David Gemmell - Dark Moon

'I think we will see the Daroth today,' said Vint. 'They must have outriders. Have you come up with a plan yet, Karis?'

Ignoring the question, she finished her meal, then cleaned her plate upon the grass. 'When we do see them, not one of you must draw a weapon,' she said at last. 'You will sit quietly while I ride forward.'

'And if they attack?' asked Pooris.

'We scatter and meet again here.'

'It has the merits of simplicity,' observed Vint. Drawing his knife, he began to scrape away the bristles on his cheeks and chin.

'Why bother to shave?' asked the red-bearded Forin.

'One must observe certain standards,' pointed out Vint, with a self-mocking grin. 'And naturally,' he continued, 'I want the Daroth to see me in the full bloom of my beauty. They will be so over-awed they will immediately surrender to us and swear fealty!'

'Exactly my plan,' said Karis drily.

She kicked earth over the fire, extinguishing it, then they saddled their horses and rode north. The boy, Goran,

heeled his mount alongside Warain. 'Do you think my father is still alive?' he asked Karis.

'There is no way to know,' she said, 'but let us pray so. You are a brave lad. You deserve to find him.'

'Father says we don't always get what we deserve,' he pointed out.

'He is a wise man,' said Karis.

They rode on for more than two hours, cresting the low hills before the mountains and heading down through a narrow pass on to the broad grasslands. From here they could see the distant city. There were no walls around it, and the buildings were round, squat and ugly to the human eye.

'Like a huge mound of horse droppings,' observed Forin.

Karis heeled Warain forward and the small troop cantered on.

As they approached the city, a line of twenty horsemen rode from it to intercept them. Karis felt a tightness in her belly. The horses upon which they rode were huge, eighteen hands, dwarfing even the giant Warain.

She felt Warain tense beneath her. 'Steady, now,' she said, patting his sleek grey neck.

The leading Daroth warrior drew his long serrated sword and rode at Karis. Untying the pouch at her belt, she rode to meet him with hand outstretched. His sword was raised, his oval jet-black eyes staring hard at her as she came abreast of him. Smoothly she extended her arm and offered him the pouch. Letting go of the reins, he took it from her and clumsily opened it. Salt spilled out. Placing a large finger into his beaked mouth, his swollen purple tongue licked out, wetting the tip. He dipped it into the salt pouch and tasted it.

Re-tying the pouch, he slipped it into a pocket in his black jerkin, then returned his gaze to Karis. 'Why are you here?' he asked, his voice cold, sepulchral.

'We come to speak with your leader,' she told him.

'He can hear you. All Daroth can hear you.'

'It is our custom to speak face to face.'

'You have more salt?'

'Much more. And we can deliver many convoys of it, fresh from the sea.'

'Follow me,' said the rider, sheathing his sword.

The city was unlike anything Tarantio had ever seen. The buildings were all spherical and black, unadorned and dull to the eye, built in a seemingly haphazard manner, yet all linked and joined by covered walkways. There were many levels of them, one atop the other.

'It's like a huge bunch of grapes,' said Forin. 'How do they live in them?'

Tarantio did not answer. As they rode on every building disgorged more Daroth, who stood silently watching the small cavalcade. The road was paved and smooth, the sound of the horses' hooves loud in the silence.

'They are an ugly people,' said Dace.

'Perhaps we look ugly to them,' observed Tarantio.

Ahead were two tall spires. Black smoke drifted lazily from the top of both, forming a pall above the city. Tarantio sniffed the air. There was an odd smell about the place, sweet, sickly and unpleasant.

The roadway widened and the group rode between two black pillars, heading towards a huge grey dome; the smoking spires were situated behind it. The Daroth riders peeled away, leaving only the leader, who dismounted before the round open entrance to the dome.

'Stay with the horses,' Karis told Goran, as the group dismounted.

'I want to find my father,' objected the boy.

'If he is here, I will find him,' she promised.

The Daroth entered the dome; Karis and the others followed. The councillor Pooris kept close to the warrior woman; his face was pale, his hands trembling. Tarantio and Forin were just behind them, followed by Vint and Brune.

The huge building was lit by globed lanterns set into the walls, and Karis was amazed to find that no pillars supported the colossal domed ceiling. There were no statues or adornments. At the far end of the circular hall was an enormous table shaped like a sickle blade. Around it were some fifty Daroth warriors, kneeling on the weirdly carved chairs Tarantio had first seen in the Daroth tomb.

'My father would have liked to see this,' said Forin. Tarantio could hear the fear in his voice, but the big man was controlling it well.

Karis moved forward. 'Who is the leader here?' she asked, her voice echoing strangely. A series of clicks sounded from the Daroth, then a warrior at the centre of the table rose.

'I am what you humans would call the Duke Daroth,' he said.

'I am Karis.'

'What is your purpose here?'

'A delegation such as this is our way of showing our peaceful intentions. Let me introduce the councillor Pooris, who has a message from our Duke.' Turning, she gestured Pooris forward. The little man took a nervous step towards the table and bowed low.

'My Duke wishes it to be known that he welcomes the return of the Daroth people, and hopes that this new era will bring trade and prosperity to both our peoples. He wishes to know if there is anything you desire from us, in the way of trade.'

'We only desire that you die,' said the Daroth. 'We will not coexist. This is now a Daroth world. Only the Daroth will survive. But tell me more of the salt you offer.'

Karis watched as Pooris faltered, feeling sympathy for the little politician. The Daroth's words were certainly not honey-coated, and left little room for further negotiation. 'Might I ask, sir,' said Pooris, 'that you expand upon your decision? War is never without cost. And peace can bring riches and plenty.'

'I have said what I have said,' the Daroth told him. 'Now I wish to hear of the salt you will send.'

Pooris stepped forward. His hands were no longer trembling. 'The salt was offered in the spirit of peace. Why would we send it to an enemy?'

'Trade,' said the Daroth Duke, simply. 'We understand that when you humans desire something that you cannot take by force, you trade for it. We will take the salt as trade.'

'In return for what, sir?' asked Pooris.

'We have more than a hundred of your older humans. We have no use for them; we will trade them for their weight in salt.'

'Do you have a man here named . . .' Pooris swung to Karis and gave her a questioning look.

'Barin,' she said.

'He is here,' said the Daroth Duke. 'He is important to you?'

'His son is with us. That is how we know he was captured by you. We would like him returned.'

'He is owned by one of my captains. He does not wish to trade him; he will, however, allow you to fight for him.' The clicking sound came again from the gathered group. Karis took it to be laughter. All her adult life Karis had been skilled in the reading of men. The skull-faced Daroth were not men, but even so she could sense their contempt for the human embassy. In that moment she realized that their chances of leaving alive were slender at best. Under normal circumstances Karis was a cautious leader, but sometimes, she knew, recklessness could carry the day.