David Gemmell - Dark Moon

Ardlin remembered the story well. The Oltor had welcomed the new races, holding the barrier open so that great numbers of Daroth could move through. Their own land had become a desert, and the Daroth were dying in their multitudes.

The Oltor granted them a huge tract of land in the north, so that they could grow crops and build cattle-herds, in order to send the food back to their own world. But more and more Daroth came through the gateway, demanding ever more land. Being gentle and trusting, the Oltor allowed the migration to continue.

Several hundred Eldarin also came through, and built a city in the southern mountains, near the sea.

As the years passed the Daroth grew in numbers, and the land they had been granted became less fertile.

Forests had been ruthlessly cut away, exposing the earth to the full force of the hot summer winds which seared the grass and blew away the topsoil. Over-grazed and badly used, the grassland began to fail. Then the Daroth dammed the three major rivers, bringing drought to the Oltor.

They sent representatives to the Daroth, urging them to reconsider their methods. In return the Daroth demanded more fertile land. The Oltor refused. And died . . .

Huge and powerful Daroth warriors had sacked the cities of the Oltor, destroying them utterly. Ardlin remembered the chilling line from the Book of Desolation. Invincible and almost invulnerable, the Daroth could not be slain by arrow or sword.

Now he stood on the balcony, wondering how he could escape the holocaust that would follow. Most men who knew him assumed him to be rich and, indeed, he had been. Fortunes had been paid for his skills, enabling him to build this fine house and to keep three mistresses. The fortunes had also funded his other great pleasure: gambling. There was no greater thrill than to wager on the roll of the dice, watching the cubes bounce across the ivory-inlaid walnut table - seeing the twin green eyes of the leopard and the staff of the Master appear as the dice came to rest. The ecstasy of that moment left a taste in the heart that was stronger than any opiate - better than the joys in the arms of his mistresses. It seemed to Ardlin that it was the very taste of life itself.

Unfortunately the eyes and the staff appeared all too infrequently when Ardlin threw. And he had wagered greater and greater sums.

Now he had nothing left to wager, and instead of possessing fortunes he owed them.

On the balcony, he ran his slender hand through his thinning hair and sighed. Fortunes meant nothing now.

What he needed was a good horse, some supplies, and enough gold to purchase passage on a ship from Loretheli to one of the larger, settled islands.

Heavy and huge, the Daroth were said to fear crossing water and on an island he might be safe. At least he would be a lot safer than here, in this doomed city.

The problem was that he had no horse, nor money to purchase one. The great house was now empty of all valuables, and all of the friends he had made during his stay in Corduin had been sucked dry. He could think of no-one who would advance him a single copper piece.

How long, he wondered, until the Daroth army reaches the gates of Corduin? Two days? Five? Ten? Panic caused him to tremble once more. In the old days he would have gone to his medicine store and chewed on the Lorassium leaf. That would have calmed him. But there were no leaves now, and no money to buy them.

Leaving the balcony, Ardlin walked down to the kitchen and pumped water into a jug. Then he filled a goblet and drank. The water only highlighted his hunger . . . and there was nothing to eat.

A loud knock came at his front door, causing him to jump. Silently he made his way to the observation panel and slid it open.

There were two men standing outside, one lean and slim, his hair dark and short-cropped to the skull; he was dressed in a black leather jerkin, dark leggings and boots. Beside him was a gangling young man carrying a longbow. They were not creditors . .. but they could be collectors. The dark one looked like a collector - hard and lean. On the other hand they might be in need of his services, which meant money.

Ardlin bit his thin lower lip. What to do?

'There's no-one here,' he heard the hulking young man say. 'Maybe we should come back later? Anyway, I'm not sure I want someone poking around in my eye. Maybe it will get better on its own.'

Ardlin ran to the front door, took a deep breath to compose himself, then smoothed down his silver hair. He opened the door. 'Good day, my friends,' he said, his voice deep and resonant. 'How may I be of service to you?'

The dark-haired young man had eyes of the deepest blue. 'My friend here has an injury to his eye. We were recommended to you.'

'Indeed? By whom?'

'Vint.'

'A charming fellow. Do come in, my friends. Despite this being my day of rest, I will see you - as a mark of respect to the noble Vint.'

He led them through to his sanctum and seated Brune on a low chair by the window. From a mahogany box he took a thick piece of blue glass which he held over Brune's right eye, peering through it for some moments. 'The injury was caused by a blow to the head, yes?' he said.

'With a lump of wood,' said Brune.

'Tell me, do you experience stabbing pains behind the eye?'

'In the mornings,' admitted Brune. 'But they go away quick.'

Ardlin returned the glass to its box, then sat down behind an elaborately carved desk of oak. 'The damage to the eye is extensive,' he said. 'I cannot make this any easier for you. You will lose the sight in that eye completely.'

'Got the other one, though, eh?' said Brune, his voice shaking.

'Yes. You will have the other one.'

'There is nothing to be done?' asked the dark-haired young man.

'Not with the eye in its present condition. I could ...' Ardlin paused for effect. 'But no, such a solution would be far too costly, I fear.'

'What is the solution?' asked the man. Ardlin's heart leapt.

'I have in my possession an orb, a magical orb. I could replace the eye. But the orb is an ancient piece, and its worth incalculable.'

The young man rose and stood facing Ardlin. In the light from the window it seemed to the magicker that the man's eyes had changed from dark blue to arctic grey. 'My name is ... Tarantio,' he said. 'Have you heard the name?'

'Sadly, no.' Ardlin felt a touch of fear as he gazed into those eyes.

'Like Vint, I am a swordsman.'

'Each to his own,' said Ardlin smoothly.

'Now you name a price, magicker, and then we will dicker over it.'

'A hundred gold pieces.'

Tarantio shook his head. 'I do not think so. Ten.'

Ardlin forced a laugh. 'That is ridiculous.'

'Then we will trouble you no further. Let's go, Brune.'

Ardlin waited until they had reached the door. 'My friends, my friends,' he called, 'this is no way to behave.

Come back and sit down. Let us discuss the matter further.'

In his heart he knew he had lost.

But ten gold pieces would get him to a safe island ... and that was worth a dozen fortunes.

'Will it hurt?' asked Brune.

'There will be no pain,' Ardlin assured him.

'How long will this take?' asked Tarantio. 'I am meeting Vint later today.'

'The process will take around two hours. Do you have the gold with you?'

'Yes. I'll pay you when I have seen the results.'

'Not a trusting man, then? Very well, you can wait here. Follow me, young man,' said Ardlin.

'You're sure this isn't going to hurt?' asked Brune, rising.

'I'm sure.' Ardlin took him through to a back room and bade him lie down on the narrow bed by the window. Brune did so. Ardlin touched the young man on the brow, and instantly Brune fell into a deep sleep.

The magicker moved to the wall, opening a secret panel and removing a pouch. Opening the drawstrings, he tipped out the contents into the palm of his hand. There was a silver ring, a copper locket, a lock of golden hair wrapped in silver wire, and a small round piece of blood-red coral. Each of the items was of great value to his profession. The ring aided him in the Five Spells of Aveas; the locket kept him free of the diseases which afflicted many of his clients, and the lock of hair boosted his mystic insight into the cause and cure of most ailments. The Oltor coral, however, was the masterpiece in his collection. It could rebuild ruined tissue, muscle and bone. When first he had acquired it, the coral had been the size of a man's head. But each time it was used it shrank. Now it was no larger than a pebble.