Dark Moon

'And I am Latais,' said the leader. 'Welcome to my camp, Tarantio. You put the fear of Hell into my last two Knights. Step up, you dung beetles!' The two mercenaries rose and edged forward. 'These two, who understand when to put wisdom before valour, are Styart and Tobin. When the gods sketched out their personalities, they failed to place courage high on the list.'

'Perhaps wisdom is preferable,' said Dace.

'It is a trap,' said Tarantio.

'Of course it is,' agreed Dace. 'The question is, which side is Forin on? I should have killed him back at the cave. I wonder if he's still got our gold coin?'

'Find yourself a place to sit,' said Latais amiably, 'and I'll bring you some food.'

Dace moved around the fire and sat on a tree-stump. Forin took up a wooden plate and cut himself some beef; then he sat away from the others. Latais brought Tarantio some meat and flat bread and the two men ate in silence. When he had finished, Dace cleaned the plate on the grass and returned it to the mercenary leader.

'So where are you heading?' asked Latais.

'Corduin. I think I'll winter there.'

'You have enough funds to sit out the cold season?'

'No, but I'll survive. What about you?'

Latais drew his dagger and picked a piece of beef from between his teeth. 'There's an army gathering near Hlobane, and Duke Albreck is offering thirty pieces of silver for veterans.'

'I'd hardly call your group veterans — save for the big man.'

'Yes, he has the look of eagles, as they say.' Styart and Tobin lifted the spit from the fire, while the bowman, Brune, added fuel to the fire pit, flames flaring up and illuminating the clearing. Dace's gaze did not flicker. He sat calmly watching Latais, aware that the man still held his dagger. 'You are younger than I expected,' said the leader. 'If all your exploits are to be believed you should have been at least fifty.'

'They should all be believed,' Dace told him.

'Does this mean you really are swifter than a lightning bolt?'

Dace said nothing for a moment. 'You know,' he said finally, 'the resemblance is clear.'

'Resemblance?'

'Was Brys not your brother?'

Latais smiled. The dagger flashed for Dace's chest.

His left hand shot out, his fingers closing around Latais' wrist. The blade stopped inches short. 'Faster than lightning,' said Dace, eyes glittering. Latais struggled to pull back from the iron grip. Dace's right hand came up, and firelight gleamed on the silver blade of his throwing-knife. 'And twice as deadly.'

His arm snapped forward, the knife slamming into the unprotected neck of the mercenary leader.

Blood gouted from the severed jugular, drenching Dace's hand. Latais's struggles grew weaker, and he slumped against the tree. Bright images flashed across Dace's mind: his mother lying dead in her bed, the plague boils still weeping pus, the child crying for her and calling her name; his father hanging from the long branch, his face bloated and black, and old Gatien running through the burning house with his hair and beard ablaze. The sharpness of his sorrow faded away in the pulsing red light that flowed in his brain, eased by the warm red blood that bubbled over his knife hand.

Dace sighed and pulled clear the blade, letting the body of Latais fall. Wiping the knife, he returned it to his boot and rose to his feet drawing his swords. The flames were six feet high now, and Dace could not see who stood beyond the fire. But he guessed that Latais had ordered his men to be ready.

'Come on then, you gutter scum!' he yelled, leaping through the flames and across the fire-pit. As he landed, ready for battle, he saw the bowman, Brune, lying on the ground, Forin standing above him with a wooden club in his hand. 'Where are the other two?' demanded Dace.

'You've never seen men run so fast. Didn't even stop to saddle their horses. You want to kill this one?'

The answer was yes, but Dace felt his irritation rise. What right had this man to offer him a death?

'Why should I?' he heard himself say.

Forin shrugged. 'I thought you enjoyed killing.'

'What I enjoy is none of your damned business. Why did you help me?'

'A whim. They saw you coming. Latais thought Brune could bring you down as you entered the camp.

But you put the horse between you as you dismounted. Smooth move, my friend. You're a canny man.'

Brune groaned and sat up. 'He hit me with a lump of wood,' he complained.

'You were about to shoot through the fire and kill me,' said Dace, wishing he had killed the man as he lay unconscious. There was still time.

'That's what I were told to do,' said Brune sullenly.

Dace looked into the man's face. 'Your leader is dead. You want to fight me?'

'I didn't want to kill you in the first place. He told me to.' Dace could feel the longing for blood growing in him, but he looked into the hulking young man's plain, open face and saw the absence of malice there. A farm boy lost in a world at war. Dace could see him lovingly working the fields, caring for stock, raising a family as dull and as solid as himself.

'Gather your gear and move out,' he said.

'Why do you want me to go? Aren't you the leader now?' Brune reached up and rubbed his sandy hair.

His fingers came away bloody. 'Anyway, my head hurts.'

Forin chuckled. 'Tell me,' he said to the injured man,

'is there a lot of in-breeding in your village? You're not the sharpest arrow in the quiver, are you?'

'No, I'm not,' admitted Brune. 'That's why I do what I'm told.'

'Come back to the world, brother,' said Dace. 'This numbskull is too stupid to kill, and if I stay here any longer I'll rip his throat out.'

Tarantio found it hard to keep the smile from his face as he resumed control. 'Let me see that head,' he told Brune. 'Move closer to the fire.' Brune obeyed and Tarantio's fingers probed the bowman's scalp.

'You've a lump the size of a goose egg, but it doesn't need stitching. Go and get some sleep.'

'You're not sending me away then?'

'No. Tell me, are you skilled with that bow?'

'Not really. But I'm worse with a sword.'

Forin's laughter boomed out. 'Is there anything you're good at?' asked the red-bearded warrior.

'I don't like you,' said Brune. 'And I am good at ... things. I know livestock. Pigs and cattle.'

'A handy talent for a soldier,' said Forin. 'If we're ever attacked by a rampaging herd of wild pigs, you'll be the man to plan our strategy.'

'Go and rest,' Tarantio ordered the young man. Obediently Brune stood up, but he swayed and almost fell. Forin caught him and half carried him to where his blankets lay. The young man slumped down and was asleep within moments. Forin returned to the fire.

'You mind if I travel with you and your dog to Corduin?'

'Why would you want to?' countered Tarantio.

Forin chuckled. 'No-one ever gave me a gold piece before. Is that good enough?'

Tarantio awoke at dawn. He yawned and stretched, enjoying the sense of emotional solitude that came when Dace slept. Forin lay wrapped in his blankets, snoring quietly, but of Brune there was no sign. And the body of Latais was gone. Tarantio rose and followed Brune's tracks, finding him some fifty feet from the camp-site. The body of the dead leader was wrapped in its cloak, and Brune was humming a monotonous tune as he dug a shallow grave in the soft earth. Tarantio sat down on a fallen tree and watched in silence. With the grave some four feet deep Brune scrambled out, his face and upper body streaked with sweat and mud. Carefully, he pulled the body to the edge of the hole, climbed in himself, then lowered the dead man to his resting place. The act was tender and gentle, as if Brune feared bruising the corpse. Slowly, reverently, Brune scooped earth over the grave.