‘It is fine,’ said Tarantio, reaching into his pouch and producing his last gold coin. He flipped it to Ceofrin and the tavern-keeper hefted the coin. ‘This will leave you with nineteen silvers,’ he said. ‘I will have a servant bring the remainder to you.’
‘Is there a bath here?’ asked Tarantio.
‘Aye. I’ll get the water heated – it will take around half
an hour. It’s on the ground floor – the door behind where the harpist is practising.’
As Ceofrin left the room Brune walked to the first of the beds and sat down. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘wasn’t she beautiful?’
Tarantio dropped his saddlebags by the far wall. ‘A vision,’ he agreed. ‘Shame about the leg.’
‘Did I seem very stupid to her, do you think?’
‘A man who suddenly can’t remember his own name is very rarely considered a genius,’ said Tarantio. ‘But I think she was pleased by your reaction to her beauty.’
‘You really think so?’
Tarantio did not reply. Shucking off his coat and tugging off his boots, he lay down on the second bed.
Brune lay back, picturing Shira’s smile. Life was suddenly full of sunlight.
One hundred and twelve miles north-east, above the flanks of the highest mountain of the Great Northern Desert, a black vulture banked on the thermals, gliding towards the south, its keen eyes scanning the desert for signs of movement. It banked again, this time towards the west. The vulture did not hear the low, rumbling sounds from the peak of the mountain, but it saw boulders shiver and tremble. One huge stone rolled clear, bouncing down the red slope, dislodging hundreds of smaller stones and sending up a cloud of crimson dust. The vulture dipped its wings and flew closer.
A fissure opened, and the bird saw a small, dark object exposed to the light.
It was the last sight the vulture would ever experience. . .
A fierce wave of freezing air erupted from the mountain-top, striking the bird and ripping away its feathers. Dead in an instant, the vulture fell from the sky.
On the mountain-top a black pearl shimmered in the sunlight. The spell holding it wavered and shrank, then fell away like a broken chain.
In the warmth of the sun the black pearl swelled to the size of a large boulder. Blue flames crackled around it, hugging to the surface, flaring into lightning bolts that blazed in every direction.
Sixty miles away a young shepherd boy, named Goran, watched the display from the green hills south of the desert. He had seen dry storms before, but never one such as this. The sky was not dark but brilliantly blue and clear, and the lightning seemed to be radiating from a mountain-top like a spiked crown of blue-white light. He climbed to a high vantage point and sat down. As far as the eye could see, the dead stone of the desert filled his vision.
The lightning continued for some time, without thunder or rain. The boy became bored with the lights, and was about to descend to his flock of sheep when a dark cloud rose up from the distant mountain. From here the cloud looked no larger than a man’s head but, considering the distance, Goran guessed it to be colossal. He wished his father were here to see it, and perhaps explain the phenomenon. As the cloud continued to rise, swelling and growing, filling the sky, Goran realized that it could not possibly be a cloud. It was perfectly round, the perimeter sharp and clearly defined. Like the moon. Like a black moon – only twenty times the size.
No-one back at the village was going to believe this, and Goran could feel his irritation rising. If he told them they would laugh at him. Yet, if he said nothing, he might never learn the reason for the phenomenon. He was only thirteen. Perhaps colossal black moons had been seen before in the desert. How could he find out without risking derision?
These thoughts vanished as the black moon suddenly fell from the sky, striking the point of the seemingly tiny mountain peak like a boulder crushing an anthill. But the black moon did not crush the mountain. Instead it burst upon the stone.