David Gemmell - Dark Moon

When Karis had fled the city, Giriak had experienced two emotions. The first had been disappointment, for in his own way he had loved the warrior woman. Unlike any lover he had known Karis fired his blood, and his feelings for her were rooted deep. The second emotion, however, had been joy, for Sirano had given him command of her lancers. Giriak had always known he was as good a leader as she. Most of her victories, he believed, had been achieved due to his part in them. This was what made the current situation so galling, for since she had gone he had led two raids on the south, both of which had gone disastrously wrong. They would, he knew with absolute certainty, have failed even if Karis had been the commander.

He was sure of that, even if his men were not.

The one quality, it seemed to Giriak, that Karis had enjoyed above all others was luck. That was the only difference; he told himself this time and again, as if the constant repetition would make it true. All his life he had been cursed by bad luck. At an early age he had discovered a talent for running and he had trained hard under the watchful eye of his father, the village blacksmith. But another boy had beaten him in the Shire Finals after Giriak had stepped into a rabbit hole and twisted his ankle. Dark and handsome he had even lost out in love. Gealla had been all that he had wanted; he had courted her, and won her heart. But one of his so-called friends had told her of his illicit liaison with another village girl, and she had spurned him and married another. Even as a soldier Giriak had been overlooked - except by Karis. She had promoted him to be her second in command and here he had excelled, despite her occasional meddling in his decisions.

Giriak stepped down from the saddle and tethered the gelding. Then he climbed the rampart steps of the north wall, where the veteran Necklen was supervising repairs. The Lord Sirano - thank the Gods - had ceased using his magic on the Eldarin Pearl, and the minor earthquakes no longer struck the city. Not that it mattered much, thought Giriak. Morgallis was pretty much deserted anyway. Of the 85,000 people who had inhabited the city four months ago, now only around 5,000 remained. The rest had fled south to Prentuis where, according to rumour, they were housed outside the city in a huge camp of canvas tents.

All across Morgallis, taverns and shops were closed and boarded up.

'Almost there, Captain,' said Necklen, wiping sweat from his thin face and grey beard. 'The gap is filled, but the whole wall is riddled with cracks.'

'There is no force to assail the city,' said Giriak, gazing down at the work party, ferrying rubble and mortar to the wall. 'But Sirano wants the repairs done anyway.'

'We should be moving on,' said Necklen, keeping his voice low. 'This is like a city of ghosts. The men are getting anxious. Most of the whores have gone, and that takes all the fun out of a city.'

'We're still being paid,' Giriak pointed out.

'That's true, but it doesn't matter a damn if there's nothing to spend it on. Some of the lads are talking of desertion.'

'Which ones?'

Necklen gave a wry smile. 'Now, now, Captain, you know I'm no whisperer. I'm just alerting you to the prospect. They think Karis may have made it to Prentuis. They liked her, they want to serve her again.'

Giriak sat down on the battlements. 'I am as good as she. You know that, don't you?'

'You are a good man, Captain. Brave, loyal, steadfast.'

'Why does that sound like an insult?' asked Giriak, surprised at his own lack of anger. Of all the men who served under him, Necklen was the one he trusted most. Soft-spoken and loyal, he was an able lieutenant.

'It wasn't meant to be,' said Necklen. 'She is special, you know - got the mind for it. She could smell trouble when it was just a tiny seed. Put a halt to it before any knew there was a problem. That's why she made it all look so smooth. You and she were a wonderful team. But face it, Captain, it is not so wonderful without her.'

Giriak sighed. 'If any other man but you said those words, I would kill him.'

'The truth always has a bitter taste,' observed Necklen. 'I was there when she first learned to command. A group of us had been assigned to reinforce a garrison town. Soon after we arrived it was besieged. That was when Beckel was in command. He was all right, but he had one big problem; he was too intelligent.'

'How could that be a problem?' Giriak asked.

'Oh, it is a killer, Captain. Believe me. A man needs to know his limitations and that requires a certain humility. Beckel could multiply numbers in his head, recite ancient writings from memory, and knew every strategy ever used. But he couldn't lift them out of context. No imagination, you see. And that's what wins battles and wars. Imagination.'

'How did Karis come into the story?'

Necklen chuckled. 'She was his whore. When the siege started she came with him one day to the battlements. The enemy were cutting down trees. Beckel told her they were building siege towers. "The ground is too uneven," she told him, and she was right. No force on earth could have propelled towers over that landscape. "Catapults," she said. Then she shaded her eyes and scanned the walls and the land beyond.

She pointed out where she thought they would raise the catapults, and the section of wall they would aim at. We'd been amused at first, but a little irritation came in then. Like, who does she think she is? You know what I mean, Captain?'

'Ay, I do,' said Giriak.

'Well, then she asks why we're not storing enough water. "'Cos there's a stream flowing through the garrison," says I, "and it has never been known to go dry." She just looked at me for a moment. You remember that look? Kind of still, as if she were studying you? Then she says: "It will dry up fast enough if the enemy block it behind those hills." Two days later that's just what happened. And they placed the catapult where she said they would. Beckel used her a lot after that, and when he was killed we just sort of turned to her for leadership.'

'Why are you telling me this, old friend?'

'I think maybe we should all go to Prentuis and seek her out. You'd be happier; you love the woman.'

Giriak pushed himself to his feet. 'You tell the lads that she won't be in Prentuis. She'd have cut west to Corduin. She knew Sirano would want her dead.'

'If you knew that, why did you send the riders south?'

Giriak shrugged. 'Love or stupidity - one or the other.'

'Both, maybe,' said Necklen, with a wry smile. 'By the way, the scouts you sent north have not returned. They are overdue by a day.'

'They probably found a village full of young women,' said Giriak.

'Perhaps. But Mell was leading them, and he's steady as they come; you can always rely on Mell. It could be that some enemy mercenaries have slipped by us.'

'Send out a rider,' ordered Giriak.

'Son of a whore!' hissed Necklen. 'Is that the Duke?' Giriak swung round to see Sirano striding down the road towards the rampart steps. His blond hair was lank and greasy, his face unshaven and his eyes fever-bright. He ran up the steps, his movements quick and jerky. Necklen saluted, but the Duke ignored him.

'The enemy is coming,' said Sirano. 'Gather your men.'

'What enemy, my lord?'

'We need archers: thousands of them, lining the walls.' Sirano stood stock-still, unblinking, his gaze fastened on the north. 'And cauldrons of oil. The best archers . .. with strong bows.'

'We don't have a thousand archers, my lord,' said Giriak. 'Who is the enemy?'

'This will be the spot; this is where they will attack. Tell your archers to wait until they are well within range. They have very tough skins. Strong bones. Send Karis to me. We must plan.'

Giriak and Necklen exchanged glances. Giriak stepped up to the Duke, taking him by the arm. 'How long since you slept, my lord?'