Gemmell, David – Dark Moon

since their departure from Daroth One, and he sat with shoulders slumped, his back against the wall of the plundered storehouse.

Karis sat down before him. ‘What is troubling you, councillor?’

He gave a weak smile. ‘Look at all their faces,’ he said, waving in the direction of the refugees as they searched through the wreckage. ‘They are lost. Ruined. Not because their village has been attacked – such is the lot of farmers, I am afraid. They are lost because they have seen the enemy, and they know their world is gone for ever.’

‘They have not beaten us yet,’ she said, but Pooris said nothing and Karis returned to where Vint sat by an open fire.

‘You did take a chance, lady,’ he told her, with a grin. ‘Supposing Tarantio had failed.’

‘Then we would be dead. But it wasn’t that great a risk. As I told you before, I have seen him fight. Now you have too.’

‘He is a madman, Karis. I saw that, right enough. God’s teeth, I would swear his eyes changed colour. It was like watching a different man.’

‘Still think you could take him?’

He laughed aloud. ‘Of course. I am invincible, dear lady.’ Karis looked into his eyes, amazed to see that he meant what he said. She shook her head.

‘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.’

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