Gemmell, David – Dark Moon

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.’

‘I am truly sorry, Necklen. Did you love them very much?’

‘It is curious, but I loved them more when they had died. You don’t know how valuable love is, until something takes it from you.’

‘How old was your daughter?’

‘Five. Dark-haired like you. She would have been about your age now – young, and full of life. Married, probably, to some farmer.’

‘And you would have been a doting grandfather with babies on your knee.’ He chuckled at the thought. ‘I need to swim,’ she said. Rising, she had stripped off her boots, leggings and tunic and dived into the pool below the falls. Necklen had rarely felt as old as he did at that moment.

He was dragged from his reverie by the sound of the door opening. Karis moved across the room and sat down opposite the old warrior. He forced a cheerfulness he did not feel. ‘You are looking brighter, princess,’ he said. ‘What can have changed your mood?’

‘One more tactic against the Daroth,’ she said. ‘The last one.’ She told him about the catacombs, and her plans for a rolling retreat to draw the enemy to a desired location.

‘But if there are seventeen exits, the Daroth might split their force and not follow our men. Or they might read their minds and realize the trap.’

‘Exactly! That is what we must work out. How do we misdirect the Daroth?’

‘Well, firstly, is there a need? In the darkness of the catacombs, amidst the chaos of a rolling retreat, the Daroth may not be able to read minds.’

She shook her head. ‘We cannot rely on that.’ Moving to the table she spread out a map of the catacombs. ‘Six of the exits emerge into the Great Park. Only one of these is surrounded by flat land where we could assemble all our ballistae, spreading them in a half circle around the exit. Then, when the Daroth emerge we can cut them to pieces.’

‘There is a second problem there, princess: they will not emerge all at once. Let’s say twenty scramble out, then charge the ballistae. We shoot, they fall, then fifty more emerge while we are reloading. We will also need a plan that allows the greatest number of Daroth to rise from the darkness – before we shoot.’

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