Dark Moon (36 page)

‘Have you talked to her about it?’

‘To say what? She avoids me, Chio, unless she is already in company. Why would she do that?’

‘I’m the wrong man to ask. I have never understood women.’

‘Have you ever been in love?’ asked Forin.

‘Yes,’ said Tarantio, surprising himself.

‘Well, I haven’t. I don’t even know if this
is
love. Maybe if I slept with her again, it would all fall into place and I’d be able to smile and say goodbye, and she’d vanish from my mind.’

‘
Ask him if she was good in bed
,’ suggested Dace.

‘Maybe that is her problem too,’ said Tarantio. ‘Maybe she feels something strongly for you. I don’t think she wants to fall in love, and usually picks men merely to satisfy a need – a physical need.’

‘I’ve never known a night like it. Maybe never will again,’ said Forin. He gave a long sigh. ‘If this is love, I don’t think I like it.’ He lay back on the couch, and within minutes was snoring softly.

‘
What is wrong with you?
’ asked Dace. ‘
You could have asked for details
.’

‘
Do you dream, Dace?
’

‘
I’ve told you before that I don’t
.’

‘
I know. I believe it to be a lie. Why would you lie to me?
’

‘
That is a premise built on a foundation of feathers
.’

Tarantio returned to his bed and lay down, drawing the blankets over him. As he drifted into sleep he heard Dace whisper, ‘
Thank you, brother
.’

‘
For what?
’ asked Tarantio sleepily.

‘
For not killing us
.’

As the thaw continued, a sense of urgency surrounded all aspects of city life. Karis and Ozhobar met often, planning late into the night, testing new weapons in secret so that no knowledge of their purpose could leak out to the troops manning the walls. Vint led scouting missions to the north, watching for signs of the approach of the Daroth. Forin drilled his fifty soldiers constantly; always in full armour, until the heavy plate felt like a second skin. The Duke, Pooris and the other bureaucrats worked ceaselessly to prepare for the evacuation.

At last the day arrived – four days later than planned. Thousands of citizens assembled in the fields to the south of the city while the veteran officer, Capel, in charge of the exodus, tried to assemble the wagons into a convoy. There was a sense of joy about the proceedings, and safety beckoned for the refugees. Shira and Duvodas, having said farewell to the tearful Ceofrin, were in the last wagon to leave. They sat together on the driver’s seat, waiting their turn. Duvo’s hand absently strayed to the canvas pouch he wore, his fingers tracing the outline of the Pearl. I will bring you back, he promised silently, recalling the frozen figures in the silent city.

‘It is a beautiful day,’ said Shira.

‘I don’t think Capel would agree with you,’ he answered, pointing to the grey-bearded officer as he rode up and down the line of wagons, seeking to instil some sense of order. The head of the convoy had set out almost three hours before, but the wagons in the rear were still waiting.

At last Duvodas received the signal to move, and he flicked the reins against the backs of the four oxen. The beasts leaned in to the traces and the wagon jerked forward. The land was hilly at the start of the journey, and before they had gone more than a mile from the city they came upon the first casualty. A wagon, taking a turn too fast, had tipped over and slid down the slope. Furniture was strewn over the snow-patched grass, and one of the oxen was dead. Soldiers were cutting away the traces as Duvo and Shira drove up.

Hitching ropes to their rear axle they hauled the other wagon upright. The soldiers repacked it, and the journey continued. On the last of the high ground, Shira swung round to see the distant city of Corduin, brilliantly lit by sunshine. ‘Oh look, Duvo! What a wonderful sight!’ He glanced at her and saw that her eyes were moist, her lips trembling. Putting his arm around her, he drew her to him.

‘Your father will be fine.’

‘I don’t know. I just wish he had come with us.’

‘So do I, my love. But, as he said, his life is in Corduin.’ Cupping her face in his hands he kissed her. ‘I will do everything in my power to make you happy for as long as we live. I will keep sickness from you and our son, and we will know great joy.’

‘I already know great joy,’ she said. ‘From the moment you came into my life.’

The oxen had halted. Now Duvo rapped the reins and they moved on. For several hours they rode. As far as the eye could see, the line of wagons stretched out towards the south-west. Soldiers rode up and down the line, checking on the stragglers.

Towards mid-afternoon the rear of the line halted once more. To the right was a high cliff-face, to the left a wide-open section of gorse and heather. Duvo climbed down from the wagon. ‘I’ll see what’s holding us up,’ he said, loping off towards the south.

As he neared a bend in the trail he saw a wagon some fifteen paces ahead, its left rear wheel shattered. Men were unloading boxes and furniture, lightening the load so that a spare wheel could be lifted into place. There were enough bodies for the work, and Duvo turned back and strolled along the line. Suddenly a woman screamed.

Duvo’s eyes sought her out. She was middle-aged and stout, and she was standing on the driver’s seat, pointing to the east. He turned. Half a mile away, across the gorse, a long line of riders was moving slowly forward. They rode huge horses, and the faces of the riders were bone-white. Other people began to shout. Then to run.

He started to sprint back towards his own wagon. As it came into sight, he saw Shira standing up and waving to him – and behind her two Daroth riders, galloping along the trail. Fear welled in him, and he continued to run towards her.

One of the Daroth levelled a long spear. ‘No!’ Duvo screamed. ‘No!’

Shira turned. The spear took her in the belly, lifting her high in the air, the bloody point emerging from her back. Almost casually the Daroth flicked the spear and Shira was flung from it to the ground. All his life Duvodas had been taught to eliminate anger from his soul, allowing it to float through him, leaving him untouched. But it was not anger he felt in that dread moment.

It was a blind, bottomless rage.

Letting out an animal scream he pointed at the Daroth, sending out a heat spell which burst to life inside the creature’s skull. With a hideous shriek, the Daroth dropped his spear and grabbed at his temples.

Then his head exploded.

The second Daroth bore down on Duvo. There was no fear now in the Singer, and a second heat spell exploded in the Daroth’s chest, sending white blood and shards of bone spraying through the air. Duvo continued to run, coming alongside Shira and dropping to his knees. The wound was terrible, and he cried out in anguish to see it. Her body was almost torn in half, and Duvo saw the tiny arm and hand of his dead son protruding from the wound.

Something died in him then, and a terrible coldness settled on his soul. Trembling he touched his hand to Shira’s blood, then smeared four bloody lines down his own face.

Duvodas rose and walked slowly towards the Daroth line. There were hundreds of riders, but they were not moving with speed. It was as if they wanted to delay the moment, so that every ounce of fear could be extracted from the helpless refugees.

‘Fear,’ hissed Duvodas. ‘I will show you fear!’ Raising his hands, he drew on the magic of the land. Never before had it felt so strongly within him, pulsing with a power he had not realized could be contained in a single human frame. Darkly exultant, Duvodas extended his arms, redirecting the magic, flowing it like a storm over the gorse and the heather. Every seed and root beneath the earth swelled with sudden, rushing life, writhing up from the ground, the growth of years erupting in seconds.

The ground below the Daroth writhed and trembled. At first it only slowed the huge horses, whose powerful legs broke the new roots and branches.

Stronger and faster grew the plants and bushes and trees. The horses were forced to a halt and the Daroth swung in their saddles, their dark eyes seeking out the sorcerer. Duvodas felt their power strike him, and he staggered. He sensed their hatred, and their arrogant belief that they had defeated him, and he allowed them a brief moment of exultation. Then he fed upon their hatred, and hurled it back at them with ten times the force. The nearest riders shrieked and pitched from their saddles. Sharp roots pricked at their skin, then burrowed through muscle and around bone. Horses reared and fell, toppling their riders. The Daroth tried to hack their way clear of the eldritch forest, but even their massive bodies were no match for the power of nature.

One Daroth tried to reach Duvodas, his huge sword cutting left and right to smash through the surging growth, but he stumbled and fell to his knees. A fast-growing oak sliced into his stomach, lifting him upright. One branch burst through his lungs and out through his back, another surged up his throat, slithering from his mouth like a grotesque tongue.

Roots clawed their way into flesh – ripping into bellies and chests, lancing through legs and arms and necks.

And still the forest grew. The struggling bodies of the Daroth and their mounts were lifted higher and higher, dangling like corpses on a colossal gibbet.

The refugees watched in awe-struck silence as hundreds of Daroth were destroyed.

At last Duvodas let fall his arms, and men, women and children gazed upon the dangling corpses which moments before had been a terrible threat. There were no cheers from the saved. No one rushed forward to congratulate the blood-smeared young man who stood staring malevolently at the dead.

The officer Capel rode slowly towards him, dismounting by his side. ‘I don’t know how you did it, man, but I’m grateful. Come, let us bury your dead. We must move on.’

Duvodas said nothing. He stood stock-still, his body rigid. Capel placed his hand on Duvo’s shoulder. ‘Come now, lad. It is over.’

‘It is not over,’ said Duvo, turning his face towards the officer. Capel blanched as he saw the blood red lines on the young man’s face. Pulling a scarf from his belt, he gave it to Duvodas.

‘Wipe your face now,’ he said. ‘You’ll frighten the children.’ Dumbly Duvo wiped the blood away. But it made no difference. The crimson lines remained, as if tattooed upon his skin.

‘Dear Heaven,’ whispered Capel. ‘What is happening here?’

‘Death,’ said Duvodas coldly. ‘And it is but the beginning.’

The Pearl at his side was forgotten now, as was his mission, as slowly he began to walk towards the new forest. Trees and roots shrank away from him, creating a path.

‘Where are you going?’ Capel called out.

‘To destroy the Daroth,’ said Duvodas, striding on faster now.

And the forest closed in around him.

Leaving his lieutenant in charge of the convoy, Capel made the seven-mile ride to Corduin to report the bizarre events of the day. Despite the imminence of the Daroth threat, the Duke felt compelled to ride out to the scene of the slaughter. With Vint, Necklen and twenty lancers, the Duke arrived at the scene just before dusk.

The group drew rein at the edge of the forest. The bodies of the Daroth horses hung, skewered into the tree-tops. The Daroth corpses had withered away to dry skin, flapping in the evening breeze.

‘I have never seen – or heard of – anything like it,’ said the Duke. ‘How could this happen?’ No one answered him.

‘I wish the sorcerer had come back to Corduin,’ said Vint. ‘We could certainly use him there.’

‘Who was he?’ asked the Duke.

‘A harpist, sir. He sang at the Wise Owl tavern. I heard him once or twice; he was very good.’

‘His name is Duvodas, my lord,’ put in Capel.

The Duke turned his hooded eyes on Capel. ‘My apologies, Captain, for doubting your story. It sounded incredible. But here is the evidence, and I do not know what it means. You had best rejoin the column, and I wish you good luck on your journey.’

Capel saluted. ‘And may good fortune be with you, sir,’ he said. Then he swung his horse and galloped off towards the south.

The riders reached Corduin just after dark and the Duke summoned Karis to his private chambers. The warrior woman looked drawn and tired, and there was about her a nervous energy that concerned Albreck. ‘I hope you are getting enough rest, General,’ he said, offering her a seat.

‘Not a lot of time for rest, my lord. Apart from the attack on the convoy, our scouts report the main Daroth army is camped less than a day’s march from the city.’

‘So close? That is unfortunate.’

‘They halted their march at the same time as the forest miracle,’ said Karis. ‘I would imagine the scale of the slaughter has given them a nasty shock. They would have had no reason to believe that any human would have such power.’

‘I am rather shocked myself. How could this man have accomplished such a feat?’

‘Vint is questioning the tavern-keeper, Ceofrin, and I have had a long conversation with Tarantio. It seems that Duvodas was raised among the Eldarin, who taught him many secrets of magic. Tarantio is stunned by the events; he maintains that Duvodas was a pacifist, wholly opposed to war and violence. He also told me a strange tale concerning Sirano.’ Karis told the Duke of the attempted rescue of Sirano at the monastery, the coming of the Daroth and the recovery of the Eldarin Pearl.

‘Sirano was right,’ said the Duke, bitterness in his voice. ‘The Pearl is a fearsome weapon. Why did this harpist not bring it to us? We could have destroyed the Daroth utterly!’

‘Perhaps it is best that he did not,’ answered Karis. ‘Ever since Sirano unleashed his magic against the Pearl, nothing has been the same. And we cannot spend valuable time concerning ourselves with speculation. Perhaps within a day the enemy will be upon us. That must be our prime concern.’

Albreck offered Karis a goblet of wine, but she refused. ‘I must leave you, my lord. I am meeting Ozhobar at his forge.’

‘Of course,’ said Albreck, rising with her. ‘But first tell me how your plans are progressing.’