David Gemmell - Dark Moon

'What evil force? I tell you he lied, and I'll tell you why. It was because he knew I had him! And I will have his power!'

'I don't think so,' said Karis. 'And you no longer have me.'

'We have a contract!'

'The unearned monies will be returned to you. My men and I will leave with the dawn.'

'As you will,' he said. 'Perhaps when you come back to me on bended knee I will forgive you, Karis.'

She laughed at him. 'You will need to be immortal, Saro, to live long enough to see that day. Now be so kind as to leave me in peace. I need some sleep.'

The door closed behind Sirano and Karis stood silently, listening as the sound of his footsteps receded.

Once sure he was not coming back, she moved swiftly to the large wardrobe and took from it her riding clothes: breeches of brown oiled leather and a shirt of thick, cream-coloured wool, knee-length boots with a two-inch heel, and a sleeveless leather jerkin, the shoulders and upper back reinforced by a delicately wrought cape and hood of tiny mail rings. Moving to the mirror by the bedside she brushed back her shoulder-length black hair, drawing it tightly into a ponytail which she tied at the nape of her neck. Without the softening effect of her hair hanging loose Karis looked older, and she stared hard at her reflection. The dark eyes had seen too much pain, and it showed in the guarded gaze. Leaning forward, she lifted her hand to her temple. A single grey hair shone there. Angrily she plucked it out. Twenty-eight is not so old, she reminded herself.

'Move yourself,' she said, aloud. 'You don't have time to stare into mirrors.'

Once the shock of her defection had worn off, Sirano would take steps to stop her. Of all the mercenary leaders Karis was, quite simply, the best. She knew it. He knew it. He would not allow her to join one of his enemies, and Karis had no wish to be strapped to an altar and sacrificed to the Pearl.

Looping her sword-belt around her slender waist and twirling her sheepskin riding cloak about her shoulders, she took a last look around the room. The dagger she had hurled at the Eldarin ghost lay against the far wall. She sheathed it in the hidden scabbard of her right boot. Lastly she opened the small chest by the far wall and took from it a heavy pouch containing forty gold pieces, which she thrust deep into a hidden pocket inside her jerkin. Gathering her hunting-bow and quiver, she walked from the room, moving silently along the corridor and down the winding stairs to the courtyard door.

At the stables she bridled and saddled Warain, the strongest and fastest of her geldings. It irked her to leave behind the other two, but they were stabled at the barracks and fetching them would add an hour she could not afford. Warain's great grey head nuzzled her, and she rubbed his broad brow with her knuckles and then led him from the stall.

A bleary-eyed stableboy rose from his bed of straw. 'Can I help you, sir?' he asked.

Karis loomed over the child, then took his chin in her hand. 'Do I look like a man to you, boy?' she asked him.

He blinked nervously. 'I'm sorry, ma'am. I was half asleep.'

Karis shook her head, annoyed at the irritation she felt. The boy was probably not yet past puberty, but even so ... 'Go and fill me a small sack of grain,' she ordered him. He ran off to the far end of the stable, returning with the feed-sack moments later. Looping it over the high pommel of the saddle, Karis ruffled the boy's hair. 'Do not mind me, child. It has been a long and exhausting day.'

'I saw only the boots and the sword, ma'am. You are very beautiful,' he said gallantly.

'Tell me that in ten years, and I'll promise you a night to remember!' Karis swung into the saddle as the boy opened the stable door. She ducked down into Warain's neck and steered the gelding through the open doorway. Warain was over sixteen hands tall and the lintel stone above the door brushed her shoulders.

Sitting up, she heeled Warain forward and rode slowly down Long Avenue towards the Western Gate. She had left behind all of her clothes, and various gifts and souvenirs that others would have considered of sentimental value. But Karis was not a sentimental woman. She had only one regret - not being able to say goodbye to the veteran warrior, Necklen. The old man had become a friend -and friendship with a man was rare for Karis. He loved her like a man should love a daughter. Anger flared as old memories burst to life. If she had known a father like Necklen, maybe now she would be happy.

Tugging on the reins, she halted Warain. There was still time to find Necklen and urge him to ride with her.

He would come willingly. Karis was torn. His company always lifted her spirits, but the perils would be great and she had no wish to lead the old man to his death. 'I will send for you,' she whispered, 'when I have a new command.'

The streets were deserted as she rode, but everywhere there were signs of Sirano's obsessive desire to open the secrets of the Pearl. Huge cracks showed on the sides of buildings and several walls had fallen. The road ahead was buckled, sharp paving stones twisted up from the surface like broken teeth. She could see the main gates now, and the two sentries standing below the tall arch. She had timed her departure well, and the dawn light was just creeping above the eastern mountains. No-one was allowed out of Morgallis at night without a pass.

'Good morning,' she said, as she drew abreast of the men.

'Good day to you, Karis,' said the first guard amiably. He gave her a wide smile. His face was familiar, and she struggled for a link. The name came first.

'You are looking well, Gorl. Perhaps too well,' she added, pointing at the man's paunch. 'How long since you marched on a campaign?'

'Almost a year - and I don't miss it. Got me a wife now, and two nippers.'

'A wife? And you swore no one woman could satisfy you.'

He shook his head, and grinned. 'That was afore I knew you, lady. You taught me different.' Then she remembered: Gorl had been one of her many lovers. Was it on the Mountain Campaign, she wondered? No, that was the slim bowman who had died near Loretheli. 'Where are you riding to, this chilly morning?' asked Gorl, the question cutting through her thoughts.

'I quit Sirano's service last night. I think I'll ride for the sea. Rest up with a few sailors.'

Gorl chuckled. 'By the Gods, you're a wonder, Karis! Live like a whore, fight like a tiger, look like an angel. It was two years before I got you out of my blood. Or thought I had.'

'I think of you fondly too,' she said. 'Now open the gate.'

Stepping back, he winched the bar out of its broad sockets while the other guard pushed open the gate of oak and bronze. 'You stay healthy, you hear?' shouted Gorl as she heeled Warain into a canter.

Karis waved and rode out into the hills.

Maybe it was after the siege of that garrison fort near Hlobane . . . No. A fleeting memory touched her, and she recalled making love to Gorl in the shade of a willow tree beside a fast-flowing stream. There were no willows near the garrison. Oh well, she thought. It will come to me or it won't.

Once out of sight of the city, she swung to the west, and by midday had ridden almost a complete semi-circle, the city now south-east of her. It would not fool any pursuers for long, but by the time they figured out her true direction she would be long gone. How far would Sirano go to see her captured or slain, she wondered? A long, long way, she decided. Then she laughed aloud. 'You arrogant strumpet,' she told herself. 'Maybe he has forgotten you already.'

To the best of her recollection it was around 240 miles to Corduin, much of it over rough country. The fastest route would be north and west, skirting the line of the Great North Desert. She smiled at the memory of her mother's stories. The desert was a place of myth and magic, a haunted land. Tribes of giants had once wandered there, eaters of human flesh, violaters of young girls. But with the memories came the sadness of reality, and she remembered her mother's bruised face, the blackened eyes, and the terrible sorrow that rules when love is replaced by fear.