?’

‘It is. You will see many such activities in the days to come. Try not to be curious.’

Vint laughed. ‘Easier said than done, my lady.’

‘I know. I remember the silly mind-games Giriak used to play. One of them involved not thinking about a donkey’s ears for ten heartbeats. It was impossible. Even so, you must try. Also warn all the men along the north wall: any sudden headaches or feelings of warmth in the skull are to be reported and the men questioned. I tend to think the Daroth will concentrate on officers, but I could be wrong.’