David Gemmell - Dark Moon

Vint spoke up. 'I know this is a difficult area, Karis, but all the men who were here heard you talk about a rolling retreat. Retreats do not win battles. They know you will have a secondary plan of action; we all know it. Therefore so will the Daroth. It has to involve the exits; you will be planning to ambush them as they come out. Therefore they will probably not follow us.'

'Forgive me, General,' said the Duke, 'but I was thinking the same thing. Once the battle begins, the Daroth can take any number of exits.'

'That is true,' said Karis, 'but firstly the Daroth may not yet know about the catacombs. Secondly, even if they do, they will not be familiar with the layout.'

'Every man here will have seen the map,' said Forin.

'Yes,' agreed Karis, 'but we cannot cover all the eventualities. As you can see, if the Daroth are drawn into the first series of tunnels the number of exits available to them drops to eight. The further we pull them, the fewer their options.'

'At the risk of labouring the point,' said Vint, 'everything you are telling us can be learned by the enemy.'

'That is why I am not telling you everything. Trust me, Vint. We will surprise them. You see, they also will face a difficult dilemma. They know I have misdirected them once before, by planting false information in the mind of one of our scouts. Therefore, in the chaos of battle within the tunnels, they will not be able to trust completely in the thoughts of the men facing them. That will lead to confusion, believe me.'

'I believe you, Karis,' said Vint. 'I just don't want to be used like that poor scout.'

'You are being used in exactly that way,' she told him coldly.

The smell of lantern oil hung heavily in the still air of the catacombs, and the warriors crouched in nervous silence, listening to the steady thudding sound of Daroth hammers and pick-axes coming ever closer. Forin wiped sweat from his face and glanced at Vint, who was standing beside the column of a towering stalagmite. The swordsman's face seemed strained and tense in the yellow, flickering light of the lanterns.

Some way to his left Tarantio was sitting on a jut of rock, head down and arms on his knees. Forin took a deep, calming breath and walked back among the kneeling crossbow-men. No-one spoke, and the sheen of fear-sweat was bright on every face.

For the second time in an hour Forin strode forward, crossing the cavern floor all the way to the far wall.

Once there, heart pounding, he placed his hand on the rock. This time he could feel the vibration of the Daroth hammers tingling against his palm.

Tarantio looked up as the giant returned, lantern light gleaming on the polished iron breastplate. 'Soon,' whispered Forin.

Where are you, Dace?

There was no response. Tarantio was trembling and terror was growing within him. A splintering thud, louder than before, caused him to jerk as if stung. Rising to his feet, he found his legs unsteady and was filled with an urge to run from this dark, shadow-haunted place. Even as the thought came to him, a young crossbow-man to the rear dropped his weapon and scrambled back along the paint- marked tunnel.

Other men stirred and Forin moved amongst them, patting a shoulder here, pausing to whisper encouragement there, his colossal presence calming them. He gave the signal to cock the weapons.

Tarantio's mouth was dry, and he thought of Miriac waiting for him back at the house, the bright sunshine streaming through the open windows. If the Daroth were to break through here ... The thought was too awful to entertain.

The edge of a pick-axe smashed through the black rock. The crossbow-men set up their tripods, resting their heavy weapons upon them, aiming at the wall. Vint and Tarantio moved back away from the killing area. Tarantio drew his sword, which shimmered in the lantern light.

A large section of rock fell away - then another, crashing to the cavern floor. A huge Daroth engineer stepped into sight. Three crossbow bolts smashed through his skull and he pitched to the ground.

Frenzied activity began in the tunnel, picks and hammers crashing at the last barriers. The hole widened and the Daroth swarmed through, their faces ghostly white, their massive forms throwing giant shadows on the walls.

Crossbow bolts tore into them, and they charged. Tarantio darted from behind a stalagmite and sent a slashing cut through the ribs of the first Daroth warrior. Ducking under a thrusting sword-blade, he speared his own weapon through the belly of a second. On the other side of the cavern Vint lanced his sword into the chest of a Daroth warrior, then spun on his heel to send a reverse cut across the throat of a second. Behind them the crossbow-men were retreating to the second line of defence.

Vint leapt back, then turned on his heel and ran for cover, keeping close to the right-hand wall. A hurled spear smashed into a stalagmite, sending shards of stone into his face and neck. Ahead was a line of sandbags, with crossbow-men kneeling behind them. As Vint leapt over them, then spun to face the enemy, he saw Tarantio running along the far side of the cavern, scrambling to safety.

The mass of Daroth surged forward. The crossbows sang, and fifty bolts slammed into the leading warriors.

The Corduin soldiers struggled in vain to reload - a few succeeded - but the Daroth were upon them, serrated swords smashing through armour, flesh and bone. Vint leaped forward, cutting and killing. 'Back!' he shouted. The defenceless crossbow-men needed no instructions; they fled along the tunnel. Vint followed them, Tarantio to his right.

There was no sound of pursuit. Spinning, the two men looked back. The Daroth were standing by the sandbag wall, then they filed away to the right. Vint swore.

Karis's plan was not working.

Alone in the dark Ozhobar listened to the distant sounds of battle, the screams of wounded men, the clash of steel, the hissing song of crossbow strings. Appalling sounds, he thought.

Evil.

Ozhobar was not a religious man. He had prayed only once in his life. It had not been answered, and he had buried the ones he loved, the plague continuing to sweep through the islands causing misery and desolation to those left behind. But one did not need to be religious to understand the nature of evil. The plague had an evil effect, but was merely a perversion of nature; it was not sentient. The Daroth, on the other hand, Ozhobar believed to be evil incarnate. They knew what they were doing, the pain they caused and the despair they created. Worse, they had fostered hatred in their enemies that would last for generations. And hatred was the mother of all evil.

'You will not make me hate you,' thought Ozhobar. 'But I will kill you!'

The sounds of fighting died away. Ozhobar lifted the glass from his lantern, exposing the naked flame, then rose and glanced down the sloping tunnel. He could see no movement, so he closed his eyes and listened. At first there was nothing, then he heard the sound of boots upon stone. The mouth of the tunnel was over 100 feet from where he now stood. Lifting the lantern, he moved behind the huge pottery ball and lit the oil-soaked rags wedged into the holes.

Ahead he could see flickering shadows as the Daroth moved up the slope.

Ozhobar sat down with his back to the wall, placed his boots against the burning ball and thrust hard.

It began to roll, slowly at first on the gentle slope; then it gathered pace. The Daroth came into sight.

Ozhobar took up his crossbow and aimed it, sending an iron bolt into the ball, shattering a section of the pottery. Blazing oil spilled out, and flames erupted through the Daroth ranks.

Not waiting to see the result Ozhobar scrambled back, replaced the glass on the lantern and then climbed further up the slope, traversing a ledge that brought him out high above the cavern floor. He could clearly see the stream of burning oil flowing out of the tunnel. A flash of bright light came from the far side, and he saw Daroth warriors fleeing from the mouth of a second tunnel. Two of them were engulfed in flames, their comrades staying well back.