Gemmell, David – Dark Moon

Karis had walked away without a backward glance. Find a good man? She had found scores. Some who made love tenderly, whispering words of endearment, and others who had been rough and primal. Never had she considered wedding any of them. Never had she made the mistake of

loving any of them. No, the men who made her stomach tremble she avoided. Sirano had been one.

Tarantio another …

‘You I will never forget,’ she said aloud. She had first seen him swimming in a lake with twenty or so soldiers. It had been a long, dry, dusty march, and when they camped by the lake the men threw off their armour and clothes and ran into the water, splashing each other like children. Karis had dismounted and sat at the lakeside watching them whoop and dive and laugh. But one slim young man did not join in the revelry. He swam away from the group, then walked naked into the undergrowth, emerging moments later with handfuls of lemon mint which he rubbed across his skin. His face and arms were tanned gold, but his chest and legs were white. He was lean, and beautifully muscled, the dark hair on his chest tapering down to a fine line pointing like an arrow to his loins.

‘I will have you,’ Karis had decided. She had called him over, and he waded to where she sat.

‘What is your name, soldier?’

‘I am Tarantio.’

‘My captain spoke of you.’ His eyes were a deep, dark blue, his hair thick and tightly curled. ‘He said you were a ferocious fighter. With a thousand like you, he says he could conquer the world.’

He had smiled then and turned from her to swim away. The smile had been dazzling, and in that moment Karis knew she would never take him to her bed.

Warain pulled up now, his ears pricked and his nostrils flaring. Karis looked around, but could see nothing untoward. But she trusted Warain. Angling to the right through the trees she came to a rise and looked down upon the green plain. In the distance four riders

were heading towards the hills where she waited. They were being pursued by a score of warriors wearing huge white helms. Karis shaded her eyes.

Below her, hidden in a gully, was another group. These were closer, and she saw the reality – not helms at all, but heads of stark white bone. They were armed with serrated swords, and the fleeing riders were heading straight for them.

Karis pulled her bow clear, strung it, and notched an arrow. Then she heeled Warain into a run down the slope.

The pounding of the gelding’s hooves alerted the warri­ors below and they swung as she thundered towards them. Her arrow slammed into a white neck, then Warain leapt the gully and galloped on towards the riders. Karis pointed to the hills. ‘You are in a trap!’ she shouted. ‘Follow me!’ Swinging Warain, she rode hard for the high ground. The riders turned after her, and together they made the long, slow climb.

The pursuing enemy angled up the slope to cut off the escape. Heat flared inside Karis’s head, and she felt the onset of a terrible fear. The horses were affected also, and Warain almost stumbled. The grey gelding righted himself, but he slowed almost to a stop and Karis could feel him trembling with terror. ‘It is sorcery,’ she thought. ‘On, Great One!’ she shouted, touching her heels to Warain’s flanks. At the sound of her voice, his muscles bunched and he surged forward. Three of the enemy riders had cut across the line of escape, and their huge mounts bore down on the fleeing group.

Warain galloped on. Karis angled him towards the first of the massive horses. He needed no urging; he could see the enemy mounts – they were larger and more powerful than he – but Warain was a war-horse of enormous pride.

Striding out even faster, the great grey charged at the enemy, his mighty shoulder striking the first horse with tremendous power. With a whinny of pain and terror the enemy horse toppled, pinning its rider beneath it. Warain surged through the gap, and on to open ground, the four smaller horses coming through in his wake.

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