David Gemmell - Dark Moon

But Daroth? They would cut us to pieces in moments.' He sat down, and the silence that followed his words was ominous.

Duke Albreck waited for a moment, then took a deep breath. 'Our thanks to you, Vint. Your report was clear and concise. Any comments?' The silence grew again. 'General, do you have anything to add?' Karis shook her head, but did not look up. The Duke chose his words carefully, speaking without any hint of criticism. 'My friends, we have worked hard and long to plan our defences, and to secure a future for the thousands of Corduin citizens who remain.

It would be less than courageous to give in now, before the enemy has breached our walls. There must be something we can do.' He glanced at Pooris. The little man wiped the sweat from his bald head.

'I am not a warrior, my lord, as well you know. But I fail to see how we can combat these tactics. The Daroth could come up anywhere, and the only real weapons we have against them are too cumbersome to haul around the city. The way to the south is still open; the Daroth have not surrounded us. It seems to me that we should order a mass evacuation.'

'How far would we get?' asked Forin. 'At best such a column could make eight miles in a day. The Daroth riders would be upon us within the hour.'

The door opened and Ozhobar strolled in, carrying a bundle of scrolls under his arm. He gave a cursory bow to the Duke, then pulled up a chair. 'Have I missed anything?' he asked.

'You appear to have missed out your apology for lateness, sir,' chided the Duke.

'What? Ah, I see we are still observing the niceties. That's rather good. We dangle from the crumbling lip of the precipice, but we retain our manners.'

'We do, sir,' said the Duke curtly.

'My apologies for my late arrival, my lord,' said Ozhobar, rising and bowing once more, 'but I needed to obtain these items from the Great Library. Some fool of a cleric told me that it was closed, but would re-open at its usual time tomorrow. He too was observing the niceties.' His pale eyes gleamed with anger. 'This of course meant that I had to waste time fetching a large hammer from my forge and beating down the door. However, that is largely of no consequence now. I have, I believe, found a way to fight the Daroth.'

Duke Albreck swallowed his irritation. 'Would you enlighten us, my dear Ozhobar?'

'Certainly, my lord.' He passed one of the scrolls to the Duke, who opened it. He recognized it instantly.

'These are your plans for a city sewerage system. I recall you brought them to me last year.'

'Indeed I did. After examining them you passed them on to the City Council for perusal. From there, it seems they were sent to a treasury team, then to the councillors responsible for public works. Lastly they were lodged in a small room at the rear of the Library, perhaps waiting for future generations to study them. It took me a long time to locate them, but here they are.'

'I see the plan,' said Vint dryly. 'We swiftly build a sewer system, and when the Daroth break through they are washed away. I think it is brilliant.'

'Dolt!' said Ozhobar, passing the other scrolls around the table. 'I am talking about the reason why such a sewerage system was feasible in the first place.'

'The catacombs,' said the Duke, unable to keep the excitement from his voice.

'Precisely, my lord. They spread under the city in all directions. I believe the Daroth will break through into one of the natural tunnels below the old barracks building. Now, if they have any sense at all they will not dig any further, but follow the tunnels to any one of seventeen exits within the city itself.'

'And that is a help?' sneered Vint, his face pale and angry.

'Perhaps if I speak more slowly your simple mind might be able to keep up,' said Ozhobar.

Vint fought for control. 'Be careful, fat man. Your life hangs on a thread.'

'Somewhat similar to your brain, then,' observed Ozhobar. Vint lurched to his feet at the insult.

'That is enough! Both of you!' said the Duke, without raising his voice. 'What is your plan, Ozhobar?'

'I don't make war plans. I leave that to Karis. But there are many chambers in the catacombs. I have walked them, and I know.'

Karis looked up. 'Before I speak it is vital for Vint and Forin to leave the room.'

'Why?' asked Forin.

'Because both of you will be fighting the Daroth, face to face. Ask no more questions. The answers should be obvious.'

'Indeed they are, Karis,' said Vint. The warrior swung to Ozhobar, and when he spoke his voice was flat and cold. 'You have nerve, fat man; I'll give you that. And because of your discovery, I will not kill you for your insolence.'

'Decent of you, I'm sure,' retorted Ozhobar.

The two warriors left the room. Karis rose, and Duke Albreck was delighted to see the glint in her eyes. 'We can lead the Daroth to the exit we prefer,' she said. 'We need a fighting force below ground.

They will attack the Daroth, then retreat before them. The Daroth will follow. If we can maintain a fighting retreat, we can ensure that we have ballistae, crossbow-men and catapults waiting for them above ground. The difficulty will be in preventing the Daroth from recognizing the plan; if our men are retreating towards a set exit, they may well suspect a trap.'

'I see the problem,' said the Duke. 'If our men are told of the plan, the enemy will read their minds. Yet if we don't tell the men which way to retreat, the scheme is doomed anyway.'

'Then what do you propose, Karis?' asked Pooris.

'I don't know yet. But I will, councillor. Be assured of that.'

Necklen poured himself a goblet of wine and sipped it. It was a fine vintage, yet its flavour was lost on the veteran. The stump of his left arm was throbbing, and he felt every inch his fifty-seven years. Normally he avoided mirrors but, fortified by the wine, he sat before the oval mirror set above the dresser and stared gloomily at his reflection. There was not much dark hair left in his almost silver beard, and his leathery skin was criss-crossed with wrinkles. Only the eyes remained alive and alert.

No-one knew exactly how old he was. He had always lied about his age, for few captains would have knowingly hired a mercenary over fifty. I hate being old, he thought. I hate the aches and the pains that come with the winter winds and snow. But most of all he hated the chasm it created between himself and Karis. He could still remember the day four years ago when he discovered - to his utter amazement - that he was in love with her. It was after the victory at the Boriane Pass, when she had wandered away to sit alone by a small waterfall. She was by the waterside, surrounded by daffodils, when he had taken her some food the camp cook had prepared, and was surprised to find her weeping.

'One usually weeps when one has lost a battle,' he said softly, sitting down beside her. Her dark hair had been tightly drawn back into a ponytail. Karis loosed the tie and shook her head. It was in that moment, her hair hanging free, tears in her eyes, that Necklen fell in love for the second time in his life.

Karis wiped her eyes. 'Stupid woman,' she said. 'I thought they would have surrendered. Outnumbered, outflanked, what else could they do? But no, they had to fight to the death. And for what? A little village that will still be there when we have all gone to dust.'

'They were brave men,' he conceded.

'They were fools. We are fools. But then war is a game made for fools.'

'And you play it so well, princess.'

She looked at him sharply. 'I don't think I like that term.'

'I'm sorry,' he had said, reddening. 'I haven't used it in years. It was what I used to call my daughter.' That was a lie; it was the pet name he had called Sofain, his wife.

'Where is she now?' asked Karis.

'Dead. She and my wife were visiting their family in the islands when the boat was caught in a storm. They were washed overboard.'