David Gemmell - Dark Moon

'You are doomed!' They rushed him then, but twin blasts of fire speared from his fingers, piercing their bodies and burning huge holes in the wall of the building behind them. Duvodas walked to the great doors and pushed them open. Within was a circular hall, and a vast empty table. Pulling shut the door he searched for a stairwell, finding it at the rear of the chamber. Behind him he could hear the city-dwellers running from their homes, a huge mob racing to stop him.

He did not increase his speed. Opening his thoughts, he reached out, feeling the panic in the minds of the Daroth. 'I am vengeance,' he told them. 'I am death.' The steps were shallow, and wound down deep below the city; there were no lanterns here, and the darkness was total. But Duvodas raised his hand, and his palm began to glow with a fierce white light. Down and down he moved, descending to a wide corridor and a second stairwell. The heat here was intense. Pausing, he knelt and touched the floor. The stone was warm, and he could feel hot air blowing against his skin. His glowing hand illuminated an air vent close to the wall.

Ahead was a wide entrance in the rock, blocked by a huge steel portcullis. Duvodas reached out and touched it and it began to glow - faintly red at first, then brighter and brighter. The centre sagged and melted away, smoke and steam hissing up from the floor as rivulets of molten metal swirled around his feet. He was about to enter the cavern beyond when he heard the sounds of booted feet upon the stairs behind him. Spinning, he threw out his hand.

The first two Daroth warriors ran into sight; both burst into flames.

The pulsing of new life was almost overpowering now as Duvodas strode into the massive chamber.

More than 600 paces long, and at least 200 wide, it was filled with thousands of yellow and black pods - huge cocoons, many of them throbbing and writhing.

The Daroth were indeed immortal. Twice in every generation they were reborn through these pods.

And that, as Sirano had known, was their greatest weakness. That is why they feared coexistence - for should an enemy ever reach where he had reached, their immortality would be lost. A human had but one life to lose, and that was hard enough. But to lose eternity . . . ? The fear was colossal.

He could feel it now in the panic of the Daroth as they surged down the stairwell behind him.

Several of the pods burst open and small, naked Daroth wriggled free. He felt the pulsing of their thoughts; two were the sentries he had despatched earlier. 'Tell me again of your immortality,' he pulsed at them.

Drawing in a deep breath, Duvodas spread out his arms. The temperature around him plummeted, ice forming intricate patterns on the walls - spreading, flowing, bright and white against the black rock.

The heat from the vents caused sleet to swirl, settling on the pods and frosting them with death.

The ice cold power of Duvo's hatred swelled out, and the nearest pods shrivelled and cracked. The three Daroth young who had emerged began to scream and writhe upon the ice-covered floor.

Duvodas began to walk the length of the immense cavern, radiating the bleakness of a savage winter with every step. Yellow-black pods cracked and burst all around him, disgorging their infant contents. The cavern echoed to their high-pitched, dying screams.

Hundreds of full-grown Daroth warriors ran into the chamber behind him. One charged at Duvodas but, as he neared, ice forming all around him, he began to slow. Desperate to save the pods, the warrior pushed on until his blood froze and he fell dead to the floor. Others hurled spears, but upon striking the walking man they shattered as if made of glass.

Within the chamber and throughout the city, thousands of Daroth adults began to scream and die, their bodies shrivelling as the symbiotic link between them and their pods was severed.

And Duvodas walked on.

A glistening column of white light opened out before him, and he saw the golden figure of the Oltor Prime, his hand outstretched.

The Daroth Duke dropped his sword and a strange high-pitched scream was torn from his throat. Karis stood stunned as the huge warrior suddenly crumpled. All around her Daroth warriors were dying, their inhuman wailing filling the air. Others merely stood, swords and spears dropping from their hands as they knelt beside the shrivelling corpses.

Forgotten, Karis moved back to the ballistae. 'Do we shoot now?' asked Necklen.

'No,' said Karis. 'We wait.'

The old man cast her a quizzical look. 'We can finish them, Karis.'

'I'm sick of killing,' she told him. 'Sickened to the depths of my soul. If they pick up their swords we will attack them, but something is happening here and we may yet end the slaughter.'

The bodies began to putrefy at an alarming rate, and the stench was overpowering. Duke Albreck moved through to stand beside Karis. 'Did you do this?' he asked.

She shook her head. 'They talk of immortality - but I think they have just experienced genuine death. I don't know how.'

The kneeling Daroth suddenly rose. Not one of them reached for a weapon, but one of the ballistae engineers panicked and struck his release bolt. Iron shot tore into the enemy ranks, smashing a score of warriors from their feet. Thinking an order had been given, three of the other ballistae were loosed, and the crossbow-men added to the carnage.

The Daroth did nothing. They merely stood and they died. Horrified, Karis shouted for the killing to stop, but blood-lust and hatred were high now and the crossbow-men continued to shoot. She saw the ballistae arms being drawn back once more.

Running out across the killing ground with her arms held high, Karis continued to shout: 'It is over! Stop shooting!'

Black bolts slashed the air around her, and Necklen scrambled from behind the ballistae, running towards her. Forin too dashed across the open ground, trying to reach her. Panic welled in him. 'Karis!' he yelled.

'Get down!' He even saw the bolt flying towards her. For a moment only he thought he could hurl his body across its deadly line, but it flashed by him to plunge into her back.

Karis staggered, but did not fall at first. Slowly she sank to her knees, blood soaking through the white dress. The crossbow-man dropped his weapon and put his face in his hands. Only then did the killing stop, as the Corduin army gazed in stunned disbelief at the kneeling figure of the dying Ice Queen.

Forin reached her side, dropping to his knees where she lay only yards from the surviving Daroth. He put his arms around her, holding her close. 'Sweet Heaven, don't die on me, Karis! Don't die!'

The Duke, Vint, and Necklen joined them. Karis felt no pain as her head sagged against Forin's shoulder.

He kissed her brow. 'Where is the surgeon?' he shouted.

'Calm yourself,' she whispered. There was no tension in her now, no fear. The killing was over, and she felt strangely at peace. Looking up, she saw that fewer than fifty Daroth were still standing. 'Who is the leader now?' she asked, directing her question at the nearest warrior.

The Daroth's white face turned towards her. 'You will now destroy us,' he said. 'The Daroth will be no more.'

'We do not . . . want to destroy you,' Karis told him. Gentle heat grew inside her head, and she sensed that all the Daroth were now mind-linked to her. 'What we desire ... is an end to war.'

'There can be no end,' said the Daroth. It seemed to Karis that a wealth of sorrow was hidden in those words and then, as if a door had been opened, she was allowed to share the emotions of the Daroth, their anguish at the death of their kindred and their fears for the future.

She could scarcely feel Forin's arms around her now, and she was almost overcome by a need to let go, to fly free. Struggling to hold on she whispered to the Daroth: 'Come closer.' Clumsily the Daroth knelt before her. 'Take my hand,' she said, and his thick fingers reached out to curl around Karis's slender palm. 'There can be no ... end without... a beginning. You understand?'