Gemmell, David – Dark Moon

A lean, blond-haired man with green eyes stood there. ‘I am Duvodas,’ he said.

‘You’re lucky not to be a dead Duvodas,’ said Dace. ‘What are you doing sneaking up on people?’

‘I was not sneaking, Tarantio. You were lost in thought. Shira tells me you have a sick friend and I was wondering if I could help.’

Dace was about to spit out a reply when Tarantio dragged him back. ‘Are you skilled in medicine?’ he asked. Duvodas said nothing for a moment, but his eyes narrowed. Tarantio wondered if, somehow, he had seen the transformation.

‘I know a little of herbs and potions,’ Duvodas said.

‘Then you would be most welcome at my home. I have become rather fond of Brune. He is not the brightest of men, but he is honest and he doesn’t talk much. And forgive me for my earlier rudeness. I have lived too long amid wars and battles. People appearing silently behind me usually wish me harm.’

‘Think nothing of it, my friend.’

Shira returned with a canvas shoulder-bag, bulging with food. ‘This should keep the wolf from the door for a day

at least. Come by tomorrow, and I will have a hamper for you.’ Tarantio offered to pay, but Shira refused. ‘We still owe you a meal for the day you left, sir. Pay me for tomorrow’s food.’

Tarantio bowed, then accepted the bag which he slung over his shoulder. Donning his cloak, he made for the door. Duvodas walked out into the snow with him. Tarantio looked hard at the man, who was wearing only a shirt of green cotton, thin leggings and boots. ‘You will freeze to death,’ said Tarantio.

‘I like the cold,’ said Duvodas, and the two men strolled out into the snow-covered street. An icy wind was blowing against them as they walked, the snow swirling round them. Tarantio glanced at Duvodas, wondering that the man seemed oblivious to the cold. Twenty minutes later Tarantio pushed open his front door and stepped inside. The living-room fire had burned low and he added fuel.

‘You are a strange man,’ he said. ‘Were you raised in a cold climate?’

‘No. Where is your friend?’

‘In the first of the back bedrooms.’

The two men walked through the house and found Brune mumbling in his sleep. ‘Do you recognize the language he is speaking?’ asked Tarantio as Duvodas sat by the bed. Brune suddenly began to sing, and the room was filled with the scent of roses. Then he groaned and was silent.

‘Where did that scent come from?’ asked Tarantio. ‘No rose blooms in the snow.’

‘What magic was worked on this man?’ asked Duvodas. Tarantio told him of the damaged eye and the visit to Ardlin.

‘I did not see what he did. But Brune’s eyesight is now phenomenal.’

‘He is not dying,’ said Duvodas. ‘He is changing.’

‘Into what?’

‘I cannot say for sure. But the magic is powerful within him, and it is growing.’ Brune’s golden eyes opened and he stared at Duvodas. The Singer took his hand and spoke in the Eldarin tongue. Brune smiled and nodded; then he fell asleep once more.

‘What did you say to him?’

‘I thanked him for his song and the scent of roses.’

‘Can you do anything to help him?’

‘No. He needs no help from me. Let us leave him resting.’ Duvodas returned to the living room and sat down by the fire. Tarantio offered him wine but Duvodas refused, requesting water instead. Tarantio brought him a goblet, then sat down opposite him.

‘You are the man who killed the Daroth,’ said the Singer. ‘I have heard of you. The whole city has heard of you. You make the enemy seem mortal.’

‘They are mortal.’

‘They once destroyed an entire race,’ said Duvodas. ‘Wiped them out. Now they are lost to history. I was once in a temple that housed their bones. They were called the Oltor; they were Singers, Musicians and Poets. They believed the Universe was the Great Song, and all life within it merely echoes of the melody. Their music was magical, their magic was music. Their cities were said to be gardens of great beauty, at one with the land, harmonious and joyful. The Daroth destroyed the cities utterly, dashed the statues to dust, burnt the paintings, tore up the songs. They are devourers, these Daroth. They live to destroy.’

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