Dark Moon

With great effort Vint held back the angry retort that swelled in his throat. Necklen was a good man, tough and loyal, and he meant well. The truth was simple: a man rarely understands the value of what he has - until he loses it. 'You mustn't blame Forin,' said Necklen.

'Blame? I don't blame anyone. I am angry, but that will pass. And now, if you'll excuse me, I'll return to the wall.'

Vint strode off. Everywhere there were crowds on the streets, laughing, singing, drinking. He moved through them like a wraith, oblivious to their joy. The black-clad figure of Tarantio was sitting on the battlements, staring out over the walls.

'Anything happening?' asked Vint.

'No. A whole group of them, maybe two hundred, have been sitting in a circle for the last couple of hours. Where's Karis?'

'Resting, apparently.' Tarantio caught the edge in Vint's tone and said nothing. 'Where next, do you think?' asked Vint. 'The east gate?'

'I have no idea. They are shocked, that's for sure.'

Vint glanced back to where the Daroth bodies had been dragged earlier. All that remained was what appeared to be a huge pile of white sacks and oddments of armour and weapons. 'What happened to the Daroth dead?' he asked.

'That's them,' said Tarantio. 'The bodies just shrivelled away. The stench was dreadful for a while. I saw a snake shed its skin one time; it was something like that.'

'It was the same at the miracle forest,' Vint told him. 'They really decompose fast, don't they?'

'If that is what is happening,' said Tarantio. 'That farmer who was taken by them . . . Barin. He said they were immortal - reborn every ten years. Maybe there's a new body for them back in their city.'

'What a loathsome thought.'

The bearded soldier who had spoken to Vint just before the attack walked up the rampart steps. He was weaving slightly, and holding a jug in his hands. 'What a day!' he said, slumping down beside the two men. 'What an incredible day! Did you know the whores are not accepting money today?

Everything's free: women, drink, food. What a day!' The man lay down on the stone and, using the empty jug for a pillow, fell asleep.

'Let's hope he has the same sentiments tomorrow,' said Tarantio. 'People are treating this as a great victory, when in fact it is only the starting skirmish.'

Brune ran up the steps, tripped at the top, recovered his balance and then moved alongside Tarantio, handing him a package wrapped in muslin. Tarantio opened it to find fresh bread, salted beef and a pottery jar containing butter. 'It's amazing back there,' said Brune. 'Everyone's so happy. A woman kissed me!'

'She must have been drunk,' teased Tarantio.

'Yes, she was,' admitted Brune. 'It was still nice, though.'

'How is the eye?' asked Vint.

The sandy-haired youngster gave a shrug. 'It's not as good as it was when it went gold. But it's all right.'

'You can shoot straight now?'

'I don't know. Haven't tried.'

'Brune has decided that war is evil, and he will have no part in killing,' put in Tarantio. 'Isn't that right, Brune?'

'Yes. I don't want to kill nobody.'

'Putting aside the double negative for a moment,' said Vint, 'I think that is a laudable point of view. But what do you do when a Daroth warrior is about to behead you with a large sword? Do you just die - or do you fight?'

'I'll die, I reckon,' said Brune.

'Could you offer some validation for this philosophy?'

'What did he say?' Brune asked Tarantio.

'I think he wants to know why you have decided not to fight.'

'Oh. It was the Oltor. I can't explain it, but when he was . . . you know, part of me, I could feel what he was thinking. What he was feeling. And it was good, you know? It was . . .' he paused '. . . right. Yes, that's it. It was right. You understand?'

'Not a word,' admitted Vint. 'You think it would be better to be dead than to fight for your life?'

'Yes, I think so. That's what the Oltor done.'

'And they were wiped out.'

'Yes, but they're back now.'

'What is he talking about?' Vint asked Tarantio.

'It is a long story.'

Vint was about to question him further when movement began in the Daroth camp. Hundreds of Daroth warriors moved to the lower hillside and began to dig while others could be seen returning from the woods carrying the trunks of felled trees. Within minutes the area was the scene of frenzied activity. The diggers soon disappeared from sight, but the watching men could see earth being thrown up from the pit. The Daroth brought up empty wagons, which they filled with earth; these were then trundled away, returning empty minutes later. Ropes and pulleys were assembled above the pit, drawing up dirt, while planks and timbers were lowered down.

Realization dawned on Vint and he felt a chilling fear spread through him. They're building a tunnel,' he said. 'They are going to burrow underneath us!'

Chapter Fourteen

The house was cold and Tarantio lit a fire. Brune was staying in the new barracks building with the other stretcher-bearers, and the house seemed lonely without him. 'I miss him too,' said Dace. Tarantio smiled.

'You remember that first day? "He hit me with a lump of wood",' he mimicked.

'He is a good man. I hope he survives.'

Tarantio sat before the fire, enjoying the new warmth. 'We don't make many friends, do we, Dace? Why is that?'

'We don't need them, brother.'

'So why Brune? Why do we miss him?' Dace remained silent and Tarantio wandered out to the kitchen.

There was a stale loaf there and he cut several slices from it, bringing them back to the fire and toasting them. He ate only one, then lay down on the goatskin rug, weariness washing over him. The Daroth were still digging, the mouth of the tunnel illuminated by lanterns. Soon they would erupt out of the ground somewhere within the city.

'We won't die, brother,' said Dace. 'I'll kill them all.'

'I've always loved your sense of humour.'

'Don't go to sleep yet. I feel the need to talk awhile.' Dace sat up and added a log to the fire. 'Chio? Chio!' he said, aloud. He swore softly, and tried to summon Tarantio. He could now feel the weakness in their body, the muscle fatigue and the bone-numbing weariness. It was not a sensation Dace enjoyed. Pushing himself to his feet he walked to the kitchen and drank several cups of cold water, then scraped the last of some honey from a pottery jar. It was sweet and good.

His keen hearing picked up the sound of someone walking along the path to the door, and he opened it.

There, framed in the moonlight, the hood of a dark cloak hiding her golden hair, was the Lady Miriac.

'Are you not going to invite me in?' she asked. Dace stepped aside.

Her blue silk skirts swished against the floor as she moved through to the fire and sat down. Dace could hardly believe this was happening. It seemed so long ago when Tarantio had bedded her and Dace had fought for control, determined to draw his knife across her slender throat. In terror Tarantio had run from the room of mirrors. Now she was here. And Tarantio was asleep.

'Why did you not tell me you were back in Corduin?' she asked.

'I did not know you were still here,' said Dace, his fingers idly stroking the hilt of his dagger.

'Did I do something wrong?' she asked. 'We. . . blended so well. I felt ... I don't know what I felt. But I have thought about you constantly.' She rose and stepped in close to him, putting her arms around his shoulders.

He felt the warmth of her body, and pictured the blood gushing from her. Smoothly he drew the dagger, bringing it up behind her back. Her lips brushed against his cheek, then touched his mouth, and he felt her soft tongue upon his. All weariness fled from him, and he was suddenly filled with an aching need.