David Gemmell - Dark Moon

'I am rather shocked myself. How could this man have accomplished such a feat?'

'Vint is questioning the tavern-keeper, Ceofrin, and I have had a long conversation with Tarantio. It seems that Duvodas was raised among the Eldarin, who taught him many secrets of magic. Tarantio is stunned by the events; he maintains that Duvodas was a pacifist, wholly opposed to war and violence.

He also told me a strange tale concerning Sirano.' Karis told the Duke of the attempted rescue of Sirano at the monastery, the coming of the Daroth and the recovery of the Eldarin Pearl.

'Sirano was right,' said the Duke, bitterness in his voice. 'The Pearl is a fearsome weapon. Why did this harpist not bring it to us? We could have destroyed the Daroth utterly!'

'Perhaps it is best that he did not,' answered Karis. 'Ever since Sirano unleashed his magic against the Pearl, nothing has been the same. And we cannot spend valuable time concerning ourselves with speculation. Perhaps within a day the enemy will be upon us. That must be our prime concern.'

Albreck offered Karis a goblet of wine, but she refused. 'I must leave you, my lord. I am meeting Ozhobar at his forge.'

'Of course,' said Albreck, rising with her. 'But first tell me how your plans are progressing.'

She shrugged. 'That is hard to say, sir. The weapons are untried against the Daroth, and much depends on the strategies they adopt.'

'And what of your strategies, Karis?'

She gave a weary smile. 'In war it is best to act, and therefore force your enemy to react. We do not have the luxury of such a strategy. To attack the Daroth on open ground would be suicidal, therefore the first advantage is his. When you add to that the simple fact that our enemy is telepathic, and many times more powerful than any human warrior, our problems become mountainous. Because of their mental powers I cannot even explain my tactics to my commanders, for fear that the Daroth will discover them. All in all the prospects are bleak.'

'You sound defeatist,' he said.

Karis shook her head. 'Not at all, sir. If the Daroth act as I suspect they will, then we have a chance to hold them. If we can beat off their first attack, we will further sow the seeds of doubt in them. The miracle of the forest will have worried them. If we stop them without magic, it will worry them further. And doubt is a demon that can destroy an army.'

Duke Albreck smiled. 'Thank you, General. Please continue your duties.'

Karis bowed and left the room. Moving through to the rear of his apartments, the Duke lit two lanterns and stood staring at the armour hanging on the wooden frame. It had been his grandfather's, and had been worn by his father in several battles. Albreck himself had never worn it. The helm of iron, polished until it shone like silver, was embellished with the golden head of a roaring lion. The image of a lion had also been added in gold to the breastplate. It was altogether garish and hideously eye-catching. Albreck had always viewed it with distaste.

'A ruler has to be seen by his warriors,' his father had told him. 'And seen in battle as a colossal figure, head and shoulders above other men. A leader must be inspirational. This armour you sneer at, boy, serves that purpose. For when I wear it, I am Corduin.'

Albreck remembered the day his father had led the army from the city. He had watched, with his mother and brother, from an upper balcony in the palace. And that night, when the victorious Duke had returned, he had understood his father's words. In the moonlight his father had looked like a god.

The memories brought a sigh from him, and he drew the longsword from its scabbard. It was blade-heavy, a knight's weapon, designed to be wielded from the saddle, striking down at enemy foot soldiers.

Albreck returned it to its scabbard.

A servant entered bearing a tray. 'Your supper, my lord,' he said.

'Set it upon the table.'

'Yes, my lord. Very fine armour, my lord.'

'Indeed it is. Tomorrow have it returned to the museum.'

'Yes, my lord.'

Albreck returned to the main room and sat down by the fire, leaving the meal untouched. He fell asleep in the chair. His night servant found him there, and covered him with a soft blanket.

Avil had never achieved any promotion. He had been a scout now for six years, and had done his job as well as any man. He had just been unlucky. Anyone could have missed a small raiding party coming through the Salian canyon; there were any number of branch passes along the route. It had been so unfair to be forced to carry the blame. Had they known he had been asleep during the raid he would have been hanged. But then a man had to sleep, and Avil felt no guilt about the incident.

But this new woman general, she knew his worth. She had spoken to him personally about this mission, and Avil intended to prove himself to her. She had summoned him to her private quarters, and given him a goblet of fine wine.

'I have been watching your progress,' she said, 'and it is my belief that you have been wrongly overlooked for promotion.' Even Avil had started to believe the stories of his carelessness. Now, however, someone in authority had seen his true worth. 'I need a good scout to give me an accurate estimate of enemy numbers,' she had said. 'I want you to observe them. See how they make camp, observe their actions.'

'Why is it important to see how they make camp?' he had asked.

'A good army is disciplined. Everything they do indicates how well they are led. A lazy general will be lax, the camp disorganized. You understand?'

'Yes, General. Of course. How stupid of me!'

'Not stupid at all,' she assured him. 'A sensible man asks questions - that is how he learns.' A huge hound padded over to him, resting his head in Avil's lap. 'He likes you,' said Karis.

'I know him. This is Stealer. He hangs around the barracks and steals scraps.'

Karis had laughed. She was not a great beauty, he thought, but there was about her an earthy quality that made a man think of nakedness and a warm bed. In that moment he understood one of her nicknames: some of the men called her 'The Whore of War'. Avil found his eyes wandering to her breasts; she was wearing a thin, woollen shirt and he could see their outline. 'You have heard, of course, about our magician?' she asked, dropping her voice.

'Everyone is talking about the slaughter of the Daroth,' he said, dragging his gaze from her body and trying to look into her eyes.

'We have three sorcerers,' she told him.

'Three?'

'Their powers are astonishing. One can bring fire from the sky. They were trained by the Eldarin.

Naturally this must not be spoken of. You understand?'

'Yes, General. .. well, no. Would it not ease the fears of the people to know we have such power?'

'Indeed it would. But if the Daroth were to find out just how strong we are, then they might not come within the range of our spells.'

'Oh, I see. But surely they already know about the slaughter, and the magical forest?'

'I don't doubt that they do. That was unfortunate - but we had to protect our refugees. However, the Daroth know of only one sorcerer and one great spell. They probably believe they can overcome us despite his abilities. That is when the other two will wreak their terrible spells.'

She had offered him a second goblet of wine then. It was heady stuff. He told her of his plans and ambitions, and of his life back on the farm. She seemed fascinated by everything he said. No-one had ever been fascinated before. He told her this, and that his comrades called him dull. Karis assured him that he was far from dull. In fact, she had enjoyed his company immensely, and when he returned from his scouting mission they must meet again.

Avil was smitten. Her last words came back to haunt him now, as he sat at the feet of the Daroth general.