David Gemmell - Dark Moon

'Good-morning again, Brother Nemas,' said the old man to the dish-washing priest. 'We have two visitors. Is there any soup left?'

'Indeed there is, brother. Have they come to join us?'

'If they have, it is too late,' said the old monk. 'But at least we can give them a warm meal for their journey back to the damned.'

There was a bright fire burning in an iron stove by the far wall. Tarantio walked to it and warmed his hands, then he moved to the window which overlooked the courtyard and the gates. The old priest set two bowls of steaming soup on the table. Duvodas thanked him. 'We are here looking for a man named . . .'

'Kario,' said Tarantio suddenly. 'A young man who was sent to join you. Have you seen him?'

'Kario? No, I don't believe we have any acolytes of that name. But then we may have turned him away.

Now that the last days are upon us, there is no need of new acolytes. The evils of this world will be burned away and the Letters of Revelation will rule, as our prophet ordained. Have no fear, brothers, we will rule wisely and well, and the world will become a paradise of prayer and celebration. I am sorry that your journey here has been in vain.'

'We are grateful for your hospitality,' said Tarantio. 'And doubly grateful for the heat spell you sent down the path for us.'

'It was not for you, my friend, though I am glad you took benefit from it. The Servants of the Lord are coming, and we wished to show them courtesy.'

'The Servants of the Lord?' queried Duvodas.

'Those who are fulfilling His desires. The Cleansers. The Bringers of Fire and Destruction. As the Holy Word tells us: "Their swords will plough the cities, their spears will sunder armies. Fortress walls will shiver and fall at the sound of their hoof beats."'

'The Daroth,' said Tarantio.

'Indeed,' agreed the old man amiably. 'The Servants of the Lord. Your soup is getting cold. Eat. Rest.'

Tarantio sat down and ate, dipping bread into the soup. It was bland and tasteless. 'It is very good,' he said. 'Tell me, brother, why are the Servants of the Lord coming here?'

'We sent an emissary to them - to let them know that not all men are consumed by evil. We captured one of their enemies, the vile Sirano. He destroyed many of the Servants with devilish fire, then escaped into the wilderness. We have him here - awaiting their justice.'

The sound of singing faded away, to be followed by a booming noise coming from the gates. 'Ah, they are here,' said the old priest. 'Please excuse me. I must welcome them with my brothers.'

It was Dace who rose and moved to block the priest's path. 'Where is Sirano held?' he asked.

'Why would you wish to know that?'

'We are here to rescue him,' said Dace.

'You are Slaves of the Ungodly?' The old man took a backward step. 'I shall tell you nothing.' Dace drew a throwing-knife, then spun and hurled it into the throat of the priest in the kitchen. The man staggered back, then fell from sight. Dace drew a second blade and advanced on the old man.

'Oh, you will tell me, old fool. And you will tell me now!'

'He is in the upper turret,' wailed the old man. 'Please do not kill me!'

Dace sheathed the knife, and gestured to the priest to leave. 'Go,' he said coldly. 'Welcome your guests.' As the old man shuffled past the warrior, Dace slammed a blow to the priest's neck which snapped with a loud crack. 'Let's go,' he told Duvodas.

'There was no need to kill them,' stormed Duvo.

'Look out of the window,' ordered Dace, and Duvodas did so. In the courtyard below, some twenty Daroth warriors had marched through the gates. 'You think any of these priests will be alive come dusk? Now let's find Sirano.'

With a heavy heart Duvodas followed Dace. The two men left the room and ran along the corridor. Finding a

set of stairs leading up, they took them two at a time. At the top was another corridor; moving along it they came to a spiral staircase. 'This place is like a rabbit warren,' said Dace. 'I can't tell where we are. Let us hope this is the way to the turret he spoke of.'

Running up the stairs they came to a bolted door. Dace opened it and stepped inside, but the room within was empty. He swore and moved to the window. There were three more turrets visible. 'Is there no magic you can use to find him?' he asked Duvodas.

The Singer shook his head. 'Not magic - but have you noticed only that turret window has bars?' he said, pointing across the courtyard. 'The question is, how to reach it.'

'That, at least, is simple,' said Dace, opening the window and climbing out on to the narrow sill. The courtyard was some sixty feet down, but below the window, to the right, was a parapet that connected the turrets. Dace tensed, then leapt the gap. Duvodas took a deep breath and climbed out. Closing his eyes, he made the jump. Dace grabbed him, hauling him to safety, then together they ran along the parapet, entering a small door and emerging into a narrow corridor and a second circular stair.

At the top they unbolted the door and stepped inside, where a man was lying in a pallet bed. His face was hideously burned on the left hand side. Pus was seeping from the ruined eye-socket, and his hair had been burned away. He was unconscious.

'He looks close to death,' said Dace. 'You want me to carry him through?'

'You are right. He is on the verge of death.' Duvodas unwrapped his harp and sat beside the bed. His fingers rippled across the strings and the scent of roses filled the room. 'What in Hell's name are you doing?' hissed Dace. 'The Daroth could be on their way here now!'

'Then watch out for them,' said Duvodas calmly. His fingers danced upon the strings.

Dace ran from the room and down the stairs. Far below, someone screamed. Moving to a window, he gazed down to see a priest staggering out into the courtyard, blood streaming from a gaping wound in his back. The huge figure of a Daroth moved slowly after him. Other screams began. 'Well,' said Dace softly, 'you were right about the end of the world. Your world, anyway.' To Dace the screams were more musical than the hideous noise coming from Duvo's harp. How, he wondered, could people enjoy such sounds?

'I do,' said Tarantio.

'Then you enjoy them, brother. Call me when killing is needed.' Dace faded back and Tarantio rose and moved back up the stairs. The wounded man was awake now. His face was still badly scarred, but the wounds were clean.

Sirano sat up. 'Who are you?' he asked.

'I am Duvodas and this is the warrior, Tarantio. We have come to find the Pearl. We must return it to the lands of the Eldarin. We must bring them back.'

'What are the screams I hear?'

'The Daroth are killing the priests.'

Sirano gestured to a canvas pack by the far wall. When Duvodas moved to it and opened the flap, the Eldarin Pearl lay there. Reaching into the bag Duvo tenderly stroked the surface, which was warm to the touch. His hand trembled. The Eldarin were here, trapped within an orb of pure magic together with their homes, their lands, the rivers and streams that fed the earth, and the forests where Duvo had played as a child. All existed beneath his palm. Reverently he closed the canvas flap. 'Now we can go,' he said, looping the bag over his shoulder. 'Now there is hope.'

'We can talk about hope back in Corduin,' said Tarantio. 'Are you ready, Duvodas?'

'Ready for what?'

'To get us back with your Oltor magic?'

'We must make it back to level ground,' Duvo told him. 'Otherwise we might appear a thousand feet above Corduin.'

Tarantio swore. In the courtyard below three priests had tried to reach the mountain path. A long spear plunged through the back of the first, pinning him to the gates. The second was almost cut in half by a swinging broadsword. The third, a young man, fell to his knees and begged for his life. A Daroth warrior grabbed him by the hair and dragged him back into the building. Tarantio drew back from the window. 'There is only one way out,' he said, 'and the Daroth are there. Our only chance is to find a rope to climb over the battlements.'