Gemmell, David – Dark Moon

She was sitting on the couch studying the reports submitted by Pooris, concerning the manufacture of

crossbows and bolts. With luck, they should have almost 800 weapons and more than 10,000 bolts by the first day of spring. A servant tapped on the door and entered, bowing. ‘There is a man wishing to speak with you, my lady,’ he said. ‘He claims to be a friend.’

‘He has a name, this friend?’

‘Necklen, my lady.’

‘Send him in.’ Karis rose, and hid her sense of shock as the wiry soldier entered. Skeletally thin, his eyes sunken, Necklan looked twenty years older than when she had last seen him. A blood-soaked bandage covered the stump where his left hand had been. ‘Come in and sit down, my friend,’ she said, then ordered the servant to bring food and wine.

Necklen slumped to a chair and closed his eyes. ‘It has been a murderous ride,’ he said, his voice slurred with weariness. His head sank back and his breathing deepened. When the servant returned with bread, butter, cheese and smoked meat, Karis told him to fetch the surgeon. Moving alongside the silver-bearded warrior, she touched his neck, feeling for a pulse. His blue eyes opened and he gave a weak smile. ‘I am not dead, Karis. Though by rights I should be.’ With a groan he sat up. Karis brought him a goblet of red wine, which he drained. He reached for the bread with his left arm, then stared bemused at the stump. ‘Damn, but I can still feel my fingers. Strange, isn’t it?’ Karis cut him two thick slices, which she buttered. Then she sliced a thick chunk of cheese. Necklen ate slowly, then leaned back once more. ‘I was at Prentuis. I tell you, no-one should have witnessed the slaughter I saw there. We rode out against the Daroth. Giriak led the charge, but our swords were like willow sticks against them. I slashed my sword across the neck of one: it bounced off! Didn’t even gash the skin. He struck my shield with a return blow which clove the

shield in two and tore off my hand. Within moments we were ruined, cut down in our hundreds. I saw a Daroth with maybe ten arrows jutting from him, but still fighting, unaffected. You want to know about Giriak?’

She did not, but she nodded anyway.

‘He died bravely. Killed one of them, lanced him through the body at full gallop. Then he was cut down. You would not believe how short a battle it was, Karis. Within a few minutes we were cut to pieces and fleeing for the city. Thousands died on that plain. I was with the few hundred that made it through the gates; we thought we might be safe behind those walls.’ Necklen shook his head. ‘They brought up huge catapults which they used with stunning accuracy, hitting the same section of wall again and again. They smashed two broad holes in the north wall, then surged through. They know no weariness, Karis: they killed and killed from midday to midnight. Men, women, babes. Shemak’s Balls, it was terrifying! I hid in a loft. Me and three women. You could hear the screams outside for hours. We escaped through the sewers. I was almost delirious with pain. The surgeons had covered the stump with hot pitch, and the agony was indescribable. The women half-carried me. But we made it to the outskirts and fled south-west towards the coast.’ His voice tailed away.

‘You need to rest,’ Karis said. ‘We will talk more in the morning.’ Helping him up, she led him to her bed, undressed him and covered him with thick blankets.

‘Satin sheets,’ he said, with a smile. ‘How good . . . they feel.’

He was sleeping when the surgeon arrived. The man felt for Necklen’s pulse and the warrior did not stir. ‘Exhaustion,’ said the surgeon, ‘but his heart is strong.’ Carefully he unwrapped the bandage and examined the

blackened stump. ‘No gangrene. The wound is clean,’ he announced, applying a fresh bandage. ‘He needs red meat and wine to fortify his blood and hot oats to clean his system. Honey is also good for strength.’

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