David Gemmell - Dark Moon

'Yes. I don't want to kill nobody.'

'Putting aside the double negative for a moment,' said Vint, 'I think that is a laudable point of view. But what do you do when a Daroth warrior is about to behead you with a large sword? Do you just die - or do you fight?'

'I'll die, I reckon,' said Brune.

'Could you offer some validation for this philosophy?'

'What did he say?' Brune asked Tarantio.

'I think he wants to know why you have decided not to fight.'

'Oh. It was the Oltor. I can't explain it, but when he was . . . you know, part of me, I could feel what he was thinking. What he was feeling. And it was good, you know? It was . . .' he paused '. . . right. Yes, that's it. It was right. You understand?'

'Not a word,' admitted Vint. 'You think it would be better to be dead than to fight for your life?'

'Yes, I think so. That's what the Oltor done.'

'And they were wiped out.'

'Yes, but they're back now.'

'What is he talking about?' Vint asked Tarantio.

'It is a long story.'

Vint was about to question him further when movement began in the Daroth camp. Hundreds of Daroth warriors moved to the lower hillside and began to dig while others could be seen returning from the woods carrying the trunks of felled trees. Within minutes the area was the scene of frenzied activity. The diggers soon disappeared from sight, but the watching men could see earth being thrown up from the pit. The Daroth brought up empty wagons, which they filled with earth; these were then trundled away, returning empty minutes later. Ropes and pulleys were assembled above the pit, drawing up dirt, while planks and timbers were lowered down.

Realization dawned on Vint and he felt a chilling fear spread through him. They're building a tunnel,' he said. 'They are going to burrow underneath us!'

The house was cold and Tarantio lit a fire. Brune was staying in the new barracks building with the other stretcher-bearers, and the house seemed lonely without him. 'I miss him too,' said Dace. Tarantio smiled.

'You remember that first day? "He hit me with a lump of wood",' he mimicked.

'He is a good man. I hope he survives.'

Tarantio sat before the fire, enjoying the new warmth. 'We don't make many friends, do we, Dace? Why is that?'

'We don't need them, brother.'

'So why Brune? Why do we miss him?' Dace remained silent and Tarantio wandered out to the kitchen.

There was a stale loaf there and he cut several slices from it, bringing them back to the fire and toasting them. He ate only one, then lay down on the goatskin rug, weariness washing over him. The Daroth were still digging, the mouth of the tunnel illuminated by lanterns. Soon they would erupt out of the ground somewhere within the city.

'We won't die, brother,' said Dace. 'I'll kill them all.'

'I've always loved your sense of humour.'

'Don't go to sleep yet. I feel the need to talk awhile.' Dace sat up and added a log to the fire. 'Chio? Chio!' he said, aloud. He swore softly, and tried to summon Tarantio. He could now feel the weakness in their body, the muscle fatigue and the bone-numbing weariness. It was not a sensation Dace enjoyed. Pushing himself to his feet he walked to the kitchen and drank several cups of cold water, then scraped the last of some honey from a pottery jar. It was sweet and good.

His keen hearing picked up the sound of someone walking along the path to the door, and he opened it.

There, framed in the moonlight, the hood of a dark cloak hiding her golden hair, was the Lady Miriac.

'Are you not going to invite me in?' she asked. Dace stepped aside.

Her blue silk skirts swished against the floor as she moved through to the fire and sat down. Dace could hardly believe this was happening. It seemed so long ago when Tarantio had bedded her and Dace had fought for control, determined to draw his knife across her slender throat. In terror Tarantio had run from the room of mirrors. Now she was here. And Tarantio was asleep.

'Why did you not tell me you were back in Corduin?' she asked.

'I did not know you were still here,' said Dace, his fingers idly stroking the hilt of his dagger.

'Did I do something wrong?' she asked. 'We. . . blended so well. I felt ... I don't know what I felt. But I have thought about you constantly.' She rose and stepped in close to him, putting her arms around his shoulders.

He felt the warmth of her body, and pictured the blood gushing from her. Smoothly he drew the dagger, bringing it up behind her back. Her lips brushed against his cheek, then touched his mouth, and he felt her soft tongue upon his. All weariness fled from him, and he was suddenly filled with an aching need.

Stepping back she loosed the cloak, letting it fall, then undid the ties at the front of her silk dress. Dace watched in silent amazement as the garment fell to the floor. 'Why are you holding a dagger?' she whispered. He hurled it aside.

They made love before the fire, their passion fierce and uncontrolled, and when it was over Dace - for the first time in his life - began to weep. She held him close, stroking his back and whispering gentle endearments to him. It seemed to Dace that walls were collapsing in his mind, and emotions long hidden were washing out like the swollen waters of a flood. He saw his father hanging from the beam, and instead of being filled with a bitter hatred of the man's weakness he remembered his father's kindness and the love they had lost. He felt he was drowning in a sea of emotions he never knew he possessed. And he clung to Miriac, whose soft caresses and gentle words aroused him again.

He took her to the bedroom where they made love slowly and with great tenderness. Later, as she slept, Dace sat up and stared down at her as she lay with her golden hair spread out on the pillow, her slender left arm draped across the bed. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

'And you wanted to kill her,' said Tarantio.

'I have wanted many things,' Dace told him. 'But mostly I wanted us to stay together.'

'We are together.'

'You don't understand, Chio. We are not real, you and I; we are both creations of the child trapped in the mine. He created me to deal with his terrors, and in doing so gave birth to you. For only you could control me. Don't you see? And the pull is getting stronger. One day he will draw us both to him, and we will cease to be.'

'You cannot be sure of this,' argued Tarantio.

'Oh, I am sure. I can hear him calling me even now. And I can no longer resist.'

'Why?' Tarantio asked.

'Because I have known love - and that is not what I was created for. Goodbye, brother ,' said Dace aloud, an infinite sadness in his voice.

Tarantio jerked back into awareness. 'Dace!' he called, but there was nothing.

Miriac stirred. 'Did you call me?' she whispered.

Tarantio sat very still, a yawning sense of emptiness sweeping through him.

Dace had gone ...

The mood in the Meeting Hall was sombre as Vint gave his report. The Daroth had moved mountains of earth from their tunnel, and by morning would be close to the walls. By late tomorrow they would be under the city. Duke Albreck listened in silence, but cast a searching gaze around the room and its occupants. The little councillor, Pooris, looked glum and uncertain. Karis sat with eyes downcast, contributing nothing.

The giant Forin was only half-listening to Vint; he was casting furtive glances towards Karis, and his look was one of concern. The dark-haired, skeletal cleric, Niro, sat forward attentively with his eyes fixed on the speaker. Neither Tarantio nor Ozhobar had so far arrived. 'I cannot see,' concluded Vint, 'how we can combat this new initiative. If it was men we were facing, I would suggest digging down to intercept them.