David Gemmell - Dark Moon

Dace sighed and pulled clear the blade, letting the body of Latais fall. Wiping the knife, he returned it to his boot and rose to his feet drawing his swords. The flames were six feet high now, and Dace could not see who stood beyond the fire. But he guessed that Latais had ordered his men to be ready.

'Come on then, you gutter scum!' he yelled, leaping through the flames and across the fire-pit. As he landed, ready for battle, he saw the bowman, Brune, lying on the ground, Forin standing above him with a wooden club in his hand. 'Where are the other two?' demanded Dace.

'You've never seen men run so fast. Didn't even stop to saddle their horses. You want to kill this one?'

The answer was yes, but Dace felt his irritation rise. What right had this man to offer him a death?

'Why should I?' he heard himself say.

Forin shrugged. 'I thought you enjoyed killing.'

'What I enjoy is none of your damned business. Why did you help me?'

'A whim. They saw you coming. Latais thought Brune could bring you down as you entered the camp.

But you put the horse between you as you dismounted. Smooth move, my friend. You're a canny man.'

Brune groaned and sat up. 'He hit me with a lump of wood,' he complained.

'You were about to shoot through the fire and kill me,' said Dace, wishing he had killed the man as he lay unconscious. There was still time.

'That's what I were told to do,' said Brune sullenly.

Dace looked into the man's face. 'Your leader is dead. You want to fight me?'

'I didn't want to kill you in the first place. He told me to.' Dace could feel the longing for blood growing in him, but he looked into the hulking young man's plain, open face and saw the absence of malice there. A farm boy lost in a world at war. Dace could see him lovingly working the fields, caring for stock, raising a family as dull and as solid as himself.

'Gather your gear and move out,' he said.

'Why do you want me to go? Aren't you the leader now?' Brune reached up and rubbed his sandy hair.

His fingers came away bloody. 'Anyway, my head hurts.'

Forin chuckled. 'Tell me,' he said to the injured man,

'is there a lot of in-breeding in your village? You're not the sharpest arrow in the quiver, are you?'

'No, I'm not,' admitted Brune. 'That's why I do what I'm told.'

'Come back to the world, brother,' said Dace. 'This numbskull is too stupid to kill, and if I stay here any longer I'll rip his throat out.'

Tarantio found it hard to keep the smile from his face as he resumed control. 'Let me see that head,' he told Brune. 'Move closer to the fire.' Brune obeyed and Tarantio's fingers probed the bowman's scalp.

'You've a lump the size of a goose egg, but it doesn't need stitching. Go and get some sleep.'

'You're not sending me away then?'

'No. Tell me, are you skilled with that bow?'

'Not really. But I'm worse with a sword.'

Forin's laughter boomed out. 'Is there anything you're good at?' asked the red-bearded warrior.

'I don't like you,' said Brune. 'And I am good at ... things. I know livestock. Pigs and cattle.'

'A handy talent for a soldier,' said Forin. 'If we're ever attacked by a rampaging herd of wild pigs, you'll be the man to plan our strategy.'

'Go and rest,' Tarantio ordered the young man. Obediently Brune stood up, but he swayed and almost fell. Forin caught him and half carried him to where his blankets lay. The young man slumped down and was asleep within moments. Forin returned to the fire.

'You mind if I travel with you and your dog to Corduin?'

'Why would you want to?' countered Tarantio.

Forin chuckled. 'No-one ever gave me a gold piece before. Is that good enough?'

Tarantio awoke at dawn. He yawned and stretched, enjoying the sense of emotional solitude that came when Dace slept. Forin lay wrapped in his blankets, snoring quietly, but of Brune there was no sign. And the body of Latais was gone. Tarantio rose and followed Brune's tracks, finding him some fifty feet from the camp-site. The body of the dead leader was wrapped in its cloak, and Brune was humming a monotonous tune as he dug a shallow grave in the soft earth. Tarantio sat down on a fallen tree and watched in silence. With the grave some four feet deep Brune scrambled out, his face and upper body streaked with sweat and mud. Carefully, he pulled the body to the edge of the hole, climbed in himself, then lowered the dead man to his resting place. The act was tender and gentle, as if Brune feared bruising the corpse. Slowly, reverently, Brune scooped earth over the grave.

'You must have cared for him,' said Tarantio softly.

'He looked after me,' said Brune. 'And my dad always said dead men should go back to the earth. That's how plagues start, he said - when bodies are left to rot in the air.'

'I suppose there is some good in all men,' said Tarantio.

'He looked after me,' repeated Brune. 'I didn't have nowhere to go. He let me ride with him.' He continued to fill the grave, pressing the earth down with his hands. When he had finished he stood and slapped his hands together, trying to dislodge the mud clinging to his fingers.

'You should hate me then, for killing him,' suggested Tarantio.

'I don't hate nobody,' said Brune. 'Never have. Never will, I 'spect.' For a moment he stood staring down at the grave. 'When people in the village died, there was someone

to speak for them. Lots of pretty things were said. I don't remember them. Does it matter, do you think?'

'To whom?' asked Tarantio, mystified. 'You think Latais will hear them?'

'I don't know,' admitted Brune. 'I just wish I knew some of the pretty words. Do you know any?'

'None that would suit this occasion. Why not just say what's in your heart?'

Brune nodded. Clasping his hands together, he closed his eyes. 'Thanks, Lat, for all you done for me,' he said. 'I'm sorry I couldn't do what you asked, but they hit me with a lump of wood.'

'Touching and poetic,' said Dace. 'It certainly brought a lump to my throat.'

Despite the jeering tone, Tarantio sensed an undercurrent of emotion in Dace. He thought about it for a moment, but could find no reason. Then Dace spoke again. 'Are we taking the idiot with us?' The question was asked too casually.

'By Heaven, Dace. Have you found someone you like?'

'He amuses me. When he ceases to do so, I will kill him,' said Dace. Tarantio heard the lie in his voice, but said nothing.

Suddenly all the birds in the trees took flight, the leaves thrashing under their beating wings. Tarantio felt a quivering sensation under his feet. Forin stumbled into the small clearing. 'I think we should saddle up and move out,' he said. 'I'm getting a bad feeling. Maybe there's a storm coming.'

The horses were skittish, and Tarantio needed Brune's help to saddle the gelding, who tried to buck each time the saddle was placed upon his back.

'What in Hell's name is happening?' asked Forin. 'Nothing feels right.'

The earthquake struck as Tarantio, Forin and Brune moved out onto the plain. The ground vibrating beneath them caused the horses to panic and rear. Brune, who was leading the three spare mounts, was unseated and fell heavily, his horse and the others bolting. A section of hillside close by sheared away and a huge crack, hundreds of paces long, opened up in the earth ahead of them, swallowing the fleeing animals.

As suddenly as the crack had appeared, it closed, sending up a shower of dust and earth. Tarantio leapt from the saddle, holding firm to the bridle. 'Easy, boy! Easy!' he said soothingly, stroking the beast's flanks.

Forin's horse fell as the ground heaved. The big man rolled clear, then scrambled up and caught hold of the reins.

The tremors continued for several minutes, then died away. Dust hung in the air in great clouds. Tarantio hobbled his mount and ran to the fallen Brune as the young man sat up, blinking rapidly. 'Are you hurt?' asked Tarantio.