Authors: David Gemmell
‘When we get back, if you will take my advice, you should go to the tavern where the incident took place and learn for yourself the truth of the matter. It would be folly to fight Tarantio for the wrong reason.’
‘I shall do as you say.’
Four days later the farmer, Barin, was led into the library rooms of the Duke’s private quarters. Karis and Vint were already seated there, as was the councillor Pooris. Barin had seen the Duke once before, leading a parade through Corduin, but never had he been this close to royalty. Albreck was an imposing man, with shrewd deep-set eyes and a hawk beak of a nose. Barin made a clumsy bow. ‘Be at your ease, man,’ said Albreck. The Duke turned to a servant standing beside him. ‘Bring him a goblet of wine.’
The servant did so and Barin stood staring at the goblet, which was fashioned from silver and inset with grey moonstones. Gold wire had been set into the silver in an elaborate swirl, making the letter
A
. The goblet, Barin realized, was worth more than he could earn in a year from his fields. He sipped the wine, and his spirits were lifted by the fact that it was thin and a little sour. Old Eris made better wine back in the village!
‘Now,’ said the Duke, ‘tell us all you can of the Daroth. It is of vital importance.’
‘I hardly know where to begin, sire. You already know they are powerful beyond belief.’
‘How do they live, how are they governed?’ asked the Duke.
‘It is hard to say. They can communicate with each other without speech over large distances. As I understand it, their decisions are made communally. Instantly.’
‘Would you describe them as evil?’
‘Indeed I would, sire, for they do not understand the concept of evil – and in that alone they are terrifying. In the time I was with them, they killed and ate scores of young men and women. They cooked them over charcoal pits, first smothering them in clay. Most were alive when the cooking began. I will never forget the scenes; they are branded into my memory. They asked me why I did not eat. I told them that for us cannibalism was a vile practice. They did not – or would not – understand.’
‘Do they have religious beliefs?’ asked Pooris.
‘They have no need of such, being virtually immortal. They live for only ten years, and twice in that time they create pods – giant eggs – in which they are reborn.’
‘What do you mean, reborn?’ queried the Duke.
‘As I understand it, sire, when the young Daroth are … hatched, they lie still, as if dead. The father, if you like, then moves to the … infant and a joining takes place. The old body withers and dies, the young body grows to full manhood in a matter of moments. All that is left is the empty pod and the withered husk of the former Daroth. This cycle happens twice in every Daroth lifetime: once for the father, once for the mother. And they go on … and on.’
‘They told you all this?’ put in Karis.
‘No. They drained my mind of all knowledge, but in doing so I could read theirs. I saw it, if you will.’
‘One aspect troubles me,’ said Pooris suddenly. ‘If the Daroth only breed to replace father and mother, how then does their population grow?’
‘There is a special season, once every fifty years,’ explained Barin. ‘I cannot translate their name for it, but my own would be the Time of Migration. At this time the Daroth become hyper-fertile, if you will, and the pods can contain two or sometimes three infants. This last happened – in their time scale – four years ago; it led to the building of the city you call Daroth One. That is why the land around the city is so fertile. It has not yet had its heart ripped out.’
Vint drew up a chair for Barin. ‘Sit you down, man. You look exhausted.’
Barin did so. ‘Aye, sir, I am tired beyond belief.’
‘You say they have no concept of evil. What did you mean by this?’ asked Albreck.
Barin tried to gather his thoughts. ‘I can answer it only as a farmer, lord. When the blowfly attacks a sheep it will kill it horribly, laying its eggs inside the living sheep. But the blowfly is not evil; it merely wishes to extend its life. The Daroth are like that, with the exception that they know the havoc they cause to other species. But they do not care. They do not love the land. They live only to live again. No music, no culture. They are parasites, their cities ugly and temporary. When they exhaust the land of all nourishment they merely move their cities to fresh ground. They are makers of deserts.’
‘What of friendship, camaraderie?’ asked Karis. ‘Do they have legends of heroes?’
‘No legends, lady, for they have lived for ever. They love to fight. Without an external enemy, they fight amongst themselves. But if one is slain his body is taken to the pod, and left there until the new body is born.’ Barin talked for more than an hour, telling them of the Oltor and of their total destruction. ‘They hunted the last of them through a mighty forest. I saw the Daroth slaughter them. The Oltor were a peaceful people, tall and slender, their skin golden. They had no weapons. And they were all exterminated.’
‘We are not Oltor, and we do have weapons,’ said Karis.
‘They will not be stopped, my lady,’ said Barin sadly. ‘In the far distant past, when they warred upon one another, they created engines of great destruction. Giant catapults that could smash down the walls of a castle, battering-rams to breach any gate. With one blow they can cut a man in half. They are deadly beyond our imagining.’
‘Yet we killed them when they came after us,’ Karis reminded him.
‘You will not hold Corduin, my lady.’
‘Let us talk of weaknesses,’ said the Duke sternly. ‘What do they fear?’
‘Deep water, my lord. They are too heavy to swim, and they abhor boats. Also, perhaps because of their great weight, they do not function well at high altitudes where the air is thin. Lastly, there is the cold. They need heat; in winter they become lethargic and slow.’
The evening wore on until at last Duke Albreck rose and approached Barin. ‘You have done well, farmer,’ he said, tossing a pouch of gold coins which Barin caught. ‘You are welcome to stay in the palace until you can find a new home.’
‘Thank you, lord,’ said Barin, rising. ‘But, by your leave, I shall take my son to Loretheli and travel to the islands.’
‘As you will. Though I understand it will be safe here until the spring.’
‘Not so, my lord. A Daroth army of more than five thousand was sent out two days before the Lady Karis arrived. I do not know their destination.’
‘If it had been Corduin, we would know by now,’ said Karis.
Albreck walked to the far wall and stared at the ancient map hanging there. ‘There can be only one destination,’ he said, stabbing his finger towards the map. ‘The Lord Sirano is, I fear, about to reap the harvest of his ambitions.’ Dismissing the others, he bade Karis stay. That she was a superb leader of men he already knew; that she was a whore was meaningless to him. Men who had a hundred lovers were admired. Albreck could see no reason why the situation should be so different with a woman. What worried him was something far more serious.
She was still dressed in her travel-stained clothes and he bade her sit opposite him. She was a striking woman, he thought, with a leanness that ought to have made her appear masculine, yet somehow emphasized her femininity. ‘I shall have my tailor attend you,’ he said.
Karis laughed. ‘I am not looking at my best, my lord,’ she admitted.
‘I shall speak frankly. I am considering asking you to conduct the defence of Corduin. Yet I am troubled.’
‘I am more suited to moving campaigns,’ she said. ‘But I do have experience of sieges.’
‘That is not what troubles me, Karis. I do not doubt your talents; I doubt your temperament.’
‘You are a plain speaker, my lord. How does my temperament offend you?’
‘It does not offend me. I am not easily offended. I had an elder brother – did you know that?’ Karis shook her head. ‘He was a fine man, but he loved danger. When we were children he once climbed to the palace roof, and ran along the top of the parapet. My father was furious, and asked him why he had done it. Did he not realize that one slip, one gust of wind, and his life would have ended? You know what he said, don’t you?’
‘Yes, he told him that was why he did it.’
‘Exactly. The moment of madness, the exultation that comes with spitting in the eye of death.’
‘This is something you have experienced, my lord?’ she asked him, surprised.
‘No. Never. But that is what my brother told me. Two months before my father died my brother travelled with some friends into the high country where there was a mountain which no man had ever climbed. My brother climbed it; he was killed in a rock slide on the way down. There was no need to climb that mountain; it achieved nothing. And he died.’
‘And you think I am like your brother?’
‘I know that you are, Karis. You live your strange life on the edge of an abyss. Perhaps you are a little in love with death. But my city is in peril. To defend it will require dedication, constancy and skill.’
Karis was silent for a moment, remembering first the time when she stood naked on the crumbling balcony in Morgallis, and then the issuing of the challenge to the Daroth leader. She looked in the Duke’s hooded eyes. ‘You can rely on me, my lord. I know that what you say of me is true. I do, perhaps, love death, and I am at my most content when standing upon the edge of the abyss.’ She laughed. ‘Therefore, where else would I choose to be than Corduin? The abyss is coming – black and terrifying. In the spring it will be just outside the walls.’
When Karis had fled the city, Giriak had experienced two emotions. The first had been disappointment, for in his own way he had loved the warrior woman. Unlike any lover he had known Karis fired his blood, and his feelings for her were rooted deep. The second emotion, however, had been joy, for Sirano had given him command of her lancers. Giriak had always known he was as good a leader as she. Most of her victories, he believed, had been achieved due to his part in them. This was what made the current situation so galling, for since she had gone he had led two raids on the south, both of which had gone disastrously wrong. They would, he knew with absolute certainty, have failed even if Karis had been the commander. He was sure of that, even if his men were not.
The one quality, it seemed to Giriak, that Karis had enjoyed above all others was luck. That was the only difference; he told himself this time and again, as if the constant repetition would make it true. All his life he had been cursed by bad luck. At an early age he had discovered a talent for running and he had trained hard under the watchful eye of his father, the village blacksmith. But another boy had beaten him in the Shire Finals after Giriak had stepped into a rabbit hole and twisted his ankle. Dark and handsome he had even lost out in love. Gealla had been all that he had wanted; he had courted her, and won her heart. But one of his so-called friends had told her of his illicit liaison with another village girl, and she had spurned him and married another. Even as a soldier Giriak had been overlooked – except by Karis. She had promoted him to be her second in command and here he had excelled, despite her occasional meddling in his decisions.
Giriak stepped down from the saddle and tethered the gelding. Then he climbed the rampart steps of the north wall, where the veteran Necklen was supervising repairs. The Lord Sirano – thank the Gods – had ceased using his magic on the Eldarin Pearl, and the minor earthquakes no longer struck the city. Not that it mattered much, thought Giriak. Morgallis was pretty much deserted anyway. Of the 85,000 people who had inhabited the city four months ago, now only around 5,000 remained. The rest had fled south to Prentuis where, according to rumour, they were housed outside the city in a huge camp of canvas tents.
All across Morgallis, taverns and shops were closed and boarded up.
‘Almost there, Captain,’ said Necklen, wiping sweat from his thin face and grey beard. ‘The gap is filled, but the whole wall is riddled with cracks.’
‘There is no force to assail the city,’ said Giriak, gazing down at the work party, ferrying rubble and mortar to the wall. ‘But Sirano wants the repairs done anyway.’
‘We should be moving on,’ said Necklen, keeping his voice low. ‘This is like a city of ghosts. The men are getting anxious. Most of the whores have gone, and that takes all the fun out of a city.’
‘We’re still being paid,’ Giriak pointed out.
‘That’s true, but it doesn’t matter a damn if there’s nothing to spend it on. Some of the lads are talking of desertion.’
‘Which ones?’
Necklen gave a wry smile. ‘Now, now, Captain, you know I’m no whisperer. I’m just alerting you to the prospect. They think Karis may have made it to Prentuis. They liked her, they want to serve her again.’
Giriak sat down on the battlements. ‘I am as good as she. You know that, don’t you?’
‘You are a good man, Captain. Brave, loyal, steadfast.’
‘Why does that sound like an insult?’ asked Giriak, surprised at his own lack of anger. Of all the men who served under him, Necklen was the one he trusted most. Soft-spoken and loyal, he was an able lieutenant.
‘It wasn’t meant to be,’ said Necklen. ‘She is special, you know – got the mind for it. She could smell trouble when it was just a tiny seed. Put a halt to it before any knew there was a problem. That’s why she made it all look so smooth. You and she were a wonderful team. But face it, Captain, it is not so wonderful without her.’
Giriak sighed. ‘If any other man but you said those words, I would kill him.’
‘The truth always has a bitter taste,’ observed Necklen. ‘I was there when she first learned to command. A group of us had been assigned to reinforce a garrison town. Soon after we arrived it was besieged. That was when Beckel was in command. He was all right, but he had one big problem; he was too intelligent.’
‘How could that be a problem?’ Giriak asked.
‘Oh, it is a killer, Captain. Believe me. A man needs to know his limitations and that requires a certain humility. Beckel could multiply numbers in his head, recite ancient writings from memory, and knew every strategy ever used. But he couldn’t lift them out of context. No imagination, you see. And that’s what wins battles and wars. Imagination.’