David Gemmell - Dark Moon

He was breathing heavily when he reached the long, tree-lined avenue which led to the palace building, and could hear the pounding of hooves behind him. Swinging round, he threw the last of his globes. It struck a rider in the chest. Flames enveloped him. The huge horse reared, throwing the Daroth back from the saddle.

Sirano sprinted on, up the twelve steps to the main doors and on into the Great Hall. At the far end, beneath a huge stained-glass window, was the Ducal Chair, carved from mahogany and inlaid with ivory and silver.

Upon it was the Eldarin Pearl.

Sirano ran to the chair and, taking the Pearl in his hands, sat down. Drawing in a deep breath he shouted out a single Word of Power. Below the Hall one of the globes scattered in the oil ignited, the flames spreading quickly across the cellar floor, licking at the wooden barrels.

Daroth warriors swarmed into the Hall. 'Welcome to Morgallis,' said Sirano, with a broad smile. 'Who is your leader?'

The Daroth approached him, spreading out in a wide circle. He stared at their bone-white features and their dark, soulless eyes. 'Afraid to speak?' he asked them.

A towering figure stepped from the ranks. 'I am the general,' it said. 'And tonight I shall feast on your heart.'

'I think not, you ugly whoreson! But let it not be said that Sirano did not give his guests a warm welcome.'

Rising, Sirano shouted once more. All the remaining globes flared into life, the heat rising like a volcano.

Beneath the feet of the Daroth the huge flagstones shifted. A wall of flame seared out. Then came a second explosion that tore the walls asunder, collapsing the roof.

Sirano, his clothing ablaze, was hurled up and back, his burning body smashing through the stained-glass window, where it crashed into the upper branches of a willow tree in the Ducal gardens. He fell through the branches into a deep pond.

His body a sea of pain, he dragged himself from the water and, still clutching the Eldarin Pearl, staggered out into the street beyond.

Behind him a tower of flame was roaring up a hundred feet, through the broken roof of the palace.

The Daroth army swept on towards the south, sacking villages and towns, until they reached the outskirts of Prentuis. There for the first time they came up against a human army, of 2,000 horse, 500 bowmen and 3,000 foot-soldiers. The humans were cut to pieces, the army scattered. The carnage inside the city was awful to behold, and the few survivors who made it to Loretheli on the coast told grisly stories of the massacre, and the terrible feasting that followed it.

In less than a month two of the great cities of the Four Duchies had fallen to an inhuman enemy. The Duke of The Marches had been killed on the battlefield outside Prentuis. Of the Duke of Romark there was no news.

The snows came early, and the Daroth withdrew. But no-one had any doubts that the spring would bring fresh terror.

Brune's fever was high, his body sweat-drenched. The elderly doctor leaned over him, closely examining the yellow-gold of his skin. 'It is not the plague,' he told Tarantio. 'But I do not like his colour; it suggests the blood is bad. However, I have bled him and leeched him, and there is little more that I can do.'

'Will he live?'

The doctor shrugged his thin shoulders. 'To be honest, young man, since I do not know what ails him I cannot say. I have seen yellow skin like this in patients before. Sometimes it indicates the kidneys are failing, at other times jaundice or yellow fever. In this case I do not know. You say the colour of his eyes was caused by the magicker, Ardlin. Were I you, I would seek out the magicker, and find out what he has done.'

'He left Corduin,' said Tarantio.

'As well he might. I have no time for magickers: a tricksy bunch, if you take my meaning. Now a man knows where he is with leeches. They suck out the vileness. Nothing magical there.'

Tarantio showed the man to the door, paid him, then returned to the bedside. 'You should have made him eat his leeches,' said Dace. 'The man was an idiot.'

'There was something in what he said. I think this illness is down to the magicker. You saw Brune's eyes.

Both are golden now. There was no magic orb; it is just a spell of some kind. And it is spreading over him.'

'Yes,' said Dace cheerfully, 'it is - and we should have killed Ardlin too.'

'Is that your answer to everything, brother? Kill it?'

'Each to his own,' said Dace. Brune groaned, then spoke out in a language Tarantio had never heard. It was soft, lilting and musical. Tarantio sat beside the bed, laying his hand on Brune's fevered brow. He was burning up. Fetching a bowl of warm water, he drew back the covers and bathed Brune's naked body, allowing the evaporation to cool the skin. 'He is losing a lot of weight,' said Dace. 'Maybe you should cook a broth, or something.'

Brune's golden eyes opened. 'Oh, it hurts,' he said.

'Lie still, my friend. Rest if you can.'

'I am cold.'

Tarantio felt his brow again, then he covered him with blankets and walked out to the kitchen area. The young woman he had hired to cook for them had fled when Brune's fever began. There was no food in the house. Returning to the bedroom, Tarantio built up the fire then threw his cloak around his shoulders and walked out into the snow. It was a long walk to the Wise Owl tavern and he was frozen long before he reached it. Snow had begun to fall again, and his shoulders and hair were crowned with white.

He rapped on the door and Shira opened it. Stepping inside he brushed the snow from his shoulders. 'I am sorry to trouble you,' he said, 'but I have a friend who is sick, and there is no food. Could you prepare something for me to take back?'

'Of course,' she said brightly. As she turned away, he saw that she was pregnant.

'My congratulations to you,' he said.

She reddened. 'We are very pleased, Duvo and I.'

'Duvo?'

'The Singer. You remember?'

'Ah yes. I wish you both happiness.'

'Sit down by the fire and I will fetch you some mulled wine while you wait.' She limped away towards the kitchens. Tarantio removed his cloak and squatted by the fire. He shivered as the heat touched him.

Staring into the dancing flames he began to relax, and did not hear the soft footfalls behind him. But Dace did, and surged into control - rising and twisting, his sword flashing into his hand.

A lean, blond-haired man with green eyes stood there. 'I am Duvodas,' he said.

'You're lucky not to be a dead Duvodas,' said Dace. 'What are you doing sneaking up on people?'

'I was not sneaking, Tarantio. You were lost in thought. Shira tells me you have a sick friend and I was wondering if I could help.'

Dace was about to spit out a reply when Tarantio dragged him back. 'Are you skilled in medicine?' he asked. Duvodas said nothing for a moment, but his eyes narrowed. Tarantio wondered if, somehow, he had seen the transformation.

'I know a little of herbs and potions,' Duvodas said.

'Then you would be most welcome at my home. I have become rather fond of Brune. He is not the brightest of men, but he is honest and he doesn't talk much. And forgive me for my earlier rudeness. I have lived too long amid wars and battles. People appearing silently behind me usually wish me harm.'

'Think nothing of it, my friend.'

Shira returned with a canvas shoulder-bag, bulging with food. 'This should keep the wolf from the door for a day at least. Come by tomorrow, and I will have a hamper for you.' Tarantio offered to pay, but Shira refused. 'We still owe you a meal for the day you left, sir. Pay me for tomorrow's food.'

Tarantio bowed, then accepted the bag which he slung over his shoulder. Donning his cloak, he made for the door. Duvodas walked out into the snow with him. Tarantio looked hard at the man, who was wearing only a shirt of green cotton, thin leggings and boots. 'You will freeze to death,' said Tarantio.