David Gemmell - Dark Moon

The Demon War was over before it had begun, and our army of

ten thousand had killed one old man. Within weeks the new war had begun, the War of the Pearl. How many thousands have died since that day? Plagues, starvation, drought and famine. And we are no closer to a conclusion. Does it not make you long to change the world?'

'I cannot change it,' said Tarantio.

They finished their drinks in silence, then Browyn led Tarantio out of the cabin and into the sunlight.

'There's something I'd like to show you,' said the old man. 'Follow me.' Together they walked up the hillside, along an old deer trail flanked by tall pines. At the top was a clearing, and at the centre, on a raised scaffold, stood a fishing boat, its sides sleek and beautifully crafted. There was a central cabin, and a tall mast from which hung no sail. The craft was fully forty feet long. Tarantio stood amazed for a moment, then he walked to where a ladder rested against the scaffold. Swiftly he climbed to the boat's deck, Browyn following. 'What do you think?' asked Browyn.

'She is beautiful,' said Tarantio. 'But we are a mile above the lake. How will you float her?'

'I don't intend to float her. I just wanted to build her.'

Tarantio laughed. 'I don't believe this,' he said. 'I am standing on a boat on a mountain. There is no sense in it.'

Browyn's smile faded. 'Sense? Why does it have to make sense? I always dreamed of building a boat. Now I have achieved it. Can you not understand that?'

'But a boat must have water,' argued Tarantio. 'Only then can it fulfil its purpose.'

Browyn shook his head angrily. 'First we speak of sense, now of purpose. You are a warrior, Tarantio.

Where is the sense in war? What is the purpose of it? This boat is my dream. Mine. Therefore it is for me to say what purpose it serves.' Stepping forward, Browyn put his hands on the young man's shoulders. 'You know,' he said, sadly, 'you do not think like a young man. You are old before your time. A young man would understand my boat. Come, let us get back to the cabin. I have work to do. And you have a journey to make.'

Browyn gave Tarantio an old cooking pot, two plates and a cup cast from pewter, a worn-out rucksack and a leather-bound water canteen. Tarantio strapped his swords to his waist. 'I thank you,' he told the older man. Striding out from the cabin, he approached the bay gelding owned by the dead Brys.

Tarantio saddled him and hooked his rucksack over the pommel. 'I'll be on my way. But before I go, tell me why my reaction irritated you? What did you expect of me, Browyn?'

'You know what I like about the young?' countered the old man. 'Their passion for life, and their ability to see beyond the mundane. They don't look at the world and see what can't be done. They try to do it. Often they are arrogant, and their ideas fall from the sky like weary birds. But they try, Tarantio.'

'And you judge me unworthy because I fail to see the point to a ship on a mountain?'

'No, no, no! I do not judge you unworthy,' insisted Browyn. 'You are a good man, and you risked yourself to save me. And it is not your reaction to the boat that depresses me; it is your reaction to life itself. God's teeth, man, if the young can't change the world, who can?'

Tarantio felt his anger rise as he looked into the man's earnest grey eyes. 'You have known me for a few hours,

Browyn. You do not know me. You have no idea of who I am, and what I am capable of.'

In that moment Dace awoke and Browyn stepped back, the colour draining from his face. Tarantio's soul shimmered and changed, separating. To the left now was the face of corpse grey, with the shock of white spiky hair. Browyn looked into the yellow slitted eyes and blinked nervously.

'I do not want to die,' he heard himself say, fear making his voice tremble.

'What are you talking about? I wouldn't kill you.'

'He sees me,' said Dace. 'Is that not true, old man?'

'I see you,' admitted Browyn.

Tarantio stood for a moment, stunned. 'You . . . can see Dace? Truly?'

'Yes. It is a talent I have, for seeing souls. It has helped me in my life .. . knowing who to trust. Don't kill me, Tarantio. I will tell no-one.'

'What do I look like, old man? Am I handsome?'

'Yes. Very handsome.'

'I can hardly believe it ... he does exist then,' said Tarantio. 'I am not insane.' He walked to a carved bench of oak built around the bole of a beech tree and sat down. Browyn stood where he was. Tarantio beckoned him over. 'Have you ever seen a man with two souls before?' he asked.

'Once only. He was standing on a scaffold with a rope around his neck.'

'Do you have any idea how this happened to me ... to us?'

'None. Will you spare me, Tarantio? I am near death anyway.'

'Sweet Heaven, Browyn! Will you stop this? I have no intention of harming you in any way. Why would I?'

'Not you . . . but him. Dace wants me dead. Ask him.'

'He knows, Chio. He must die. I will make it quick and painless.'

'No. There is no need. No danger. And would you really know joy by killing a harmless old man?'

'Yes.'

'Why?'

'He lied to me. Said I was handsome. I am ugly, Chio. I could see my reflection in his eyes'

Tarantio felt Dace swelling inside his mind, trying to force a path to the world, but Tarantio fought back. 'Curse you!' screamed Dace. 'Let me out!'

'No,' said Tarantio, aloud.

'One day, Chio. One day I will find a way to set myself free.'

'But not today, brother.' He glanced at Browyn and gave a weary smile. 'You are safe, old man.

However, I had best be on my way.'

'It is a shame the Eldarin are gone,' said Browyn, as Tarantio stepped into the saddle. 'I think their magic could have helped you both.'

'We need no help. We are - if not happy - then mostly content. Dace is not all bad, Browyn. I sense the good in him sometimes.'

Browyn said nothing. Nor did he wave as Tarantio heeled the gelding and rode from the clearing.

Tarantio rode down into the valley, and once on flat, open ground, gave the gelding his head. The horse thundered across the valley floor, and Tarantio felt the sheer joy in the animal as it sped across the grassland in a mile-eating gallop. After some minutes he allowed the horse to slow to a walk. Then he dismounted and examined the beast again. Satisfied, he stepped into the saddle and continued on his way.

'I have the face of a demon,' said Dace suddenly.

'I cannot tell,' put in Tarantio. 'I have never seen you.'

'I have white hair, and a grey face. My eyes are yellow, and slitted like a cat. Why should I look like this?'

'I do not know how souls are supposed to look.'

'Am I a demon, Chio? Are you a man possessed?'

Tarantio thought about it for a while. 'I do not know what we are, brother. Perhaps it is I who possesses you.'

'Would you be happier if I were gone?'

Tarantio laughed. 'Sometimes I think I would. But not often. We are brothers, Dace. It is just that we share the same form. And the truth is, I am fond of you. And I meant what I said to the old man . . . I do see good in you.'

'Pah! You see what you want to see. As for me, I wish I could be rid of you.'

Tarantio shook his head and smiled. Dace fell silent and Tarantio rode on, passing the burned-out remains of two farming villages. There were no corpses, but a hastily built cairn showed where the bodies had been buried. The fields close by had not been harvested, the corn rotting on the stalk.

On the far side of the meadow he saw some women moving through the fields, carrying large wicker baskets. They stood silently as he rode by. Further on he came to a wide military road and passed a ruined postal station. Ten years ago, so he had been informed, there was an efficient postal service that connected all four Duchies. A letter written in Corduin, Gatien had told him, could be carried the 300 miles south-west to Hlobane in just four days. From Hlobane to the Duke of The Marches' capital of Prentuis - 570 miles east over rough country - in ten days.