David Gemmell - Dark Moon

'Let someone else do it. I'll stand beside you.'

'No! If you cannot do your duty, then get you gone and I'll find a man who can.' The sharpness in her tone stung him, and he swung away from her. She called to him instantly, her tone contrite. 'I love you, old man. Don't let me down.' He couldn't speak, but he nodded and walked back to his ballista, checking the load and the release pin. Then he took up his hammer.

The Duke approached Necklen. 'What is she doing?' he asked.

'Getting ready to die,' whispered the old man.

'What do you mean?'

'She is going to talk to them, forcing them to mill around her. She'll ask for peace. If they say no - which they will - she will raise her hand. When she drops it, the killing begins.'

The Duke said nothing, staring at the woman in the white dress standing in the moonlight. She looked so frail now, ghostlike and serene. He shivered.

A soldier at the catacomb entrance called out: 'I can hear them. I can hear the screams.'

Karis strode forward. 'Get back to your position,' she told the soldier. Gratefully the young man ran back to the wagons, climbing to the back of one and retrieving his crossbow. Karis stood some thirty feet from the white stone of the entrance and waited, longing to see Forin emerge unscathed. A few crossbow-men made it into the torchlight, and stood blinking; their friends called to them and they sprinted for cover. Then Vint appeared, blood on his face and arms. He ran to Karis, but she ordered him back. 'The Daroth are right behind. You must take cover,' he said.

'Get back. Now!'

He hesitated, then ran to where Necklen stood, his face pale, his eyes haunted.

Forin came last, his armour once more dented and split, a deep gash upon his brow masking his face with blood. He stumbled towards Karis and grabbed her arm, dragging her back. Her hand lashed across his face, the sound like a whiplash. 'Let go of me, you stupid ox!' His hand fell away and he stood staring at her. 'Get back now!'

'They are upon us.' He reached for her again.

Spinning on her heel she pointed to a crossbow-man. 'You! Aim at this man's heart, and if he isn't moving when I drop my arm - kill him!' She raised her hand. 'Now move, goat-brain!' she thundered. Furious, Forin stalked back towards the wagons.

Karis let out her breath. She wanted to call out to Forin, to explain. But there was no time. The first of the Daroth moved out into the torchlight, which glistened on his ghost-white face and beaked mouth. 'No one shoot!' yelled Karis. 'Where is your leader, Daroth?' she asked. Heat began to grow inside her head.

'It is time to end this war. It is time to end this war! It is time to end this war!' She repeated the thought over and over, like a prayer. 'I wish to speak to your leader,' she said, aloud. More and more Daroth were moving out of the entrance now, spreading out, staring at the ballistae and the crossbow-men, their jet-black eyes unreadable. A warrior taller than the others stepped through the mass. 'I am the Daroth Duke,' he said. 'I remember you, woman. Say what you have to say, and then I shall kill you.'

'And what purpose will that serve?' she asked him. 'In the few months since we have learned of your threat, we have already designed weapons that can destroy you in great numbers. We are an inventive people, and we outnumber you vastly. Look around you now. How many more of your people must die in this insane manner?'

'We do not die, woman. You cannot kill us. We are Daroth. We are immortal. And I tire of this conversation. You have gained time, and you will now destroy more of our bodies. Then we will sack the city and kill everyone in it. So give your order - and let it begin.'

'That is not what I wish, my lord,' she told him.

'Your wishes are of no consequence.' His sword came up and Karis raised her arm.

Duvodas had not eaten or slept for five days, yet there was no sensation of hunger or weariness. Nor did he feel the biting wind from the north, nor the heat of the midday sun as he crossed the mountains and descended into the verdant valleys below.

There was no sensation for him, and his mind was empty of all emotion - save one: the burning need to wreak revenge upon the Daroth. His clothes were filthy and mud-spattered, his blond hair greasy and lank as he moved through the darkness towards the domed city. No Daroth riders were in sight as he walked in the moonlight, and he made no attempt to move stealthily.

For two days now he had been aware that the land below his feet was devoid of magic. It did not matter, for sorcery, dark and terrible, coursed through his veins - feeding him, driving him on. The power within did not lessen; instead it seemed to grow with every step he took towards the city.

There were no walls. The Daroth, in their arrogance, did not believe that an enemy would come this close.

Had there been walls, Duvodas would have broken them. Had there been gates, he would have torn them asunder. He paused for the first time in five days and stood, staring at the moonlit city. An owl swooped above him, and a small fox scuttled away into the undergrowth to his right.

Sitting down on the ground, he let fall the two shoulder-bags he carried. The canvas sack slid several feet down the gentle slope and the Eldarin Pearl rolled clear, moonlight shimmering on its surface. Duvodas blinked, and a tiny needle of regret pricked his soul. He remembered Ranaloth warning him of the perils of love, and he knew now what the old Eldarin had meant. Like light and shadow, love and hate were inseparable. One could not exist without the other. Rising he gathered the sack and reached for the Pearl. But as his hand touched the milky surface, he recoiled in pain and stared at his palm. Blisters had formed there, the skin burnt by the contact. Carefully covering the orb with the sack, he eased it back into place.

'What have you become that you cannot touch it?' he asked himself.

The answer was all too obvious. Duvodas returned his stare to the city, and thought again of his plan. It seemed awesome now in its evil. Shira's beautiful face swam before his eyes, and he saw her once more lifted on the Daroth spear, the life torn from her. His resolution hardened.

'You who bring death and despair to the world deserve no mercy,' he told the distant city. 'You who live for destruction and pain deserve no life.'

By what right do you judge them?

The thought sprang unbidden, as if whispered on the wind.

'By the right of power, and the needs of vengeance,' he answered.

Does that not make you as evil as the Daroth?

'Indeed it does.'

Looping his bags over his shoulder, he walked on. There were no sentries, and he passed the first buildings without incident.

Then a Daroth moved into sight, carrying two buckets on a yoke across his shoulders. His black eyes fastened on the human. Duvodas pointed a finger and the Daroth died, his body crumbling to the ground with steam erupting from his eyes, ears and mouth. Duvodas did not even see him fall. On he walked through the night-shrouded city, searching for signs of his intended destination. Three times more he slew unsuspecting Daroth who stumbled across him. He had expected more of them to be on the streets, but the night was cold and the vast majority of the city-dwellers remained snug in their domed homes.

Duvodas saw twin towers in the distance, smoke drifting from them, and steadily he made his way towards them. Closer now, and he could feel the pulsing of life from the caverns deep in the ground. Ahead was a huge dome, where two sentries stood before the doors. Levelling their spears, they approached him.

He felt their feeble attempts to read his thoughts. This he allowed. 'I have come to destroy you and all your people.'

'Impossible, human. We are immortal!'