David Gemmell - Dark Moon

The Oltor Prime sighed. 'And here I stand - without purpose, or reason for being. Locked in my hearts are the histories of my people, each one of them. What am I to do?'

'You could help us fight the Daroth,' said Tarantio.

'I cannot fight.'

'Even after they destroyed all your people?'

'Even so. I am a Healer. It is not what I do, Tarantio; it is what I am. If I saw a wounded Daroth, I would heal it without a moment's hesitation. In that way I feed the land with magic. I create harmony.'

'I call that the coward's way,' said Dace aloud. 'Life is a struggle, from the agonies of birth to the railing against death. Devour or be devoured. The law of the wild.'

'This land was not wild until the Daroth came,' said the Oltor.

'Did the lion not hunt the deer, leaping upon it, tearing out its throat?'

'Yes, Dace, the lion did that, for that is the lion's nature. But at no time did the deer develop fangs and claws and rend the lion.'

Dace was stunned by the use of his name. 'You can see the difference in us? You can tell us apart?'

'I can. You were born in that terrible moment when a child, Tarantio, saw his father hanging from a beam.

He could not face the sight, and in his terror he created a brother who could - a brother who could survive all the terrors the world could hurl at a child. You saved him, Dace. Saved him from madness and despair.

Now he saves you.'

'I need no-one to save me. I am Dace. I am the best there is, the best there ever was. Hell's teeth, I am the best there ever will be! I am not weak. When an enemy comes for me I slay him - human or Daroth, lion or wolf.'

'And yet you wept when Sigellus was cut down. You tried to stop him duelling; he was drunk, his powers fading. You almost begged him to let you fight in his place. But he was proud. When he died, you felt as though a hot knife was being dragged across your soul.'

Dace's hand flashed for the dagger at his belt. He staggered. 'I did not know that,' said Tarantio, his hand dropping to his side.

'He lies!' shouted Dace.

'There was never a need for lies in a culture that knew no violence, no anger, no despair,' said the Oltor. 'That is why the Daroth fooled us. They are telepaths, and they presented a mental wall through which we did not pass. It would have been discourteous to try.'

'We are now facing the Daroth,' said Tarantio. 'Your help would be appreciated.'

'I will heal your wounded, but more than that I cannot offer. I will rest now. Perhaps you would like to speak with Brune?' The Oltor closed his eyes. Brune opened them. 'He is very sad,' said Brune. 'He wants to die.'

Moving to his clothes, Brune dressed himself. His leggings were too short now, and his clothes hung upon his slender frame. He sat down by the window. 'Can you do nothing for him?' he asked Tarantio.

'What can I do? He is the last of a dead race.'

'But he's so sad,' said Brune. 'And he's my friend.'

'Yesterday you were frightened,' said Tarantio, 'and rightly so. Can you not see that he is taking over your body?'

'I don't mind,' said Brune. 'All my life I've been frightened. Never knowing what to do, what to say. So many things I couldn't understand. People. Wars. I couldn't remember things. Places. I used to get lost.

I'm not lost now. He teaches me things, he looks after me.'

Tarantio smiled, and patted Brune's shoulder. 'We all look after you, my friend. That is why we are concerned.'

'I'll be all right, honestly I will. You won't let no-one hurt him, will you? He's not like us. He won't fight.'

'I'll do what I can,' Tarantio promised.

'He has knowledge that could end disease and famine,' said Brune. 'The Oltor may be gone, but we humans could learn so much from him.'

'If we survive the Daroth,' said Tarantio.

Shira was nervous as she lay upon the bed, the golden creature sitting beside her. 'Do not fear me, child,' he said.

'I have no fear of you, sir. It is just that it pains me to have anyone . . . view my deformity.'

'I do understand, Shira. If you do not wish me to continue, I will understand that also. It may be that I can do little, for I have never encountered humans before.'

She smiled at him, then looked to Duvo. 'Do you think I should?' she asked him. He nodded and Shira closed her eyes. 'Very well, then,' she said. Duvo moved to the bedside, his harp in hand.

'There will be no need of actual music,' said the Oltor. 'The song I sing cannot be heard by you.' The scent of roses filled the room. He laid his slender, golden hand on Shira's brow and her breathing deepened instantly. 'She sleeps,' he said, drawing back the sheet. Shira was dressed in a simple cotton shift, which the Oltor raised to her hips. The deformed leg was ugly and twisted, the muscles knotted and misshapen like rocks under the skin.

The Oltor Prime placed his hand on her thigh. Astonished, Duvo watched as the hand began to glow, becoming at first translucent and then transparent. Slowly it sank beneath the surface of Shira's skin. 'The bones of the thigh and shin were broken badly,' whispered the Oltor, 'and they have been set awkwardly and suffered severe calcification. The muscles around them are badly fibrotic, no longer wet tissue, and the tendons are now too short.'

Duvodas tried to mask his disappointment. 'It was kind of you to examine her,' he said.

'Be patient, my friend, we have just begun.' Shira's thigh was glowing now, and Duvo could see the Oltor's hand moving below the surface of the skin. There was a sudden crack, the noise like a whiplash in the quiet of the room. Duvo jerked at the sound.

'What are you doing?'

'Breaking the thigh-bone and re-setting it straight. It is difficult; it is taking longer than I had thought to heal and stretch the muscles.' Slowly the knots and lumps of Shira's thigh began to shrink. After an hour the Oltor removed his hand, and began again below the knee.

As dusk approached, the room grew gloomy and Duvodas lit a lantern. 'How long now?' he asked.

'Not long. Help me to turn her over.' Gently they rolled the sleeping woman to her stomach.

'The leg looks perfect,' said Duvo.

'It is, but the muscles of the lower back are also misshapen, as is the spine. This is natural after years of limping. I must be careful now, for your son must not be touched by the magic.' His hands moved over Shira's lower back, the long fingers gently kneading the flesh. At last he stood, and covered her with a sheet. 'You may wake her now,' he said.

Duvo sat on the bed and took Shira's hand, kissing it. 'Wake up, my love,' he told her. Shira moaned softly, and yawned. Her eyes opened. 'Time to get up,' said Duvo.

Sleepily Shira pulled back the sheet and allowed Duvo to help her to stand. There was no surprise as she straightened. 'This is a lovely dream,' she said.

'It is no dream. You are healed, Shira.' The girl stood for a moment, then took several tentative steps.

Ignoring both men, she sat back down on the bed and drew up her cotton shift, staring down at the now perfectly formed leg. She stood once more, then spun on her heel in a graceful pirouette.

'She still believes it is a dream,' said the Oltor.

'Perhaps you should pinch yourself, Shira,' suggested Duvo.

'I don't want to wake up from this,' she said, tears in her eyes.

'I can promise you that you will not,' Duvo assured her. Shira hesitated, then dug her nails into the palm of her hand.

'It hurts,' she said. 'I am awake! Oh, Duvo!' She ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck.

He kissed her, and held her close. 'You are thanking the wrong person,' he said at last, and Shira turned to the Oltor Prime.

'I don't know what to say to you,' she said. 'I cannot believe it! How can I thank you?'