‘Even so, I shall stay.’
‘You have faith in our lady general?’
‘Her men have faith. They have seen her in action,’ said Niro.
‘As have I. I watched her bring a mountain down on a group of Daroth riders. More importantly, to do so she crushed several of our own people. She is ruthless, Niro. And single-minded. I do believe that we are lucky to have her. Yet . . . the Daroth are not like any human enemy we have ever faced. Every one of their warriors is stronger than three of ours. And we have not yet seen what strategies they are capable of.’
‘I shall observe them with interest,’ said Niro, rising.
Pooris smiled. ‘You are an optimist,’ he said. ‘And if we do survive I shall make sure you achieve what you
hope for.’ Niro bowed and Pooris gave a dry chuckle. ‘Falling short, of course, of my own position.’ ‘Of course, sir.’
He was moving through the darkness of the tunnels, hearing the child’s cry for help in the distance. He came to the coal face, and here there was — as he knew there would be – a jagged crack just wide enough for a body to squeeze through.
‘Help me! Please!’
Tarantio eased himself through the crack and into the greenish glare of the tunnel beyond. Opal-eyed creatures shuffled forward, picks and shovels in their hands.
‘Where is the boy?’ he demanded.
The cries came again from far ahead and, drawing his sword, Tarantio ran forward. The creatures scattered before him. At the far end of the enormous cavern stood a man, guarding a bolted door. Tarantio halted his run and advanced slowly on the swordsman facing him. His hair was white and stood out from his head in ragged spikes. But it was the eyes that caught Tarantio’s attention: they were golden, and slitted like those of a great cat.
‘Where is the boy?’ demanded Tarantio.
‘First you must pass me,’ said the demonic warrior.
In his mind Tarantio sought out Dace, but he was not to be found. Fear rose in him, followed by a quaking certainty that he was looking into the face of death. His mouth was dry, his sword hand wet with sweat. ‘Help me!’ cried the boy. Tarantio took a deep breath and threw himself into the attack.
The demon lowered his sword and offered his neck to Tarantio’s blade. At the last moment he swung the blow aside.
‘Why do you want me to kill you?’ he asked.
‘Why do you want to kill me?’ the demon responded.
‘I just want to help the boy.’
‘To do so you must kill me,’ said the demon, sadly.
Tarantio awoke in a cold sweat. Rising from his bed, he wandered out to the kitchen and filled a long goblet with cool water. In the main room Forin was asleep on a couch; the others had gone. Tarantio entered the room, moving silently to the fire. It was dying down and he added a fresh log.
‘You can’t sleep?’ enquired Forin, yawning and sitting up.
‘No. Bad dreams.’
‘The Daroth?’
‘Worse than the Daroth. I’ve had the same dream for several years now.’ He told Forin about it.
‘Why didn’t you kill it?’ Forin asked.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Silly things, dreams,’ said the giant. ‘I once dreamt I was standing naked in a marketplace, where all the stalls were selling honey-cakes riddled with maggots. Everyone was buying them and extolling their virtues. No sense at all.’
Tarantio shook his head. ‘Not necessarily. You are a man of iron principles. Most are not. You know the values of loyalty and friendship, where others see only the price to be paid for such comradeship. Merchants, town dwellers, farmers – all despise warriors. They see us as violent and deadly, and indeed we are. What we come to learn, however, is that life is often short and always unpredictable. We fight for gold, but we know that true friendship is worth more than gold, and that comradeship is above price.’
Forin sat silently for a moment, then he grinned. ‘What has this to do with nakedness and maggoty cakes?’
‘You do not value what they value. You would not buy what they buy. As to the nakedness, you have thrown off all that they are.’