David Gemmell - Dark Moon

These thoughts vanished as the black moon suddenly fell from the sky, striking the point of the seemingly tiny mountain peak like a boulder crushing an anthill. But the black moon did not crush the mountain.

Instead it burst upon the stone.

Goran scrambled to his feet, fear causing his heart to pound. No longer solid, the moon had become a gigantic tidal wave, hundreds of feet high, roaring across the desert, sweeping towards the hillside on which he stood. Too frightened to run, Goran stood petrified as the black wall advanced, engulfing the red rocks of the desert. On the hillside the flock of sheep panicked, and ran. Goran just stood there.

As the tidal wave devoured the miles between them Goran saw that it was shrinking, and from his high vantage point he found he could see beyond the advancing black wall. Behind the wave, the land was no longer dead rock and shimmering heat hazes; there was the pale green of pastures and meadows, the deeper hues of forests and woods. And more incredible yet, as the shrinking black wave grew closer he saw a strange city appear behind it, a city of dark domes like thousands of black moons wedged together.

The tidal wave shrank and slowed as it neared him, until at last it gently lapped at the foot of the hills, seamlessly joining to the grass where his sheep fed.

Goran sat silently, jaw agape. There was no desert now, no hint of the gloomy, depressing stone. Verdant hills and valleys greeted his gaze, and away to the right a glistening stream rippled down over white rocks, joining to a river that vanished into deep woods.

Leaving his sheep to feed on the new grass he ran back down the hills and up along the deer trail, his heart thumping. Cresting the last rise before the village, he ran down to the main street and found his father, the farmer Barin, taking lunch with the blacksmith, Yordis, outside the forge.

Swiftly the boy told the men what he had seen. At first his father laughed and, leaning forward, smelt his son's breath. 'Well, it is not wine you've been drinking,' he said, ruffling Goran's hair.

'Perhaps he fell asleep, Barin,' offered the blacksmith, 'and dreamt the whole affair.'

'No, sir,' insisted the boy. 'But even if I had, I would have had to be awake to run back and tell you about it.

I swear the desert is gone, and there is a city no more than five miles from our hills.'

'It is a dull day,' said Barin, 'and a ride will make it more interesting. But be warned, Goran, if there is no city I shall take off my belt and flay your buttocks till they bleed!' Swinging to the blacksmith, he said,

'You wish to see this city, my friend?'

'I wouldn't miss it for the world,' said Yordis. The two men saddled their mounts and, the boy riding behind his father, set out for the hills.

Once there, the good humour vanished, and the two men sat their horses and gazed silently at the distant city.

'What in Hell's name is going on?' asked the smith.

'I don't know,' Barin replied. 'Ride back and fetch the others. The boy and I will wait.'

The smith rode off as father and son dismounted. 'It is a magical city,' said the boy. 'Perhaps the Eldarin have come back.'

'Perhaps,' his father agreed.

Yordis returned with some twenty villagers, and the group rode down to the rich grassland. Dismounting, they walked around in silence for a while, then gathered together and sat in a circle. 'Someone should ride to the

garrison; they could send a rider to Corduin to let Lord Albreck know what has occurred,' said Barin.

'Who would be believed?' asked a village elder. 'I have seen it and I still do not believe it.'

'Should we go to the domed city and make ourselves known to them?' asked another.

'That will not be necessary,' said Barin. 'It seems they are coming to us.'

The men rose and turned to see a hundred horsemen galloping across the grassland. The horses were huge, taller by six hands than anything the villagers had ever seen, and the riders were large, powerful warriors, seemingly wearing helms of white bone. But as they came closer, Barin realized that they were not helms at all. The riders were not human. Fear rose in him and, grabbing his son, he lifted him to the saddle. 'Get to the Duke Albreck,' he hissed. Then he slapped his hand hard on to the rump of the horse, which half-reared and then bolted towards the south.

The riders ignored the fleeing boy and formed a circle around the villagers. One of them dismounted and walked up to Barin. The warrior was more than seven feet tall, huge across the shoulder. His face was flat, the bone of his ridged nose flowing up over his hairless cranium. The eyes were huge and black, showing no evidence of a pupil, and the beaked mouth was a curious M-shape, curving downward, lipless and cruel.

The creature loomed over the farmer, and a series of guttural clicks came from its mouth. Barin blinked and licked his lips nervously. 'I... I do not understand you,' he said. The creature paused, then made a motion with his hand, touching his own lipless mouth and then pointing to Barin. 'What is it you want?' asked Barin. The creature nodded vigorously, then gestured him to continue.

'I do not know what to say, nor whether you can understand my words. I fear you cannot. We are all villagers here, and we came to see the miracle of the desert. We mean no harm to anyone. We are peaceful people. The reason we came so far north was to avoid the wars that plague our lands.' Barin spoke on for some time, his eyes shifting nervously from the monster before him to the other riders who sat motionless.

After some time the creature before him lifted his hand. He spoke, but the words were strange and - largely - meaningless. But there were some familiar sounds now. He seemed to be asking Barin a question. Barin shook his head. The monster motioned him to speak again and he did so, telling them of problems with crops, of raising buildings on marsh land, of the plague that stopped short of their village but almost obliterated three others. Just as he was running out of things to say, the monster spoke again.

'What are you?' it asked, the voice deep and harsh, the dialect perfectly pronounced.

'We are villagers from the south. We mean no harm, sir.'

'You serve the Eldarin?'

'No, sir. We serve the Duke of Corduin. The Eldarin are no more; there was a war and they . . . disappeared.

Their lands became a desert, like this one . ..' He tailed off lamely.

'A desert, you say? What is the desert?'

'Barren .. . empty . . . devoid of life. No water or earth. No grass or trees. That is a desert. Until this very morning the desert was all around here. Red stone, not a handful of earth for thousands of square miles. But today - and my son saw this - a great black cloud rose up and everything . . . the city, the trees, flowed from it. That's why we came here.'

The huge warrior stood silently for a moment. 'There is much here to think on,' he said at last. 'And our mastery of your language is ... not good. This morning the sun rose .. . wrong. I think you . . . truth speak.

Eldarin did this to us with ... magic.'

'You are mastering the language wonderfully, sir,' said Barin. 'And with such speed . . . swiftness. In my judgement that is amazing.'

'We have talent for tongues,' said the creature. 'Your ... people . . . killed Eldarin?'

'Yes. Well ... no one knows what happened to them. Their land was destroyed. Our army was there to fight them, but what happened there was the . . . opposite of what happened here. The grass and trees and water disappeared. So did their cities.'

'You and I will . . . discuss . . . this further. But let us deal first with matters we can make judgement upon.

Which of you here is the strongest?'

There was silence as the villagers stood by, frightened. 'I am,' said the smith at last, stepping forward.