Gemmell, David – Dark Moon

‘No. No pain. But. ..’ Brune’s voice tailed away.

‘What? Tell me!’

‘I’m not alone in here. I’m not alone.’

‘Of course you are not alone. I am here,’ said Tarantio soothingly.

‘No, you don’t understand. I’m not alone in my head.’ Brune began to weep and Tarantio’s anger flared, remem­bering the surprised look on the face of the magicker as he had entered the room.

The sudden anger woke Dace. ‘What is happening?’ he asked.

Tarantio told him. ‘Someone else in his head? Sounds familiar,’ said Dace.’I knew Brune would be an entertain­ing companion. Perhaps what you and I have, brother, is contagious.’

‘It is not funny,’ said Tarantio sternly. ‘Brune is frightened. He thinks he is dying.’

‘Everybody dies sometime,’ said Dace.

‘I think the Singer knows more than he is saying,’ said Tarantio. ‘He is coming back today. I’ll ask him.’

‘Let me ask him,’ Dace urged.

‘Perhaps that will be necessary,’ Tarantio agreed.

Taking Brune by the arm, he led him back to the bedroom. ‘Get some rest, my friend. You will feel better for it, I promise you.’ Brune climbed back into the bed, drawing the blanket over him and resting his head on the pillow.

‘Look at his ear,’ said Dace. Tarantio had seen it at the same time: the lobe was no longer smooth, but ridged like a seashell.

‘If I ever find that magicker I’ll cut his heart out,’ hissed Dace.

The councillor Pooris stood shivering by the southern gate, counting the wagons as the oxen slowly hauled them into the city. The War of the Pearl had been a ruinous venture, disrupting trade, destroying farms, and taking young men from the fields and turning them into mercenaries.

Even without the threat of the Daroth, Corduin was slowly starving to death. Corn was five times last year’s price, and the city treasury was emptying fast. A census ordered by the Duke showed that almost 70,000 people were now resident in Corduin. Many were now starving, and crimes against individuals and property was soaring.

As the last of the twenty-two wagons rumbled through the gate, Pooris ran alongside it and clambered up to sit alongside the driver. ‘I expected forty wagons,’ said Pooris. ‘That is what was promised.’

The driver hawked and spat. ‘This is all there is,’ he said, brushing the ice from his beard. ‘Be thankful for that.’

‘We paid for forty.’

‘That is not my problem, councillor. Take it up with the merchant, Lunder.’

Pooris hunkered down inside his hooded sheepskin coat and thought of the city’s bakers, who later tonight would

be queuing at the warehouses. Forty wagons would have been barely enough to supply the bakers with half what was needed. Twenty-two would mean riots in the streets tomorrow.

At Warehouse Street Pooris jumped down from the wagon and entered the small offices beside the guard gate. For several minutes he stood in front of a wood stove, warming his hands and thinking the problem through. The bakers were already rationed to 40 per cent of their needs. Now they would suffer a further 50 per cent cut.

A young cleric approached him, offering a mug of hot tisane, heavily sweetened with sugar. Pooris thanked him. The man returned to his desk and continued to fill in the ledger, noting down the wagons and the time of their arrival. Pooris glanced around the room. The ill-fitting windows had been sealed with paper, which was now sodden and dripping water to the walls below. ‘Not the most comfortable of working-places,’ remarked Pooris.

The young man looked up and smiled. ‘I like it here,’ he said. The cleric rose and donned a fur-lined cape. ‘I must leave you, councillor. I need to check the unloading of the wagons.’

‘Of course. My thanks to you.’ Pooris held out his hand. The young man shook it, then opened the door and stepped out into the snow.

Pooris removed his coat and moved to the desk, scanning the ledger. The cleric’s script was neat and easy to read. During the last two weeks some 320 wagons had been checked through, bringing corn, grain, salted meat, spices, dried fruit and wine from the islands. Almost all of the food had been shipped in through the port city of Loretheli, much of it arranged through the merchant Lunder. Flicking back through the pages, Pooris saw that the amount of food shipped had steadily decreased

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