‘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.